phase 5

it is dark in the arena, save for the pulsing, grasping, jumping, swaying silhouttes of the figures pressed together on the floor. the walls rear up, shivering and shadowy with the blurred forms of the seated crowd. but we are the thunder shakers. we touch the lightening. we feel the throb through the floor. we move as a mass of bodies, writhing to the music, exhilarated. we ARE the music.

lights blare and fade and stream and rake. lasers scan the faces and send pulses into the shadowy abyss of the high, fathomless domed roof. the music is soaring. we are every note and every key. our hearts beat with the rhythm of the drums. our blood pumps with the guitar. our skin prickles with the piano. our spirit soars with their keening. our voices become the hum, the depths, the crescendo. we are one.

i hug ess. i clutch her. i grin and squeal and scream and cry. i hide my face for a second in my hands, disbelieving in the energy and possibility, and then tear those tingling fingers away lest i miss anything.

for a moment, these men are our gods.

a whirling cascade of tiny coloured fragments stream down from the darkness of the ceiling. we are dancing in a wind of butterflies. lights catch on flouro wings. hands stretch up, grasping, from us, the mass, like hairs bristling on a giant, trembling creature.

just a touch... just a brush...we are almost falling with the butterflies.