Monday, April 25, 2005


There's a dressup party on an underground platform. Everybody dressed and made up and it's crazy. He's tired, worn out, his face bruised and bleeding. He's following someone through the partying crowd. At the end of the platform, a room is concealed behind a door and a warning sign. He turns left and goes inside. The music does not fade out: it's getting sronger.
This moment, the colours, the make up: the dark room. When his eyes get used to the dim light, he notices two people fucking. He tells them to get out: they leave. it's time to face the deamons. It's time to fight the monster. The beat is keeping steady, getting stronger.

I can feel my heart beating. I've felt it before, that overwhelming deadly mixture of fear and excitement, bubbling through me. London gave me these moments. When I had a chance, I always walked into that dark room behind the corner. I ask myself: would I still do? I know the bliss which takes you when you walk into the room, but I'm afraid that one day I might go in and never leave.


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