smokingboot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smokingboot) wrote2007-11-24 01:41 pm
smokingboot) wrote2007-11-24 01:41 pm
Babylon and Jam
So I found I couldn't do it - two events in one night, a party book launch where I could meet Maxine Saunders, famous witch of the Alexandrian tradition of Wicca, and a birthday bash at Club Sin. larians was down in London, and the birthday girl was a chum of ours so Club Sin it was.
Club Sin is an alternative goth/fetish venue down at Tottenham Court Road. It's a multi-levelled maze of red walls and gold mirrors following a floorplan from the Escher school of interior design. One room had the live (or at least only partly dead) goth band, one room had the industrial thrash stuff, one room had all the trad, and other rooms had, er, other things...stiltwalkers offered vodka jelly (wot, no absinthe?) and free lollipops, the Theatre of Sin was suitably decadent and everywhere, everywhere there was someone worth staring at - or worth hiding from, like, forever.
A big built blonde guy dressed as Alice through a different kind of looking glass, a rubber clad Mad Hatter not far away, a guy naked save his boots, bowler hat and dignity, a woman dressed in pillbox hat and pvc polka dots, an elegant lady in a long scarlet rubber evening dress, dwarf women dressed like victorian dolls, a white rubber first aider with kitty cat ears, a nazi with a riding crop and eyepatch, various members of the RAF, lycra sailors and copious numbers of beautiful bustles, exquisite corsets, leather masks and piercings.
The Theatre of Sin was the highlight, with good strippers (one of them was really excellent) and intriguing set pieces. I must admit that while I wasn't expecting smurfs at all, vampire porno smurfs who spurted with blood when bitten, ate fire and attacked their plated groins with buzz-saws were a memorable first for me. I nearly sat on what I thought was a black lace couch, when it yelped and revealed itself to be a woman on top of a dwarf. I apologised and backed away while she very courteously gestured towards her mount - I think she was offering me a go. I declined. Call me repressed.
Alongside the many beautiful people there were those sad others: they say age is not kind to women, well it clearly doesn't smile on men either, especially those men who have learned nothing from watching the beautiful girls de-garment on stage; gentlemen, learn as the ladies have learned, if you're going to display your entirety in public, there is no point shaving yourself from neck to toe ignoring the back and bottom. Do none or do all. But there they were, half shaven and hoping. In the play room, one man was tethered to the wall with a note pinned on him (I forget where) saying 'Ladies please write on me'. Enterprising souls had acceded to his request, one even drawing red lines where his pubic hair should be. His chest was a wall of graffiti. Not sexy.
None of it was sexy actually. There was a lot of fun and a lot of beauty, as well as plenty of ugliness. But I found myself admiring the outfits more than the bodies they covered, cos flesh is pretty (if we're lucky) but flesh isn't enough. If Babylon is breasts in harness and penises poking out through rubber shorts (subtle, eh?) then Babylon can't turn me on, and I watch it all like an alien wondering when I'm meant to get excited. Still, a pretty dress up night and certainly a place I would return to in the right company.
I have a show tonight, which unfortunately means I will be missingmotorpickle's party. My only consolation is this excellent plum jam made by ellefurtle's mama; it has no pectin/ sugar/whatever does the whole preserving in preserves, so it must be consumed swiftly. And I am giving it my best shot...
larians was down in London, and the birthday girl was a chum of ours so Club Sin it was. Club Sin is an alternative goth/fetish venue down at Tottenham Court Road. It's a multi-levelled maze of red walls and gold mirrors following a floorplan from the Escher school of interior design. One room had the live (or at least only partly dead) goth band, one room had the industrial thrash stuff, one room had all the trad, and other rooms had, er, other things...stiltwalkers offered vodka jelly (wot, no absinthe?) and free lollipops, the Theatre of Sin was suitably decadent and everywhere, everywhere there was someone worth staring at - or worth hiding from, like, forever.
A big built blonde guy dressed as Alice through a different kind of looking glass, a rubber clad Mad Hatter not far away, a guy naked save his boots, bowler hat and dignity, a woman dressed in pillbox hat and pvc polka dots, an elegant lady in a long scarlet rubber evening dress, dwarf women dressed like victorian dolls, a white rubber first aider with kitty cat ears, a nazi with a riding crop and eyepatch, various members of the RAF, lycra sailors and copious numbers of beautiful bustles, exquisite corsets, leather masks and piercings.
The Theatre of Sin was the highlight, with good strippers (one of them was really excellent) and intriguing set pieces. I must admit that while I wasn't expecting smurfs at all, vampire porno smurfs who spurted with blood when bitten, ate fire and attacked their plated groins with buzz-saws were a memorable first for me. I nearly sat on what I thought was a black lace couch, when it yelped and revealed itself to be a woman on top of a dwarf. I apologised and backed away while she very courteously gestured towards her mount - I think she was offering me a go. I declined. Call me repressed.
Alongside the many beautiful people there were those sad others: they say age is not kind to women, well it clearly doesn't smile on men either, especially those men who have learned nothing from watching the beautiful girls de-garment on stage; gentlemen, learn as the ladies have learned, if you're going to display your entirety in public, there is no point shaving yourself from neck to toe ignoring the back and bottom. Do none or do all. But there they were, half shaven and hoping. In the play room, one man was tethered to the wall with a note pinned on him (I forget where) saying 'Ladies please write on me'. Enterprising souls had acceded to his request, one even drawing red lines where his pubic hair should be. His chest was a wall of graffiti. Not sexy.
None of it was sexy actually. There was a lot of fun and a lot of beauty, as well as plenty of ugliness. But I found myself admiring the outfits more than the bodies they covered, cos flesh is pretty (if we're lucky) but flesh isn't enough. If Babylon is breasts in harness and penises poking out through rubber shorts (subtle, eh?) then Babylon can't turn me on, and I watch it all like an alien wondering when I'm meant to get excited. Still, a pretty dress up night and certainly a place I would return to in the right company.
I have a show tonight, which unfortunately means I will be missing
motorpickle's party. My only consolation is this excellent plum jam made by ellefurtle's mama; it has no pectin/ sugar/whatever does the whole preserving in preserves, so it must be consumed swiftly. And I am giving it my best shot...