Vivid iKid

Pissed as fuck drunk at work last night. Luckily I only broke one beer bottle and covered my ass pretty fucking good before anyone took notice. Boss says: "I know you're drinking your beer and whatever but I'm gonna need you to take all those empties down to the main floor. Just stack them outside the elevator." I ask what to do about the beer in my hand, which at this point is still basically full. He says: "Just drink it while moving them." Chyea. So there I was hauling beer boxes three at a time on and off the elevator, beer in hand -- swigging when necessary, trying not to spill any liquid, dead tired after 10 hours of work, drunk as fuck, and trying to look all suave and shit at the same time. Pretty fucking cool.

What is currently blowing my mind is the fads of our revolutions. The lucid moments of our escape, the party split-seconds, the spaces when it seems like shit is actually going down, things are moving forward...these ephemeral moments undoubtedly pass -- or at least, the feeling passes. Memory remains. Written accounts remain. What was once there is now just a small slice of your brain. Our momentous experiences become no more than an indistinguishable echo wrapped in outdated clothing. It seems to me that the clothes we choose to wear, or are forced to wear, our vogue, dress -- fashion -- is what defines our histories. Image is a mnemonic device. And isn't it sad that our emotions pass ultimately into the realm of garb. It's blowing my mind -- like the kaleidoscope sunflowers on this Future Sounds of London music video for Papa New Guinea I'm watching online right now.

I hear the spirit of Old Skool Rave calling me...and I feel my bones resonating. I want to jump. Jump in. Jump up. But I don't understand the uncouth, ungelled hair. I don't understand the contrast of flashy purples, teals and pinks with the dirty monochrome of grayscale. I don't understand how they were able to form what I have, out of what they had -- nothing. They were a generation off the edge. No hope, no culture, just each other. Just recycled drum loops, VHS clips, party till the end of the earth mentality and (most importantly?) bombast piano. I just don't understand how they could rave all night in unstable country warehouses that looked more like abandoned concentration camps than discoteques...........wearing long sleeved shits and thick baggy pants. It's blowing my mind.