peachpenumbra@googlemail.com
06/05/10
I am adrift in a sea of torsos, and limbs are crashing like waves over my head. A cable is held aloft by telegraph arms and collectively we trace it to the source of the tide; a man tied to the stage by kite-string wire, wading through us to some unspecified point at the back of the room. A shoe, bottle, coat float by, appreciative flotsam and jetsam. The band is distant, a mirage overhead. We sing like the creaking of icebergs, all vast and euphoric, and it is as close to a religious experience as I will ever manage.
