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toppers scene
The strobe overwhelms the blue glow and the girls begin the writhe, ellish wirthing serpentine bodies, no longer names, no longer girls no longer human, but gliding gilded serpents, movements caught in flickers of blinging whiteness and inky blue darkness, stop motion film, hair, skin, patterns of movement until the light and the shadows beome one. In the glimpses of faces across the catwalk I can see male teeth, shiny pale faces, tongues flick here and there, pass across lips and snake back down throats, and then a blue aquarium darkness, film slowed down. Twenty four to twelves and then six and the three, advancing three glimpses at a time in stop motion time lapse, bodies appearing not far from where they were left. And you can feel her movements, a girl caught in three frame bursts, she is never where she just was always one step ahead of her body and you can it passing into your guppy mouth, snaking down your throat, swallowing swollen calves, slender thighs, choking on garters, weakened by the memory of silk and spice and crusades abandoned long ago to the darkness of continets moving and her cunt tickling across your lips, catch in your throat, a gulp of air, some scent of dark blue shadow and the stomach and breasts, hard nipples that catch on the way down and head and hair swirling across your chin, gulps of cool blue shadow, down, all of it down, drink all of it down, blue and white and flesh and to see it from aboveÉ pictures spread across the floor. Sitting cross-legged in the near darkness of late night shadow and gaslamp glow, light and shadow becoming one across the bedroom floor, giant shadows cast across a series of black and white photographs all taken from above. And you arrange the faceless heads in a half circle around the one, the one with the legs careening out from under the birds-eye view of blond and cinnamon and cardemore. Out of focus and caught in flight, she moves in orbits, she holds a key and the knob is turniong right there, the door opens emiting the bright glitter of out there and you want nothing to do with it, the key and knob, the outsideÉ it canÕt push in, a battle of light and shadow, electric and candle, digital and analog and pictures are caught in gusts, blowing up in little dust devils and then here on the stage, whirling and weaving between her legs, cirling nder skirts, tugging at stocking and garters, caressing soft brown skin and disappearing into corset shadow, tugging electric at nipples, still rising in ever widening circles up to the ceiling and disappearing through it, returning to the vantage point of origin, the vanishing point, right there on the horizon of what just happened and what hasnÕt yet,. Andshe takes you by the hand and leads through the beaded curtain of the doorway with hinges still attached, but door and knob and key long since vanished in to some murky ocean memory, a current welling toward the back, toward the corner, and into the shadow, the absense of light, a finger curling, something to follow, a motion trail, a wake of smoke enveloping you in inky octopus shadows. Tentacles reaching out and pulling you into a chair where you are tied to watch
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