What are we doing here, in this mangled mass of throbbing bodies? I think it’s a form of mourning. What if this body-shaking bass operates at the frequency with which grief…. resonates? What if when we breathe in, sucking back the sharp, sweat-soaked air, we are breathing in the grief of those around us? What if we exhale our own grief out into that sharp, sweat-soaked air and it hangs there, suspended, in-between each beat? What if this breathy grief evaporates and condenses on the walls, along with the sweat, and drips back down to us? What if grief literally drips from the walls? What if it penetrates us and opens us up to porous possibilities of a love that is otherwise? And what if that love, too, then evaporates, condenses and drips back down to us?

Emily Murphy