Tension! The strings are taut and my hair has fallen to the force of gravity. Everyone around me is hanging by a mere string. My girlfriend made me do this dance number with her. Her name was Natalie. My shadows are barely recognizable from this angle. I am at an odd peace.
Try! I will not give up on this dance. How can I put up with this pain any longer? Everyday, I have practiced hard. The harness cuts into my shoulders. I vaguely remember one practice day in particular. During my walk to the exhibition, the street was ashy—but the windows of the building exploded with color. I had a gut instinct that something was wrong. That day was an unfortunate day because I lost my love.
Touch! I long for her skin to graze against mine. That unfortunate day ended with her arrest. Her pointed nose and slanted eyes let loose streams of salty liquid. It reminded me of Sophie Tauber-Arp’s sculpture. A whole month has passed and I have not seen her since. I feel stressed that the Americans have taken my girlfriend. She was a foreigner—here illegally. I hope to find her one day. Today, I must do this dance in her honor. At times, my anger is enough to go out and smash
Tarnished! Others have their opinions against her—my dear Natalie. Even the other dancers felt like she did not belong. They got what they wanted! Natalie is lost! I imagine her on this wall and harnessed alongside me. Our bodies touch—but only in my mind. I dance with the ghost of someone who is not actually here.
Tart! The flavor of her kiss still remains. My obsession over her will never end. This dance will forever remind me of her. I will forever do her dance. Her beauty will forever be ingrained in my memory. I cherish it as I move along this wall. The wall is cool against my naked feet and I stumble in my drunken stupor.
Tip! My left foot slips out underneath me. I am temporarily sucked back into my empty reality. I am hanging by a string. I look down at my shadow. I squint, and there is another figure beside me. It looks like the other shadow has come to embrace mine. Mozoltov! Even my mind has grasped my insanity. This dance has taken all of my dedication. Trisha Brown is a slave-worker, pushing her dancers day-in and day-out. We are the paintbrushes for this “Walking on the Wall” opus.
Tequila! It is sitting at home beckoning for my arrival. My drink of choice allows me to escape from reality. Trisha had an issue with my drinking; I paid her no mind—at least I am on this wall for everyone to see! My addictive personality gets me hooked on certain things. At first, it was cigarettes. My addiction to dancing gave me Natalie—and took her away from me, as well. Now that my Natalie is missing, her favorite alcohol coats my throat every time I return to my vacant apartment. Tequila is my new addiction—how I long for those days we drank together and danced!
Hi Michael,
ReplyDeletePlease consider my revision of your draft. I think some small changes could tighten up your writing. Let me know what you think.
Also, please go to the UCI Library and check out a book with good pictures on the artist William Pope L. Please bring the book to class on Tuesday, August 15th.
Tension! The strings are taut, and my hair falls to the force of gravity. Everyone around me is hanging by a string. My girlfriend made me do this dance number with her. Her name was Natalie. My shadows are barely recognizable from this angle. Oddly, I feel at peace.
Try! I will not give up on this dance. How can I put up with this pain any longer? Everyday, I practiced hard. The harness cuts into my shoulders. I remember one practice day in particular. During my walk to the exhibition, the street was ashy—but the windows of the building exploded with color. I had a gut instinct that something was wrong. That day was an unfortunate day, because I lost my love.
Touch! I long for her skin, grazing against mine. That unfortunate day ended with her arrest. Her pointed nose and slanted eyes let loose streams of salty liquid. Her fae reminded me of Sophie Tauber-Arp’s sculpture. A whole month has passed, and I have not seen her since. The Americans have taken my girlfriend. She was a foreigner—here illegally. I hope to find her one day. Today, I must do this dance in her honor. At times, I am angry enough to go out and smash Iran’s consul general in the region’s capital. For the moment, my horizontal dance has given me peace.
Tarnished! Others have their opinions about her—my dear Natalie. The other dancers felt like she did not belong. They got what they wanted! Natalie is lost! I imagine her on this wall, harnessed alongside me. Our bodies touch—but only in my mind. I dance with the ghost of someone who is not actually here.
Tart! The flavor of her kiss remains. My obsession with her will never end. This dance will forever remind me of her. I will forever do her dance. Her beauty will forever be ingrained in my memory. I cherish the memory of her beauty as I move along this wall. The wall is cool against my naked feet, and I stumble in a drunken stupor.
Tip! My left foot slips out underneath me. I am temporarily sucked back into my empty reality. I am hanging by a string. I look down at my shadow. I squint, and there is another figure beside me. It looks like the other shadow has come to embrace mine. Mozoltov! Even my mind has grasped my insanity. This dance has taken all of my dedication. Trisha Brown is a slave-worker, pushing her dancers day-in and day-out. We are the paintbrushes for this “Walking on the Wall” opus.
Tequila! ... It is sitting at home beckoning for me. My drink of choice allows me to escape from reality. Trisha has an issue with my drinking; I pay her no mind—at least I am on this wall for everyone to see! My addictive personality gets me hooked on certain things. At first, it was cigarettes. My addiction to dancing gave me Natalie—and took her away from me, as well. Now that my Natalie is missing, her favorite alcohol coats my throat every time I return to my vacant apartment. Tequila is my new addiction—how I long for those days we drank together and danced!