A dark, impenetrable room appears. Bodies brush past as if in slow motion. The atmosphere is impossible to describe. Perceptions of what is real clash again and again with the reality of this otherness, this totality that somehow lingers, and with the reality that exists in the dark corners, lit up only from time to time by the rotating lights.
It seemed as if everybody knew everybody else. The service at the bar was brusque, mostly attributable to the indifference of the bartenders. After a certain amount of time had passed, I began to relax when I realized that everyone had this cool, noncommittal attitude. In spite of an overwhelming sense of shyness, I headed to the dance floor.
We dance, we dance, we lose control...
But it wasn't just the rhythm. The power of the rhythm unfolded through the visual moments that accompanied it. Even as I danced with my eyes closed, I could feel the comfortable ambience surrounding me. Worlds appeared to the inner eye and faded away again. How did Yves Saint Laurent put it as he prepared to step down from the runway for the last time? "I have always put myself at women's disposal. That is to say, to serve them, to serve their bodies, their gestures, their attitudes, their lives." Haven't dance clubs served dancers the same way?
And then, all of a sudden, in an instant, a soothing equilibrium descends. If everything is in balance within this enclosed space, it passes you by in the darkest of night just as in one of those true to life dreams. As if you had created the whole thing yourself. Making you feel good.
The Bakerman
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