When the light goes out,
dancing in dark rooms,
under strobe lights, we come alive.
From the first pounding beats — we generate heat.
Our sexuality exposed and released…
The pheromones, the scent of cigarettes and alcohol-drenched urine…
generates fervour as intense as a thousand suns burning.
We let loose our yearnings, stretch our loins.
The humidity drips from the walls,
bodies sway in dimly lit rooms
…we move in sync with the sound.
The pulsating beats pound our head, hearts’ beat in unison until we reach equilibrium, and our bodies fuse into one organic whole.
We shout bodies gyrate,
the bass pulverises, and
primitive desires ignite.
We live, breathe fire.
The raw emotions cuts and we shed our skins.
We have attained salvation in the sound.
brother to brother,
We uncoil and recoil off the reverbs.
Miss Lynne voice takes us to a divine heaven:
‘it’s got too real’.
Our brains swell,
Our hearts’ emboldened.
We soar to the crescendos…never to come down.
We drift to the next track, they merge into one harmonious whole:
Saturday night at Substation South.
The morning rudely awaken us from our trance, the sound stops
We stumble into the light-shielding our eyes.
Dazed, basking in the afterglow, steam evaporates from our bodies.
Taking the first tentative steps, we emerge from another night of release: soul sublimated from the body.
We have lived, we have ascended and gone beyond ourselves.
We the children of the night, shining bright in the dark….we of intense desires and longings.