The Real You

The Real You. You never know the real you--was that the point I was making? Or more, just playing? Which is as good a philosophical strategy as any! It's from one of the VS280 Seminars,  maybe 7 or 8 years back. I don't remember the evening, or whose life-mask this was (possibly Hugo, the student visiting from France?) Someone in the group sent it along to me following.

I never hesitated on these inclinations--these ways of joining in --where the moment was playful, but an underlying meaning came through as well. Looks a touch like Artaud--which I take as a great compliment. His journey to Mexico, just before the war, expecting to find Mexican political thinkers more interesting than the French--but no, it was all Europa--and so he wandered north, to the homeland of the Tarahumara, in the deserts of Chihuahua--Copper Canyon--where they'd been pushed into an internal exile by the same forces he himself was fleeing. Great runners, covering immense distance, not much food,  and without shoes...

But here there's a smile. And, just now, I found the student's name--Hugo Bruley. Yes, from France. Along with his semester summary--which he sent to me, apologizing for his English. But I think it's just fine... And clearly something he needed to write:

Scream words of french hate 
Scared feet dripping with yellow
I dance on paper

Shivers with music
A weak hand goes on, brushing
I dance on paper

Perfume of memory
Shh! Hear Tony and his tales
Dancing on paper
_____

That semester, Spring 2011, marked the beginning of a very difficult time in my own life--and I see that Hugo included this note at the end: "Today is my birthday and I wish you the best, I hope everything will be better soon for you."

We do reach out...

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