Rhythm Soul

I can feel it. Through the soles of my feet, through the palms of my hands, through the impacts against my ears. It flows through the iron, the concrete, even the smog riddled air. The city is not starved for choice, a dissonant buffet consistently rings. Yet Pavlov does not hold me, I choose which bell to answer. I select my desire, tuning out the city’s cacophonous gluttony until I hear it in my soul. My footsteps follow the beat, tracking the visceral call into a glorified alley daring to call itself a street.

My destination is no garish “it” spot, no gleaming lights or velvet ropes. Faded posters of never mainstreamed bands cling desperately to plywood plastered walls. A single person bars the way, wielding blacklight and demanding cover charge. There is no marquee, no ticket booth, no waiting line. This place is for those seeking the substance and sustenance within, casual night-outers best seek their frivolity elsewhere.

I pay my way, my entrance fee, my mortal tax. I am no monster. A short walk through the blackened blacklit hall. The beat rises, swelling, a few more steps and I am arrived, and glory to all I am encased in the bass. My heartbeat syncs, the rhythm vibrates through my reality, I am one with the music. I taste again what it means to be alive.

I make my way through driblets of patrons, gatherings of imbibers, not thick enough to be called a crowd. The night is young, more will come.

The appetizer is still performing, he looks up from spinning, our eyes lock with a flash of recognition. We raise two fingers in the current trend of greeting. I can sense greatness from this young lad, sometime soon he will be a featured attraction, but not tonight, so I find a roost to enjoy the waiting, anticipating, salivating.

I have been here before, this dimly lit den of dance. The name is not important, they change with the tide of ownership and trend. The vibe ebbs and flows from mellow to extreme as the city lumbers along the ages. But the dancers remain the same. They come to sway, to writhe, to sweat, to groove. They come to the beat, for it is salvation from their dreary mortal lives, taking them to nirvana for a few blissful hours.

The pause in the bass, the rhythm is changing key, the beat has finally drawn a crowd. The appetizer says the words. Patrons crush to the bar, while a lonely hand mops a spilled indulgence. The main dish is being prepared, her face hidden behind a mask of glowing lights, her body sculpted from neon and latex.

The lights flash and pulse in colors the sun will never see, lasers carve dragons into dingy walls. Yet the lights are only a taste, a delightful scent of the wonders for the night. The beat is low and wistful, far away, like a starship on approach. The crowd hungers for more, hands and hearts reaching forward. The lasers collapse in a spectacle onstage and the beat explodes into reality, slamming through the crowd, a grenade of dancing energy.

The night has finally begun. I close my eyes. I listen and I feel, my appetite whetted. The time is close.

The DJ spins, the lasers gleam, the dancers dance. At the height of the night, when their bodies succumb to the beat, their souls are finally freed of fleshly chains. Then I begin my sup. A nip here, a sip there. Smidgens of souls to make my daily bread. Never enough to damage, never enough to maim. I know the limits of my prey, I am a conscious shepherd, leaving my flock healthy and hale. A smorgasbord of souls until I get my fill. And when the house lights rise, and weary eyes blink at the time, I will greet them as old friends. They don’t understand why I feel so familiar, why a stranger would be a soulmate, but I never drop the mask. I nod and wave, and call a cab for those who need.

Eventually they will stumble home, bumble home, tired in body and soul, yet eager to return. Maybe not to here but to somewhere, another club with another name, wherever the rhythm is found, wherever the DJs play. This city has many doors with many beats. I know them, I hear them, I feel them, The dancers are there, ready and willing night after night. And I will greet them with a smile. After all, I am not a monster.

-Cover Image by: Jerome Govender