Fancy an Alternative London Club Atmosphere?

There are many clubs in London, but few tend to engage individuality. If you fancy escaping from the herd mentality of mainstream London night life you might want to enter the dark gates of the Slimelight. Mind you it’s not for everyone, that would miss the point entirely. And while some people tell me it’s ‘not what it used to be,’ few things are. When enduring the unholy realm of the Slimelight, prose fired in all directions. My nervous system was erupting like a volcano within a dark oceanic abyss. Here’s a little taste.

Enveloped by the Slimelight

Dark corridors lead to storage rooms in a warehouse filled with freaks and ghouls forgotten by the post-industrial sprawl of modern society and left to brood in rhythmic euphoria. The music catches your heart with a malleable claw and drags you into primal bliss. Each beat is like listening to your insides being amplified by a thousand decibels. You can feel it take hold and exorcise the demons that lie deep within. They come out with a fierceness that remains forever more. One’s sub-conscious, in full fury, begins to understand why humanity partakes in rituals at all anymore. This is better than religion. The Slimelight comes from a deep, dark cavern from within that melts away the plasticity of the human soul and allows you to take on any form you choose.

Upon entering, one feels as if they had entered a tomb. The air is cold yet soothing and gives you the feeling that whatever may lie ahead will give you an appreciation for London’s damp, frigid froth of an atmosphere. Up another set of stone stairs covered with an unexplainable splatter of a substance that ‘looks’ like red paint and turn in your garments which you might not see again until daylight. Find your way to two forgotten rooms that are now remembered by black lights and are covered with phantasmagoric images displayed on the walls from flickering projectors overhead. And while the sounds of manufacturing from the warehouse’s former owner is now absent, it has been replaced with the gripping mortification of industrial synthesizers mixed with records of electronic darkness. But the vibrations that emit from this salem’s lot is not depressing by any means, but instead pulls you into a lost world of anomalous souls who take pleasure in creating a vortex of human flesh. The lighting transforms instantaneously from blue-red to black-green and dances with the motion of bodies in an orgy of life.

The floor is black as tar and little imagination is required to see one’s self in a cauldron of deranged personalities who need not rub up against you for their presence to be felt from close by. They are all part of a dance that will wipe the mess of humanity and rip a void in space-time wide open — a doorway for imagination. Follow the eyes: watching you, watching others, watching your ideas, fantasies and ego slip into oblivion. Their is no identity, no hollow echoes from the norms of society, no weak cries from government or god. Only the body remains and the mind was discovered to be a barrier in understanding the fullness of being empty. Nothing is what it appears to be. Seating is not seating, but places of rest for the tired and weary who dare to stay at the slime light past 4 am. The walls are not walls, but post-modern impressions of the morbid and manic.

If you look close enough one can find all sorts of strange aberrations in mere concrete, because art is not only created by human hands ,but simply seen. Chaos is what gives an environment depth and it is the black swirl of chaos channeled through the slime light that will make losing yourself in the dark the most ecstatic moment of your withered life. The bar isn’t much, but drinking alcohol isn’t even close to the reasons behind the Slimelight’s existence. This is where the lost children gather to partake in an energetic cycle of life, death and retribution. This is where viewing people in cages is not disturbing, but a metaphor for the times we are living in. Why not have one last dance? A dance of wicked splendor and depravity, but a dance none the less. Desire exists for a reason and the Slimelight is self-psychotherapy for the restless gothic spirit to receive a little peace in a world where it rarely exists.

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