I went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans this past February. A whim of sorts. I haven't written about it yet so thought I'd share.

We spent a week down there. At this point, 5 or so months later, the memories have all coalesced into overlapping colors, smells, and tastes, a collage of sensory fragments. Screaming in the rain on Bourbon street. Strawberry Daiquiris. Lounging around a keg underneath an orange tree. And always purples yellows and greens. The ground slipped and slid underneath our feet, as much because of the alcohol swimming in our veins as the roads were covered and covered in beads and beads.

Clocks ceased to exist, time returned to a timeless state, there was the sun or there was not, the only place anyone had to be was at the next laugh which came with as much certainty as the hands of a clock each one was new, a surprise, a firework explosion, and yet it was still fused to the moments before.

Everyone talked and sang at the same time and somehow a single voice danced through all of our words.  Nobody was a stranger, least of all the daiquiris. The streets were liquored up. Sobriety and Moderation politely stepped out of the dictionary for a few nights and only the still legs of the non-dancers felt ashamed.

There was an energy that hung over the city like a thunder cloud. There were cocktails, crawfish, crowds, smiles, empty cans, bowell movements, tits, daiquiris, kegs, shouts, ibuprophen, oranges, masks, spices, stomach aches, parades, cops, vomit, revellers, smiles, headaches, laughs, smiles and everywhere there were beads. And always purples yellows and greens.   

The music was funky, there was always heavy bass. The trees were tall and fresh and alive and it was still winter. Spanish moss hung 20 feet and we imagined crawling up like spiders and never coming down. There was a heavy crescendo that built and built and built until our feet and tongues were moving as fast as they can possibly go and a vibrant red energy swallowed the entire city and turned it into a dance floor. And then there was the inevitable crash, the hard earned sleep, the mornings of clear minds treated to coffee and a croissant. Brief moments of reflection until we once again felt the pulse of Mardi Gras through our fingertips and we swore that we were wicked and deserved no more rest.

And in a big flash boom of light, noise, purples yellows and greens it ended with no remorse. For days our bodies punished us and all we ever wanted was sleep and vegetables. Reality tasted good too.