AXIS

Hour 1

There is a point when the lights are low, Blue and red dance across the room, and no one can be seen without concentrating. The body hair of Sam brushes your arm, and the taste of your last drink feels heavy on your tongue. At this point, you can feel every droplet of sweat. trailing down your body, sticking to your shirt, dress or whatever miscellaneous item you put on from your wardrobe. Perspiration increases; you have no control over it. Instead of being repulsed by it and having this overwhelming need to expel the sandwich you had earlier to correctly line your stomach. You move with the sweat and saltiness of the air. each beat you tap with your hips, as if you are in this intense rally and the opponent is the rhythm of whatever tune that has cased the joint.

heart beating at a rate in which only the dirty club in the alleys of London can capture your hair sticky because you don’t know what drink was unfortunately spilt in it earlier that night.

The music begins to become shallow and now retreats. Your breath is now what you can only hear. In and out, each one could be your last, so you exhale and inhale with care, but simultaneously, you do it to the fullest. There is no one here in this moment.

Hour 2

The floor has no master, but with each stomp and clack of your red wine heels, you begin to tame the beast. He has no judge; however, you make it known that you are law and order, and he must follow. To enforce the law, your hands raise in the air, trying to see if you can touch the ceiling, fingertips caressing each arm, your goosebumps rub against your nails, exhilarated by this touch that is laced with alcohol.

slowly you move them down and you have become unbearably aware of your body. Your hands move around you, you don’t have any control, you let them go loose and see where the rhythm takes you. your waist, belly, breast, the beat is within you, and your hands are trying to find it. The body becomes this vessel of eroticism, the rhythm is changing you, you’re in this stage of metamorphosis, but you don’t know what being you will turn into.

Hour 3

Your thighs rub together, and there is this odd burning as you were not graced with the thigh gap of long-legged Cierra, who dances in the corner to your right without any baby powder. However, you don’t let this ruin this evening of blue and red.

you push through the pain of your big toe being squished in the shoes that are two small and the the thong that should have been thrown away last week but you cannot seem to let it go as it makes your ass look good in your short skirt that has sequins dangling from the hem so when the light hits you as if you were chasing it, the moth that you are. You become this beam of light, as if you are the only source of the earth’s light and life.

Aphex Twin starts to play, and your body is in an all-time frenzy. there is nothing more to do but to release this energy that has been trapped all week. The energy of paying bills that will take all your ‘livable income’, a father who cannot seem to listen to you when you catch him in his lies. A house that you are trying to find, but your livable income doesn’t allow you to. a job that doesn’t pay you what you think you deserve. No, scratch that you truly mean a job you are out of from last week.

So you dance to the insanity of the beat that is 180db_ [130], you roll your hips, and your midriff peaks through your thin shirt. The sweat that you are unaware of is now dancing around your belly button. Your hands are grabbing your hair as if it has not felt that sensation.

Hour 4

There is this odd feeling as if the music is this entity and you are its lover, you move together, they touch you, and you touch them. You stick out your tongue and wonder what they will do, will they let the rhythm graze your tongue or allow you to swallow it whole? There is no care for what they will do because you were theirs the moment you entered the club. You twist your legs around and lower your body to the floor. You are becoming one with the rhythm. Your body is changing, as if you are gaining new bones, new skin.

body is hot, it’s wet, it’s sticky, no one has made your body react in such a way, your body is speaking to rhythm, you have this undeveloped language that is raw and rich. You cannot find this in a coffee shop down near Shoreditch, you cannot find this in a bar that Jim offered and whispers something scandalous in your ear. It isn’t possible because the rhythm has taken you hostage, and you will be in their grasp for the next several hours.

Your top has a mind of its own and slips and slides as if the hands of the rhythm are fondling, stroking, teasing you. You let it, and they turn you around. Your skirt is in the way, but you let your imagination do the rest. You feel this sickly feeling of freedom as the base bangs on your eardrum. this intense desire to be pleasured by the rhythm. This is a momentary hold, but you will not dwell on the aftercare.

Hour 5

With that last deadly thought, the song ends and the blue and red go. The lights are on, and you are breathing heavily; your chest feels as if it may concave. You look around to see if this intense desire and sexual gratification were just from a carrier of testosterone. However, you don’t see anyone cased in sweat and exhaling and inhaling as if they have just been pulled out of the ocean.

You grab your bag and move to the door. You are soaked, and your breasts kiss the shirt with this desperate need to be touched. However, you step out in the cold, dusky air of London, order a taxi and try to recount what the last hour was, and will you feel it again. You hope you do, you want it to.

your phone immediately pings interrupting your thoughts of nostalgia and its your father. Reality hits, and you no longer know how the rhythm traced your body. You are now again the Rat you were 5 hours ago.