“Perhaps you had better start from the beginning.”
-Electric Head, Pt. 1 (The Agony), Astro-Creep 2000 White Zombie
I like to have music on when I write. The music sets the tone, the pace, and sets the words a moving above my head for me to pull down onto paper or the screen. On occasion, scratch that. Often I get into the music I am listening. I will dance while typing or writing. Yes, you can dance in a seated position and if your friends don’t dance their no…sorry wrong lyrics.
Long before we moved to Big Rapids where there are no dance clubs. I have been told that there is one, but honestly my skin crawls walking past the place when it is closed and I worry, seriously, worry about catching an STD from one of the chairs or bar stools and if I am being really honest and when am I not doing that, the dance floor looks just about big enough for me to accidentally kill ten people while slam dancing.
What? You don’t slam dance? I’m not sure we can be friends. Fine. I will make an exception this one time. Staid, slow dancing, line dancing, these things are not for me. Violence or the potential for violence as expressed to music, that is my kind of dancing. The pure physical explosion that last for song after song until I am drenched in sweat and the dance floor has been cleared around me as I exert my dominance over the normals around me is the dancing I used to do and I crave…from a seated position. Try to imagine…
Well let me tell you about some of my dancing past…step into the way back machine if you will. The club is pitch black other than a few strings of out of date Christmas lights and black lights turning anything white luminescent and making some wall art glow. The dance floor, which is also the social gathering point when the seats along the wall are filled and the tables on the elevated platform have been occupied by those looking to get drunk, laid, or too afraid to dance, is packed. Standing there with a beer or pitcher of beer is myself dressed in my “going out clothes,” which look like my every day wear, just an extra chain here or there. Nearby are two or three other like minded individuals waiting for their set. Their wave. Their chance to move out onto the dance floor and quite literally punish the glow-stick waving ravers who happened to stumble into the wrong club.
Most everyone is dancing to some unknown tune when the opening riff to some Skinny Puppy song blends in and we move out onto the dance floor staking the place we will call our own by simply standing there and if that means standing there between two people so be it. Simple movements start the ball rolling; a hand tapping a beat, a foot bouncing with energy, the head bob, and by the time the song is in full swing we are blurs of kinetic energy totally bent of expending our energy in beat with the music and low should you cross into our stomping grounds. Drinks being blasted out of hands was a calm night.
And that is how I injured my shoulder slam-typing to White Zombie.