Beat Seeking Missiles

{image by Itch@Revolver- altered and photoshopped by Dboy with out permission}


In dark corners of dark smokey rooms the Movement sits, sips, whispers the latest.
Music pounds out the rhythm of the conversation, dark moody beats, hip electro styles, fast jungle patterns, sub woofers elude to the technology of the day, no animal skins here, no lion hair strings, just pure unadulterated techno styles of the Movement. Crowds hustle and bustle to hide the slick movement of hands under the table, the swift flicking of the thumb towards the mouth, the sharp sniff off the nail. The whispers contain news from the underground, millings of the whats not and what is, the quality control in check of the goings on and fading away. The sun may rise, but the beat will not fall, the doors to this club do not close, the couches will stay full, the art will still hang, the tenders still serve with rapid succession, the money still exchange hands with little thought of its worth. The watchers take it all in, the partakers never think twice, the beat will sway these walls, will take the falls, will control the mood you seek. Come the first day of the week, the heads will still carry the knowledge gained from other member, the experience can not be replaced, the outsiders and insiders will still stay in the loop, with confidence in their actions, confidence the beat goes on.