Party in the House of Pain: Tout le Seattle Will Be There Sans Moi Bien Sur

Having seen it all, I don't wanna see no more. I spent decades in the Palace of Kink and don't need to do any more hard time. Suffice it to say, with the poet, "sex without love wears gay deceivers." No matter, the grey sponge helmet of Seattle's unceasing reign of rain drives its inmates to greater and greater heights of insanity and "celebration." And there is no refuge since the clinically insane are so compelled to "share."

Tonight's chapter of Seattle's Psychopathia Sexualis is the Forbidden Fashion Show. Here is how the producer is describing the event:

The amazing opening of the show will feature the talented dancers of DassDance,. The extravagant display will be a fusion of contemporary dance and northern Venezuelan drums (tambores), as the dancers cavort and whirl, donning colorful authentic Venezuelan masks.

What breathless excitement will waft over the audience! One can only imagine the tingles and the thrills as the "drums (tambores)" kick in, and the crisp snap of poppers is heard throughout the room. Then the "colorful masks" will be deployed.

But wait, that's not all.

We have not yet heard from that driving spike of the way-new economy, "The Boutiques:"

As the introductory performance wanes, the models will make their entrance, framed by the antics of the dancers. The models will parade a modern, hip blend of style and everyday fashion from *Retail Therapy, the first of our line of local designers and boutiques.

The mystical, musical strains of the Eastern world, invoking images of silk scarves and belly dancing beauties will be a prelude to our next boutique, *HAREM combining culture with sensuality comparable to the grand Egyptian Empire of old, featuring hats, handbags, veils, and mens robes, culminating in a dreamscape of imagination.

"Culminating in a dreamscape of imagination." One would say, "You can't make this shit up," except that some demented mind has indeed made it up. Ah well, second-rate cities demand second-rate copy.

But wait, that's not all!

You might think you've had enough of some twitching twinks in Venezuelan masks, but they are rented by the evening so you might as well haul them back out.

Return of DassDance: Here the dancers explode in a frenzy of grunge and intense, gyrating rock and roll, evoking the darker side of the audience, and assisting them in delving into the dominatrix inside of us all, as we introduce the next local boutique.

Well, given the amount of drugs and booze DassDance has probably consumed at this point, why wouldn't they jump back out to "explode in a frenzy of grunge?"

After all, the last dubious thing that Seattle contributed to the culture was, ahem, "Grunge." This blight on the nation was born in.... wait for it.... 1981! That's it. One idea every 25 years. Seattle's desperate rock scene has been dining out on it for decades, with no signs of dumping it back in the dented dumpster of rock history from which it was exhumed. Instead, grunge survives in this city because it satisfies the three prime requirements of rock-culture crapola: it is easy and cheap and requires no talent at all. In these elements, grunge might be seen as the harbinger of rap, but I'm sure the brothers would not agree.

In all the "frenzy of grunge" is a perfect prelude to the audience's diving into "the dominatrix inside us all." Whether or not it will be necessary to surface and shower down after such a profound dirt dive is left unsaid. After all, there is some grime ground so deep that not even a scrub-down with a steel bristle brush can get it out. (Not that some in the audience wouldn't crave to try it.) But it does little good to put down dirt. Much better to "celebrate it!"

One of the local names for Seattle is "Emerald City," but scenes like this one remind you that large neighborhoods resemble the prison of "Oz" on HBO, much more than the fabled city of Dorothy and her pals.

But wait, that's not all

Just when you thought it was safe to have safe sex, it's time for "The Crypt:"

The Crypt has long been a place where leather and chains rule, where you give in to your inner fire This is embodied by the clothes exhibited here, as black is prevalent, and flaming passion is a likely result from these sexy accessories. Women will be dressed dominatrix-style in corsets and boustiers, while the men will be sporting spikes, kilts and boxer briefs.

In a way, the good thing about being an atheist in Seattle in America in 2008 is that there is no waiting for Hell. Every single Saturday there's a fresh one tailor-made for you. Full of fun, fashion, frivolity, and all your friends. Just show up and there you are, all decked out in STDs in pretty colors and bright red Venezuelan masks.

Edgar Allen Poe couldn't have planned it better.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all. Edgar Allan Poe: The Masque of the Red Death

Party on, Dudes! I'd go, but frankly I don't have a thing to wear.

Posted by Vanderleun at May 3, 2008 3:05 PM