transmission

dark room with bright pink lights

and little blue ones from the bits of mirror spins out

like your floating

red glow dots drift around the room 

fade into ovals stretched along the wall

and we all know that the synth bass is so rich

sometimes hard to take

bright light in the corner 

is for looking up the next track

shiny black vinyl 

needle cued up

new beat ready to go

fancy one strutting through

all the sidelines focused on the flash

but when you glitter and shine

all you need is space

like back in the old days

they used to get these girls to dance

yes, even the ancient ones

because that’s the way the future’s told 

when you enter another consciousness

if you’re the girl you already know that sometimes when you dance

you are transported

so when you’re on another planet 

in a different realm 

different club

different time

different room

it’s all the same 

seen through rainbow vision

all the colors and times blend together

it’s a conversation with the music

is what she’d say

all the girls 

if you asked them

so

what is there left but all there is

light 

and continuous sound

and the shapes that decorate the wall 

until we’re all decorating the wall

and it’s another night

and another song

and another transport

goodbye, see you later

only to realize the two seconds you were gone

was a lifetime

was a minute

was an hour and a half

sound becomes destorted the more you turn

but you know where you need to look

and the bead of sweat on your forehead rolls down

it’s when you open your eyes

looking to the ground

that you realize where you are

calm as day as night

walk back 

so calm

so confident 

so poised

disappear to the back

to outside

to the fog

until summoned again

by the great dj gods and goddesses to throw down on the dance floor

lift us to another plane

show us something else!

tonight, that’s all we want

lingering before connection

back room flashing with bright lights

at the beginning only the dancers and the music

a symbiosis no one could interfere with

groove twists the beat

groove spins and the dj’s swaying from side to side

cueing up the track

cueing up the track

music filling pink red foggy air

dry ice makes clouds inside

and the room will be so packed that the humidity increases just from closeness

dj’s got headphones on

and the dancers in other worlds

in solo light

in fields of vision all we see is silhouettes

speaker thumps bass

and the middle hums

and you feel the music inside you

like you’re the bass

lights flash

spotlight on the handful of people there before anyone else

but there they are

together alone

standing

dancing

singing along with the music

and each time we make eye contact

our eyes dart away

the spaciousness feels open

but sometimes the slightest breeze

makes a person shy

the dancers

the wallflowers

the dj

the people listening

they are all very deep in thought tonight

they are all listening closely

music preferences for those in the know

Quiet, warm music with a clear pulse. Music that had an element of slowness and subtle change in temperature. Music that was all-consuming and that could be felt deep within.

This was the music that June liked best. And there were two spaces and times she knew where to find it:

-before midday in the beginning of the work week while everyone was off on their way to jobs, school, just the moment after the commute traffic had started to die down and lunch time trafgic had begun. There was a small shop and it was somewhat hard to get to — only in that you had to know what you were looking for or at least be observant enough to see a half hidden sign from the street — Hard to Find Records. Yeah, no kidding. The place itself was like an intellectual’s self-amused bad joke. Merely there to express that they knew what good music really was. Not you. And if you were intimidated by that, good. Fuck off, goodbye! And if you weren’t initially intimidated, be prepared to have a good reason to be there. Be prepared to show what you were made off. All this bravado gave the place a certain weight, but she didn’t care about any of it. The only reason she was there was to hunt. And discover. And happen upon emotional transcendence in the form of round black disks with grooves in them. The people who owned and frequented the space were collectors. But even the act of owning the records was less interesting to her than the collection of moods she sought. Go here at the right time and you wouldn’t have the inane conversations distracting you from the deep, yet low background music the store employees played. And from the space and ability to freely explore with whatever was in the store today. She got really good at flipping through stacks with ease until she found her holy grail of the day and to the listening station lets you enter another world. 

-the second place she knew she could count on to find more of this music was harder to enjoy. It was in a club – a space not exactly known for the lack of social interaction, but the opposite. However, down the hallway from walls vibrating thumping bass as you walked into pure blue light into semi darkness and magenta spinning little lights ob the walls and floor and ceiling of this cool back room. A dj in the back plays. There are loungey couches and a bar opposite the dj. Mostly that’s where the people gather – avoid that. Instead move closer to the dj or off to the sides. And if you could ignore the few other people in this room. Think of it as warm rather than stark. If you could ignore the couples making out or possibly having sex. And the randos on drugs or completely wasted. If you could find a spot and disappear, fade into the darkness, fade into the scenery so as not to be obstrusive. You would hear the gems that someone else found, mixed together and you could ne content to just listen as the fly on the wall. And allow yourself to melt into sound.

entwined

This is inspired by a play i started a while back. 
The two were dressed all in black. Skin tight. Shadows around their eyes and half their faces in the darkness of the warehouse. bright lights that changed colors, patterns. Flashes and spotlights.

The two, motionless like a tableau, like statues. Expressionless, stoic faces. Not emotionless if you can feel the temperature of the room. If you can feel the music and the lyrics and the beat and it stirs you.

Beautiful creatures, awh they look so sad. But why? Life too hard for you now? That it? Didn’t think it was going to be easy did you?

They call them kids cuz they seem to be so palpably affected, but they aren’t swinging on swings or climbing trees or jumping from great heights. 

No. Instead, they prefer to be perfectly still when motion happens around them as a big fuck you to whoever might hate.

They sit. Staring, not judging — though maybe it feels that way to you. Maybe it feels like they think you’re not good enough, but they are just listening.

Then, a flash of light, the intro to a familiar song and they don’t even need to look at wach other. They stand together, holding hands and move slowly to the dance floor and they dance.

Around them is craziness. You think maybe for lack of movement they would not be good. Be tentative. Be goofy. Oh, but your so wrong this time. 

When they dance something else is happening. Passions flying and you would only understand if you knew the origins of the word, “ecstasy”, from ekstasis, “to stand outside the self”. As if touched by a god and inhabited by a spirit thought of as separate from your own identity. 

The two are in a different world, different plane, different time. Motion becoming slow motion. Every move a picture, a tableau.

The music plays on. The beat keeps going and they keep going as they fall into the groove that could propel them all night, all morning, for a lifetime.

Flashes across their faces. Eyes lowered then suddenly visible. Maybe one looks at you in between movements. Then the other. Enticing… 

They keep moving. Connected. 

And the people all stare cuz they’ve never seen anything like it before.

when the lights go dark, i dance

This is June Bug. She puts on lipstick in the rear view window of her car as she sits outside a club with thumping bass. Dark red looks like velvet. Tastes like plastic wax. 

June Bug looks at groups of people frolic into the club. Stroll in seemingly casually. And she feels an affinity with them all — the excitement of a new place. The need to quell the nervous jitters. The darting eyes. The indecision. June Bug knows all this. She feels it all but she’s not a part of any group. 

She’s there alone. And it wouldn’t matter if her outfit attracted the most attention or the least. If she were done up or not. She is there alone. No group. No one she’s specifically meeting.

Unless you consider the music and maybe the closest thing to the music, The DJ. June Bug follows the music. Drifts her way through the crowd to the front of the stage so she can do what she was born to do.

Purple lights cross with lime green. Orange and blue sparkles collide spinning, surrounding her. Music knows how to move her body. She just lets go and follows through. It’s not hard. Just listen. It will tell you everything you want to know and make you the happiest you’be ever been.

The people begin to notice. June Bug keeps dancing. 

June Bug always dances.

To any and all. The unsung music of the heart.

June Bug always dances.