Look Who’s Talking, The Or Something Like That Community

8 Oct

I’m finished! I’m fuck-in’ finished! I say this only once: I’m fuckin’ finished! – Oh that was three times now. Yesterday a call – – a desperate call – – a DESPERATE call for help. Didn’t you understand? Didn’t you get anything at all? Did it completely pass you by like a Prius the parking lot of the cultural administration? I didn’t come to your mind that it wasn’t some minor flu. An itch or mosquito bite, an annoying fan, but like real – – like the shit, no talking, last call, Elvis totally left the building, that it was a matter of life and death. Like LIFE and DEATH.

I took you for thug life and some attitude. Fake it, it’s fine – – totally Ok, you know like the tattoos – – I don’t want that either – – Yes, ok I surrender I have one, but just one and fuck you – no, it has nothing to do with tribal and I didn’t wear latex in the end of the 90s – – But nope, the numbers didn’t sky-rocket, no servers were clogged up. I heard no shooting, nothing was reported – – Oh yeah, yesterday was the Swedish premiere of “The Other Guys” – that’s what happened. But like, do I look like a dude that identifies with Will Ferrell? No, I don’t! – – I mean, I did like him in Anchorman – – comes with the trade – – a blogger is also a journalist of sorts – – like an interior decorator is an artist, and theatre is an art-form?

Yeah… Yeah – – I’m going in the theatre. Seriously. Yeah. You gave me up, didn’t support me when I needed you so badly.

I’m going in ze te-atre. I mean like – – I told ya’ll: We support only betrayal of all sides. (An Axl Rose -) Yeeeöh, what could be worse, more satanic – like becoming a professional snooker players, taking up a dialogue with the British dance scene, starting to ride a fixie bike, that’s peanuts, Christmas decoration – oh, of course – to start up a career as a house DJ – doing something mean. But the theatre, huh ma’f-cka – – that’s diabolic, so bad. That’s like cold war CCCP bad. This is farewell, the last tremblin’ line. The final finito, the last episode of the last season, the network is closing down, the arivaderche to bloggin’, the last Spangbergianism. Goodnight, cruel world, ghood nite, I see you in the mornin’



[More pause]

[The global dance scene mourning a moment of sunshine]

[People speaking lyrically about the golden era of choreography and dance]

[Others, about an apocalyptic moment, when real, radical, Deleuzian (-You know what I mean?) change, really was



[The emptiness of going to bed without the daily Spangberianism]

[Indifference in life, feature film length ruminations on the meaning of life…]


– – and then the go go chorus is fading in, the bass drum showing up in the background, a guitar… handclaps – – boom boom chick, ka booka-boom chick chick [and it goes on, repeat it – catch the groove] – aha eeeeeha – aha eeeeha – ahahahaaa – – smoke, lots of it. Colored lights, LED goddamnit – and there… a shadow… vague yet so determined – humble yet such conviction… “-No no, I’m not talking about Phil Collins… “ – smoke – colored lights – the sound of masses, a roar – – –

Just kiddin’ – Spangbergianism is back. Just wanted to feel it, feel it like you missed me – like Skype sex with oneself. I carry two laptops, dude.

“-Is this thing on?”

“-Power to the people! We’re living in the 31st century…”

Be egotistic, be OTT, modesty is for superheroes. I celebrate you! I promise, on my life – my mother’s grave – I support you. Be bold, be blunt, be obstinate and naïve. Right fist to the heart. I back you, thug life.

And you know what, it’s always OK “to not know what something was”, what is not, is to be sufficient with not knowing. The expedition isn’t over until we make it home.

“-Do you know what you did in your last piece?”

“-Sure you do, for approximately three minutes, and that’s what somebody else – – your low life dramaturge – –
wrote about it.”

“-I don’t hear shit!”

It’s okay not to know, but make sure not to sleep on it. It might stick to you, and your life is over. And it’s never acceptable to produce a piece in order to make the spectator confused, especially – and this is a deadly sin – if you don’t know exactly what you are doing yourself and can communicate what the fuck it is. Never. NEVER… this is fuckin with people, and that’s not a fat ass betrayal, it’s simply greed.

“- Are you French or are you just part of the “or something like that” community? Oh, then you don’t need to feel lonely, there are loads of ya. Facebook is a small place in comparison to the vast territory of “or something like that”, a fairytale far far away and so easy to bring to one’s heart. How many times did you say it last time you talked about your work, or maybe times is not the word, but rather how many percent of your conversation did it occupy, seventy five? Welldone that’s better than last time we met.

Be intuitive and OTT, it’s fine okay. Let ideas fall on your head don’t be embarrassed. They do on good looks, pick ‘em up, and leave them no peace. Intuition is wonderful and amazing: that’s like hot sex instead of a Skype talk with your producer. But fuck you, intuition is not enough, that’s when we have to start working. And there is no way around, no escape. No escape. Take it on! Take it on!
Power to the people! I love you all, all of you, all of you ten thousand six hundred and thirty three practitioners of dance and choreography about to die.

Bring the boats back, tomorrow we are going content.


One Response to “Look Who’s Talking, The Or Something Like That Community”

  1. U.C October 10, 2010 at 21:33 #

    It was a sunny day and I was in a zoo. I saw the lion. And a pelican and a lemur. And some birds that were quite boring. And a wolf. Actually, three wolfs. For little money. Behind the bars. Walking. Walking. Walking. Very near the bars. Lying down. Up. And down. They went on: Wouuuuu. Wooouuuu. Wouuuuu. It was almost like singing. When they finished, they all left together in something that acted woods. The woman that was passing by said: The show is over. I clapped. Few around looked at me confused. The lions next to the wolfs were particularly protected. Particularly non-active. Particularly sponsored by Peugeot. That was clearly stated on a big Plexiglas on the frontal cage bar. One lion, the one with the hair and muddy yellow eyes turned the back to us that were watching. His sex was moving strangely – very very, very near the bar. Up and down. It was a bit inappropriate to watch. But quite interesting. I never had a chance to see a sex of a lion from so close. One guy took a photo of it with his mobile phone camera. Look, look. His friends laughed. He might send it as a MMS later on. Lion growled on us: Grroar. Groarr. Groarr. Groarr. Groarr. Each time a bit more silent. Groarr. Eh, my lion friend…My sister once was pissed by the tiger in the zoo. She had to run home to get her t-shirt changed. I never get to know the whole story. There were also the mother and a boy near the bambies. Many of them. Like, twenty or thirty of white-spotted bambies all together. The mother said: Look, look the bambies. The kid said: Why do they live here?” The mother said: “Because they like it here.” I told to my friend that llamas probably get easier time in a zoo than the lions because their brains are a bit smaller. She said that it is probably true and she added that they are more protected in a zoo than in nature. Blessed llamas. Blessed zoos. And kids that like it there. It is where we learn on how the animals are.

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