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jack_babalonWhile I was sitting in my tent,
Reflecting on my arid soul,
A houri clad in luscious silk
Before my very eyes appeared.
But as I rose to touch and feel,
She turned around
And like a phantom disappeared
~Houri
Saleh Badrah
"The TAZ (Temporary Autonomous Zone) is like an uprising which does not engage directly with the State, a guerilla operation which liberates an area (of land, of time, of imagination) and then dissolves itself to re-form elsewhere/elsewhen, before the State can crush it. Because the State is concerned primarily with Simulation rather than substance, the TAZ can "occupy" these areas clandestinely and carry on its festal purposes for quite a while in relative peace."
~Waiting for the Revolution
Hakim Bey
Once again the Temple behind the Red Door has opened itself to serve whatever drunken god, goddess or prophet who might stumble in. The Dancing Priestesses have arrived to prepare for the Festival: The walls within are draped with silk tapestries each the color of a Sultans paradise, a banquet is spread out across a table for all who will attend, a space is cleared outside for the coming drum circle, tables are cleared, moved, set, the air is thick with the curling smoke of incense and the halos of votive candles float throughout on puddles of shadows. It is in the middle of these preparations that I have arrived. Tonight i'm the court musician, a juggler of discs and an audio alchemist. But really, i'm little more than a nervous servant here in the Temple of the Houri.
There's a full moon coming tonight, veiled by lightning bellied clouds rumbling promises of blood magick, madness or if nothing else, the prospect of rain. I get word that the other DJ has canceled. I'm It for the next four to five hours and it's been a year since I last spun. The sound system hasn't arrived yet. I do my best to help out with the preparations but really i'm all nerves. The clock is ticking. The place is busy with bartenders, doormen, promoters and friends doing whatever they can to get things ready on time. Everyones got something on their plate now and it looks like a shit sandwich, hold the bread. At one point a Priestess in Red mentions that Mercury's in Retrograde tonight.
That's okay though. I'm not planning on spinning any 'Retro'.
One by one the pieces fall into place. The performers arrive, voluptous priestesses bearing scimitars and mixed CDs for me to play. The drumming Tribe begin trickling in a flow of dreadlocks, white beards and nomadic world weariness. A sound system is retrieved, hooked up, checked and double checked. I'm good to go. The booth becomes the pulpit, the decks now my altar and as the board lights up, I take a deep breath, a sip off a strong drink and do what I always do when i'm here: I push "play" and pray for the best.
The dancers themselves are splendid. Poems, not words, made flesh. As beautiful as angels that awaken within their audience the whirlwind appetites of devils. Some dance with swords balanced on their heads, some with hips swaying like the pounding of waves, some with flames cupped in open palms, some with tribal rhythms while others with Raqs Sharqi grace and Çiftetelli grooves. They dance drunkenly with their friends, shyly in the corner or enticingly to potential lovers.
At one point, four hours in, I put on a mixed CD and say 'fuck it'. I step out for a long overdue cigarette. It wasn't the best set in the world but I know I did my best and sometimes that's all you get: An "E" for effort. I shrug it off. Relief floods my body with a sigh. I'm drunk now in that way I only get drunk at night clubs or parties. The sky is spinning up above me and I need my sea legs to navigate the rough seas of my buzz. I see them all around the table laughing. I realize I couldn't have done this without them. My Woman who's been here by my side all night, offering me a smile when when all I wanted to do was crawl into a ball and hide. My friends, manic, drunk, mad and loud as they are, they were there for me as well to offer support.
I pull up a chair and join them. Where else would I want to be?
Reflecting on my arid soul,
A houri clad in luscious silk
Before my very eyes appeared.
But as I rose to touch and feel,
She turned around
And like a phantom disappeared
~Houri
Saleh Badrah
"The TAZ (Temporary Autonomous Zone) is like an uprising which does not engage directly with the State, a guerilla operation which liberates an area (of land, of time, of imagination) and then dissolves itself to re-form elsewhere/elsewhen, before the State can crush it. Because the State is concerned primarily with Simulation rather than substance, the TAZ can "occupy" these areas clandestinely and carry on its festal purposes for quite a while in relative peace."
~Waiting for the Revolution
Hakim Bey
Once again the Temple behind the Red Door has opened itself to serve whatever drunken god, goddess or prophet who might stumble in. The Dancing Priestesses have arrived to prepare for the Festival: The walls within are draped with silk tapestries each the color of a Sultans paradise, a banquet is spread out across a table for all who will attend, a space is cleared outside for the coming drum circle, tables are cleared, moved, set, the air is thick with the curling smoke of incense and the halos of votive candles float throughout on puddles of shadows. It is in the middle of these preparations that I have arrived. Tonight i'm the court musician, a juggler of discs and an audio alchemist. But really, i'm little more than a nervous servant here in the Temple of the Houri.
There's a full moon coming tonight, veiled by lightning bellied clouds rumbling promises of blood magick, madness or if nothing else, the prospect of rain. I get word that the other DJ has canceled. I'm It for the next four to five hours and it's been a year since I last spun. The sound system hasn't arrived yet. I do my best to help out with the preparations but really i'm all nerves. The clock is ticking. The place is busy with bartenders, doormen, promoters and friends doing whatever they can to get things ready on time. Everyones got something on their plate now and it looks like a shit sandwich, hold the bread. At one point a Priestess in Red mentions that Mercury's in Retrograde tonight.
That's okay though. I'm not planning on spinning any 'Retro'.
One by one the pieces fall into place. The performers arrive, voluptous priestesses bearing scimitars and mixed CDs for me to play. The drumming Tribe begin trickling in a flow of dreadlocks, white beards and nomadic world weariness. A sound system is retrieved, hooked up, checked and double checked. I'm good to go. The booth becomes the pulpit, the decks now my altar and as the board lights up, I take a deep breath, a sip off a strong drink and do what I always do when i'm here: I push "play" and pray for the best.
The dancers themselves are splendid. Poems, not words, made flesh. As beautiful as angels that awaken within their audience the whirlwind appetites of devils. Some dance with swords balanced on their heads, some with hips swaying like the pounding of waves, some with flames cupped in open palms, some with tribal rhythms while others with Raqs Sharqi grace and Çiftetelli grooves. They dance drunkenly with their friends, shyly in the corner or enticingly to potential lovers.
At one point, four hours in, I put on a mixed CD and say 'fuck it'. I step out for a long overdue cigarette. It wasn't the best set in the world but I know I did my best and sometimes that's all you get: An "E" for effort. I shrug it off. Relief floods my body with a sigh. I'm drunk now in that way I only get drunk at night clubs or parties. The sky is spinning up above me and I need my sea legs to navigate the rough seas of my buzz. I see them all around the table laughing. I realize I couldn't have done this without them. My Woman who's been here by my side all night, offering me a smile when when all I wanted to do was crawl into a ball and hide. My friends, manic, drunk, mad and loud as they are, they were there for me as well to offer support.
I pull up a chair and join them. Where else would I want to be?
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no subject
on 2007-07-02 08:50 pm (UTC)xxx
no subject
on 2007-07-03 02:24 pm (UTC)Looks like you had a lovely time under strawberry moon country. I appreciate the well wishes from lands both far and near:)
Wish you could've been there.
no subject
on 2007-07-02 11:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-07-03 02:31 pm (UTC)The Great God Pan seems alive and well... even here in the big city.
no subject
on 2007-07-03 02:06 am (UTC)sounds breath-taking...
no subject
on 2007-07-03 02:32 pm (UTC)You did wonderfully! Here are pics of dancers
on 2007-07-03 06:46 pm (UTC)Re: You did wonderfully! Here are pics of dancers
on 2007-07-03 08:30 pm (UTC)