“Gas station drama combined with a great – and long! – night of shows– recipe for success or tragedy?!”

Cairo, the 14th May, 2009

“Gas station drama combined with a great – and long! – night of shows– recipe for success or tragedy?!”

***How can I say this without sounding – and actually being – disgusting?! Well…I´ll try.

*** Tonight I performed six shows in a row, from 19.30h till 2.30h inthe morning.I was in the mood, a big group of friends came to see my show and audiences were literally calling for my name before I even started dancing. Until here…all is fine…more than fine!

*** I had left my incense sticks at home but that couldn´t upset me. I usually burn incense in my changing room to make the place morepleasant and resembling a small temple from where I come out gorgeous and protected from negative energies I´m vulnerable to during my performances. Tonight, no amount of “evil eye” would take me out of my incredible mood! Or so I thought…

*** I had also forgotten my dance shoes – I wear them to protect myfeet from food, broken glasses and other dangerous incredible stuff people manage to throw on the floor – and I was happy to dance in mybare feet giving me a sense of ground control that I usually don´thave. I also forgot props and girly stuff I wear as accessories to my dance dresses but none of that worried be cause I was having quite anight! Or not quite so…


*** For some reason a few private detectives are still trying to figure out (joking here…), after I drank my nightly tea with milk – my version of the whisky and other alcoholic beverages traditional from artists all over town – I suddenly felt like Hiroshima bomb was making a come back…inside of my tummy!Now the gross part…In my own defence, I must say I am not the kind of person who suffers from flatulence. That department of my system works pretty damn fine and that was the reason of my surprise to check thatI couldn´t walk a meter without farting like a butcher (why do I presume butchers fart?! That´s another enigma…). Just five minutes before going on stage, I had become a professional walking whoopee cushion and I had no control whatsoever over it.


*** What´s happening?! What to do with a surprise farting self-attack?! This was a new situation for me and I had – and still haven’t any idea – of how to get rid of gases running wild and free inside of yourstomach. Should I just let it go and poison my orchestra, all thestaff and audience members?! (I warned you this would bedisgusting…you´re still on time to drop this text and check some serious news about the swine flu ).Could I inform the chief of my orchestra that I wouldn´t leave the backstage room during the next few hours – maybe one of the staffcould go on stage instead of me- and just keep the gas tragedy to myself enduring its painful consequences with resilience and courage?!No, that was not an option either. What to do?!


*** Tragedy always loved company so…(it gets even worse…I warnedyou…), besides the gas situation I felt a strong diarrhoea coming my way. No time to go to the toilet, no clever strategy to control the farting compulsive train and a night full of shows ahead. Waw!

***Dance, sexy! Farting tragedy, not sexy!***Dance, fun! Diarrhoea, not fun!***Dance, life and art! Intestinal tragedy, killer and the opposite from art!***Dance, I LOVE IT! An entire night of fighting against Hiroshima bomb on the insides of my belly, well…what can I say?! I AM NOT A FAN,THANK YOU!


***There are moments which seem so funny after you´ve been through them and survived and yet, while they´re happening, the bright side ofthe moment is out of sight and so far away that all you want is to vanish or hibernate until the drama is over.

*** A nice natured American with an Indian style abundant beard caught me between shows and asks me when I´ll perform in front of his crowd…I tell him that I will be there in a while. “I am coming…”, Isaid. “I am coming to eventually poison you all…” I should have said,if I wanted to be accurately realistic.I even fantasized the stage would turn into a sparkling latrine whereI would feel relief from my pain. Audience and staff would be turnedinto toilet paper by a benevolent fairy and my nightmare would be overand, ultimately, allow me to go back to reality as a functional,regular person. Enough of being a walking whoopee cushion…

*** And History is happening right here…I am destroying my own myth.Usually, artists will do whatever it takes to project an image of perfection and super natural identity and here I am breaking up any chance of being seen as a divine being. Just in case you didn´t get mypoint yet, let me set the record straight: divine creatures andgoddesses – as male and female fans tend to call me so many times intheir infinite kindness and appreciation – don´t have farting crisis(do they?).You may have heard about Venus attires and beauty or Zeus incredible powers that governed all the other divinities. You even heard about Mars and his bad temper or the famous naughtiness of Mercurio butnever, I mean never have you heard about gods or goddesses withfarting crisis on stage or on real life, have you?! Here you have my point for everybody who sees me as a divine creature – thanks for that sweet thought, any way! – and now knows the cold reality of my – allas- humanity.


*** Miraculously, I practiced a kind of yoga relaxing deep breathing –my life safer in many situations – and managed to perform two full shows of around 2 hours without killing anyone or exploding myself.Yes, I was afraid a disaster would happen at any second but I have faith in God and knew my me and audiences – and orchestra – deserved abetter luck!Still wondering what the hell did they put in my cup! Can a simple cup of tea with milk cause such a stir?! My detectives are working on it while I´m searching for back-up plans trying to prepare myself for aanother eventual gas station situation. Better prepared than caught off guard.