I started with floor tiles but soon returned to the idea of a Faberge crack opening the swinging doors to my brain and pouring the fantasy onto the dance floor in a basement somewhere in Sydney. A dance floor that was wooden, raised 2.75 cm above the Spanish kitchen tiles covering the rest of the floor. We were in the back room, I spent some minutes pondering whether the room was a large small room or a medium sized room or perhaps a small large room, for this kind of venue. I gave up on my pondering when I first noticed a man with personal on-board lights carrying a round drinks tray ringed with red lights and empty, always empty.
I attempted in vain to describe, to myself, the fantastical nature of everything. I wandered in thought over inadequate ready-made descriptions, masquerade ball, opium dream, mardi gras, carnivale, Oxford secret society or Gatsbyesque but none of these descriptions fit. The men wore dresses or heels or both in a way that defied stereotypes of gay, camp or queen, more disregard for modes of being than anything else. One charming man wore tuxedo trousers, cummerbund, tuxedo shirt and a black pleated ruffle that emerged from his waist band and crawled up the centre of his torso ending in a magnificent arc behind him like a frill neck lizard. On his feet an elegant pair of what can only be described as wingtip stilettos.
People kept assuring me that the turnout was unusually low for the monthly event. I am glad there were not more people, I might not have had the opportunity to study each costume in detail. I spent a great deal of time leaning against a pole, sucking on complimentary lollipops and smiling from ear to ear. If there had been a supply of opium and a chaise longue I would have willingly sunk into a new kind of oblivion.
More happened and didn't happen than I expected, a man from The Follow followed someone (not creepily), I was invited to be in the new video for the band Regular John, I narrowly escaped an unwise snog, a man ran a beeping electronic device over my entire body and at one point I looked up to find Spencer standing in front of me licking at a palmful of cream like a cat. He has since explained how he came to be standing there with a palmful of cream but it this has not lessened, in my memory, the inital shock at the sight of him. Madam Squeeze performed an elegant galloping dance whilst juggling pieces of artificial fruit.
The unexpected nature of everything, the clarity of inidividual vision, the dedication and sophistication of the execution of detail in costumes has developed in me a distinct distate for the ordinariness of everything else. When I emerged from the venue the usual pulsating life-filled nocturnal city streets seemed nothing but plain and bleak and left me with that feeling of everything delicious being gone except for the sticky parts left on my fingers.