I was having an existential crisis recently. Too many people, too much food, too little time. Too little dancing?
Yes. Exactly my thoughts. When could dancing become the primary language of humanity? Have you ever wondered those words? I know I haven’t.
But what was on my mind was the brilliant song by The Killers called ‘Human’. The chorus sings this melodic symphony of beauty with the lead singer’s vocals cutting through like a splinter into the palm of your hand when skipping along the fence line of the back of your house whilst humming ‘Halo’ by Beyonce.
He whipples his vocal cords like an ant standing up on all … eights? And raising its tiny little nocturnal eyebrows to create a slight buzz that disappears in an instant when a forgetful mother steps on it as she checks if she did or didn’t put her keys in her bag which is understandable since she’s trying to get out of the house with a brood of three under three in the house, then at the door, then in the car.
And so he cuddles you with his cords and caresses your earlobes with the words, ‘are we human?’ Well? Are we? Yes.
Ok, glad we got that sorted.
But then, after you thought the beauty couldn’t get any more enhanced and the subtlety of the lyrics couldn’t grab you by the muffintop and spin you around in an instant with any more energy … he sings, ‘or are we dancer?’ Yes. Dancer. You read right. No dancers. Just dancer.
And the question is a big one. We know we’re humans. But are we, as one, a singular dancer doing a move that could shake the very foundations of the artistic world if you saw fifty years of humanity in a ten second time lapse that actually looked like … something?
What does it look like? You’re lost for words and you faint instantly at the realisation that all of humanity for the last fifty years has actually been one big, artistic dance move.
You awaken with a friend singing a lullaby and fanning your face with a notepad. But as you lift your head carefully, you see the ten second time lapse in front of you again.
Your eyes widen, your hands get sweaty, you subconsciously stand up, go to the fridge, and pour yourself a Coke Zero, and then return to the chair, and look at the screen again.
You take a sip.
Yes. That’s what it is. It’s clear. You chuckle to yourself like a maniac realising he’s been talking to himself for the last year when he thought he was normal.
Your eyes frantically raise up to meet your friend’s. And you both simultaneously utter the words …
‘Are we prancer?’