“I develop all my own film and mat my own stuff. Can you imagine those fellas in the Puerto Rican collective askin’ me do I wanna help them set up their show in the Super Señor Gallery?”

“If he ever asks me to dance wit his faggot ass again I’ll tear off alla my clothes an’ sit on his head wit both legs wide open.”

“I told my daughter if she wanted to be with her daddy she better go on and do it now, ’cause there ain’t gonna be no more men in my life ever, is there, Berte?”

“Not in my life.”

“Emotionally underdeveloped species.” (hahahaha)

“I certainly can’t use one.”

“What for?”

“What could they do for us?”

“I could do that for ya, mama!” (laughter)

“It’s sad, isn’t it. One-half the world is them.”

Cypress loved looking at them. So soft and delicate. She didn’t listen long; she didn’t want to speak of men in her woman-space. She looked as if she were in a silent film, and watched Azure Bosom dance a female dance. A gender dance. A dance of ovaries and cervix uncovered and swelling, menses falling like waterfalls in a golden forest. A dance of women discovering themselves in the universe. She. Her. Hers. Us. Cypress didn’t listen too much. She felt connected to these women among women as she had never felt around any man. She loved them in a primal way; being able to touch and fondle and kiss as if one body enclosed them all. And they danced and worked, and publicized the Azure Bosom concert: “Vulva Dreams.”

There was nothing straight at Ovary Studio. Everything was round, curving, textured, and dense. No sense of the possibility of masculinity existed. The ceiling was covered with moss, like pubic hair. The aisles of the theatre arena moved like errant streams. Everywhere there was flow. Azure Bosom had quite a following in New York City. They were regarded as the thrust of the future for women in dance, articulating what women had never acknowledged: our bodies are not our destiny, but all freeing-energy. Azure Bosom brought many women to tears, to joy . . . a sense of quiet easiness they had never known. Because Azure Bosom had given so many women so much of themselves, many many women came to the opening, “Vulva Dreams” was what they were after.

PLACES

Azure Bosom moved down the winding aisles in slow motion, making “shhh” and quiet “ahhh” sounds. They seemed to lose all skeletal form. The women were clouds billowing, unfurling smoke rings, and “shhhh” and “ahhhhhh” embraced all souls and caressed and tumbled over lips and there was a holy warmth, another communion. A sensual joining of strangers . . . the sound of women loving themselves.