all comes so naturally in the star shine. Stand up Tall, because you are Beautiful. Breathe in Deep, For you are Free. come now, let us all get down reborn in the music. more consecrated than any prayer, the story of us can only but be told in music, as an offering hidden in every story spun, a divining tool layered inside of a spell of self maintenance. borne out of the music and movement, the body does not make moves, movement makes the body. forged in heart fire. all is natural and beautiful in this star shine. smiles, flip flops and flesh, a few days of heat reshapes this whole picture. children scream for ice creams at lobster shouldered mammas bathed in aloe and shade. another man sits on my bench these days, got to watch that monkey mind who just loves to revels in regret. absolution comes in connection. prostrate low to the soft grass and hear the music. this afternoon i lay tranquil beside a spanish guitarists watching young lads punch syncopated crap of out each other. The local German aboriginal myths dilute in this london satellite containing all the people tribes of the old new empire, reluctantly integrating in the park as the wash humanity seeds a new international European  masala, yet to be. enveloped in this golden shine the recall of chills bite is near impossible, just as in the depths of a dark lonely winter memory of sunshine is accessible, but this feeling is just out of reach. as brilliant as the previous snow blanket was,  i would trade up in a heart beat.  winter on your feet summer on your hands, bboys international relate. don't be fooled, this is spring, keep that rain coat at hand like a seasoned pro even at the heights of Britannic summer. as clouds drift in front of the sun wobbly bikini clad fatties nationwide begin to shiver. on a  recent personal fret pondering the direction of dance body intervened and told me hush. with spirit as guide the body knows all it needs and your opinion is not welcome. if there is an I involved, he is but an noisy spectator in the dance of Monkey and Immortal we create nothing. feet tell me to stamp proud like a toreador, lower back and arms call for stretches like some grand yogi. practical movements of samba jazz capoeira ballet in a blend flood up and out. this freedom from american dances allows me to still love them.  a few days past i spied a shiny black mink swimming in the pink blossoms . an onyx grace id not witnessed  before and needed google to attain what species he belonged to. the result told how in the 1970's animal activists released hundreds from essex fur farms. if he is of that lineage then they did us both a turn, i am in no chains, but in comparison this is bondage. A vegetarian diet is a no longer an option but an obligation. fam, i beg you to try it for one month and to amaze at the instant drop of a dress size, at least a third of the grocery expenditure and most importantly an unwelcome chunk of fear. more precious than the improved health i feel a  new calm realising that a lot of our fear stress and anger comes in from consuming our beaten enslaved relatives. on the head mate, we can fake so much on our feet, im even starting to learn that i also use bad posture when balancing on my hands. developing over strengths to cover weaknesses causes future problems. on the head the body fixes, finds the centre. this is therapy. try it on a pillow against the wall. more than once this week yipyip was interrupted by inquiry of whats that your doin mate, yoga breakdancing or ti kwon do? yesterday i had a most welcome intrusion of a tiny punch to the buttock, turning to see the smiliest four year old face with a question of oi what are you doing? on seeing his approaching pack of eight other monkeys OK Free Flexy class time me thinks, and prepare to perform for the tribe fixing the buffoon teacher hat. before i can even begin an angelic straw blonde nine year old adult descends and politely explains with demonstration how that in pointing the front leg it will help in my back walk overs. when ever i give any correction i want to see it immediately attempted, utilising this little gem of knowledge i send the chi down the front leg and arch back over in the bend. as hands hit the floor and second leg comes off i notice that she is right there beside me spotting over a man about four times her own weight. the monkey audience applaud and violently start to thrash about. not near stupid enough to let this opportunity pass, i ask advice on round off's back flicks and summys till worried mammas call the lesson to close. children come away from that strange homeless man. quickly i scribble her guidance in a note book and repeat what she taught. observing from a distance she gives me a nod and thumbs up like a seasoned coach and then motions for me to do it again. she even busted a full press and manna. all this mastery attained in three or four years then so with help is it possible for any of us. thank you Miss.  at one time every one of us had that identical androgynous baby culture before we went on and were taught how to be english or tongan and such fictions. babies are babies and i think thats why i get on so well with them. Sister you are my equal but when with child you transform into the living earth Goddess and i could always see the halo. Badu reminds me that we don't have to believe every thing that you think, we've been programmed, wake up, we miss you. as a small boy i was taught to anthropomorphise the almighty in deity worship of the ancient mouther with child effigy, nothing as exotic as the south European street processions highly Hindu in design and effect, my people just offer simple silent offerings to holy Mouther Mary. she remains absorbed into the present myth. often placed in a gilded cage shouldered to a corner, but the Devine female remains. i was kicked out of the temple because i turned over tables for her. had this complex since being crucified in a school assemble at the age of six. false selective memories leave huge blanks but i can so vividly recall this twisted ritual, last supper up resurrection. every communion mass since have been from the stance of Patrick Stewart at an amateur production of Macbeth. well my main critique is that he had his back to the audience. at the time it seemed that the worst thing about being Lord Jesus was having to receive the old Mafia kiss of death from my mate Adam (Judas), and that the cross was made of paper stuck to the wall providing no real crucifixion support, so i was there crying with wobbly little twig arms aching forcibly held out to the side suffering for your sins and thinking to myself, this is quite the role to ask of a six year old, and what kind of cult-ture have i got myself into this time? at Ballet Rambert School My Master Dr Ross Makim taught me how to see dance worship. respects forever go to all Gods, Prophets, Saints, Angels, Gurdians, Ancesters and enlightened masters but my full hearts devotion goes forever to the Mouther of all life and is payed as an offering in every step danced, in every breath sung. as now all love song i hear sing of her amazing grace. praise be to you forever my holy Mouther Nature,  prayers please to the peoples of japan who have always been such a huge part of my dance with so much beauty. bumping into old brothers last week and a decade of dust sits on chats of battles and old illusory beef. it hurts to walk that walk, just cant talk that talk any more. the gratitude does not allow me any more sacrilege. yo blood but i heard her say she would smoke you at locking now dow! wow, please express my gratitude for the compliment, pass on my encouragement and love. obliged to forgive, as we have all been forgiven, forced ever forward. our holy Trinity of lock-pop-break manifested in the fire circle and can not but be channeled there. i can no longer go to jams from the realisation of entrainment, the invisible law that pulls clock pendulums into synchronisation and proves the inter connectivity of us all.  its not that i am scared or selfish, i just refuse to be affected any more. not for the want of trying this gypsy never could conform well to the hive. the only real battle is with you, and if it don't come from passion you will end up petrified. this dance is full of love, the devotion in a real battle is electricity and a worlds apart from the modern staged sport dance. in first grade high school we experienced the cold ritual of organised public snogging matches for the critique of a mob, and this fully un erotic experience returns when i see cats in these so called battles spinning the bottle before the kick off. way 2 much man 2 man eye contact for my liking. Now I but can dance alone in the park ignoring spectators while watching dandy lion flowers go to seed and fill the air. fresh baby nettles leaves gift green tea and stinging remedy for the swollen wrist. at the jam young cats interrupt my prayer to challenge me in a  wane ker stance, i can not see them but for seeing of what a fool i have been. so hard for a young hood rat to fathom love, when he's so involved in trying to look and feel hard. child fuelled by fear finding false opponents at every turn. avoiding the plain fact that the only battle is within. this cult ure will attracts wane kers so that the dance can fix em. we have no choice. that is why it was gifted to us. we create nothing. hip hop is another telling of a very old tale. art music dance is the tale of humanity in a constantly reinterpreted ritual and the most powerful cultural propaganda. we are free to use it for our dark agendas but light must return to the source. the dance will fix us.