So how long ago did we take these now? What, like half an hour? My stomach doesn’t feel great but I’m not really — oh! Oh. Hello, Harry. You good, bud? Look at you, you beautiful, sweaty seal-man all slick with blinky water beads on the tattoo-birds flapping on your chest, and yes, I think I’m with you now. I’m very happy for you and all those hands all over your body. Why am I not standing there? Maybe I am? Mmmmm.
And very good smoke tentacles, I think we can all agree. Like ink blots curling through water, clouding up the palm fronds doing their palm frond dance. Great job, smoke, I like you very much. I like the blue lights beaming off Harry’s head. I’m not coming down either! NEVER!
The only thing is, I am — and I don’t want to bring down the mood but I think I should say it out loud? — a little worried about Harry, alone in the ocean like that. It’s good when he’s on the bike, because of course the wind, and then when he’s dancing, the crowd has him. But the ocean, it’s very dark, and who is he looking for? Did they lose him out there, even with his flashy jacket? Harry! I’m here! The sequins, by the way, seem so wet … what do wet sequins feel like? But the red light … I don’t trust the red light at all.
It’s better when we’re dancing, Harry. Maybe let’s just go back to the party? The light in here is way too harsh, like an office, and the plants don’t breathe. How could they, when they’re plastic? And, WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON’T LOOK IN THAT MIRROR — oh, okay. Yes, I see what you mean, you gorgeous dolphin-boy. The way the threads in your shirt wiggle around. Skinny little disco worms, butterfly antenna drumming out a beat.
Better on the beach, though. Better with you in your sparkle suit, suspended in midair over your own body, looking like Bowie’s ghost and Elvis’s son. I’m not sure if that means you’ve died or not; I’m not sure it matters, if you’re still there and all the other dancers are, too, and everyone is touching.
I wish someone would drive me around on a moped, so I could be all breezy. As long as we didn’t have to see any other people. Especially not police.
Best not to think about that or them. Harry, if you’re not worried, I’m not worried.
Best to think about all those hands, and Harry’s sweaty head on your shoulders, and how that one spotlight shoots down on him like a high beam, as if the aliens were coming back to reclaim their son. All the lights, really — the lights are very nice. Except of course the red ones.