Sex and Violence
Apr. 29th, 2003 01:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowDancing last night, always a pleasure, even when it's tinged with fear. All these years of performing and when I dance by myself, there's always that clench of the stomach, the dry mouth and nervous energy. It was a good crowd and a responsive one at that, so that helped, and I danced in part to the theme from Lawerence of Arabia, which is guaranteed to make me not take myself too seriously. Not that it's all that easy to take a tall pasty belly dancer seriously, but sometimes dancers have such intensity, are so involved in the movement and motion and the rhythms that they get lost in another world. That's great for a stage show, not so fun at a restaurant. It closes the audience off, makes them feel like they are intruding on a private world, and sometimes they are.
When I'm on, really on, I can understand all the rigamarole about being in touch with your inner self, with it being primal and earthy, mostly because I do feel otherworldly, outside of myself. But I get annoyed with people who want you to dance a color, or represent an earth goddess. I dance because I can feel something outside of myself, and because it is, frankly, about sex. All dance is about sex - having it, withholding it, mimicking it, supressing it. Bellydancing, which should be about offering sex, is just the opposite. It's the tantalization, but also very much about the power of the dancer. It's not like stripping, the clothes never come off because it's not about that. It's about the dancer's control, his or her setting of boundaries and expressing power through the music. But for me, it's also about creativity, movement and laughter. If I can't laugh at myself, it's sort of pointless.
On the other hand, I'm also learning to fight, which is hysterical some days, and other days makes me want to cry.
Up and down my back, my muscles are aching from Krav Maga. This is Israeli self-defense, a sort of martial art that is mainly about knowing how to kick someone's ass if they attack you. It's very aggressive, very down and dirty and not at all arty and graceful. At least, it's not when I do it. It's also not real effective when I do it because the prospect of someone attacking me makes me giggle. Not that I don't think that random violence and aggression is a risk in this world. I do. But I'm mostly taller than all my partners and I'm a big baby and don't want to get hurt, and so I don't want to partner with the guys in the class, who are often more concerned with kicking each other's asses than learning the steps. And they kick really, really hard.
However, I'm also pretty firmly on the side of non-violence, and sometimes even being in the class makes me feel ill. I don't understand how I can be so enamored of stylized violence in movies and television, how it can make me want to learn how to do those movements myself when the prospect of hurting someone is physically repellent to me. I've been an advocate for non-violence ever since I can remember. I've worked on crisis hotlines, counseled battered women and sexually abused children and I know that violence is not an acceptable solution to problems. That it batters the spirit and the soul much more visciously than the body.
But, but, but, there is an incredible appeal inherent in violence that is controlled, choreographed. I am taking the damned class because I want to be able to move like people who don't exist - like Buffy or Dana Scully or Aeryn Sun, or people who really can do this kind of thing like Michelle Yeo (I don't think that's right. The woman who was in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). I don't want to actually hit anyone, but the fluid grace of the movements is like dance. The punch, the kick, the whack onto the pad, it's all satisfying, primal. And controlled. I think that's the key. Control. Reason. Choreography and effectiveness. The right move connecting with the right body part, and the deed is done.
Real violence is ugly. It's hate made tangible, anger uncontrolled, weakness in not being able to find a better solution. It's gory and messy, and often pointless. So I'm left here, undecided, torn, glad I'm learning how to not let other people harm me, uncomfortable to be learning how to hurt them and it seems to be something of an impasse.
Tonight is Family Ties, I think, which contains two of my all time favorite John/D'Argo moments. I love me that boy bonding.
When I'm on, really on, I can understand all the rigamarole about being in touch with your inner self, with it being primal and earthy, mostly because I do feel otherworldly, outside of myself. But I get annoyed with people who want you to dance a color, or represent an earth goddess. I dance because I can feel something outside of myself, and because it is, frankly, about sex. All dance is about sex - having it, withholding it, mimicking it, supressing it. Bellydancing, which should be about offering sex, is just the opposite. It's the tantalization, but also very much about the power of the dancer. It's not like stripping, the clothes never come off because it's not about that. It's about the dancer's control, his or her setting of boundaries and expressing power through the music. But for me, it's also about creativity, movement and laughter. If I can't laugh at myself, it's sort of pointless.
On the other hand, I'm also learning to fight, which is hysterical some days, and other days makes me want to cry.
Up and down my back, my muscles are aching from Krav Maga. This is Israeli self-defense, a sort of martial art that is mainly about knowing how to kick someone's ass if they attack you. It's very aggressive, very down and dirty and not at all arty and graceful. At least, it's not when I do it. It's also not real effective when I do it because the prospect of someone attacking me makes me giggle. Not that I don't think that random violence and aggression is a risk in this world. I do. But I'm mostly taller than all my partners and I'm a big baby and don't want to get hurt, and so I don't want to partner with the guys in the class, who are often more concerned with kicking each other's asses than learning the steps. And they kick really, really hard.
However, I'm also pretty firmly on the side of non-violence, and sometimes even being in the class makes me feel ill. I don't understand how I can be so enamored of stylized violence in movies and television, how it can make me want to learn how to do those movements myself when the prospect of hurting someone is physically repellent to me. I've been an advocate for non-violence ever since I can remember. I've worked on crisis hotlines, counseled battered women and sexually abused children and I know that violence is not an acceptable solution to problems. That it batters the spirit and the soul much more visciously than the body.
But, but, but, there is an incredible appeal inherent in violence that is controlled, choreographed. I am taking the damned class because I want to be able to move like people who don't exist - like Buffy or Dana Scully or Aeryn Sun, or people who really can do this kind of thing like Michelle Yeo (I don't think that's right. The woman who was in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). I don't want to actually hit anyone, but the fluid grace of the movements is like dance. The punch, the kick, the whack onto the pad, it's all satisfying, primal. And controlled. I think that's the key. Control. Reason. Choreography and effectiveness. The right move connecting with the right body part, and the deed is done.
Real violence is ugly. It's hate made tangible, anger uncontrolled, weakness in not being able to find a better solution. It's gory and messy, and often pointless. So I'm left here, undecided, torn, glad I'm learning how to not let other people harm me, uncomfortable to be learning how to hurt them and it seems to be something of an impasse.
Tonight is Family Ties, I think, which contains two of my all time favorite John/D'Argo moments. I love me that boy bonding.
