A Stranger to Stability

It was 11 o'clock London time, and I had just finished a comedy act at the O2 Theater. They were artists from a time before my own, mocking a different kind of politics, different kind of problems, but all in all emitting the same kind of laughter.  A clip here, a movie there, they became my heroes. I loved them because they had no shame in pointing fingers; respect who, power what, authority where? Nothing was left holy or authentic; everything was rounded up and judged as if it was the bloody Spanish inquisition. Their kick… their foundation…was truth. Their truth.

For you see, the kick isn't like other sounds, it is not like other elements in music, it is a foundation, a type of power, and not just another instrument. It is everywhere and can be found in everything. We identify it as the base of the tree that is about to grow branches, fruits, leaves, all holding tightly to the base, giving them purpose, sense, and relevant placement.

What a holy place. The theater is a shrine, a perfect construction to heighten the force in which a single message is broadcasted. Where the mundane clockwork of reality is packaged and shipped to a black hole of absurdity.

What I find most important, is that It didn't matter what you knew, or what thought was logical, or what you had decided your preference was. You were trapped in your seat, nowhere to go, humbled by the raw talent of the puppeteers in front of you. Nobody cared what you had to say and your mind is left defeated, attempting to comprehend a version of reality never before thought of. A canvas, a song, an idea and perspective never heard of before...  

You had to embrace the comedian’s reality. Whether you chose to learn or you chose to listen is secondary to your obligation to pay them homage with the sounds of laughter.  Behold a series of skits on the military. My thoughts recede and I lose face, and think of the horrors I entertained myself with in the morning. Entertainment and bloodshed, like two sweet-corns in the media shit-cake. When they become the topic of mockery, it means their significance has grown outside of the human hand, and has entered a larger cyclical pattern. It is a joke, an observation that when twisted and delivered can create understanding. But our question remains why are we to push tragedy so far, as for it to become humor. Is it truly impossible to solve things differently, are we trapped by our humanity?

Your brain is swelling with endorphin's, from the excitement of seeing a bomb drop, to the live troop cams on the ground, giving you a hands on view of mayhem. Another comedy act, another display of absurdity only fine-tuned to fit our television screen. Even the anchor telling the story has particularly good looking cleavage, enough to trap even those who don’t understand what they are hearing to peer into the depths of the screen.

 Entertaining ourselves, the most difficult game on the market, never just a taste, always a full bottle. We begin by lighting our worlds with both candle and lantern, and then combat the darkness for the week that follows. Like toy soldiers off to war, one by one they make the score, and if what we see is such a bore, then change the words and make it lore. 

Crackling at my feet, the rain drops and cement begin sound like the tune of the clock, as I begin to march along the long line up back to the tram. The magic has ended, but more is soon to take place. But for now the flocking heard of spectators, entranced in a state of euphoria, repeat their favorite parts of the meal. Slowly being called in: 

- walkers on the far left, 3 down the file, keep it moving keep it moving keep it moving.

It had been a while since my last pilgrimage to a temple, losing essence from it I had strayed from my old ways. But this was not my first expedition all by lonesome. I inspect the metro map and find my target, Elephant and Castle. Seems a bit dramatic I know, but I like the idea of walking into a temple or a ministry, I should say, on the back of an elephant. Christ chose the donkey for its diligence and humility, I’ll take an elephant...do I really need to explain why. 

Exit to the left, train south bound...hmm okay. I followed the exit sign that lead me to another hall way and another exit sign...a maze of exits, none which I’m looking for. Left right left right, damn this place. I hear a loud drunken laugh from behind me followed by hick-uped chuckles from a male bro.

Americans, success.

 Only they would be just as lost and annoyed looking for this place. I start following them, like a shadow in white, through the underground, and up onto the street, one of the bunch whips out a smart phone and begins looking for a GPS tracking signal, to determine the next 5 minute of traveling he needs to do.               1.8 trillion dollar industry in and of itself. All for this asshole who doesn't have a fucking map. I just asked the local bloke who was having a fag by the paper tray. He points and grunts some direction in a heavy urban English accent, complete with oyks, lokes and ferdair. Amazing, 1.8 trillion dollars saved. I start walking ahead, they turn the wrong direction, and I see them going further forward, so I turn around and whistle, and wave them to come over. Funny thing is they didn't even ask themselves who I was, they just followed the call. As the devil does what he did. 

I turn the corner and see the glowing banner on the side of a black and red brick building, the night was particularly misty, it had rained on and off for the last 23 hours, you know...London. It was perfect, dark of night, silence of bog, let me enter my cave, and hear the sacred song.

I am greeted by the crown of sound holding the world at its heart, a charming entrance, food and drinks for the travelers by the door. Some do not even bother to enter, enthralled by the caplets they took too early, and the extra shot they forgot not to mix, make way for the wizard children. I am home. 

Thump...Thump....Thump....Thump..Thump...Thump....Thump....Thump....Thump..Thump...Thump....Thump....Thump....

Thump..Thump...Thump....Thump....Thump....Thump..Thump...Thump....Thump....Thump....Thump..Thump...Thump....

Thump....Thump.

The Hallway looks like its shrinking. Mirrors to my right, steel wire on my left, rows of them Kriss-Krossing like a spider’s web, each one of them resonating to the thunder of the base. Fitting for a temple of life, to have allusions of the cosmos at its entrance.

 I arrive at the black neon counter across from where humanity is judged. A perky blond, how cute.

-ellow love, 15 pounds please

Hmmm only 30$ to relive the birth of the universe, not a bad gig if you ask me, them’s bargain prices for sure. The commodification of entertainment has always been a strange ordeal. Beyond the obvious cost of things to build, how does one quantify the acquired entertainment from a given show? Give it enough bumps and I’m sure even Hanson can feel like Iron Maiden.

-Who’s playing tonight?

As if I even gave a flying fuck, I just wanted to check her out for a few more moments before I go in, but I guess it would be nice to know the names of these Djinn. I mean before I enter into a battle for dance floor supremacy.

-Umek in the box, and Stephano Noferini close. 

My jaw is twitching downwards at the speed of light.

- Umek is opening for Noferini. No wait I didn’t say that right... 

-Steeppppphhhaanooooooo NOOOOOOOOOOooooooofeeerriniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,

Violently shaking my index center and thumb as if I was making out with a swan.

The blond giggles...success.

I step through the shrinking tunnel and break the large metal doors. Slapped by a sound wave, my eyes twitch to a strobe, the instant stench of booze smoke machines and sweat twirl in, as the temperature rises from 21 Celsius to a 115 Fahrenheit. The rush is magnificent, but I would expect no different. I step a few meters in and get pat down by giant egg. Passed Mr. Humpties wall was what I was here for. An instant envelopment of deep violet rays, the music is bumping. It’s early but that’s no excuse for a warrior’s descent on the battlefield. They arrive victorious on the field, and do not strive for victory, and as a warrior who has just entered his temple of light I am trapped by my person to do what the music orders.

The music is hard... harder than I expected. Seems my expectations aren’t worth a damn, and my solitude in this club is all that really needs to be played on. I get myself a drink and begin sipping on a glass of black. The scotch goes well with the jellow like movements of the crowd. Bouncing up and down, they care not for tomorrow, care not for today, they care for the now; as they bow to the DJ every 5 minutes.

I meet a group of Americans from Detroit. The second question they ask me after where I’m from is if I’m rolling. I chuckle and tell them that I am sober. They chuckle and offer me hit. I refuse on account of having a flight to catch in T. minus 9 hours and 30 min. they chuckle and remind me how much time that is, but I find another reason not to take anything and keep strutting on the dance floor. The allure of innocence is not difficult, and no addict will insist twice.

When going down the rabbit hole, always remember to have a rope at the top of the hole, and when it comes to molly, in another country, from Americans, who have been drooling between every 6 words they tell you, it’s probably not the best idea.

They tell me about their wonderful Techno town, and the factory raves they go too. The tough cut crowd, which seems to melt together the second they begin to boogie. So is the power of these dancefloors, they become a furnace for human entanglement, generating a love that those people will never really feel again.

-Rough neck of the woods bro, aint nothin in this world like westlan techno. The walls just crash, can’t feel ma feet no more man. 

Terry, the porkier one of the 2, begins reminiscing about the olden days of raving when he was still a lad, which was strange because he seemed no older than his late twenties, which means he was a ``rave kid``, a subcategory of child delinquency, definitely much less harmful than street punk, runner or train jumper.

He kept mentioning the step, base stepping, those feet did not stop slamming the floor. I noticed his kicks still had a tag on, probably new and full of flaunting action. Every raver has his uniform, a combination of rags that fit both your dancing style, and comfort level. Mine was not complete until my glasses saw their winter, and the shades came out of my pocket. Spectacles like the ones you see Asian people wear in spaghetti westerns. Behold, my visual prism has become a circle, my world has become a circle, this dance floor fits in both these lens`s and my feet have just entered the loop. After all, when trapped in a role one must look his best, best clothing for the temple, is the clothing in which you find a temple.

On and on the dancer goes as the beat goes on and calls to his toes.

 The music is as strong, Umek isn't sparing anyone. The crowd seems no different than any other, except for people giving me the oh so sudden stair. All of sudden, between a chicken hop and a side to side a man in a black suit bobs himself towards me. 

-oy, mate, mate

-wassup?

-how much for a hit?

I squint in confusion; he sees my leer through my sunglasses

-nah man sorry I don’t have anything.

-you’re joking right?

-nah man, nothing.

-its only 1.

-what do you want me to say man??

I continue to strut away waving my hands in a no manner, watching where my exit points are in comparison to the bouncers, anyways I have nothing to fear, ain't got a sprinkle on me,  question is why in the hell would a random stranger ask me of all people for a hit. It wasn't long after I started to see something was up.

I step outside for my first cig of the night; the crowd is engaged in my favorite topic of conversation. Crack jargon, that enveloping feeling one gets after their first hit of upper or downer, that insatiable urge to spew everything and anything that comes to mind. What you want for Christmas, how you always wanted to go to Thailand, when you met this guy who knew this guy who turned out to be your neighbors brothers girlfriends nephew, your entire academic career, that one awesome presentation you had in grade 8 where you got dressed up as a sailor to present your projects about boats to the whole class and the teacher looooooooooved it and suggested you go to acting school. But alas, you aren't in acting school, you’re at a rave, acting as a human, behaving like yourself.

It's easy enough to chat people up as a tourist, truth or lie, they always seem to listen to you when you’re a stranger; discussing of your travels and triumphs. Where you have been, how your trip was thus far. I was surprised to see how many people marveled at the thought of me going to an airport in 7 hours’ time. Some people just don't know how to have fun. 

I ask for a light 

-are you serious? A cheeky accent squeals at me.

-yes I am quite serious, so serious that I choose to risk absolute boredom by interjecting you in a forced conversation. Oh how I wish I can tell people these things sometimes.

-yes, please, with a cherry on top, this cancer stick needs to be inhaled right about now. Do you happen to have one?

-ye I do, here you go, just surprising is all

-why is that? 

-well I mean if youuu don't have a lighter who does?

Does this girl know me? Has my reputation as the airline jumper already spread across the dance hall?

-I'm sorry this is very strange but I have no idea what you’re talking about.

-aren't you the, you know…

.

 She nods her head towards my glasses. The glasses? What the hell can these things mean at this time in this place for these people? They are a circular gold rim pale dark green pair of shades. I bought them for 6 Canadian dollars, in a 7 story complex that only sells eyewear and eye fashion products.

-I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, but you are the 3rd person to get weird with me tonight, cough it up sister, and spill the beans. I a Canadian boy out for a good time before my plane, I pay no homage to your local debacles and theatrics.

Again wish all that was said.

-hahahahaha, oh my god, hahahaha. She explodes in a thunderous laugh, and tells her friends, he has no idea!

I’m beginning to get annoyed at these factory yokels. 

-so do you see anyone with glasses like these?

I turn my head around a few times, and no...I did not...

-That’s cuz the guy inside with these glasses, is THE guy tonight

A simple coincidence goes out of hand; I become the guy who isn’t the guy, I wonder how pissed that bald guy is, if he ever found his fix. Imagine this person had a crisis and chose to surrender to the beats and forget about the hit, if he chose music over the drugs. Anointed by the beat, it would fracture his base, and replace it with a cleansed and replenished conscience. So is a truth of music. So is a truth for the base.

I wonder what the guy think’s, his reputation was temporarily on the line by a dance floor strut master. Who did tell a handful of people to fuck-off? Bah I’m sure he’s fine he probably has bigger things to worry about…like everything else in the club.

I follow the neon brick road back to the dancefloor and continue the ceremony. The track, a perfect combination of sounds that generate awesome euphoria in grandiose spectacle of lights. In tis zero ground of status, at this cross-world of all that is of no name, the musical ceremony presence only a message of pleasure, and instigates our will to receive. By accepting no other truth except that of enjoyment, we exclude our own characters, hang our own identities and embody the collective soul that is the rave. A theater, like many others...

It was only a few hours after that I saw the other man with round specs, he was hanging out in the men’s room… by roughly 630 I was done, my legs had tested the grounds, and reset the cogs of my heart to feel for everything and everyone. I was empathy junky. My discovered truth had become that of the character and the pillars of power…it was quite the journey back to the hotel; I had to be in a taxi on my way to the airport within the next hour, and there I was waiting outside a crowded subway gate waiting for the first shift at the ticket stand to begin…good thing I feel like I can control time…or better yet feel like I can control any type of worry.