Speaking of Ecstacy… MDMA… an analogue of amphetamine…
I realize that I’m writing more and more about history than anything else. Present history. Recent previous history. something…
I’m just thinking about the death of the rave scene.
But it’s not dead. It never died. And it existed long before the late 1980 – early 1990 kandy kids first stepped foot into Twilo.
It’s just that… it bubbled to the surface, I suppose. And society embraced…
There are a whole bunch of factors, of course.
The least of them being a weaker, more pampered generation of youth. And the connotation of Ecstacy.
“It’s not really speed… not an actual drug. Like… cocaine!… so it’s okay”
Its strange how many people… adults and kids alike.. embraced it. Strange.
Strange that it was okay.
But I digress. This whole thing has been one huge-ass digression.
Jai Ho from Slumdog… is a softer, less techno, ethnic version of Paul Oakenfold… I mean, the drum and bass and the euphoric riff of it all. It’s grand that way. Almost Jungle at times… poseurs would categorize as “Goa Trance” and be… well… WRONG! and categorically, the poseurs that they are.
It may be drum and bass/jungle but it certainly has a beginning, middle and end. Verse, chorus, verse. Very traditional in this sense… very American (like a progressive trance Bollywood version of a non-alcoholic Billy Joel).
Okay, so I’ve just been burned to a slight crispy broil… due to the aforementioned Billy Joel reference.
But giving nothing more than anything away… I know suburban New York. The boroughs that lay beyond even the dirty outer boroughs. I know that shit for better or worse.
I’m granted the derogatory slurs of my own. So fuck you.
…in the nicest possible way, of course. 🙂
In any event, I mean, just hearing the song… I want to be at a rave right now… rolling on Ecstacy that is neither speedy nor dopey… pure MDMA… or whatever.
A version of me this second… older and, yes… wiser?… putting down the speed and embracing this version of my reality. Going for the sensual ecstacy while leaving the shear driving happy hardcore beats behind.
The escalating driving and pounding and go-go-go!. I am a machine. To the beat… forever.
My open hand, in a wave of recognition slowly closes as my fingers fall into my palm weak with weary.
Maybe I’m actually learning something…
…lets hold off on that theory.