ONE: THIS TEXT IS TO BE READ TO SOMEONE, TO SOMETHING OR TO YOURSELF WITH THE TOUCH OF A WHISPER.

You should do the reading like a form of dedication, in the hope that something could be changed. JUST LIKE “For all those people who cannot have the space, the right or the tranquillity to find home in a lullaby” or “for all that hear too much but are not listened to” or “for your dead dog, I know you miss her so very much”.

We tend to forget about the power of doing something for someone. It is like a dialogue you and me and the flows of these words.

Remember, when we do things for others we taste things in our own taste first.



TWO: REMEMBER THAT YOU ARE always ALLOWED TO GET EXCITED, FASTER

to read and listen at your own pace
In your own words
To leave the text, to then go back. 
To repeat its words as many times you want until they manifest in streams from your body to your body to your voice to your voice to your ear to your ear to your skin to your skin to the air to the air to the room to the room and its walls and windows and empty ghosts. Until it pulls you out in a moan.



THREE: This is a spell.



FOUR: In the shape of a score, translating force in the typing of a dance into movement that will graph a poem in all the floors of joy.

***

A score is to be read to come and go. Trying to remember or forget it all. It graphs while manifesting on paper, spoken agreements or very ambitious plans.
I swear this time I will dance you the stars orbiting the counts of my blood.
Up and down in four counts a fire ball thrusting through us. BAM.


Can you feel it? Your entrails bouncing in four, three, two, one. Swinging. In between. A stronger beat. scoring a stream. through. your. counts. streaming up and down. 


Please repeat me until the bouncing counts and the thrusting counts start becoming two separate full spaces of counts rubbing each other.
Melting into each other. 
Streaming from each other. 
Pulling with each other, gently, strongly.


Can you imagine?        a count into a space morphing into a ball?
a viperous tongue spreading in two affluent rivers.
A whole sky of counts over your body tingling in the back of your head. 
Following all your wires, your veins
becoming a red and blue string of a very sticky lace exiting your fingers, your feet, your fingertips.


Different counts of four being driven in a count of one exiting and entering your body bringing messages from the spaces and textures they encounter.


To do two things at the same time means to create a lace, a bond. 
Every bond should be a form of touch.


For a moment stop breathing. And open widely your mouth as if you could let all your surroundings enter you, flowing into you, like the most fresh of waters or liquids. 


Your throat becomes a thirsty ear lubricated and refreshed every time anew while more things enter through you. 


(Forgive me I love rhythms in rhymes driving a massive words impact.
They are the memory of all the power orality streams behind language)


Your mouth recollects, takes in, moving, never getting enough until you really need to breath. You make yourself hungry for exhalations. You fill in your body until you have to surrender to a sigh. Your whole body becomes a sigh. And then you repeat the same procedure again and again. Filling yourself really in, becoming an empty body where the whole universe has space in the pleasure of satisfying a never ending thirst lubricating your throat your hips your pelvis soften you down. Up goes the release of all you have taken in. Now you are fountain. Never ending flows of streaming out what is taken in.


What does it do to you? to stop breathing until you surrender to a breath that is raising inside of you like a sees streaming? 
How does time exist when you are holding your breath in without breathing, closing your whole entrails?  What do you see? What can you count? How many intervals of different rhythms are taking over your body now?


I can count one swinging into three in the off beat of a sight. It is like an echo of a sequence of rhythms becoming in amplification. A rhythm driven into you skin holding your heart beats.


Try to store the counts you are hearing within your body into your memory wherever this might be and place them into a map emerging in front of you.


And dance.


Dance it all, all the rhythms inhabiting the spaces captured in your map directing into the next coordinate, the next place. To then stop and observe where you are at. 


Start counting your counts now as if they where your dancing evaporating in the excitement of a rhythm driving your voice out of your body. And start dancing again all the counts you have been singing as if they where a vocal dance of memory. Reverberation is the echo of an encounter. Think of scribes memorising long chunks of texts to then write carefully what they remembered, what they liked, adding their own artistic individual touch. Transforming the text into something that is the original but passed through the writing touch of so many others. It is impossible to remember everything and that is ok. What we forget keeps living in another place. A dance translating a score into a map. A dance translating a map into a space through dance exiting through movement. A movement translating a memory of sensation in relation with the very present feeling of speeding up taking new information in. Space becomes this thing that is the feelings and stories and memories of everything that has just been done there. The trace of a dance listening to a bunch of text streaming in and out. Where are you now? Laugh please. We do not want a sad ending to this dance. But it is too late to start from the beginning. So just look forward and see if something has changed. Is something has been moved. And remember for whom or for what you did dance.