boobs on the dancefloor. I sit motionless through the trombes of sweat
engines, if my heart were to stop right this moment, it would be
brought back to life by the vibrations of the bass against my chest. A
woman stops to dance in front of me, but I'm too numb to care, an orgy
of pheromones dance within the room and nobody seems to care.
Everybody's too in the moment to notice the raging storm outside. Only
the occasional cold brush against someone who just came from a
cigarette remind you that not everybodys stuck to the beat. Not
everybody can lose themselves to the music, sometimes you can't lose
yourself. Because you don't even know that you have something to lose.
It occurs to me from time to time that I might spend my time to better
use, that I could do something of myself. What does that even mean?
The thought passed quickly and I find myself attracted to the beat
once more. Attracted to this flow of people who all seem to have read
this social contract, I search in vain for a copy but fall short of
finding that connection. I find myself swimming in a sea of people,
drowning in the interactions of beautiful men and women who either
know something I don't or are simply joined in by this lack of
knowledge. Maybe I want to be like them, maybe I just want them to be
like me. Can talk the talk, but can't walk the walk in the realm of
noise. My brain feels tight, I try to smile but all that comes out is
a faint outline of a grin. Comedy through exageration, shields other
from my true emotions, can't tell them what I know, can't break their
fun.
Sent from my iPhone
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