BL➌➋D ØWL ‡ TURΠING HΞ▲DS
tonight marks the arrival of a movement in blood. beacons of dusk take flight. departure from the cold and robotic gives thaw to the frigid dance floor. testosterone floods the pa, drowning out heartless thud of house music far from home. fires are rekindled and brotherhoods donned. banging of skin signals attack, a warning soon defied as thunderous vibrations surge from opposing force. the issue of war call sends spectators jerked into violent trance. all at once they work together and against each other, moshing like manics round the merry go. the crowd is a broken mirror, parallel but off kilter; a reflection of the situation at hand both in unity and chaos. it is the movement by which they have formed, ceremonial as it is makeshift. and such is their family dynamic. separate as their blood streams stem, they will inevitably converge; be it in crimson splattered pavement, or the one night stands they lay with. we connect through this strange sort of kinship inherent in our nightlife. just as we were conceived in abyss, we allow the abyss shall eventually devour us. and so we cast spotlights deep in the void, and make shadows of the puppets we have made of ourselves. look ma, no strings; over our heads or under our wings. beyond a lone satellite hangs, drunk off scarlet moonshine. the hour is upon us. blood owls ascend.
