Jul. 5th, 2004

raybear: (turntable)
I don't do well with july 4th. Last year I kidnapped thebrownhornet and sopherson we had a strange evening in the suburbs eating bakers square pie in a motel room while watching Project Greenlight on the free HBO channel. It sounds seedier and weirder than it was -- mostly just a temporary escape from life and the noise of fireworks.

Last night we sat on the roof of a tavern restaurant and the rooftops all around us sent off fireworks in a strange wordless competition that was still filled with more than enough noise than what I'm comfortable. Perhaps it was the jolts and bangs, my phobic and anxious response, that made my stomach so unsettled, and not the bbq beef brisket that I ordered (despite not being a 50 year old man). It was not a relaxing dinner for me but I wasn't unhappy. Just not relaxed. And not much talking because of the noise and lights in the air. Then we go to a club.

A new swanky club downtown for the super-hip queers that can't be bothered to slum in boys town and we were all on the guest list when means we got to sit on the red velvet couches for free and get unlimited water (if not booze) from our friend the bartender. I danced for the DJ, danced for myself, danced with others. The music was sometimes great, sometime okay, sometimes bad. There were multiple floors and going back and forth between styles made it better because if it wasn't good, at least it was new.

I don't really like clubs (even though I go and won't really stop going). For the most part, I'm happier to be in the DJ booth when I'm at one. I'm too susceptible to others vibes, an emotional junkie, and clubs are filled with so many not-positive ones. The air filled with smoke and desperation and fear and unrequited lust and attempts to be cool and gazes, so many gazes, of sizing others up and constantly comparing, and I can't really be bothered by such things and I will usually look without worry about being looked at, but after being immersed in these rooms of pounding music filled with longing people, over half of which are drunk or high or both, and desperately unhappy on top of it, I can't help but let some of it seep into my pores.

So I distract myself with dance. Luckily I have people around me to dance with -- when I first went to clubs, most people I knew never danced, or only when drunk. Now not only do I have the confidence to dance alone, but I often have friends who are out on the floor as well. Sometimes I will find one or two strangers to connect with as well. Early in the evening, on the house floor, one guy came up to my side of the floor that was mostly empty (I wanted to dance alone, away from the stares and preening of the gay boys) and he was shirtless and he pulled out the flags and started dancing twirling them around. And I started watching and before I could roll my eyes, I was enjoying myself, enjoying being mesmerized by the fabric swirling, enjoying his energy with which he committed to the music. Then I saw the flags were American flags and I walked away to the bathroom.

The moment of dancing that summed it all up was the super over-housey remix of Everything But the Girl's Temperamental which I shared with DYA and Louche, but also another stranger in a dark polo who danced with such fervor I watched the sweat drip down his nose and I wanted his intensity and I took it and even though I knew every word to the song and mouthed along, it was like hearing it for the first time. That was pretty much the climax of my dancing for the evening, even though I kept going downstairs to a few more good songs.

I'm sure I would have found a second wind of dancing, but DYA's ankle was swelling up and the people we came with who left early unexpectedly left their keys in the car, so we left. Stepping outside and then riding in the car with the windows down still couldn't wash it all off of me. Now it's in the sheets and maybe that's why I slept poorly and restlessly. Or maybe that was just fireworks going off outside our window until after 2 am. More loud noises to trigger my brain and the limbic response of flight and fear and distress.

May 2010

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