Tuesday, January 12, 2010

12

He takes to the rude pathway, once again. He walks until he forgets he is walking. His body has attained a rhythm that now supercedes thought. He embraces this rhythm -- allows himself to fall forward into it -- and simply lets the rhythm guide him. He chuckles. Let the rhythm guide you. Do the Funky Chicken. That phrase. To a dance. From his culture. His people. A culture and a people that would make up a dance called the Funky Chicken. This makes him chuckle some more. He likes saying it: Do the Funky Chicken. He imagines what the dance might look like. He dances. He has no idea whether he is actually doing the Funky Chicken or just flinging his arms and legs around. A memory: He is dancing; a woman is laughing.

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