I was going to note the Cozy Burg (see here), but this one drew me in. What do you see? The title is provocative enough. You see a dancer, perhaps. Maybe one of those awkward dancers at the parties you sometimes attended, those who never quite settled into the language of their own bodies, those who never managed to operate the machinery all at once, to pull the levers in the proper sequence, whose body parts, discordant, moved in time to their own automation; those who mugged along to the music, regardless, those who let the music do its work and claimed no responsibility, whose higher selves simply got out of the way. There’s a thought here on translation. Synthesis. The way a brain responds to sound, through hand and hip, and look, we’re dancing now. The dancer in the frame has a higher self composed of muscular air, solid on the page, like the breath of god. Hips of grass - the kind made for shaking. Something like a dark electricity separating above from below. Legs like trees that bend and sway but never break. If life serves you lemons, you make whatever you know how to make.

(Hipshaker, via Gala Bent - 2011)