AFTER GINNY'S house sold I rented a batch at Piha beach to prepare.
I lived there with my German girlfriend, Brigitte, from February to May. There was no TV. While Brigitte went to work at a local cafe, I spent my days on a steady diet of self help and meditation. I wrote glowing mission statements and felt extremely pleased with myself.
At sunset I took long walks along the black sand beach heading for Lion Rock with the damp sand squeezing between my toes and the surf pounding and the pastel clouds painting the horizon.
At times like these, I could breathe, dream. Not anxious or being anxious about being anxious, just silly sundowny dreamy of my coming-this-summer bestseller and the spark that would catch and grow and grow into the inevitable chain of straight edge dance clubs called Uplift. Configurable, each week they would be a different lay-out, break-down and move around, and the dance floor level, the bubble balanced, and springy, maybe grass, perfect for knees,
and the clubs wired and world-wide, sister cities, sound, screens, and you could lose your shit next to Uplifters in Rio and Rome, Cairo and Cape Town, and a DJ could shred across three continents, three time zones, and the clubs would open in the day, have retractable roofs, sunlight pouring in, sometimes rain, just for a change, and people would come and dance like doing a fitness class, no alcohol or drugs, but the system massive, the tunes phat, this was about cardio, heart rate, not about getting high,
and the bouncers - not bouncers . . . enablers, defenders? Champions! Large but friendly, no Homus Erectus, and the dress code relaxed, shoes not a problem, nor the ratio of hot women, nor your age, and you could reserve time, the floor uncrowded, and all the retired clubbers coming out, creaking, because they'd never stopped loving dance, and the mainstream masses also, would spy the lighthouse on the hill, finally get a clue,
and oh these clubs would be glorious, and there would be Uplift festivals, too, and all of it backed by a maverick billionaire, Branson perhaps, and I would be the progenitor and I would be a revered elder and I would stay in the scene surrounded by a cortege of sexy and accomplished woman, a lifer, forever and ever.
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