Gender Dance

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•  photo-montage by aleXander hirka ~ text by T. Remington •

From above, miles above, the dance is a red froth that heaves and turns in on itself in frantic tidal rhythms, defying the very terms of its existence. But come in closer. No, just a bit closer. Are you seeing it yet? Don’t be like that; get right down into it and play your part.  Surely you know your steps. Your role. Wait. Not like that; you can’t move that way. And what were you thinking wearing that? We all have our important and well defined steps in this dance and anyone who deviates risks wrecking millennia of carefully designed work.

You want to confuse everyone? You go out of step and the next thing you know, everyone is stumbling into each other, no one knows what their part is anymore and, worse, no one knows who they’re supposed to be dancing with! Stop that. Get right over here and fall into step. The swans will show you how it’s done. Even the toreador in the ring has the exquisite sense of precision and grace that is required to bring his part of the dance to a satisfactory consummation.

See? You were built for this; your very musculature is imbued with the vibrations that will summon your partner, the right partner, the one and only one who can respond to your summons.

Wait. What are you doing? You cannot move that way! Put away those peacock feathers and behave, dammit. Oh what a disaster you are. No one can say that I didn’t try. Go. Go on and prance around like a ninny; see if anyone will want to dance with you. I wash my hands of you!

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