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Monday, September 24, 2007

... and a time for dancing

There’s a time for mourning and a time for dancing

No one who watches really knows… it’s not something that can be seen; it is only something that works in the experience. It’s neither good nor bad, neither dark nor light, but the language spoken on the floor of the smoke filled jukes. A movement of the arm, a shift of the weight, a lead, a follow… these things someone may see but it is something beyond that no one can see… it is the connection, oh I am sure you think you see it, but you don’t. It’s not just the hands, the placement of the feet, and the flaws of the turn.

Part of it is the sweat; the fact vision is impaired because of the salt in the eyes from the brow. To feel her, pressed against… breast against… arms in contact… and the music it drives on… and on... and on…

Look, it’s not about sex, and it’s not “not” about sex. It’s not about love, and at the same time it is. Hell, it often isn’t even about “like”… regardless of the feeling. It’s when there’s nowhere to go, no place to be, when the words just aren’t enough to express thought. It isn’t about technique, or how well a turn is lead… it’s about the conversation that only a soul can hear, a conversation that only the soul can see.

The sweat intermingles, and increases. Hormones… Pheromones… Sometimes it seems like guitars never stop, sometimes is seems like they stop too soon, and haven’t driven hard enough. Then again, to close the eyes, to hold her tight, to be guided, not by my own intuition, or even decision. To be guided only by the song. It’s the way music feels, what two people have say at the same time. Sometimes it’s about agreeing, and sometimes it’s about conflict, and sometimes it is anger. Bodies pressing against one another while the music articulates a heartbeat that can only be understood on the floor. There is no apology for moving; there is no discussion of appropriateness because nothing’s appropriate. But it’s not sex, no matter what anyone tells you, what is it they say? “It’s the blues,” and it’s time for dancing.

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