Gypsy

There is just no escaping it: all of the music that "moves" me or provokes me tends to elicit some kind of absurd vision or fantasy--and that is probably part of what makes me like it so much. They're not real experiences that I associate with the music, they are imagined experiences that seem so real! Case in point: today we were driving back from Glen Ivy and I requested that we listen to some Fleetwood Mac. The song "Gypsy" came on and I immediately began to envision myself dancing alone, slowly under a spinning disco ball, the background in total blackness, wearing heavy silver eyeshadow and a slinky white satin dress. Everything is in soft focus, like in a 70s music video. I shimmy my shoulders while Stevie sings, "Maybe once, maybe twice" and weave my head back and forth. Then a man in ballet tights and a billowy Renaissance blouse dances towards me slowly, pausing between each dance step (when I described this part to my friends, Sarah said that he was probably dressed this way because I had just watched the Lawrence Olivier version of "Hamlet" and the sword-fighting sequence must have made quite an impression.) The man dancing toward me is either a young Baryshnikov or Rahm Emanuel, who is, after all, a classically trained dancer. Then I will sway about while he dances in a circle around me. Maybe I will have a garland of white blossoms in my hair. The song fades away with us dancing away from eachother, arms outstretched, disappearing into the blackness, until all that's left is the disco ball rotating slowly in soft focus.