There are moments in strip clubs where art slips through and shatters the venal anatomy lesson, moments where a dancer flies around a pole and the arc of her body sets my soul on fire with its beauty. Those are the moments that keep me coming back and watching, keep me sitting through the lonely and sometimes painful nights of empty show and tell that has so often replaced the dance. I had one such moment on Saturday night, it happened when a lithesome red dredlocked woman with ink hit the stage in silver lake. At the top of the pole she leaned back, swaying to the music and for that prolonged space of time the world stopped, the chatter in my dark head quieted and I was in awe. I was in the presence of art, for that I am thankful.
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obsidian_:
you know I love to write....But Grammer and spelling is not my friend...I blame it on growing up in Applachia and no one actually says stuff how it should be said so inturn it makes it that much hard it to spell it.....
voltaire:
hello! hello!