I have come to crave things that I never had a taste for before. And I pride myself on my ability to acquire whatever I desire in a world in which it seems to be extinct. Chocolates, oysters and wine are all such things. They were considered aphrodisiacs once and are therefore sinful now. Anything that hints at sexual pleasure, not function, or the sensuality of women is completely forbidden. Which personally merely has the effect of making me feel all the more sensual.

I set out this morning to the east end of the city in search of oysters. The ultimate aphrodisiac. Before I heard once that there is no such thing as an aphrodisiac, now I don’t care. It is a thrill to acquire them and that is most definitely is titillating, whether or not oysters technically are.

That part of the city is out by the river, which is beautifully inspired by the pollution. It is mostly an industrial area. It was becoming trendy-industrial with theatres and galleries working their way into the neighbourhood. But those are mostly closed. Or at least appear to be. Behind the concealed windows of what was once the Warehouse Theatre, in a space that stifles with the summer heat and humidity, people come to throw back dozens of the slimmy little beasts from around the world and experience the best wines the world today has to offer. This is my destination. There is no name for this strange little restaurant, where people sit on crates on what was the stage and around make-shift tables that are dispersed throughout the audience seating.

It is dusk as I exit the streetcar and start working my way to the Warehouse. Only a select few are even aware of its present day character. The evening is fair. And though is appears clear as I exit on to the street a storm emerges out of nowhere and consumes the world, assaulting the street with large globular drops. Instantly I am soaked through and barely having time to even think about protection I dash into the alcove of the nearest entrance. But even this provides me with little shelter. As I press my back against the door, trying desperately to find some solace from the onslaught, the door creaks, forcing itself slightly ajar. Heaving my weight into it further it opens enough for me to slip through slamming it behind me and closing out the storm. As my eyes adjust to the dim light provided by windows intermingled amongst the cobwebs and rafters I realize where I am. This space used to be The Cathedral. Once an actual cathedral, later turned into one of the hottest night clubs in the city. It catered mostly to raves of drum and bass, acid jazz, trip hop and trance. From a place of intense worship to one of drugged abandonment and escape. And now only a shell of either of its former identities. The vaulted ceiling stretched high above me and the eerie light set shadows sprawling across the patterns in the concrete floor. The floor had  been inlayed marble and stone, but now is gone. Either stolen or destroyed, but no evidence remained of the hand who performed the labour.  Left behind are these brilliant patterns laid out on the surface of the rough concrete hinting at the majestic character that had once been. This floor has experienced the feet of thousands pounding out a beat and the shuffle of piety.

I walk into the centre so that the cathedral opens around me, and lay down on the floor. I removed my jacket to reveal the evening wear that I so rarely get to display these days as I settled in. The cool chill of the construction comforting against my skin in comparison to the musty humidity surrounding me. I lay there listening. The rain pounding the roof as I watch the drops confront the window panes in a desperate attempt to get in. For the first time I can remember since before this all began for a split second i can almost say I am safe. I am protected from this world in this building of contradictions that wears its life so blatantly. It is what it is (I can’t say that about myself anymore) and it is what its unnamed creator   never expected it to be. Perhaps that is not true. Those who came to dance and celebrate the music while escaping from the world, are perhaps not so different from those who came to pray. This is a sacrilegious thought...perhaps, one only to be voiced in select company, but I do not think these walls or this floor will tell on me. Either way it does not make it less true.

Its shambles now represents what happens when both thoughts drugged dance and piety are not allowed to co-exist. When each does not respect the other. The shame that this creates remains. The cold feels so comforting against my back and shoulders. The light dims more as the night slips fully in, leaving only the echo of the rain to inhabit this hallow space and encompass me. I lay in the dust and breath the stagnant air until the rain settles its beat to a light mist, then I peel myself off the floor and make my way out into the other world. I start off again towards the Warehouse and leave the fight for trance to exist with prayers on bent knees behind. I am walking towards my own fight. I fear that we are loosing.

Dari left today. It was all too much for her. It was different for her. We all used to live in what seemed to be a modern society and in many ways was. But these people always existed. I have called this an occupation. And it is, but it is an occupation of our own people. They invited them. But it is easier to handle if I believe I am not linked to them. But with Dari leaving I can no longer believe in my fantasy. Have things changed so much? I don’t know. It is like living in the mirror image of all that had been. Where once we wore the shroud of progress and acceptance, it only hid the unspoken prejudice. Now it has been reversed and the conservative is worn on the sleeve, those of us the children of the past must now wear our progressive ideas in concealment and underground. It was too much for Dari, so she left. She was no more oppressed that I or anyone else on paper. She had all that she needed, but could not live and love.  She could not walk down the street holding her girlfriend’s hand. Or even laugh and embrace. Not that you see any of that anymore. People only do these, once so publicly shared acts, behind closed doors. I don’t know why or when we stopped, merely that we did.

I wonder, if like Chinatown on a holiday Monday,we all decided that it needed to stop or that it was no longer accepted in one collective moment it did. As we were all involved and felt like independent individuals we never noticed until long after it had ended. I didn’t notice but I feel it now. Our lives have become so absurd that there are moments that I think there is nothing left to do but stand in the middle of the street and begin to laugh and howl, doubled over until tears are streaming down my face. But then my fate would be the same as Dari. I would probably be commited if viewed by the right or wrong people. Because that is what they do to people practicing intimacy of an ‘unfavourable’…gay nature in public. Obviously you must be diluted and a threat to the moral fibers of society. Committed. I hated watching Dari go, but I don’t know if I would have survived that either.

There are no real rules about laughter or homosexuality here, in fact nothing here has officially changed, and yet everything has. You can feel the conservative ideaology in the air. And as they fling off their shrouds they manage to cover us and we did not even see it coming. It is my parents generation who run this country, this world, and feel safe in this governing. We watched it happen in other countries. We saw the ideaology slowly sweep those around us. And yet we thought, naively that we were safe, we were different. We are open minded, and not only tolerant but embracing. We love, we do not fight, and we celebrate diversity. Well I did.  Do. And it was fashionable for all to claim these ideals. But there was that shroud that we couldn’t see. Blinded by our own progress we couldn’t see the wave when it enchanted its way here. Now it rules. All of a sudden those like Dari and myself did not dominate and were forced underground by popular opinion. We are going in reverse. And Dari left. She is trying to out run the various fundamentalists that seem to be convincing the world. But where can she go? If even we did not stay immune who will? Who ever would have thought that those hints our parents made about piety and virtue, over experiencing life and loving uninhibitedly, would take over.

We, or at least I, thought that we had moved past the days in which religion and the classical family unit were the ideal. At least here. Apparently that was ignorant.  Based on what we are now, it was most definitely naïve. It all returns to that world that never seemed to change for me and was never supposed to. How the world has cracked and begun to crumble.