The musical choice of the evening was Hip Hop

As many times as the days pass is how many times have I wanted to write…

Gastown Graffiti in 2003 - photo credit - EastVanEsica

…last Friday evening I went dancing at a club in Gastown, Vancouver. A few things struck me about how this particular club operated. The Bouncer/Doorman, was accepting bribes to get in the door. We all payed him some money to get in the door. We all had thought this was our cover. This was not the case. The woman under the stairs asked us for the cover money. We refused. We turned walking upstairs proceeding to speak to the doorman who originally took our money.

He gave some of us our money back and we took our place standing in line waiting again. During the half hour wait I witnessed more money handed to that Doorman and drugs exchanged with him to proceed ahead of the line. This man during an evening is surely earning more than $500 an hour.

Money is power. Drugs are power.

Secondly all of the bouncers were clad in bullet proof vests. None of the waitress’s were dawning the hard black plastic attire nor were the bartender’s. A person standing next to me proceeds telling tales of how many people have been shot in this club. WTF! Seriously, why is this club that is so wealthy in bribe and drug, not outfitting all the drunken cokeheads in bullet proof vests upon entering the premises, not unlike bowlers renting shoes in a bowling alley. Ha.

I have been attending club nights for 15 years now. I have seen many things. I am not naive to this. This occurs every evening in some degree or other at night clubs, bars and pubs across Canada. These men and women were so blatantly obvious though, as much so as on Main and Hastings. I had a fine time dancing, talking to people and drinking some ciders.

After the club closed we all made our way to East Van where Joy (my roommate), myself and Soren live. Soren has his own apartment downstairs from Joy and I. The musical choice of the evening was Hip Hop. I am unfamiliar with Hip Hop save for when Soren beat boxes and mixes in his apartment. I like his choice of music and am learning to appreciate this genre of music. Joy is also into Hip Hop.

Once we arrived home the human beats began.
The men began singing…

The following I wrote that Friday night around 3:30AM.

The live beat box session.

This manifests in many ways. Perhaps a manifest of unwanted unfulfilled desires that lurk amidst the terrain of emotion encompassing our apartment this evening. Time can pass without realizing the true honest meaning or definition of the truth.

Regurgitated truth builds as the night progresses. They manipulate each other. They fondle each other using verse alone. A most mysterious way of communicating. Most beautiful actually. One can admire their ability to interact with another. Oh what a wondrous night of meeting other folks. Kissing. Bonding. Speaking. No hard drugs. Dancing. Music and great people. Oh how I have missed dancing. My feet kill me but my calves persist to tighten from dancing on the floor swaying jumping, displaying happiness with those around me of sound non-human and wondrous.

There is a mischief in the air I recognize all to well. A side I am not privy to. I side I care not to partake in. A side that sadly I was blind to until someone pointed this out to me. Until another said “This is what they do.”

Persons adjust themselves to the others surrounding them. Honestly, if you think about it, they do. That is a damn fact.

What do you do when they talk of you amongst themselves. Maybe it’s not worth it what they think. Maybe it is not right. Why do they speak so? Why do they mention art, fabrication and the selling of said art. Why is that men and women behave differently when drunk. It can almost appear as an abhorrence to creation. To life that is intelligent but sticks to instinct as muck to dirt.

After all this was a great night. I met another artist; a graffiti artist. Nice!

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