Mitch jokingly says to me a lot, “Thank god I’m a good singer, because I’m good at nothing else.” I know he’s just joking, but sometimes, I get the feeling that he actually believes that…and it destroys me. He is easily one of the most loyal, honest, handsome, beautiful, unique, hilarious, & talented people I have ever met. Truly special.
1. The dance of the lights across the darkened globe. Neon lights and lanterns and headlights and torchlights and the green seaglow of squid-fishing lights far out at sea, the weaving of candles though power cuts, the smoky glow of signal-fires, the flash of nuclear blastlights and the flicker of embers, campfires and carriage-lights, footlights and fireworks. Back and around and again through time, each time a variation on that same set of steps, swinging around the globe behind the sunlit side which dances itself with smoke and clouds.
2. The dance of the robots on the comet, in their city of rock and wire and bakelite that comes alive only once in a thousand years, as the comet swings past the sun and their great trees of solar panels unfurl in greeting. That city is always dancing or asleep, because nobody thought to program the robots not to dance. Each time past the sun it spools up. The mining machines come out, in a great whirling roar of celebration. A thousand tonnes of platinum and palladium and ruthenium and rhodium and rhenium are launched into space. Eventually the danced-out metals will splash down in the acid oceans of a long-dead planet, but by then the robots will be asleep once more.
3. The dance of the lightning with the lighthouse, out in the far North where there is rarely anyone to see. So far the lighthouse has always won these encounters, and it is rewarded in turn by a solemn serenade of tanker foghorns. And so far it has always provided the still centre for the lightning to trip around. But there are many more and different dances to come.
4. The dance of the sharks and the cables. In fact I think if they could the sharks would knit with the cables, those poor maddened, fascinated things: feeling electricity like an umpteenth sense, but the electricity of dead things. However the cables are not for moving and one does not mess with the cable-plough. So the sharks dance. They describe fantastic knots. They dance with teeth and topology. And that other world that travels through the cables goes on, oblivious.
5. The mechanical ceilidh, the one that they say in the stories of the far future has travelled around the world ten thousand times and back. You see, there was a time when much of humankind was very old, and the machines helped us to walk, and to run, and to climb mountains. And of course we longed to dance, too, and we had the tools to make that happen. It was a brief interlude in our history, although it happened over and over; the time between when we walked with machines and when we walked with our own reconstructed legs and when it all fell to dust again. Once we did not need them anymore, the machines sat in circles on the hills like rusty trees, swivelling their solar panels around to follow the sun. Why not let them dance, empty though they were? And once we had let them dance, how could we have known how hard it would be to catch them and get them to stop?
6. The dance that is going on in your head even now, the dance of electric thoughts through tiny spaces and small slices of time, simulating this and everything else in its own weave through the rest of your quotidian daythoughts; each time a different variation, and all amazing.