i believe in

Precisely two minutes and 45 seconds into R. Kelly's "Ladies Night," when his echoed vox descend like shooting stars, glitter confetti, swathes of chiffon--and the guitar bubbles, restrained tickling on the counter rhythm--and he's singing "Daaaaance, yeah"--because the dance is a transport, away from what we don't know (jail?) but the steppers are angels, definitely; and I'm like, so far gone up in R.'s utopian uni I can't even remember my own name: thank you for this particular moment, you creepy happy genius.