The Wishbone Alphabet – an experiment, of course, with attitude, life and the eponymous soup.
‘If I can’t dance I don’t want to be part of your revolution.’ Emma Goldman.
There may be a squillion different dance forms, or not, I’ve never tried counting them. I do my own kind. Dancing, in my favourite form, is something to throw your self into, with complete mental and physical abandon, like a toddler on a bouncy castle after a bottle of cheap fizzy pop and a bag of tartrazine sweets. It is expressive, joyful, delirious, irrational, fantastical stuff. Dancing has broken many light shades in my house, and caused some of my most fabulous bruises. It doesn’t have to be dancing, but everyone should have something they let themselves go into, something that isn’t drinking or smoking or an external stimulant. It is something that should flow outwards; flow and be flung out, even if it destroys the lampshade. It should destroy the lampshade. After my revolution, destroying lampshades with dancing will become the national sport.