Kenny Kenny and Alanah misbehave….again.

What’s a boy or for that matter a girl, or someone caught in between to do? Last Friday this Scallywag dropped by the monthly Circus party at HQ to partake in the combustible revelry. With flying Cheerio cereal boxes, Marlene Dietrich verve,  lush cabana boys, and the application of make up not seen since the times of Louis XXIV it was a scream…but did Kenny Kenny really have to dig his stiletto into the cereal box?

The first thing I’m asking myself as I walk into the room is if the giant protruding breasts flinging mercilessly along Alanah’s soul are real? Without a second to think about it the grand madame flings herself (or was it that flung myself…?) into those combustible canons and succored the sweet warmth  that only a woman and disco beat in the back ground could procure.

First I was afraid

I was petrified

Kept thinking I could never live

without you by my side…

With shimmering bodices, skin tight lattices, perfect moisturizers and grit the crowd spiraled out of control, Kenny Kenny doing back flips (I’m serious) against the steep handrails, Alanah working her honey hips and Malik So Chic pouting his ruby lips.

Go on now go walk out the door

just turn around now

’cause you’re not welcome anymore

weren’t you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye

you think I’d crumble

you think I’d lay down and die

Swiveling next to one of the cabana boys, his pectoral muscles anointed and lathered, the ditzy blonde wigs,  the stargazed on lookers, my cranberry vodkas, the crowd pounced into Gloria’s chorus, a re affirmation of vitriol, of unabashed identity;

Oh no, not I

I will survive

as long as i know how to love

I know I will stay alive

I’ve got all my life to live

I’ve got all my love to give

and I’ll survive

I will survive

There I am watching the most wicked ensemble of people having the time of their lives, pure and oblivious to the games most of us are trained to play in the night club game, not here, the boots, the mascara, oh if only Kenny Kenny could have lent me his, the unadulterated joy, the virtuosity of this make believe world more real than what we are taught is real….somewhere deep in hell’s kitchen, at four am in the morning, a divine theater in the heart of the theater district.

You just had to be there…