I know it is expected to move to music. It’s the worst, because what I want to do most is just to sit and watch other people, but I cannot help but to feel a certain pressure to engage with the music. It produces a certain anxiety inducing dilemma where moving and not moving produce equally terrible results in which I am ultimately judged for my inability to dance.
I often attempt to take an ironic stance and exaggerate every move I make. At the same time, I worry that this makes it painfully obvious that I am definitely not relaxed and can only approach a situation where my physical body is acknowledged ironically, thus distancing myself from my body. The more hidden I am the more I move, and the more I allow my body to move itself. The diffracting glasses, the darkness and the rotating lights made me feel disoriented and knowing that this was also its effect on others, I gradually accepted that absolutely no one would be able to see what I was doing.
As the music mixed and interfered and produced a dissonant polyrhythmic synthesis, the focus shifted from trying to move to the music in a nice way to trying to move at all. Should I try to focus on a single mood or rhythm, or should I combine the features of the songs to move accordingly? The more awkward the combination of songs, the more I could relax, as I imagined other people in the room struggled as much as I did to pick up an extract of rhythm or beat. I felt myself relax and make larger gestures as the situation took on a more humorous form.

Written from the perspective of the disco-light
My significant other is at my side. We anxiously await until the long powerful beams above us leaves us alone. Finally, they go, and I feel my inner drive turn on. The room turns and bulges under the colorful spell of our beams. The static white enclosure transforms under our perusing gaze. As our many eyes meet along the surfaces of the room, the rigid patter of its particles is torn apart and dislocated.