In recent years, I've become enamored with voluntary, participatory violence. Big talk for someone who spends eight hours a day on the computer, but hey - I'm a deep believer in self expression, and what greater form of expression is there than that performed by the body itself? (Similar arguments can be made for other forms of expression, of course. And that’s art!)

When I say that I've become enamored with “violence”, I mean, um, violence. The turbulent jostle of hundreds of bodies: all sweaty, though not all are sweating. The flight of elbows and full body tackles, executed in the name of mutual love. Love: love for the music of the moment, audible through decorations of SCREAMED OFF-TUNE LYRICS from the liquid crowd. Lyrics: coupled with pirouettes, line dancing, rowing, circles of running concertgoers, or maybe just a great amount of collision. When I say that I’ve become enamored with “violence”, I’m saying that I fucking love the mosh pit.

Pit activity is primal. Able to let go of my inhibitions in the anonymity of a crowd, I happily relinquish my identity and succumb to the flow of the others. As my neighbors jump and shove, I embrace even the futility in mental resistance. I revert to operating on half survival instinct, half pure electricity of the moment. Limbs revel; eyes open and close as the rest of this body collides with other bodies. A brawl between no opponents, where the outcome for everyone involved is victory.

At what other moments in life does one get to engage so freely in such lively movement? Martial arts require control and refinement; dance is similar, to an extent. Violent activity only surfaces in the everyday as remote situations of fear, anger, or extreme excitement; and how often does the average person experience these emotions? Not often. (Ideally.)

But in the pit, such savagery is everywhere. And so the pit becomes a special place. A butcher's block, designed to reduce you to your animalism.

Animalism; our roots. Each concert I attend convinces me that the most humanly valuable experiences are those that evoke any kind of animalistic primality out of us, because they are freeing. Freeing, because I do not live freely.

I find that I have walked much of life guided by inhibitions and fears of mistakes, harm, and pain. Worried of displeasing others, I would constantly prune my behavior and words, holing myself further into a tunnel of a character to meet some sort of model Quiana that never needed to exist. In my day-to-day life, this causes suffering. I cannot live authentically.

In the pit, though, nobody cares about whether or not I am seemingly intelligent, charming, agreeable, insightful, or Quiana. I can let go and be, and I do so knowing everyone around me will accept me with unconditional love. At the end of the day, that’s the pit. A rippling body of love.

Just this Tuesday, I found myself at an IDLES show, an elbow slamming into my chin as I cried out the same song as my unintentional assailant. (do not worry, for I am only bruised!) As the welcome impact subsided, I noticed the joy around me, and realized that I want to feel this relentless harmony in real life. I want to show myself and be accepted for my core, leaving no room for hesitance towards pain. I want the me in the pit to be outside of the pit too, rose-cheeked in the teethy wind, waiting for the bus alone after the concert ends at 11pm. I want her to be at the coffee shop the next day as she gets to know a new friend; I want her to look her next lover in the eye while she unflinchingly expresses her feelings and needs. I want her to love freely and be with no fear.

I want to draw the primality of the pit around me. After all, what else do I have?