quiglingual

In recent years, I've become enamored with voluntary, participatory violence. Big talk for someone who spends eight hours a day on the computer, but hey – I'm a deep believer in self expression, and what greater form of expression is there than that performed by the body itself? (Similar arguments can be made for other forms of expression, of course. And that’s art!)

When I say that I've become enamored with “violence”, I mean, um, violence. The turbulent jostle of hundreds of bodies: all sweaty, though not all are sweating. The flight of elbows and full body tackles, executed in the name of mutual love. Love: love for the music of the moment, audible through decorations of SCREAMED OFF-TUNE LYRICS from the liquid crowd. Lyrics; coupled with pirouettes, line dancing, rowing, circles of running concertgoers, or maybe just a great amount of collision. When I say that I’ve become enamored with “violence”, I’m saying that I fucking love the mosh pit.

Pits are primal. In the anonymity of a crowd, I can let go of inhibition. I happily relinquish my identity, succumbing to the flow of others. As my neighbors jump and shove, the futility in any kind of resistance emerges. I revert to operating on half survival instinct, half pure electricity of the moment. Limbs revel; eyes open and close as the rest of this body collides with other bodies. A brawl between no opponents. Everybody wins.

At what other moments in life do you ever get to engage so freely in movement? Sports are limited by rules. Martial arts require control and refinement; dance can feel bound by social rules. Violent activity only surfaces in the everyday as remote situations of fear, anger, or extreme excitement; and how often does the average person experience these emotions? Not often. (Ideally.)

But in the pit, savagery is everywhere. And so the pit becomes a special place. A butcher's block, designed to reduce you to your animalism.

Animalism. Our roots. Each concert I attend convinces me that the most humanly valuable experiences are those that evoke any kind of animalistic primality out of us, because they are freeing.

I do not live freely. I find that I have walked much of life guided by inhibitions and fears of mistakes, harm, and pain. Worried of displeasing others, I would constantly prune my behavior and words, holing myself further into a tunnel of a character to meet some sort of model me that never needed to exist. In my day-to-day life, this causes suffering. I wish to live authentically.

In the pit, though, nobody cares about whether or not I am seemingly intelligent, charming, agreeable, insightful, or me. I can let go and be, and I do so knowing everyone around me will accept me with unconditional love. At the end of the day, that’s the pit. A rippling body of love.

I recently found myself at an IDLES show, an elbow slamming into my chin as I tried to sing the same song as my unintentional assailant. As the welcome impact subsided, I noticed the joy around me, and realized that I desperately wanted this same relentless harmony in my everyday life. I want to show myself and be accepted for that, leaving no room for hesitance towards pain. I want the me in the pit to be outside of the pit too. I want her to be unafraid as she collides with others and as others clash with her.

I want to love freely. After all, what else do I have?