[some words in seville]

i was hooked up with a big dance alum, Ally, via other company members before heading to sevilla. Ally lived here for years (she’s a flamenco dancer) and now lives in cádiz, apparently the oldest city in europe, and a fabulous beach town. i will be visiting her there on sunday for a few days before heading back to france (paris, to be exact). she suggested i meet up with Samantha, a dear friend of hers, who was taking a flamenco masterclass this morning with andres pena, this amazing flamenco dancer.

i haven’t seen much flamenco and so it was fascinating to watch a class. andres actually sang the songs as he was teaching, and there was a live guitar player. afterwords, i hung out with Samantha and some of the other dancers and spoke to them in broken spanish about what i loved about watching them dance. i told them that the contrast between the fluid upper body and the lower body’s rhythm and percussion was amazing. also the eye focus. they said that it was natural for them, and it was funny that i found it fascinating!

it was 1pm. we drank beer.

then i wandered into town and had a sandwich and another beer. and i wrote this poem :

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WRITINGS TO ASSIST IN THE SWIFT DOWNING OF BEER IN SPAIN
VOL. I

Alas there is still beauty in white, translucent ceramic bowls holding soup.
And choppy bits of mutual understanding.
And in the unison of an expert flamenco class that one is inappropriately privy to.
Time and step and stomp.
And contrast between upper and lower body. Serpentine and solidity.
“For us it is native.”
I’d say I still have about 17 sips left.
En Español : diez y siete trajos.
The immaculate camisa of a waiter. Eager and alone.
. . .
I just ate a fuck load of olives.
In just a few weeks, I’ll be in jamón withdrawl.
. . .
The ways that vowels at the end of words make awkward combinations simple.
“Hielosol” –> ice sun.
I have to stop for a second. I think it might be time for a siesta.

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then i headed to the cathedral. fear not, friends, pictures coming soon. in the plaza outside in my tipsy state, i let this street urchin woman read my fortune and give me some herbs. i gave her a bunch of change even though she demanded “papel, papel moneda!” from what i could understand, i will receive an important phone call and live very long. praise Him on high.

after an hour or so in the largest gothic cathedral in existence, and a quick nap, i headed out to recharge my phone minutes - to receive my important phone call, of course. in the street i encountered a large festival for some saint. marching bands, processions of people, minstrel types, and a liter with a cross draped in white on it. then i went to burger king for the first time in years. it was comforting in a weird way. on the way home i saw a bunch of teenager break-dancing in an alley.

passion.

my hostel plays an american radio station in the lobby at all times. i just heard “born in the u.s.a.” weird.