I have a bit of a… let’s call it a fascination with neon lights. The artistry that goes into these things alone is admirable, with each intricate design crafted by hand with a series of delicate bends before being brought to life with a drop of mercury, a noble gas, and an electric current. The subdued intensity of the light they provide is wonderfully paradoxical—they shine in the darkness without subtracting from it, a beacon in a sea of night that casts only the slightest of ripples. They create a bridge between the vivacity of light and the intrigue of night, forming the perfect middle ground between the two. As one who loves the dark but also appreciates light, it should come as no surprise that I have a fondness for these occupants of a strange niche of Americana.
Neon signs seem to represent a juncture of past and future: they inevitably invoke images of years past, when they flickered in the windows of all-night diners and drugstores, but they also put one in mind of the futures as imagined by the likes of William Gibson and Richard Morgan, where the downtrodden eke out a living under the flickering and buzzing. At this second junction, neon lights essentially represent the present in their own way. But it is another thing they represent, to me at least, that makes them truly special to me.
I call it the Neon Dream.
Imagine a city of endless night that never sleeps, but is lit with neon lights and the flickering signs of diners and shops that seem ratty but make you feel safe. And the clubs and bars and secret shadowy places are all around and everyone is wearing something crazy and nobody cares. A place where fashions and music and whole new lifestyles are born in an instant, where the romance and wonder of the dark streets pulses up through your feet. A place that is dark but not frightening or dangerous, but contains all the romance and mystery and excitement of back alleys and forbidden places.
This city contains anything that a person could want after hours: restaurants and food carts to suit every conceivable taste and some that are hitherto-unexplored experiments of the purveyor’s culinary creativity; art exhibits, botanical gardens, and libraries for those who are looking for something more sedate or intellectually stimulating, or even college branch campuses providing night classes; boutiques and shops selling all sorts of fashions, nick-knacks, and middle-of-the-night essentials; gyms and yoga studios for those who prefer to burn fat along with the midnight oil; arcades and game parlors and places for more subdued entertainment; coffee shops and tea houses for relaxation and quiet conversations; dark, dingy dive bars for when you just need a drink and some time alone while still being around people.
And then there’s the music.
Clubs and venues of every kind, “college bars” that host amateur and indie acts, hi-tech discotheques for DJs to experiment with senses other than sound, traditional nightclubs with glitz and bling everywhere, smoky lounges with velvet couches and soulful singers and expensive wines—a place for everyone’s tastes, places where all who wish to may let the beats course through their body like the pulse of a second, communal heart and give themselves over to the dance that flows through us all.
This is what neon lights mean to me.
This place I have described is, of course, impossible, but if we’re lucky, we may each be able to find a little portion of our own neon dream somewhere out there in the night. And until I am able to find my scrap of that hive-mind heartbeat, I will use the lights I can collect to bring it to me, if only in spirit.