BY DIAMOND KEENER
You are here, no choice. Introduced to this room that is dark, crowded and pulsing and sweating even before there is any sound. And something will happen soon enough but for now you are sweating and waiting, anticipating and waiting and anticipating. Your feet hurt. Your head is aching. You are carrying things, you don’t know why. There is weight on your back, you don’t know why. You move in micro-progressions around the room. A shoulder, an arm, the backside, the frontside the ear of someone sweats against you.
You want to get away. The air is thickened. You are trying to breathe. You move in micro-progressions around the room. The bodies are closing in, bodies, pressing you, choking the air, moving against you. One utters something, you cannot hear them. You are not going to answer them, you are choking on your sweat. There are no clocks, you can only guess. What time the show will begin, the music play, you do not know, there are no clocks and the bodies speak nonsense. They all speak different times and different tongues and you are frustrated. Your head hurts. You move in micro-progressions around the room. The show will start, it will begin soon. But it is not beginning, it dawns, no one is coming, nothing will change.
There is nothing on the clock, nothing on the schedule, nothing to be lit, nothing is happening. Complacency in the sweat. Pauses followed by pauses. An elbow bumps into your side.
It is a sharp pain in your side that will not stop. You are more than uncomfortable. You are in pain. It is claustrophobic. And you feel foreign. The bodies are moving slowly. They rub against you, they are against you. You move in micro-progressions around the room. The sweat is falling in your eyes, the bodies are bumping into you, your breath is slow, there is nothing happening.
Respond to pain, respond to silence, respond to robotics, respond to your antithesis, respond to the calling, respond to our antithesis; radicalize. Sparks flying individually hoping to catch one another, catch fire. The sweat is pouring, and you open your mouth and your arms. You are yelling, you are screaming, you are converging the bodies. You are screaming, knowing full well that those around you are mostly deaf. Running into brick walls wildly in anticipation of them cracking with your weight. You weigh one hundred and twenty pounds. You know it can’t happen. It won’t happen. You believe it will happen. It has happened before. There is not a path that you can see. There is the music. There are echoes you can make out. Shadow puppets you can form with your hands to match the examples previous to your time. Watch your muscles shift beneath you. It is a gun, it is teeth, it is a mountain, it is the female form. It is now you, it could be them, it could be together. Knowing full well it will fail. You move with purpose across the room. Your body is deliberate. It is shaking, flowing, hailing something. Not a god, no. Power. Sparks flying individually hoping to catch one another, catch fire. Catching Power. Doomed Power. You are in the room. You know there is no way out, you believe there is a way out. Power together. Defy, deface, defile, move, scream and spit uneducated. Tear the sweat from yourself to hail the new. Power. And let it be Power that you know you aren’t supposed to have. Power. Power. Power. Take it anyway.