No one is coming, not even from the shadows; bed bug hiding places of which the day knows nothing. Dancing in all-black in a parking lot allows us to cope with the alienation of big-city living. That and creating violent music, that hits back, metaphysically, to the oppressors one deals with, daily.
Out comes the fire extinguisher: a real one, but also a metaphor, too. Then comes the blasts, the whiteness almost going everywhere, but not quite. Systems fade. The dancing stops. Sadness becomes happiness. Emotions peter out. The hunger for change remains, but the methods don’t.
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