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By Joshua Arnold You know, a lot like the tense electricity in the air right before a thunderstorm. Little puffs of wind blowing all around me. A thick, damp sweet smell in the air. The music rises like that, builds like that, into a giant orgasm of drum riffs and synthetic notes. If I close my eyes I can see the music, feel the music dancing inside my head. A castle in the middle of the desert, surrounded by giant dunes of yellow sand. An orange sun chasing after a beautiful sunset, painted with strokes of violet, burgundy and sapphire. My consciousness is spread out around me, smooth as silk. I am no longer a captive of my skull; I have slid out, dripped to the ground. Ripples in the air, and I see you from thousands of miles away. You are sleeping, and the air conditioner is humming, and I see your dreams through a curved glass balloon hovering just over your head. I pop the balloon. Back to the dance floor, back to Ibiza. She leans over and starts to massage my back. She smiles at me through the space that separates us and I feel my hands tingle. I don't particularly feel anything else, and she is wearing sunglasses so I can't see her. I start to dance, and the music carries me along almost too easily. A spiral helix and I climb it, but it leads to nothing. A sea of nothing, and I hear the silence, a shrill buzzing in my ears. It never leads to anything. But it does lead to beauty, marked by the absence of everything fake. I cut right through this place, and everyone here is naked. There is no sex, just the music. Just me spread out, a puddle in the shadows on the floor, and it is absolutely gorgeous. |
