In the past two weeks, I have been apart of great celebrations and gatherings of strangers. I have contributed to the crafting of personal histories and the sharing of reminiscences. There have been dreams, nightmares and fantasies. And through it all, variation and the overcoming of fear and jubilation have ruled. It was the liberation of prison of the self.
The zoo has been liberated. The lion is free and making promises. Can we trust him? We know where he is headed, but we know nothing of the journey–its textures, its perils, its thrills.
The good old funky longing. Hand clasped and released over cooing mouths. It’s a breakup fantasy–one where you’re pushing your lover away while you’re reaching for her.
We chose to celebrate on the boat because the dry land was occupied by sadness. There was determination in those days to deny anything that wouldn’t deliver pleasure. Our lives were spent avoiding pain.
Friday nights I went to the club alone, cigarette butts clinging to the soles of my shoes made sticky by rancid beer. I was not of the contingincy that stood analytically in the background. Rather, I occupied the frontmost hosility near the stage. The bands’ perspiration and saliva mixed with my own, lubricating the contact with other lost, sweaty souls.
Our heroin memories were stonger than the memories of the good times and the new horizons. Every exclamation was splattered with double-meaning irony. We only listened to records. We only typed on a Royal portable. We only read hardcovers and religious pamphlets we got on the street.
In the city we grew more sophisticated without really trying. The hipster egoism was infectious. It’s potency was in the way it hid itself and felt entirely genuine. The lines between genres became blurred so much that it no longer mattered if the thing was genuine or not.
The fights were inspired by amphetemine euphoria the veered just beyond control. There was a thin membrane that sometimes kept the peace, but it was easily breeched when, with just a subtle inference, she challenged the illusion I was living.
I hadn’t heard from her for weeks and my brain wasn’t working properly. There was nothing to do but run. I stopped in a dark alley. I wasn’t generating my own thoughts but standing, paralyzed, while they flashed across the sky, out of reach and undecipherable.
The nightmare went on. My lonliness gave way to masses of the unfamiliar. I looked for a corner, a side room, a refuge, but bodies circled each other looking for an entry point. I screamed, but the sound was lost in the sonic swirls.
Everyone became synchronized, suddenly and without warning. I was the only one motionless, but through the choreography, I saw her. We grew closer in those minutes or hours. She held my hands in hers. We drifted into the sky above the crowd. Away from everything.