Of the many lives that I've lead, the one that I miss the utmost is the 18-month long, chaotic, soaking wet, graphic, whirlwind exploits of the indigo rave maverick.

Her evenings were a mix of penny libations, dank abandoned structures, ripped tights, smeared mascara, violent bass, lipstick-flavored kisses, makeshift cots on foreign floors, tobacco smoke, nipple slips, spinning lights, bruised flesh, and twilight cyphers.

I don't get to relive this particular chapter of my life as often as I'd like, thusly I am viciously thankful whenever an occurrence within my now fairly structured existence, transports my consciousness back to the time of neon and dub.

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A week or so ago, she who is fondly nicknamed "rum 'n' coke", called me at a ridiculous hour...ridiculous  for you normal folk, but for we star chasers, it was simply 'within the cloak'.  RnC told me to search for a song on Youtube, and I quote "watch it, cry a little, and call me back."  You can imagine my intrigue at this point.  Upon arriving at the Youtube multi-verse, I input as I was instructed, "do it with a rockstar amanda palmer".  What I viewed following a few additional clicks, was simply put: a kick in my fucking face by a bedazzled combat boots with torn sequin shoelaces.




Nostalgia x OVERstimulation : This used to be my life. Why did I ever leave this magic behind?!?
Drag queens use to blow you kisses and DJs use to invite you and your girls to after-parties.  You were a leotard and fishnet wearing creature of the night with a talent for questionable decisions.  Your very flesh was charged with love and interaction, and life was your banquet.  The night was your universe; the beats and lyrics were your adjacent stars.  Strangers were closer to your spirit than your dearest friends and you awoke each morning and/or afternoon with a smile and a longing for midnight to return.

Anxiety x Shock : This used to be my life. What the fuck was I thinking?!? 
In short, bitch, you could have been killed countless times.  Let's not even get into the potential sexually transferred diseases that could have been swapped between all the tongues you danced with on the broken glass coated dance floor.  Also, where the fuck are your shoes?  No, you should not have agreed to go back to the hotel room...no, it doesn't matter that you took your friend with you.  You don't even know how lucky you are to have lived through all that chaos and come out on the other end, untarnished.  So fucking lucky.

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I don't regret any part of my life.  I, truthfully am honored to have had the opportunity to rage within the many facets, communities, genres, and demographics of this earthly consciousness.  I may even revisit the life and times of Indigo someday; she was a force to reckon with and I love her abundantly for her roar.

And now a few gifs from Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra's "Do It With A Rockstar, courtesy of Cosmogyri via Tumblr.  These adequately embody the aspect of my past life that I miss the most: the exhausting  alcohol and rhythm infused post-party passions that followed arrival at the rest place for the evening.

Labels: expressions, memoirs of a reformed raver, nostalgia