Archive: Now.


When you say it’s going to happen now, When exactly do you mean? See I’ve already waited too long, And all my hope is gone. ——— Love Spit Love “How soon is now”

It’s been a year since our local club closed, and longer since they held a party. When I started out in the scene six years ago I was in school in NYC and going to parties there was easy. Then I got a job and nights in NYC fell away. Years later I found DFP, but a few blocks from my house, and I joyfully rejoined the life. When it went, so did I.

It wasn’t so much getting to the NYC parties that was the problem, but getting back when mass transit stops around 1am. Maybe if I went with someone I could wile away the early hours at a dinner with them. Promises of companionship came and went as months went by, a slowly something eroded from me. Finally the ground fell in and I was stranded in a sinkhole.

At first I was clueless, then terrified. I was sick from repression and I didn’t know what to do about it. The internet proved useless in finding a new partner and the parties were so far away. I needed someone to go with me. I was dependent on others for an essential piece of myself.

So I was promised that companionship and there was a flood of relief. Surely it is forgivable to be dependent on the dependable. But the time came and went without a sound. Anger turned to worry of my missing friend, and to confusion over the mess of it all. There would be no companionship to the city. If it was to be done it would have to be done alone.




I think at this point I should point out I’m a recovering agoraphobic.


I had promised myself, promised that this would end this weekend. The hole would only get deeper if I didn’t. Saturday passed without me and Sunday night came in. Suspension was my last chance to break the curse, but I wasn’t going. I couldn’t go. I just wasn’t able to…

I don’t know what happened. Just as the clock ticked down to the arrival of the last bus to the city, something took over. It dressed me and applied makeup. It pushed me out the door. Some sort of alter-ego took over, someone young and flirty with an easy smile and a confident stance.

The moment I got up from the couch Sunday night, the spell was broken.


I could depend on myself.


“Suspension” was awesome. The space was beautiful and easy to get to, the people warm and friendly, the party hours long. A smile could get you a conversation and a place to sit. I met new friends and happily embraced those I lost in DFP’s decline. The last song the DJ played that night was a favourite of mine from the earliest days I can remember. It was a song I often sang to myself when I felt isolated and hopeless after a failed attempt at connecting to the world.

That night as I stood staring into the sparkling light of a disco ball I sang along, reciting the words in irony at long last.

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