Night-Time Colours is about some of the feelings experienced in a night-club. It is a celebration of the beauty such a night holds but also a critique on the almost-carnivorous repetition these nights create. It is the third poem of the ‘Autumn, That Bastard‘ Poetry Collection and maybe the most digestible of them all!
‘What The Heck Am I Rambling About?’ is me talking about the meanings I intended in my creative and poetic works!
Check out the poem here before reading ahead where you can also read my Author’s Comments section: Night-Time Colours
I used to very much enjoy going to clubs occasionally and spending the night out with friends. Dancing away to music. But now, sometimes, not all the time, I am hit with an anxiety in a club space. There’s a feeling of limited control and what I think is a “loudness to compete with the loudness”. In such a space, ‘intimacy has no atrium’ and as such, love and hook-up culture can be freely explored. To an extent, celebrated.
The colours and lights I refer to are what people are drawn to. Because amidst the bobbing of the head, amidst the undulating movement of bodies, people want to be in the centre of the night-club. I use the oxymoron of ‘silent-loud decree’ that there is an expectation and eagerness to be presentable. Yet this dress-codes runs in direct opposition of this purpose. How the hell do you dance comfortably in those clothes? Yet, we rarely challenge it and it is ultimately the ‘cruel-bouncer’ who blocks them and they don’t get to dance, hence the ‘stale legs’ imagery.
As mentioned to in the author’s comment section of Nigh-Time Colours, this is both a celebration of this youthful culture but also a critique of it. Although the poem ends on a somewhat hopeful night, the repetition is cyclical and nights like a clubbing night will happen again. This is just one of the ways it relates to the Autumn, That Bastard poetry collection.
You can check out the other poems so far in the collection here:
Leave me your thoughts about this in the comments!
Christos Floratos 