Bali Bounty Beats

I can see the sound shake the walls. It permeates this space, and we move with it. Slaves after masters. You can’t stand immobile. Even distancing yourself from this mass of movement is impossible. Everywhere is the dance floor.
The flashing lights leave me hypnotised and I can see the walls move. This place is breathing. It lives because we do. We are so young, have so much life that it spills out into this space, bringing it to existence. Without us it is nothing.
The beats move my heartbeat faster. The walls follow. Their heartbeat drags us on into the night. Tribal beats push bodies in machine gun rhythms. There is no order here. We have no need for order. No need for names. You are judged by your continent, your tan, your piercings and your money. Always your money. But everyone’s a millionaire here. We are all kings in paradise.
Sweat drips heavy onto floors like rivers. It flows out to the sea. The air is thick with smoke and expectations. We live for them. We swim through it. We pull ourselves through the bodies and into the tropical air. There is too much to see here in one lifetime. Too much to smell, and deafness overtakes us all. We stumble, we fall. And as the moon and sun change shifts in clouded dawns, we pile ourselves into clove-ridden taxis, and make the journey home.