Every Step We Take On Earth Brings

At First Glance, The Rhythm May Be Confused With Gaiety, But When You Look More Closely At The Mechanism Of Social Life And The Painful Slavery Of Both Men And Machines, You See That It Is Nothing But A Kind Of Typical, Empty Anguish That Makes Even Crime And Gangs Forgivable Means Of Escape.

While The Poet Wrestles With The Horses On His Brain And The Sculptor Wounds His Eyes On The Hard Spark Of Alabaster, The Dancer Battles The Air Around Her, Air That Threatens At Any Moment To Destroy Her Harmony Or To Open Huge Open Empty Spaces Where Her Rhythm Will Be Annihilated.

Seville Is A Tower Full Of Fine Archers.... Under The Arch Of The Sky, Across The Clear Plain, She Shoots The Constant Arrow Of Her River.

The Dancer's Trembling Heart Must Bring Everything Into Harmony, From The Tips Of Her Shoes To The Flutter Of Her Eyelashes, From The Ruffles Of Her Dress To The Incessant Play Of Her Fingers.

I've Often Lost Myself, In Order To Find The Burn That Keeps Everything Awake