styrofoam horse

they sat around the table and talked A LOT about very few things. they might as well have been alone while having their conversations, but having other people around made them seem less crazy. i’m pretty sure that’s the point of ‘friends’; to sit around us while we talk to ourselves. it comforts us to trick ourselves into thinking we’re willing to open our minds to different perspectives, and make connections with others as a result of our openness. the truth of the interaction was however, that each person responded to the specific and individual dilemmas of the others, with a description of their own circumstances. nobody even seemed to notice that they were totally unheard.

when alcohol had rendered this strange communication boring, we traipsed off to a night club. i was sober in more ways than one, and i felt closer to the sky and the stars and the moon, than the other people in the very small car.

the point of a night club seemed to me, to replace all of one’s natural sensory experiences, with something new and unnatural. the lights flashed really quickly and in too many colours to differentiate, the feeling of your own heart beating was replaced and confused with the heavy and invasive beat of some strange song, the voices of familiar people and the resonating sound of your own voice, were drowned out by a cumulative buzz and hiss and sigh.

i watched the other people become excited – swept up in a world where they were forced to forget the reality of the silence of the night beyond the neon walls. i felt really confused. they followed the footsteps inscribed by stereotype, and puffed themselves fat with forgetfulness, infinity and immortality.

as they became full of their own splendor in that moment, i felt emptied by how little of myself i could feel. they told me to dance, but i couldn’t dance. i knew how, because every person danced with the same tugs of the same strings – it was contrived and totally unintentional synchronization.

i was a stuck up snob idiot person who laughed at how seriously conformity and coolness were obeyed. nothing came naturally. dancing was not an expression of internal freedom or feeling – it was cultivated sexiness, to attract eyes and hands, not feeling. HILARIOUS. if i had danced with feeling, i would have been the strangest sight.

as angry eyes fixed upon my frozen frame, i laughed audibly as i looked up. hung oddly from the ceiling was a large, yellow, styrofoam horse. the GoDlY HoRSE!!!! was the idle idol. how could anyone take their position so seriously when they were standing beneath a giant styrofoam horse!? i don’t know and i’m glad, because somehow, everyone else was really good at that.