Epistemysics

Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Phedre

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Saw Phedre with Bell Shakespeare tonight.  Meh.  Desaturated would be the word.

I think I may have come, last night, to accept dance as a proper artform.  Well, not ‘proper’ – that suggests that I thought it was merely frivolous – but rather ‘pure’ or ‘strong’ or ‘expressive in its own right’.  Of course, saying that, I still consider it to be at the bottom of my list, I think – the last artform to take to the desert island.  But that’s what makes life so wonderfully grand, isn’t it?  You don’t have to live on a desert island.

Spent quite a few hours today wishing I was dead, but I seem to be a bit over it now, thankfully.  I wonder, though, if dancers have a high suicide rate, what with their careers being over at 35 or what have you.  That must be a tough transition.

271/whatever in Proust the fifth.

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Written by epistemysics

June 13, 2013 at 3:29 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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