Photo by Zachary Smith on Unsplash

Rave Until Dawn
when days melted away

It was when the young creatives came together, offering a place for all to develop their inner-creative. Space, where others came, unleash the beast, wizards, magical solace of the soul, forgetting about the day-to-day and responsibilities told unto thee.

How do we get them under one roof?

We will offer them kool-aid, beats from start to finish, and mind-altering ideas to transmit from speaker to heart-pounding raving excitement. Blow-ups, floating in the wind created by the movement of pounding bodies thrashing and painting interpreted dance-like mystical spells of their souls.

Three masterminds behind the weekend jam: one to acquire the space under the wry framing of photoshoot within an abandoned building, one to dust of the wheels of steel, perversion of beats never heard before by human ears, and finally the balloon favors filled with air to bring laughter and joy without a care in the world.

Passes printed and laminated, distributing on the down-low before it was even a phrase, punched with lanyard style cards offering entrance into a weekend of paradise. Word quickly spread through the regulated clubs, “it was to be better than the Ringling Brothers coming to town, more exhilarating than running to the theme song of Chariots of Fire.”

That it was.

Down the dark and narrow alleyway to a vacant parking lot, a place where mothers and fathers preached, “do not go down dark alleyways or places of not knowing.” We were to park and pass through a narrow gate to an old abandoned warehouse’s fenced-in area. Still dark with only the nightly skies to offer any direction, we were to go to the blue door and enter.

Down the hallway to another door, knocking was the only way to enter. With cameras mounted in the corners of the hall, someone behind the screen checking those entering carried the proper tags.

“You there, without the proper entry-wear, the price is doubled for your entry without proper neck candy.”

Those who acquired the proper lanyard, offering entryway to paradise, paid a mere price of ten dollars, those who arrived without paying doubled the going rate. Maximum capacity for the event paralleled Medusas Nightclub in Chicago, allowing thousands to come and go, dance and trance, chill and fill up on whippet magical airy-fairy balloons sold for a mere buck.

Punch to this day still unaware what was in there, something about ‘Aminos,’ whatever that meant. Whatever was in the juice gave enormous amounts of energy to the patrons before ‘bung-holio’ offered his recipe of pixy sticks, pulling sweatshirt hoodies overhead.

Bad Boy Bill began the night with shrills and screeching sounds, like chalkboards abuser scratching post rallying embarrassing sounds. The Wave of the Future began to flow, pouring from the Peavey speakers, somehow fusing with the floors and walls, creating an intense box of out-of-this-world-like experiences. Cosmic proportions remaining inside, without a sound passing through to the outer realms or alleyways, passersby nowhere to be seen or hear of what trans-worldly experiences are going on in this portal of faraway galaxies.

Doors opening at ten o’clock, pumping and jumping, shooters and uncertainties happening in the dark hallways between dance floors, bouncers breaking up lustful activities in the hidden corners, invited back to the stage of steels wheeled and serous calls to nature’s mystical flow. Back to the mosh pit of different sorts, everyone in goth-like gear, Girbaud jeans and white t-shirts, everyone was sweating, filling the dancefloor with fluids from every source. Doc Martins stomping heads bobbing, trance-like states for all who entered the story Bad Boy Bill presented.

Lights come on just before dawn, “good night,” and that was it.

Forty years later, we still talk about the cash being made, each stakeholder raking in ten large for one night.

Reminiscing years later, while nursing a jack and coke, sapphire and tonic or straight up mescal neatly fixed, the three now enter trance-like states to forget the mundane of their day-to-day, numbing the pain of unattended self-realization -something remained missing.

Observing the three, self-included, now inwardly turning, quietly escaping the noise, joyful or painful as it may, not to run but sort out thoughts floating around in ethereal mind-bending truths altered reality. Quieting the mind, finding peace within, seeing the unknown inner spaces undetected by common sight, knowing we could go but choose to remain present in the day amidst the chaos, tortured reality amidst crying, screaming, tantrums of others, finger-pointing egotistical minds forcing their truths upon another.

Oh, the good ole days when we partied like rockstars, carried our newfound lovers of jack, beam, and other sources to favorite watering holes, only to come to a place by the narrow shores of solitude. For those lucky to find a place at the shores, sitting quietly, reflecting self into the tranquil waters of life’s soul-filled self and the collective whole.

~ Anipo

_ _ _

This weekends prompt reminded me of the days when “friends” hosted Rave Parties and we’d dance the night away. Forgetting about our days, letting loose and freely moving about as our bodies were called. Fast-forward to days of families and we sit around drinking our favorite adult-like beverage of choice, allowing us to forget our day to day.

Pausing taking a breath, allowing memories to come and go, entering a meditative world merely by sitting quietly, eyes shut, muting voices within my head. Varying stages of life, various avenues of quieting the mind.

_ _ _

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash