So what’s all this here? Eager as you wait for the tediousness of your weekdays to end?
The clock chimes over and over as you wade through heaps of pointless conversation. Life. Jobs. Careers. Family. A fucking big television. Low cholesterol. Fixed Mortgage payments. DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. You know, the rest of it. When did it all get so frightfully real?
But alas. Friday night arrives and it comes that time again. The children of the night come crawling once more. The tribe align with their shields and armor. Burberry clads and Calvins. Air maxes and Maccies jeans. Geezers on Es, Kids on wizz, darlings on Charlie. All come together for this party. Out from their hives and corners. All smiles and waves as you give hugs to part time strangers. That nighttime air has a funny way of reacquainting. They nest in their smoking areas. The doers. The talkers. The cowboys. The pirates. The rudeboys. Darkened faces with soft glimpses of neon. You know these people, don’t you?
Not to worry. The drinks have begun flowing and soon you’re a poet again who simply lost his touch.
And there might be a lady. There’s always a lady or two. And you’ll be polite and diplomatic as you wave your rollie around like a wand. You’ll adorn her with your cheesily rehashed rhetoric. The half- arsed Romeo. She might even smile for a while as you try your hand at the dancer. But of course, you’ll never quite say what’s on the tip of your tongue. Waiting for something great to happen knowing it’ll never come.
Back inside now and its rooms full of stories. Life beaming out at you from each turn and corner. Come have a dance now, see you later, pleased to meet you. Likewise, a pleasure. You feel light. So many happy faces. That weight of being has suddenly disappeared.
The loud shudder of basslines and the joyful throb of house imported from the continent. Your gaudy evocation can conjure the scene, and yet enduce a sense of calm. Its that feeling of motion. It gets you every time. The upward crescendo which keeps you there. Under those lights.
No harm befall these children. They will stay out late forever pumped on youth and ecstasy, on alloy bass and arrogance. The world turns but this party roars on. The best people I ever knew were dancers. From generation to generation.
The beautiful party people. All ages shapes and sizes. Their song will be sung for eons. Take my hand. Have a dance with us. You’ll soon start to feel again.
By Luke Neillis

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