During a slower song, which not even the hellish excitement and inebriation can make me enjoy, I look around. All kinds of people are around me, but what really gets my attention is what they’re wearing. There’s no pattern, some of them are dressed, some aren’t. It’s all very random, and I wished I was clothed. Not just to cover what made me ashamed, but also to indicate what age I was from. The ones who were dressed screamed the date they’d died, the history of clothes (the history of fashion, maybe) was at that concert.
I thought that being dressed would help to find a… friend?
No, definitely not a friend. But someone I could ask what was going on, what was the concert about and why was I having fun in hell. I could ask someone, but I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to behave. So much had changed in the world, so many ways of speaking had been altered, so many certainties, so many approaches, one society is never equal to another, so what can we say about societies that were centuries apart? I didn’t want to risk offending anyone. Besides, I was never able to talk to a stranger. I’m too shy and introspective, my clothes could at least show who I was me and increase the chance that someone would talk to me.
But I’m naked, I’m ashamed, I’m drunk and covered in vomit. No one will speak to me. In this regard, life and death are not so different, I feel lonely even surrounded by people.
I look beyond the age of the clothes and begin to see some details. Some people are dressed fitted for the heat, but others are dressed as if it were 40º below. I wonder how could that have happened. Specially ’cause the people wearing all those coats seem to be cold. I wonder if they’re all with an impossible fever, ’cause that’s the only answer for them to be wearing so much clothes in this unbearable heat (or is it hellish heat?). I look at those people and I sweat even more just imagining being inside those clothes here. I begin to lose my mind, I close my eyes and drink more beer. This time I don’t throw up.
The music stopped being the one that didn’t appeal to me, actually, the whole band seem to be different. I didn’t see it happening, and I begin to realize the songs don’t seem to ever begin or end. There is no transition, I think about why that happens. Even drunk, I elaborate a theory (I enjoy elaborating theories): for a song to start and end, there would have to be some kind of indication of time, not having begin or end, the sound not having transitions, makes, somehow, the song be something continuous and gives the feeling of eternity; beginning and end mark the time, in regards to everything, when something doesn’t begin or end, it is eternal, and being eternal makes the passage of time lose its meaning.
And yes, I thought about that while I was drunk. I thought that alcohol would reduce my ability to think, but I see I was wrong. Or maybe the alcohol had reduced my ability, I feel sober, which could mean I spent so much time trying to elaborate the theory that I was able to cure my drunkenness. By the way, drunkenness is something to be cured or it just goes away? It doesn’t matter, but my vote goes to the second choice. Time doesn’t exist, there’s no way of knowing if it’s passing by, so, what it feels to have happened quickly could have taken a long time. The headache, wanting to ask everyone to shut up, the taste of broom in my mouth and the fact I’m on the floor, with no strength to get up, makes me realize I took so long thinking I was no longer drunk, and between the end and the beginning of my hangover I was able to elaborate the theory of why music here doesn’t have start nor end.
But that doesn’t matter, ’cause I’m extremely hungover. Why did I have to have my first drinking spree with hell beer? I’m in so much pain that I’m sure a demonic torture would be better than facing a hangover, and I’m also sure I could die and reborn five times before I could recover.
Why did I acted so stupid?