Moonlight Madness

MOONLIGHT MADNESS xx Caribbean ideas: MOONLIGHT MADNESS >>WHISPERS in January’s ear in a DEEP THROATY VOICE like those LATE-NITE LONG SONG request-show radio hosts. >>says the MAGIC WORDS and she comes under a HYPNOTIC SPELL. January dutifully flys to the islands and hops in a cab, requesting the destination given to her “Oh, you be going to the Full Moon Party?,” the taxi driver asks. At the sound of “FULL MOON,” January goes into a hypnotic state, being OVERWHELMED with an INSATIABLE CRAVING... . . .a LONGING for THINGS PAST, an UNQUENCHABLE DESIRE for SELF EXPRESSION, a conflicted YEARNING to be TORN and MADE WHOLE, a . . . “You ok, lady?” The taxi speeds along, atop the mountainous spine of the islands’s VOLCANIC CORE, its occupant completely missing the SPECTACULAR views of ridges SPILLING and UNDULATING down to the AZURE BLUE SEA, over EMERALD REEFS out to distant islands. the taxi stops at what appears to be a PILE of JUNK, literally in the SURF, lit up by GARISH CACAPHONY of lights as LOUD as the music. Managing to COMPOSE herself as the FINE LADY she is, January hops out and works her way through the crowd to the bar. “Hi, do you have an envelope for January Seraph?,” she says in her BEST ISLAND ACCENT. She pulls a sheet of paper out of the envelope--it reads, "Go into the restroom, and take off your PANTIES, write ‘January’ on them in BIG BOLD letters with your LIPSTICK. When you’re done, hang them above your location in the RAFTERS . . .” “THAT’S IT,” she slams the letter down in disgust. “I’m a modern, independent woman, and I refuse to participate in this sappy, disgusting . . .” She goes on in an inspiring string of verbal gymnastics, stinging wit, and biting juxtaposition of images that only January is capable of dishing out. “And to expect that a mindless gimmick like ‘FULL MOON’ would . . .” At its mention, inexplicably, the spell returns and she falls into a DEEP DANCE-TRANCE, completely GIVING HERSELF UP to the THROBBING music, the SULTRY NIGHT AIR in the Caribbean, the EROTIC POWER of the MOON, and she starts dancing with a succession of partners.

While doing a DEEP DROP, she glances up to the ceiling and notices the rafters are filled with women’s undergarments. “Damn, they are holding up the place,” she mutters, reaching for the letter. She reads: “Your assignment is to study the MOONLIGHT MADNESS. Precisely at midnight, get a cup of punch . . .” Filtering through the MAZE of her HYPMOTIZED MIND comes a veritable chorus of FOLLOWERS shouting: “DON’T DRINK THE PUNCH AT MIDNIGHT” At midnight, she quickly QUAFFS her drink, a SILLY SMIRK on her face. She TURNS, “You must be January.”