I dream of a War of right and of might, of unlooked-for logic. It is as simple as a musical phrase
- Rimbaud
You walk in and at first, all you hear is bass. Perhaps the beating of your own heart, but not much else. Soon it'll be difficult to distinguish between the fluctuations of the music and that of your own body.
Exactly how it should be. It's another generation of wannabe anarchists, standing in line, waiting on the drum beat.
A head pops out from under it's trance, sweeping the floor with a dazed look. Your eyes might meet and smiles may be exchanged. But these connections are momentary, preserved in perfect immortality as only fantasies can be. Mostly you're on your own though. Or perhaps you're all in it together. An entire room bonded beyound the beau monde. This should be packaged and sold in cans.
and the beat goes on...
Tiny fractions appear, Is it imminent? Perhaps it's a testament to society's need to categorise itself. Perhaps it's the work of a complicated genius, or just simple survival of the fittest? Every person's answer to these questions, reveals the lot they are destined to fall in.
The smoke clears and as if on cue, the lights seem brighter, sharper somehow. You're left wondering if everybody else can see it too and then you feel his smile on you.
Step to the music, go with the flow. Everyone does and you do too. The vibrations sneak in through your ear and take a vice grip on your heart. There's a struggle but you swallow them down. Lo and behold, your feet have caught up with him. Side by side, you walk through the wonders of his world.
You're the ultimate toy for him. A yo-yo that breathes. The vibes beam through everyone. Good and bad. Is everyones' stomach turning inside out? Or is that the fourth beer you shouldn't have had?
Another head pops up, another quick survey. Yes, we're still here. Are we really though? These colours and this light that swirling around you weren't here before.
Then you think this is definitely a good time because it's accelerating right before your eyes. The dancing was frantic before but in fast forward, it seems comical. There's this stray thought- Any closer and you'll be his forever. He's coming for you.
The beat goes on...
A time will come when conversations begin again. He gives you the space to talk about yourself. It's confidential, you're assured. Despite the hundreds of bodies pulsating around you. Everyone's talking so nobody's listening.
There is rage to be let out, frustration to be stomped away, confusion to be set aside and above all, curiosity to be fed. Perhaps inert aspirations are taking on upstanding formations. A long starved voracity is being let loose. Each story is broadcasted on full blast. Released, yet not revealed. Are we all really unique snowflakes or has he seen all this before?
On and on, until it's the last song.
Some will always see the room in which they began. Some will see nothing more than few distortions. Some will walk away from an entirely different room. Some will travel beyound it. They may run alongside him. Look for tunnels and pathways. Some play games, not knowing if they're hiding from him or themselves.
It could be frightening, but it's magical to some. Everyone will thank him. After all he just wants you to have some fun.
