In a drunken haze, I felt myself let go control
of my arms and legs progressively.
The neon-lighted techno burst through the speakers with aggressive determination. I felt myself listening and participating in silent conversations expressed only through the wave of the arm and the swaying of wayward hips. The usual anxieties disappeared into ether neither alive nor alert.
It was the power of the pounding kick and the smacking snare that held the dance floor.
To live one’s youth one must repeat one’s follies
but to become, to live, one must create new follies.

The music sways in a distinct motion, a silent commotion,
a faithless devotion to the rhythms of drums pulsating
a heartless pulse, swaying to an off-beat rhythm
that no hands can catch and no feet can move into.
I simply became a zombie with no sense of space-time,
A human with no sense of humanity,
An animal with no sense of animality.

Breads and circuses don’t compel me
but give me a pulsating rhythm
and I’m wealthy
with the riches of sweet liquor
with the poverty of hopeless dance

Photo by Alexander Popov (Unsplash)

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