Dance us to the edge of love.

It is of course possible to dance a prayer. ~Glade Byron Addams

The desire for love, and to be loved - no idol more hollow - McGuire.

The Bounce man! ...canny beat the Arches ona Friday. Few joints. Coupla sweggers. Botill o voddy before yee go in = holy trinity. Fires yee up fir the dansin. Wee nervous inferno in yir stomach. Heart attack excitement. Love it man, buzzin, everyone buzzin thegither. sub woofer vibrating through thu wallz. Music solidifying the sense of the orgy. Everyone comin the tigether, no fir work or confessin, but fir movement in the primal church. Floor tae yir self, floor fir the crowd, brainwashed by techno. the body wan muscle riding the surf. Endorphin spumes rushin up the spinal like a burst of sherbert powder. Body tingling, like a set o Christmas lights. The bass thudding, four heart valves, pulsin through the marathon. A sea of white noise covering the air like a sheet o metal. Intuitive endolphins swimming the blood stream. All of us - a stampede - all feeling the false love for ten hours - 5 here, 5 elsewhere. Dancin agents wae ir own secret love agenda. Gandhi style. Lie doon or danc the foolhard happy marathon; a joy to be walked over or ran over by anyone good soul. This shit could kill armies man, kill them in oceans of serotonin, melt thum tae a smile, melt the bullets tae tiny tablets, make a good joke o manufacturers o conflict. Caught in spontaneous earth - nay danger o war here - every one puts down their defences and lifts up their arms..

3000 souls under one roof. Electric orchestra of lazers. Hours of chemical dancin' under the false flag of love, but a sense of the love of what could be, if we pulled apart the curtains o our thoughts, brought aw private trouble intae open. Could stop wars a bet. Wars man. Pull down the secret wars. Deframgment yir mind, so comes the empathy, that comes way honesty. A chemical neutrality. A false neutrality, but it lends sense, to the sense, of what could be, if it wiz all aboot pulling secrets through the holes in the wallz, then pulling down the walls themselves. Approach calmly – all of us - dancing our prayers. Hypnosis o the crowd, aw stunned by each uther; hugging stranger prayers. Aw lost tae each other but, really. Selfless then selfish again in that order. Agony aunts and uncles, momentary brothers and minute sisters, spontaneous families, extended, but a false extended family, yet a sense o the family that could be, if all our secrets had been outed and dressed and calmly approached.

Tell yir joy. Tend to yir woe. The syncopated heart beat unifies us aw - artificial sweetener. We are experimenters, an unsound experiment, to get a sense of what it might be like, if we pulled down the walls, the cells, all the strangers, all the unutterables. It's all about how you react to the experience put before you. It's aw about what it could be like if we were all strong enough to handle our shadow alone in the dark. Bouncin man, bouncin, I'm naw going tay sleep, I'm up all weekend, I' m here tay butter up love and touch the telekinetic delusion of our all love together in the orgy of our excess. knock back shadows and sing through the hardcore of the mountains o trauma. Brilliant man everycunt smiling through the seritonin, happy happy, breaking doon aw the fuck barriers, burstin through all the lies o the past, the formalities of the present, and the terror o the future. Music will solve aw the problems o the world yet. With only two arms we canny solve much, save affection, maybe. But this is it, rioting into the night, through the mornin, past rants of seritonin, putting the world to loving right - waiting for the sunrise to shine on our false junk utopia. Wish I didnay have tae always be here on ma own but.

(Work to be done. It's riddled with mess, but I'm mopping it up as I go.)