Sunday, June 17, 2012

ChinaCat Sunflower says...

'Hundreds of bodies swaying to the same beat. A giant orgy of sound, the drum dictates the speed of our movement. Everybody cheers when they should, and they pump their fists on time. Every wet mouth forms the same words as a chorus, chanting as a cult, worshiping the same manifesto. Every anthem is perfect, is righteous, is spot-on for this feeling. A hundred sweaty and grimy bodies against my arms, my back, my front. Accosted by the stench of every affordable brand of beer. Every unpleasant physical feeling balanced by the euphoria of song. Every tone drives the crowd forward, pushing to the flashing lights and pulsing vibrations of the stage. Every hand gropes toward an end, feet wrapped in stylish sneakers sneak inches toward their idols. And it never ends, not really. A wave crests over us, crashes around us, and this crescendo of sound rings around us long after we’ve each gone home. And it never ends, not really. Not with us each taking a new feeling home, a new taste in our mouths of saliva not our own, a drenched shirt one hadn’t come with, friends with mutual compatibilities, and this never ends, not with another track always waiting, patiently, never silently, to be played.'
- ChinaCat Sunflower ('Push',, 2012)

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