Existential Clubbing

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SO, my pics are auto-posting across from Instagram now and, fucking hell, what a weekend.

I get so happy from clubbing! I get so much from dancing to music that I love, bonding with random people while screaming Title Fight at each other, hanging with my mates and watching them deal very sternly with dodgy blokes creeping on them.

And there were so many peeps out this weekend who I haven’t seen in aaaages, like Court, above. I thought Valentine’s weekend would be a bag of wank but it’s the best time I’ve had in… well… I’m not sure!

When I look at the mirror at my conventionally very unattractive male body (no rippling abs here, no lovely toned arms), I’m so happy that my body lets me dance two or three times a week, that I’m able to have adventures and stay up till 6am talking shit with strangers. It’s fucking amazing, when I think about it.  After seeing both my parents go through near-fatal cancers, I love my body in a way I never did before. It’s beautiful, I love it.

And, one day, I’ll probs be too old to get let into clubs or too infirm to go dancing. That’s why I’m making the most of every moment I can. And consciously aware of every choice I make, when I approach someone new, the possibilities that open up. When I don’t, the universes that wither and die. You never know.

Now, if I could just meet a woman who lived for dancing and chaos and the stochastic joy of clubbing as much as I do… *imagines*