I want to feel other bodies pressed against mine. I want to hear the breath of someone else, their blood pulsing in time to the music as mine is.

...it does, you know. Weirdest thing. Give me 30 seconds with a song that catches at me and you can time my pulse by the beats of the song. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing, the music can twist my body's rhythms until all I can think of is that steady, aching beat and my desperate need to move, to breathe, to touch and see and BE... gods, it's sad when the best descriptions of life as I see it are a near-match to most peoples' descriptions of e-trips or hallucinations or even religious descriptions.

This IS my life, this beat. *wry grin* Ryan wonders why I can step on the dance pad and barely miss a step when he, person with balance, fighting experience, training, can't. This is why. Every second of the music is etched so deep into my very existance that it's hard NOT to keep the beat, to move and flow with the sound. DDR throws me sometimes - I'm still just starting, anything past beginner's mode is frustrating 'cos I can't visually process those patterns that fast. Give me a strong song and a space on the floor, something to take away my self-awareness... I dance in private, I dance where no one else can see, unless I'm actually drugged. *sighs*

*soft smile* "Little Prayer" is playing now... I don't know if it's a remake or just a remix, but it's beautiful to watch. Bodies, movement, water and touch and the certainty that someone else understands the hunger.

This is just another aspect of it... the Hunger. One word that covers so many things; in one respect they ARE all the same, though. They are all a need, a craving, a desire, a lust and ache and desperate longing for something that I need to survive. Hunger is such an accurate description.

life is a mystery
everyone must stand alone
I hear you call my name
and it feels like home
just like a prayer
your voice can take me there...

Replace 'voice' with 'music' and you're a lot closer to the truth... Ahh, it's a Mad House cover. Good to know. Sometimes though... sometimes there will be someone, a moment in time, when their voice is music that fills me as surely as aching sweet rhythm. Kadin is forced to talk, to whimper, to beg, to plead, at the most intense of moments. It's not because it's a fetish, exactly. It's because right then, when the desperation laps at his words, tasting them, flavoring them, right then his voice is music. He gasps and my heartbeat races. He screams and every second of it, every tiny change of pitch, is orgasmic pleasure and arousal beyond belief. I make him beg because it turns his words to rhythm and song. There's a pattern to his speech, an ebb and flow that could so easily be matched to a deep, powerful beat and the high wail of a new life created for the span of those few moments.

...re-reading his entries...

...how could anyone not see the symphony written there, the perfection, the chorus of a thousand past moments and a million small touches, the always-building and heartbreakingly beautiful sound that rises from each page?

I don't see weakness there. I don't see shame, not the way others seem to see it. I don't see something worthless. I don't see someone broken. I see the strength of intent and will that most people will NEVER match. I see the passion and hunger that at times matches my own, something rare in this world. I see a boy who has more value, more worth, more reasons for pride, more skills, more talents, than 90% of the arrogant fuckers who populate dance floors and gym classes, street brawls and taverns, high-class whorehouses and cheap stripclubs. I see someone with devotion. Someone honest. Someone...

...someone who is a part of me, who I am a part of. Someone, one of a precious few people, with whom I can BE.

Remember that? The whole 'BE' thing? The way I hide and the confusion, the stress, the physical imperfections and the desires that so very few ever match?

He matches.

Today while I am watching flames and bodies, lights and silk and an untouchable world, he is at work. Honest labor, a standard job. He's doing, just in that, something I can't attain right now. Under his clothing he is marked, his body a canvas that only I have drawn upon, his every movement a silent echo of my soul. I don't know if he can feel this pulse. It's not too likely. And yet... and yet it wouldn't surprise me if right now he was having the urge to dance.

I'm writing this about him because right now, he's the one whose voice is echoing in my head. In some ways he's almost an easy fix, a solution to my hunger that I don't doubt, can always find. I'm writing this about him...

...and even as I type, I can feel fingernails against my wrists, long nails and teeth and a moment stolen when I still believed I could find the Perfect Rave. I found it there, with the music spilling from cheap speakers, not knowing who the bear who touched me was, only that he mattered somehow, that he was music embodied, that he was as real, then, as I was. He was real.

He still IS real. That amazes me, right now. Two boys, in some ways so much alike, in others different enough to make each stand out... and each of them I can claim as mine, each of them holds a fragment of my heart, each of them sneak into my mind at the oddest moments, when the music beats the loudest and my mouth is dry, my body damp, my blood rushing.

They are music.

I cannot live without music.

Is it any wonder then that I don't question for a moment the fact that I can't be truly happy without them?

*slight smile* Even in my memories, it's a DJ who first spun words into this beautiful rhythm and set my world on fire.