Tonight, under the mesmerising hues of Sao Paulo's twilight, I swing and spin, suspended from the opulent ceiling of the renowned Samba De Amor. My 55-year-old body, a testament to an enduring devotion to aerial dance, moves with a grace that belies my age. The spotlight hits my glistening skin; the audience gasps. You see, in this realm suspended in mid-air, I am both artist and artwork, the puppet and the puppeteer.
If what they say is true, that control is the ultimate power, then every night I wield it with a finesse that only an aerial dancer can comprehend. Yet, the sweet paradox of it is not lost on me. For who really has the control? Is it I, spinning, twirling, and dictating my rhythm? Or is it the intricate mesh of cloth and rope, binding, supporting and liberating me all at once?
Suspended in mid-air, I feel both captive and emancipated, a dance of power and surrender, freedom and constraint. The rope around my body, a paradoxical symbol of both my bondage and freedom. My muscles strain, aching, protesting and yet, they exquisitely comply. They'd learned to translate the unforgiving grip of the ropes into a language of sensuality, power and poetry. Trust me, you’ll love this. It's more than just intricate choreography; it’s a tangible tension that electrifies the air, encasing us all in its thrall.
As I reach the climax of my performance, I let go, submitting to gravity, entrusting my body to the sturdy cords that have become extensions of my will. The descent feels like a lover’s embrace, assuring yet electrifying. It is an intoxication of power and surrender. Aerial dance, it's the language of my soul. It's all about total control and wild, airy abandon, a thrilling paradox that keeps the spark alive. Tonight, like every night, I am both the master and the servant, the captor and the captive. It's a dance of contrasts. And I wouldn't have it any other way! |
匿名
發表於 6 小時前
/1 
