Libuse Jarcovjakova

Mare's Head, Mrs. Bulbous, Mrs. Glasscutter, Little Lemon, Rattles, Backpack, Mrs. Bleble - and another and another. They were all there almost daily. They belonged to the inventory, like the black hole of a fireplace with artificial logs, as strange suits of armour that are left over from some first republic decorations. Strobe lights and super cooled vodka, close to midnight – nowhere to move, too small, over-crowded space, air thick with smoke. Near dawn the DJ was paid fifty for each additional song. Convulsive laughter and genuine tears. Insightful conversation and superficial coquetry. One-night stands and love for life. Beautiful young men and beautiful young women. Effeminate "B´s“ and respectable-looking gentlemen, who rebounded from their families. Female footballers, waiters, taxi drivers and most probably the secret police too. Drugstore assistants, a postman and a train conductor. The girls from Yalta ended their night work here. They all belonged here - belonged to a kind of pseudo-family, to the community of one Prague gay club, which was one of two. Ivan bounces the rubberneckers. I could never really shoot the real „documentary.“ There were many of those who wished to preserve their „everyday“ identity, and they would not like to be associated with the T - Club. So here we get to know T - Club as a place of „eternal carnival.“