books… forgotten… found

I left many things when I departed from Zürich. And Guangzhou, and Taipei, and… Things come together again. All my Melbourne/Adelaide impedimenta in one place, and… perhaps I have lost much of the asian bits and pieces for good, but last night Cornelia and I dug out what remained here.

Two and a half years, three moves to different apartments, and in the bowels of my old backpack that travelled so many times with me, a Migros bag within a Migros bag stuffed to overflowing with books. My memories of living in Wipkingen and Seefeld and… with Anna, I wonder if I forget any beds?

Orel Füssli was a place I spent many evenings after rehearsals, a run into town, along the Limmat, then along Bahnhoffstraße to this strange conjunction of roads, and there was three floors of books in English. I discovered Charles Stross here, on the sole recommendation of a rather seductive cover, and read much Iain Banks, with an M. and without. Harry Potter on my birthday. Some I look on knowing I only bought them from the desperate need to read something. William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition that I read over and over, my traveling book, a twin of Iain Banks’ The Business.

One I never finished, Tricia Sullivan’s Double Vision, it was too creepy to consume while performing in a piece in which I slid along playing mental derangement while going through rehearsals that at times were a torment.

My Berlin shelves of books is already most of one full.

I wonder if and where in Berlin I’ll find a bookshop suitable to my peculiar needs. I was in Orel Füssli a couple of days ago searching for Stone Butch Blues, and failing, and know whatever else I had my dirty eyes hovering upon I wouldn’t find it here.

And now I must buy another suitcase as I can no longer close the lid on the one I bought not so far from here when the inevitability of departing became unavoidable.


It was only three years ago but seems … one of those entanglings with a person that are outside of time, so we didn’t see each other for much of the next eighteen months and then the next, it seems we were always around or that two months shifted out of our geographical closeness is not so far from the first one and a half years in immensity. On occasion, she remarked in a semi-joking way I’d been her mentor, and that might be a daunting thing for me and my irresponsibility were the contra not also true. After-all, I’m here in Adelaide because she decided the best way to expedite my departure from Melbourne was to make sure I got on the plane.

Of course I’m talking about beautiful and talented dancer and choreographer and very dear friend Gala Moody, who has been in all of my performances since 2004 and I’ve even had fun being in a couple of hers, who has been one of those people who is so rare in life.

Gala is on a two month crazy sojourn across Europe, from Madrid and Michael Carter to Zürich and Cornelia and SiWiC (and the Limmat and … oh so homesick thinking of …) and to Athens and horribleness of taxi drivers and transcendentalness of The Forsythe Company and on …


I wasn’t blogging when I went to DanceWEB in 2003, though used my camera until it was worn. Of all my adventures in dancing that started only because I saw Frankfurt Ballet perform so long ago, Vienna and the ImPulsTanz Festival is one of the dwellers in the stratosphere, for the dance, for the performances, for the life of being a European dancer in summer and endless days and nights and moments of revelation like when I saw Jan Fabre, moments that again changed my life. To know you are in the right place, and all this is important, from eating in the kitchen to gigantic spectacles of theatre.

Gala goes to DanceWEB. Gala blogs at (And takes photos).