An end of a decade was upon us and there was a wild, racing, youth-fueled feeling of immortality. We slept when we could, usually while the sun was shining, in-between classes half-attended and record store jobs. We were only truly alive at night.

Vampiric, nocturnal, half-zombified dolled up babies haunting the back alleys and dark rooms of Hollywood nights. We thought ourselves the post-modern Studio 54 types, blended and mixed-up with a Warhol Factory sensibility and clothes that mimicked glam rock bands one night, and Morticia meets  Shakespeare the next. I suppose it was contrived at times, perhaps we were living some kind of clichéd rebellion, but at the time it all felt so necessary. We were all broken; a pack of misfits who banded together, clinging to one another, creating our own family tree. We fell in love, we fell into backseats and bed sheets, we filled veins and noses, we danced and delighted in clove cigarettes and vinyl spins. We were alive in our own upside down wonderland.

Some nights I think on that time and I long for a one-time-only re-visit. I do not wish to be high again, nor do I want to relive some of the bad nights, and there were quite a few, some never mentioned again. But, I would like to spend a night dancing with all those old faces and souls, feel what it was like to have us all together again, just one more time.



This Corrosion
:: Sisters of Mercy

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