Writing by Sarah Rowe // photograph by Liana Frappa
Writing by Sarah Rowe // photograph by Liana Frappa
I loved the way they danced
They were free, uninhibited
There was no refinement, not even the slightest
No whisper of rehearsal or preconception
It was animalistic, something wild, untamed instinct
You could see the music crawling under his skin like bugs
Streaming through his blood, igniting his bones. His body writhed, shook and pulsed
I wanted to feel it too
I wanted to bottle up the sound, with the thumping bass and screaming guitar and the searing voice; their voice
I wanted to grab it, boil it, reduce it to liquid
I would drink it
It would make me feel alive
and help me escape the other noise
The one in my head that I can’t escape, not without the aid of numbing agent
A cigarette, a vodka soda (or 5), a cheerful but banal movie I’d seen before
They made the voices fuzzy
But I didn’t want fuzz, or static, or crackling
I craved sharpness, clarity, life
And I’d found it
On an otherwise unexceptional Thursday night
In a crowded room
Surrounded by sweaty strangers, all worshipping the same God, even if just for the night
The darkness cut with beaming laser lights
