See me, Universal Man. Cowboy stance when I dance. I become Universal Self. Boy-Man God-Like Prince. Wince, flick, leg in attitude. Don’t you see the sweep of my sinews fillin’ you, killin’ you to want me?I am Universal Beauty …when I dance. With a spin and a foot-slap my limbs beg to reach and grab beyond my bones to claim the space of Man. Butterscotch Man, sweet, smooth.Can’t get enough. Grappling with myself, myself the spectacle. Admired and misunderstood because I dare to shine. Eternal Man, Eternal Dancer. Rough-hewn, delicate Snorting Bull. Hooves in my fingernails, cloven to stampede like ten thousand marching stamping kaleidoscopic warriors. Pistils exploding pollen nectar SWEET on all who fixate their jealous rudimentary gaze on my FLESH. I will Consume you as you consume me. Even the very hairs on my head reach out beyond the heavens. This way I configure and punctuate and permutate ……….is the Dance Electric, Erotic, Cathartic, Ionic…. cloudburst….Contract, release, contract, release, contract, release. Cruel is fire, desire, desire. When greater things shall fall , I,I,I, more than carnal, shall yet stand. ERECT!
It’s been a while since I last ate the Cascadura. Some, like me become strangers.
Disengaged, detached, floating, expelled, placenta. Who am I?…. [Who are] You? You are, I am.
We are . LIMBO!!!! The land of limbo. Womb, cradle, my nativity, my place of resident exile .
Oh! your forests, waters, your shining sun, Willed to me by my Father’s hands. Patriotism embraces
and haemorrhages. History and politics, complacency and complicity won’t allow me all my days
to sing in praise.
So my eyes make love to this créole Indian amerindian hybrid red-man chinee in the mirror I see.
That’s me. It all bleeds through the layers and it tastes of nothing. And some, like me, become
Sunil, I wonder how you would respond to the following poem? Are there similarities between the experience of house and soca? How do music, dance and pleasure intertwine for you? How does the sensuous open the way for both joy and pain?
June 20 2009
© Meida Teresa McNeal
On the edges of love
On the rise and fall of hate
Unveils a many-pronged desire
Sex, violence, creation
An exorcism-cleansing-catharsis-crystallization of epic memory
Witness the aftermath of a volatile coupling
The forces of Shiva-Shakti intertwined
Penetration while folding over/around
Groaning under the weight of
Possibility and delicious destruction
Marked by its own uneasy equations
This theory of pleasure
Implodes, explodes and slow smolders
A combustible entropy
Scattered before recombining energies
Defining a knowledge of the sensuous sacred
I know you through skin and tempo
Strong and weak beats, stresses and accented asphyxiating silences
Proximity and bass
I unleash my greatest pain in 4/4
Aided by diva screams and crashing hi hats
Undulate to find your way to meaning
A spread-eagled display of exposure and vulnerability
Friction and heat
Contest, conjure and supplication
To affirm life, you must confront death
Mmmm, we do it best when dancing
July 27 2009
© Meida Teresa McNeal
She dives into sensuality
Curve of hip rolling
And full breast rising
She is a hot roller coaster
Leaning to fall
Now she hovers
Hovers high low long hanging
Til she feels herself riding gliding sailing a gully
Carved by the energy she brought into being
Manifested by movement’s anointing
Toes spreading like earthclaws
Blistered impact along the surface of feet run raw
She switches energy flow
Thick legs slice through air
With the strangest combination of lightness and weight
And the roller coaster takes another hill and valley
Overcurve again leads under
Punching gravity with low torso drive
The delight of streaky sounds caused by lift, thrust, drag
Downward to rebound
In all this wicked lovely commotion
Breath and perspiration
Are beloved adornments
The sacred bells
In this altar of space
That welcomes her home to motion
I pull out the pen and the wounded sensiblility. Already the blank expression and the self-disdain, knowing I am yet unresolved after all this time. I find moments of focus and lucidity in the glint of the nib and the rustle of the paper.
People stare at me. I stare at nothing, wishing for and pursuing all these answers…Who is he? Who am I? How should I presume?
Pretty boy, darling child, canary in a cage. O my son we left you. O my son will you come back? River of ink take me…..
” To rise, Sweet Spenser,
Therfore live we all,
Spenser, all live to die,
And rise to fall ”
Sunil 18th Sept., 1998.
So I don’t build on these expectations. Tomorrow’s ground is uncertain now. Thoughts are like the waves that run back and forth over the shore. They take you, they drift you : they bring expectation. Each one holds the promise of taking you away. And maybe someday it will. One of these tomorrows will take me away. But for now you say “how nice it is to be here on the shore….” Water and Earth embracing here. But so much life there is beyond, beyond this….The full circle, the future, the ocean, beckons….It only ends on the sand. Adn when you turn around again you realize too that this is where it begins……..
Sunil, October 1995.
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Created in 2004 (McNeal & Marcel), excerpt from “Race Travels”