setsuna meiou so I don't know how to really go about this. I'm not even sure if I am to go about anything. I understand that the innuendos where towards me, but I wonder if they were just as an attempt at release, or something more. I wonder if I am Claude.... and I leave that open, because I'm not sure of your intentions. And this bizzare dance I play a part in, has left me more confused than before.

but we will always have the list
andrea Dance, ballerina, dance.
Do your spins in perfect time,
and he'll still love you.

Count the rhythm in your head-
one, two, three...
Watch out! Don't get off!
He loves to watch you
as you dance around his life.
Keeping your movements in tune to
the beat he is drumming.

He drowned out your music
when he began to give you his love.

So, dance, ballerina, dance.
Do your spins in perfect time,
and he'll still love you.

copyright 1999
josie The most strict form of movement with the ultimacy of expression behind it.
birdmad a december night, some time ago

we walked in late and had to wait for the intermission to be seated

(damn the traffic cop and her need to single us out for a ticket)

watching the little signs that were the indicators of a smile coming on as we sat back and watched the second act and the major production pieces that had been in the paper

The Nutcracker Suite, the set and costume design for the Arabesque segment was amazing...
the beautifully mixed message it created, the christmas theme and all it's wholesomeness and this portion of the production with a seething underlying sensuality...a vague eroticism
but for all of the beauty of the action on stage, i was still more compelled to look at you and your quiet grace.

in the changing light, i reached a hand to touch you, watching the look of contentment and the understated Mona Lisa smile
You took my hand, interlacing our fingers and looking over to me, gave me a smile that sealed my fate

one of the first pieces of the illusion fell into place that night
*spoons* dancing to your dreams or to self mutilation? sure it looks pretty and graceful but inside our pretty little pointe shoes are the bloody blisters and bruises that we are somehow rewarded with by our hard work. Is it right to to go through excruciating pain just to make prancing around on the tips of your toes look effortlessly. Is it right in our later years that we suffer from arthritis in every fucking joint of our toes! HEll no. Or how about those charlie horses that you sometimes get from just putting the damn things on. Imust be fucking crazy because its ironic that Iactually enjoy it. 001228
cole It's as close as I can get to flying... and beauty. 021114
quinn ballet is its own art

it smells of makeup and hairspray and stale feet

it feels like silken ribbons, rough calluses, and yards and yards of tool

it looks like a woman whirling in a rainbow flutter, or a girl, grimacing, holding her ankle in pain

it sounds like the staccato rhythm of pointe shoes across the floor, the tinkling notes of a piano

it tastes like blood, pain, sweat, and tears, dreams, and the bittersweet flavor of success

ballet is my everything

sorry if im rambling--i just performed the Nutcracker today and im still running on the adrenaline of it all
kermits_perfect_rainbow_/^\ flying. ballet is flying. flying higher than any drug can take me, stopping only at the corners of the room. then coming back to reality and realizing that the person who came after me was amazing and my dancing is full of suck. i still like dancing tho.
p.s. why are there so few entries here?
kermits_perfect_rainbow_/^\ i really dont suck tho
just so that you know
ethereal is a world one gets lost in.

surrounded in utter caos.


i love for ballet.

i dance for ballet.

i love for ballet.
kookaburra look-at-me!
i just (finally) learned to do a tour-jete to the left side!
yea buddy!
i am now ready to take on that stupid double pirouette to the stupid right side!
puredream oh I miss it so much 040625
what's it to you?
who go