Saturday Nights

Rolled a j and set out for the night, iced soy latte in one hand and a ball of energy in the other.

"Hey, gorgeous, come stand with us - we'll show you a good time."

Strangers are peculiar individuals. On the one hand, they are creepy as can be, surreptitiously crouching at the most unexpected of places; however, they are also human beings, making "friends" in the most peculiar of manners. Regardless, there was no way in hell I would be caught dead with the two "gentlemen" who offered me a good time (with a forty).

So I set out alone, because sometimes that's the best way to really experience things.

It wasn't until the sitar began reverberating through my body, until that sweet sound entered my ears, that my hips began rolling back and forth to this unheard of rhythm. Beat poetry.

Beats.

The crowd was wild with energy. Every few minutes a puff of smoke would come my way, only to enjoy the sweet scent of marijuana. A collective enjoyment, across the crowd. The crowd was a cloud of smoke. Puff-puff; passsss. It was swaying back and forth, to the beats. Beat poetry.

A goooooooooooood time.

And those lights! Oh, the lights were spectacular. Every emotional lyric resulted in a new color and a new texture. Yes! There were textures. At one point, the crowd was just a mass tide, swaying back and forth. No longer a cloud of marijuana smoke, but a ripple in the water. The whole crowd was one - a collective experience. But, that's a given (a Gibbons?). No, a given.

So, I lit my joint, respectively, to enrich my experience. All I could do was laugh. Giggle, chortle, chuckle.

Was this really happening?

And it was. Soon enough a wink came my way. I swam through the crowd. New people. New experiences.

"Hello, my name is Chazzzzzzz." She looks at me, intently, with beautiful blue orbs that embrace childish frivolity in a gorgeous mid-forties body. You are as young as you want to be.

So we danced, Chaz and I, as the winker stayed next to me.

Another puff of smoke!

Two girls, to the right, dressed up as new-age hippies smoking from a miniature piece, passing the pipe around. A sense of community! I laugh again, because Chaz and I are dancing and the new-age hippies are asking the whole crowd to smoke. The cute interracial couple takes a hit, and they keep dancing. But their dance is a little different than mine, or his, or hers. You could see their chemistry emanating out of their souls.

Bass drum. Oh the fucking bass drum.

With every hit of the bass drum my hips kept swaying. Michelle and Phil introduce themselves, the ones whose chemistry is remarkable. Another hit? Why not!

Of the bass drum, of course. Or the pipe? I forget. They all seem interchangeable.

So Phil, Chaz, Nicole, Michelle, Tim, Noy, and even more strangers are in a circle. Dancing and enjoying the rhythms. The crowd is a wave of movement as much as it is a wave of emotion. A collection of strangers, who have all come together in hopes of having a good time. Which we were. We were, oh oh oh.

Hands on my hips! More strangers. More love. More dancing. Ohhh the beats.

Rasp, sass. Vocals.

Everything was so smooth: the music and the movement. Who the fuck is this guy? More hands on my hips.
[I said, who the fuck is this guy?]

My hands in the air, swaying to the synth. Heads bobbing to the bass.

Another hit - I swear it's the last!

But I feel like nothing really "hit" me. Just an experience. Not stoned, but aware. Open.

And, the colors slowly drift away and the tide rolls out. It is a crowd of individuals again. No more smoke. No more music. Simply a batch of strangers, at the same place at the same time, ready to go about the rest of their night.

It's funny, you have this great experience and share it with hundreds of people, but rather than taking that all into perspective you run back into your schedule. Places to be; things to do.

Just aware, and open. I walked the streets of Berkeley to my ladies and we, too, went about the rest of our night (which will not be disclosed).

Live music is something truly phenomenal. Strangers are friends in the making. And, the words of that lovely lady, from earlier in the night whose sass emphasized the intensity of the rap, stayed with me...

"we must turn insanity into humanity."

And that is what we did, as a crowd, before we went about our Saturday night schedules. Hu-man-i-ty !

It was time to enjoy the rest of the night. Insane strangers are just friends in the making of humanity.

-Mon