Aftermath of a Stellar Rave
I heard the Buzz,
It was at Nation
So we packed our
White suburban youthful vigor
Into tight polyester and
Faux leather
Stuffed singles in each pocket
For the bums the watch your car
Hid twenties in secluded wallets
To pay for entry and ecstasy
And off we went,
Deep into the dark jungles
Of Washington, DC.
And there, upon the border
Of Ghetto and Government
Stood Nation, surrounded by bums,
Whores, and other suburban kids
Who’ve come to the bacchanal
The bouncer weeds out the chaff
From the grain, and we enter into a world of
Oscilloscopes and subwoofers
Technics 1200’s and Peavey Amp’s
That energize and amplify that sound
That hard thumping sound
That fills the air with movement
Like the heartbeat of the god
It pumps through you
Like the alcohol in your blood
Or the ecstasy in your brain
As the suburbs pour out their youth
Into this urban space
The denizens mark their entrance:
The dread-locked white hippie,
Oh he’s the dealer…
Or the DJ, it’s hard to tell the difference
There’s the usual assortment of oddities:
The fairies doused with makeup,
The clubkids adorned with sparkling lights,
The avante guard couple in their 40’s that come
Just to hear what the kids are listening to these days
And there, in the corner stands a relic from the 70’s
A woman in a red disco dress, and
A man in a white leisure suite,
Both looking very confused,
Unsure how to dance,
To the new rhythms of Bacchus,
So they stand there and watch the kids
Tech step, and house bounce,
And acid trance their arms to glow sticks
To the merriment of those on E or acid.
Plastic girls and boys,
Dance around like Japanese toys,
While massage trains a dozen people long
Form to smooth out the passage of the god
Through their bodies, through their brains,
It is here, that Bacchus Reigns
Inhibitions are shed
Like fake ID’s at the door
As coke sniffing fiends,
Go looking for more.
Outside on the patio,
You can see the Capitol,
And smoke a joint to congress,
Or good ol’ Clinton, if you will,
For the night is young,
And so are you,
And you will never be like that old guy
Who’s walking through the swill,
Dazed, wondering where his lost youth went,
As women in their peak fecundity,
Dance and show a little nudity,
To onlooking crowds of revelers,
As teams of break dancers
Go at it like Ninjas
In a bad kung-fu movie
And sometime during the night,
You find your way home before light,
You drop into a coma,
and sleep through the day,
Knowing that you’ll just go out raving,
the very next day.