#27 ~ Shake that?

I know what you are thinking. You’re looking at the post number and the date and going – they don’t correspond. She missed a day – she lied! Hold that judgement. I did not lie. Neither did I specify that I would do a post everyday before 12am (haha, the beauty of small print), but simply everyday. Considering I haven’t gone to bed yet (power naps don’t count) this post still counts for day 27, but just to appease you, I shall post again tomorrow before 12am.

So here I am, at 2.20am eating cold pasta with home-made haddock and tomato sauce and writing something, this. As interesting as your early morning cuisine is, what kept you away from your systematic posting, I hear you ask through the ether. I was living, is my response through a half-chewed mouth of now slimy carbohydrates and chewy amphibian. And now, I shall deign to explain.

As a student you are told one of two things:

1) Go to University for the experience

2) Go to University for the degree.

If you are a student of african descent it goes more like this:

1) Don’t Facebook face your book

2) Did you got to University to get friends or get a degree? (NB: This is a rhetorical question, there is only 1 answer.)

However, after many involuntary power-naps that I ascribe to the sheer overworking of my mind (allow me some pity), i decided to venture outside the walls of my room and into the cobbled streets below.

I went to watch people dance.

Creepy, is your response. No – you are the creepy one for implying what was not inferred. Control yourself.

I could do an elaborate critique of both the Jazz event, dance show and finally club night I found myself at – intrepid explorer am i, three shindigs in one night, who knew?! – but instead I want to leave your eager eyes with this, concise, valid, and perhaps unique (?) thought:

When people dance, the motion, the action, the intent, isn’t in their bodies. People dance in their faces, and that visage is what tells the story, the figure is what conveys the emotion, their very physiognomy exudes the vivacity, the beauty, the sheer power of entertainment.

Dance isn’t bodily. It is facial.

[insert dramatic pause, for want of nothing better to say]

Go on, I hear you cry. But alas, my optimistic left-overs-for-tomorrows-lunch have found themselves safely into my digestive system and so it is time for me to sleep. To sleep peacefully, with the beat, the pulse and the rhythm etched in the contours of my face.

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