So, last night, my friend, Sarah, my brother, and I went to The Castle for a little goth dancing and such. My brother’s totally not a “Castle person,” but he was down for giving us a ride and hanging out. He definitely didn’t don any eye-liner.
I’m a little in love with The Castle, it’s absolutely never boring. I love the loud techno music, music so loud you can feel it. I love everybody’s Subbacultcha garb. I was all dressed in black, Sarah was all dressed up in black. I love everyone dancing, silhouetted in strobe lighting. I actually do dance, but it’s subtle. My muscles don’t move in any meaningful, or particularly visible way, but they’re there and they do move. So, I dance, I move to the music, all secret-like. I have a little image in my head of how I’d dance, all flowy and stylish. People don’t dance at me, they dance with me, they just don’t usually know it.
It’s always interesting how at least one or two people always react to me. A really drunk fellow poked me in the face and said, “what the fuck is that?” I hear that one a lot, I look fake to really drunk people. However, I also heard something totally new, and spectacular. This woman, who was clearly high on something, probably a lot of something, came up and took my hand. She leaned in close and said, “you’re a goddess.” She said, “you transcend everything.” She said, “you’re beautiful.” So, apparently, to the astonishingly high, I’m a gorgeous woman. The word, “goddess,” is kind of amusing because most of my online profiles note that “at night, I’m a disco goddess,” alluding to Nirvana’s Hairspray Queen.
Still, most people aren’t ridiculously stupid. I’m kind of a regular at various clubs, bars and restaurants, so plenty of people know me around. Lately, I’m trying be more outgoing, introducing myself to intriguing strangers and what-not. To that end, I alphabetted to my brother to tell one of the gothy platform-dancers that I thought she was hot. He, however, totally wussed out on my outlandish social gesture. Fortunately, Sarah was completely hardcore enough to do something so bizarre. The dancer ended up remembering me from New Year’s Eve and was happy for the “hello there, you’re hot!” I mean, in my head I’m a fellow who can go anywhere and talk to anyone, but the physical act of doing so has fucked me up for a long time. Before the trache, I couldn’t breathe or speak particularly well. With the trache, I breathe really well, but I can’t speak at all. I’m trying to ignore the bizarre logistics of how I have to communicate. I’m sick of wanting to talk to people, and not actually doing it. So, I alphabet to strangers, give them my card.
That picture probably says everything about what I love in life.5 comments
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