THOUGHT PORN: [BABY TAKE MY DATA YOU CAN HAVE IT]

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BABY TAKE MY DATA
“A reflection on posting dance videos on soxial media”
– written by Ted Rogers published on Facebook

I have been laying low from social media for the past year or so. Perhaps to recoup and heal, perhaps because life is challenging at the moment, and definitely to attempt to be present in the tangible world more.

At 27 it is difficult to balance what we are experiencing as a generation. A split between the physical and digital worlds. The strong influence of stats, advertising and propaganda. The necessity for financial success due to the heavy haul of capitalism. Social capitol included.

Is this just normal? Our these humanities new values? How much can we fight or realistically change. Am I losing my faith that I can change the world or am I just approaching 30 and need to chill out for a minute?

I no longer spend every weekend dancing on a bar, I no longer relate to the term radical, I have no septum piercing and I own a flat. Should I just sit down, shut up and be grateful?

I’m not dead yet, I have a partner who loves me and I have respect from my peers.

But I am struggling to find peace. Yet I have found it before. So what is up If anything?

I think we have so many problems that I am not sure how to express, and I so often find dance an inadequate form to express myself in. It is too abstract, it’s just another odd shape or topless male waving about in my feed, yet I am all of these things and I express myself in this way.

Our industry is terrible. Terrible pay, terrible boundaries, and a lot of pushing, pushing, pushing to our limits and beyond. Injury, trauma, breathlessness, hunger and again again 5,6,7,8. And still we are the silent partner in any performance. Of course we accept this from the off because we are young and we want to achieve our goals. And I have reached so many. But this is unsustainable and of no wonder we self fulfill the prophecy of a short career in dance. It doesn’t have to be this way. And we don’t have to abuse the energy of youth just to put somethng out.

Our casting is racist and mysogynistic, homophobic, femmephobic, queerphobic. And if it does include us it is so often because we are “hot right now”; a trend, so bold, so interesting and exciting. Not because of my brain or talent, but because of androgyny or a new haircut. Yes my body is political. But do I only equate to likes?

Yet I still believe in dance, and in movement and expression. I still do it. I have danced for 24 years. I have even opted out in some cases and “NO!” can be the healthiest word in the Multiverse.

Yet I still find myself with a desire to dance. A spark plug waiting for fuel. Perhaps the ferrari will come out in a few weeks and whizz past the peugots and saabs that have been trundling along this whole time. I have been in and out of this garage for so long. And mostly burning rubber.

Did the office workers get it right. Is the system more sustainable.

But then it is not. Our world is burning. No news is honest. Trust has been obliterated and shiny shiny is everywhere. We should all have an endorsement and 5 million views on our #bottlecapchallenge. How unrealistic. How inadequate do I feel. And yet I look out the window of my gorgeous home with my caring neighbours in a quiet street of a town I CHOSE to live in. My own choice. My own accord. And I can still feel like I’m drowning, useless and old.

I feel like a scab, I’m healing, but I’m constantly healing. And it’s exhausting. I would like to get further than this. At least my hair is growing.

I’m finally reflecting again. Something we rarely have the opportunity to do. Inundated with notifications and distraction. Compelled to post and watch and follow and like. Never a moment of boredom unfilled with the feed.

But is your feed feeding you?! I am still hungry and dissatisfied. So I turn to myself. I try to steer the hull of this titanic towards the light and adventure of open seas. A boat that constantly drives to maul itself on the rocks. One sleeping moment and the pink lens of the blue screen will have me screaming towards the shoreline.

Like I said, it’s exhausting.

But I hope this reflection will help. Help me snot my baggage into this data pile.

And maybe some other screen stuck digi-victim will find the power to pull themselves from this false tat.

Maybe even send a text, or pick up the phone and call a bitch. Or be a nan and send a letter?!!!!

So baby take my data you can have it!

Here’s a mirror with some scrawl on it.

Baggage.

Xx

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