Every so often, a piece of art comes along that captures a universal human truth with the precision of a sniper and the subtlety of a foghorn. The comic in question, a single, glorious frame, is one such masterpiece. It features two characters. One, mid-ecstatic, flailing dance, proclaims: “I LOVE SHAKING – IT TAKES ME OUT OF MYSELF.” The other, observing the scene of beautiful chaos, replies with a perfect, British-inflected deadpan: “BLIMEY – I CAN SEE THAT!!”
This isn’t just a joke. This is a profound anthropological study. It is the entire story of the relationship between the dancer and the non-dancer, the uninhibited and the bewildered, the person at the wedding who starts the conga line and the person at the table still guarding their purse.
Let us dive into the beautiful, chaotic truth of it all.
The Dancer: A Soul Liberated
The first character is every one of us who has ever been truly captured by a beat. They have achieved a state of nirvana that yogis spend decades trying to find. “It takes me out of myself” is not just a throwaway comment; it’s a spiritual manifesto.
This is the person for whom dancing is not a performance for others, but a vital release of internal pressure. They are not thinking about the work email they forgot to send, the weird thing they said in 2014, or what they’re going to meal-prep next week. They have achieved a complete and total brain-body merger with the rhythm. Their consciousness has left the building, and what remains is a pure, unadulterated, flailing id.
We know this dancer. They are at every concert, their eyes closed, a beatific smile on their face, arms describing shapes that defy Euclidean geometry. They are at the office party, single-handedly populating the dance floor while everyone else clings to the walls like wallpaper. They are the reason the terms “dad dancing” and “white people have no rhythm” were invented, and they simply Do. Not. Care.
Their dance moves are not from a tutorial; they are channeled from the cosmos. It’s a unique blend of:
- The Windmill: A frantic attempt to swat away a swarm of invisible bees.
- The Sprinkler: A classic for watering the imaginary lawn of the soul.
- The “Oops, I Dropped My Keys”: A sudden, convulsive lunge towards the floor, followed by a triumphant, un-based recovery.
- The “Trying to Get a Jumper Off Over My Head”: A full-torso rotation with accompanying arm flails.
They are a whirlwind. A force of nature. They are, in that moment, utterly and completely free.
The Observer: A Soul Perplexed
Then, we have the second character. The anchor to our dancer’s hot-air balloon. The representative of every sane, grounded person who has ever witnessed a friend, family member, or complete stranger “get taken by the spirit” on the dance floor.
Their response, “BLIMEY – I CAN SEE THAT!!” is a masterpiece of British understatement. It’s not mean-spirited. It’s not even criticism. It’s a simple, awe-struck acknowledgment of an observable fact. It’s the verbal equivalent of an astronomer discovering a new galaxy and saying, “Well, that’s a bit different, isn’t it?”
The observer is not just seeing a person dance. They are witnessing a full-scale metaphysical evacuation. The dancer’s soul has, quite literally, vacated the premises, and what is left is a marionette being controlled by a chaotic, funky ghost. The observer’s mind is racing with questions:
- Is this a medical event? Should I be looking for a seizure action plan?
- What part of the song, exactly, is being expressed by that knee-jerk motion?
- How are they not dizzy? Are they immune to physics?
- Is there any chance I could ever achieve this level of public abandon? (This is immediately followed by a internal, shuddering “No.”)
They are the voice of reason, of social conditioning, of the deeply ingrained fear of being perceived as “silly.” They represent the part of all of us that calculates the risk-to-fun ratio and concludes that standing still with a slight hip sway is the safest bet.
The Eternal Dance-Off: Inhibition vs. Abandon
This single-panel comic perfectly captures the two warring factions within every human soul at a social gathering involving music.
The Internal Dancer: “This is our song! Let go! Feel the beat! No one is watching, and if they are, they’re just jealous of our freedom! SHAKE IT!”
The Internal Observer: “Whoa, hold on there. People are definitely watching. Dave from HR is filming on his phone. Remember what happened last time? You ‘took yourself out of yourself’ and ended up with a nickname that still haunts you. Maybe just a subtle nod of the head.”
Most of us live our lives with the Observer firmly in the driver’s seat, while the Dancer is tied up in the trunk, occasionally managing to kick a leg out or flail an arm, resulting in what we call “awkward rhythm.”
The person in the comic, however, has allowed the Dancer to not only drive but to hot-wire the car and drive it through the front window of a convention for traffic cones. And we, from the safe distance of our observer’s perspective, are equal parts horrified and deeply, deeply envious.
The Moral of the Story: Shake It Like You Mean It
So, what can we learn from this profound piece of illustrated philosophy?
- The Best Dancing is an Exorcism of Insecurity. True, transcendent dancing isn’t about looking good. It’s about feeling good. It’s about physically shaking off the dust of the day, the weight of your worries, and the chains of self-consciousness. It is, as the dancer says, an out-of-body experience.
- Bewilderment is a Valid Response to Art. The observer’s reaction is just as honest as the dancer’s actions. True, unfiltered joy and abandon can be shocking to behold. It confronts us with our own limitations.
- We Need Both Characters. The world would be chaos if everyone was the dancer. We’d have no one to hold the drinks, guard the buffet, or call the ambulance if someone actually did shake a limb loose. Conversely, a world of only observers would be a silent, static, and terribly boring place.
The next time you hear a song you love, whether at a wedding, in your kitchen, or alone in your car, I invite you to think of this comic. Remember the ecstatic shaker and the bemused onlooker. And then, I implore you: lean into the shake.
Let yourself be taken out of yourself. Even if it’s just for one song. Let your soul do the sprinkler. Let your body interpret the beat in its own unique, confusing, and glorious way.
And if anyone looks at you with a bewildered expression and says, “Blimey, I can see that!”? Just know you’re doing it right. You’re not just dancing; you’re conducting a masterclass in freedom. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some shaking to do. My soul has a flight to catch.
