Paul was able to manipulate invisible vibrations in the air. He discovered this one night while dancing to a particularly hallucinatory genre of electronic dance music, the kind that thrust its long arm down ones throat and forced one to stand up and boogie like a freak.
He found that as he moved his arms, ripples of spacetime arced out in long, colorful waves that then bounced off the electric auras of everyone around. There was an electric crackle when they came into contact with the waves created by other dancers, so that - in the outdoor dance area of this particular party set amongst an old-growth forest about 250 miles north of San Francisco - there was a symphonic interplay of psychic and very real vibratory wavelengths one could easily describe as a Web of Divinity.
How else to describe the elation that Paul was feeling? It was divine, plain and simple. And he wasn't even on drugs - that was the thrilling part. It was all real, and not caused by some exotic chemical working its synthetic magic on his synapses. What he was seeing, hearing and feeling was absolutely, 100% real, no doubt in his mind. And judging from the ecstatic faces surrounding him that cold early spring night, there was no doubt in any one else's mind either.
He spun, and performed a serpentine motion with his arms, folding his wrists like a Butoh dancer, undulating his torso and writhing with the rhythm. He flicked his fingers and saw tiny specks of light spray out and collide with the rotating spectrum of sound-light waves moving in a gigantic circle, like a huge platter of multi-colored vinyl on the phonograph of space.
A skinny girl with long dredlocks and a colorful Peruvian knit shawl swayed and flapped her arms, holding a bottle of watter and watching as the laser shot its green line of light through it. A small young man in an oversized hoodie pumped out moves that made him look like a robot malfunctioning to the beat. The DJ pumped his fist and smiled at the crowd, happy that his sonic concoction was penetrating the souls of all within listening distance.
He found that as he moved his arms, ripples of spacetime arced out in long, colorful waves that then bounced off the electric auras of everyone around. There was an electric crackle when they came into contact with the waves created by other dancers, so that - in the outdoor dance area of this particular party set amongst an old-growth forest about 250 miles north of San Francisco - there was a symphonic interplay of psychic and very real vibratory wavelengths one could easily describe as a Web of Divinity.
How else to describe the elation that Paul was feeling? It was divine, plain and simple. And he wasn't even on drugs - that was the thrilling part. It was all real, and not caused by some exotic chemical working its synthetic magic on his synapses. What he was seeing, hearing and feeling was absolutely, 100% real, no doubt in his mind. And judging from the ecstatic faces surrounding him that cold early spring night, there was no doubt in any one else's mind either.
He spun, and performed a serpentine motion with his arms, folding his wrists like a Butoh dancer, undulating his torso and writhing with the rhythm. He flicked his fingers and saw tiny specks of light spray out and collide with the rotating spectrum of sound-light waves moving in a gigantic circle, like a huge platter of multi-colored vinyl on the phonograph of space.
A skinny girl with long dredlocks and a colorful Peruvian knit shawl swayed and flapped her arms, holding a bottle of watter and watching as the laser shot its green line of light through it. A small young man in an oversized hoodie pumped out moves that made him look like a robot malfunctioning to the beat. The DJ pumped his fist and smiled at the crowd, happy that his sonic concoction was penetrating the souls of all within listening distance.
posted by morphitologist at
9:47 AM
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