Dancing when wet

Coded into photography and into movies, into ads and onto t.v., are the sexual beings we call humans.

Even if they're safely integrated into a classical mode, of a musical from the '30s, perhaps, their bodies remain objects of desire and of lustful display.

Just more carefully positioned within a more culturally acceptable spectacle. Rather than, say a hand-held gonzo porn film.

Which is its own spectacle of attractions, a throwback to the old days of cinema in which films didn't have stories, only sensational events depicted for the amazement and visual satisfaction of the audience watching.

Giving the spectators what they want, a series of spectacular images and other stimuli ("stimuluses"?) that tease, excite and thrill.

The story is just an excuse to get to the "numbers." The bodies in motion and choreographed for the camera. A series of open displays of physical prowess and skill for our visual enjoyment.

To laugh with, to cheer, and to emulate in our dreams, when we get older.

And perhaps to masturbate over.