at awe with the dancer

kisses of sweat caressing his body

at one with the family

mjq mural art

sole clap of 'sole notes of house'

i had returned from a beautiful club excursion at mjq, modern jazz concourse in midtown atlanta. it was to be my last time attending the club and was a staple in my house excursions throughout atlanta.  goodbye mjq.  you will be missed.

in one room they go off with the deep house, tech soul, gospel tip and the other room they are rocking to alternative, garage band quirky punk rock stuff with the former theater and gothic high school kids in black grown up. i see characters in black mohawks and fire red hair, starkly contrasting tatooes against peach skin shifting across the floor to some guitars. mjq gets it all. i drift back and forth but eventually i stay locked to the main dancefloor.

it was church on the real. singing,  tambourines, whistles, cow bells overworked with broken wooden sticks, calling on jesus and the dj, frantic hands banging on the graffiti walls, rain water from the ceiling leaking down to cool hot bodies.  rawness. stripped of our sweatshirts and backpacks, some sistafriends and i screamed and hollered as if speaking in lyrical tongues with noisy huffs and groans.  we danced hard and good.  two mahogany brothas had a choir going on. no jacking with dance per se. just spontaneous singing and swaying on the stage with tamborines. beautiful.