![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ultra Deep Field
Feb. 14th, 2013 06:14 pmI'm not getting naked at work today.
It's like that thought, that decision on my part makes me twice as desirable. If I walk in the door open minded, with the plan to get drunk and naked I'll probably end up with a slight buzz and a hand full of five dollar bills, but the minute I decide I'm not dancing, and I'm not drinking whether or not I say anything to anyone, it's as if some prankster force takes over turning the fives into twenties and the all the water in the bar turns to vodka.
It was on one of those days that I found myself sitting watching the sunset on the patio with a 4 tequila buzz eyes rolling back into my skull. The DJ came out "Ani can you do another show, the 9 o'clock girl's a no-show."
There was a point I think I could have danced in 8inch heals in my sleep. It was like every muscle knew exactly where and when it was needed, strut down the stairs, and walk past the first pole hear the tune of the music, and as she sings "the worlds a better place when it's upside down" grab lift pull one fluid movement the boots leave the floor the back of the right leg just under the knee but above the cut of the boots grabs and hang and spin, effortless. Bring the left leg around, arms extended off the pole now and switch the grip to the left leg, hang there extending the other leg out, back down. They have names for these moves, though in that moment I'm blanking on them, I think that one is called Scorpio to Gemini. Gripping the pole with both legs again sit up, grab the pole with your arms and climb, higher until I'm hitting the rafters, the stage lights burning my knuckles, hang there a minute, just by the finger tips, the heat, the dizziness from the booze and the lights washing over every inch, there might be a crowd and they might be applauding, or they might be cat calling but it's just another noise, another moment in a series of moments that repeats near daily. Grab the pole again, behind the knee again, the skin is worn and calloused there, bruised from my five day a week routine. I could have done it in my sleep, and there were days I did these tricks so drunk I don’t remember having been there at all. That swilling headspin sober or not of that first grab on the cold chrome that first hoist of feet above head, the rhythmic pulse of the bass through the speakers, is invigorating and addictive like little else I’ve found.
That night I made good money and it was still early. I went back out to the patio, sipped a vodka drink and watched the lightening, texting with a friend. It wasn't storming, it was that strange lightening we get on the prairies, where the sky glitters like someones sequined dress in candle light, it's that noncommittal flicker that makes you wonder if it isn't all just in your head. That summer lasted forever and nothing fully seemed real, between the booze and the money and tiny little fan club I was developing everything had a hint of the unbelievable to it, and the lightning that night was no exception, "why don't we take a drive and look at it out of town?" he wrote back, and twenty minutes later we were 5 miles out of town, the sun had set but the air still dripped with that pre-storm splendor, a thick aching sweat of the last drops of summer.
We sat in his beat up old Pontiac listening to Massive Attack, pulsing along with each ark through the sky, we knew the rain was coming, taunting us with its unresolved tensions, our hands not touching, that moment seemed to expand and contract for hours, but it couldn‘t have been more than minutes before the fork lightening shattered the sky and the rain came down in sheets blanketing the wheat fields that make up the Manitoba prairie.
These moments, these instances that seem to last for hours, for days, like the first time looking into a lovers eyes, the moment of orgasm that’s all at once eternal and lost, these feelings of wonder and bliss are what keep me coming back. They’re what drags me back into the bar, they’re why I haven’t left the prairies, they’re what draws me to the river hearing it crack in the spring. The timeless, endless instances of looking up at Orion in the south west sky every year from January to March, when the light from those stars seems to shine for me. These are my grounding forces, my bliss, these are the moments that hold me, that lift me up from every stumble, every crash and burn. I keep the faith, through those moments of depth that bring me higher than any drug I’ve found coursing through my brain like that adrenalin rush of a crown cheering as I hang by my ankles from the rafters, that moment when the lightning breaks the sky. Every moment of passion that courses through tired limbs and aching bones, these are the moments that stay.
This is my entry for week 4 LJ Idol Exhibit A; Ultra Deep Field
It's like that thought, that decision on my part makes me twice as desirable. If I walk in the door open minded, with the plan to get drunk and naked I'll probably end up with a slight buzz and a hand full of five dollar bills, but the minute I decide I'm not dancing, and I'm not drinking whether or not I say anything to anyone, it's as if some prankster force takes over turning the fives into twenties and the all the water in the bar turns to vodka.
It was on one of those days that I found myself sitting watching the sunset on the patio with a 4 tequila buzz eyes rolling back into my skull. The DJ came out "Ani can you do another show, the 9 o'clock girl's a no-show."
There was a point I think I could have danced in 8inch heals in my sleep. It was like every muscle knew exactly where and when it was needed, strut down the stairs, and walk past the first pole hear the tune of the music, and as she sings "the worlds a better place when it's upside down" grab lift pull one fluid movement the boots leave the floor the back of the right leg just under the knee but above the cut of the boots grabs and hang and spin, effortless. Bring the left leg around, arms extended off the pole now and switch the grip to the left leg, hang there extending the other leg out, back down. They have names for these moves, though in that moment I'm blanking on them, I think that one is called Scorpio to Gemini. Gripping the pole with both legs again sit up, grab the pole with your arms and climb, higher until I'm hitting the rafters, the stage lights burning my knuckles, hang there a minute, just by the finger tips, the heat, the dizziness from the booze and the lights washing over every inch, there might be a crowd and they might be applauding, or they might be cat calling but it's just another noise, another moment in a series of moments that repeats near daily. Grab the pole again, behind the knee again, the skin is worn and calloused there, bruised from my five day a week routine. I could have done it in my sleep, and there were days I did these tricks so drunk I don’t remember having been there at all. That swilling headspin sober or not of that first grab on the cold chrome that first hoist of feet above head, the rhythmic pulse of the bass through the speakers, is invigorating and addictive like little else I’ve found.
That night I made good money and it was still early. I went back out to the patio, sipped a vodka drink and watched the lightening, texting with a friend. It wasn't storming, it was that strange lightening we get on the prairies, where the sky glitters like someones sequined dress in candle light, it's that noncommittal flicker that makes you wonder if it isn't all just in your head. That summer lasted forever and nothing fully seemed real, between the booze and the money and tiny little fan club I was developing everything had a hint of the unbelievable to it, and the lightning that night was no exception, "why don't we take a drive and look at it out of town?" he wrote back, and twenty minutes later we were 5 miles out of town, the sun had set but the air still dripped with that pre-storm splendor, a thick aching sweat of the last drops of summer.
We sat in his beat up old Pontiac listening to Massive Attack, pulsing along with each ark through the sky, we knew the rain was coming, taunting us with its unresolved tensions, our hands not touching, that moment seemed to expand and contract for hours, but it couldn‘t have been more than minutes before the fork lightening shattered the sky and the rain came down in sheets blanketing the wheat fields that make up the Manitoba prairie.
These moments, these instances that seem to last for hours, for days, like the first time looking into a lovers eyes, the moment of orgasm that’s all at once eternal and lost, these feelings of wonder and bliss are what keep me coming back. They’re what drags me back into the bar, they’re why I haven’t left the prairies, they’re what draws me to the river hearing it crack in the spring. The timeless, endless instances of looking up at Orion in the south west sky every year from January to March, when the light from those stars seems to shine for me. These are my grounding forces, my bliss, these are the moments that hold me, that lift me up from every stumble, every crash and burn. I keep the faith, through those moments of depth that bring me higher than any drug I’ve found coursing through my brain like that adrenalin rush of a crown cheering as I hang by my ankles from the rafters, that moment when the lightning breaks the sky. Every moment of passion that courses through tired limbs and aching bones, these are the moments that stay.
This is my entry for week 4 LJ Idol Exhibit A; Ultra Deep Field
