I Prefer Slut Red, But In A Pinch, Hot Pink Will Do Just Fine Thank You
I spent part of this weekend in the embrace of a stranger while my good friend over indulgence rode shotgun. The debauchery this place inspires is truly and unequivocally unique amongst the rabble rousing populace that calls this desert town home. A year of existence slipped past me with nary a whispered breath of welcome filtering back to my ears.
Yet here stands this icon (and I in it) to anti-morality, anti-society and pure unadulterated sensory overload and I for one am smitten. I�m in love with the idea, the solace and simple sins of the flesh dancing at my fingertips. I slide between every orientation known to mankind as their morale standings disintegrate under the assault of strong (and cheaply priced) libations. Girls who love boys and boys that love�well�boys and every manner in between gyrate together on the dance floor and I am betting most of them wouldn�t even notice what song was actually playing unless the music simply stopped playing at all.
I allow myself to be swept along, in the company of others or on my own, it matters not. Before me are faces I wish to know and in the appropriately nicknamed VIP corner lounge, I mentally calculate what a gorgeous vixen like her does on Sunday afternoon or what sort of company a pretty boy like him keeps come Mondays dawn. Even for a social introvert like me, it is impossible not to interact with complete strangers or faces that look all too familiar. My steps are always hesitant, unsure when it comes to such things. But here it is an even split a 50/50 shot of hit or miss. Sometimes I inadvertently shock or offend, while other times I offer a witty retort and ooze enough charm to make a lasting impression. And all the while, the smoke swirls, the lights stay dark and I think that if Through the Looking Glass would or could ever take on a modern manifestation, then this would surely be the place. The familiar forms of people I think I know from the �real� world stand shoulder to shoulder with me, giggle and laugh around me and gazes of recognition are shared before we disappear into the shadows of a human forest. Was that the cute poet with the Jesus poem that just ponied up to the bar on my right? Is that my friend�s younger sister dancing in the darkness? My god, is that the guy from another drinking den pressing lips in a dark corner?
There is one thing of this place that I recognize well. Mixed amongst sweat and the alcohol, the conversations and the mad dancing, if you stay long enough it wells up and overwhelms the entire place like a tsunami; lustful intentions are amongst us. I have been told time and again that besides the drunken dancing and �being scene�, that finding a random soul to press lips and grind flesh with is a common theme. Even with the dark recesses, hidden alcoves and masses on the dance floor, such things manifest before my eyes. Friends and strangers alike fall prey to primordial urges and even someone like me that is more of a watcher than a doer will sometimes fall victim to beast within and answer the call out of instinct, pure and simple.
People ebb and flow around me and I want to twirl around like a ballerina between them all spinning and laugh hysterically until someone screams, �Ashes to ashes� and we all fall down. So here I dance and here I drink and here I give in, let go and the night takes me; all the while Robert Smith croons in my ear that it�s �Friday� and yes, �I�m in love.�
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