Once again, the sun sets just like every day. Wearily you sit down to a labotomized evening in front of the frantic phosphorescent rush-hour on glass. Barely you are aware of the unease--but not the cause. The internal twinges and aches, the goosebumps, the hairs on end.
You do not notice the unusual drop in temperature, the sense of near frost in the air. You do not understand the growing darkness, nor the haze that seems to make everything a little less clear...harder to see. This is the kind of night that instills you with irrational fear, ghosts and imps out of the corner of your eye as you rush home alone--some unknown internal voice urging you to make it home safe before the sun goes down...nervously glancing at the moon, which seems to hide a fearsome fate, instead of a romantic promise.
Tonight is not Holloween. Tonight is something far more sacred. Tonight, in San Luis Obispo, the Gothic tradion is kept alive. We gather together to celebrate and to enjoy each other. We gather to worship and be worshipped...to be profane and to be profaned...to see and be seen...to hear and to be heard...to dance and to live.
We managed to gather the following images from this years celebration. First, an incomplete glance at the players in this night game.
Our Hosts were tireless and brought about another successful event. None of us are worthy when compared to what they have brought together once again.
The dancing and celebration was everywhere. The script remains unwritten, yet burned into our memories, moving and speaking in time and space... The machine of art and life.
Outside our temple, we relaxed and enjoyed our brethern. Words updated, emotions freely given.
Glimpses of Heaven? I will leave the subject matter of the first shot up for discussion amongst yourselves. The clues are here on this page...
The second shot is my shot of the moon that night...honest. I'm sure you all will pull out your best freudian references for these two.
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Last updated 1.01.02