Attending raves is a bit like russian roulette: never dull and every now and then it blows your brains out. My consciousness exploded and I was transmitted to a time when raves were bad-ass, underground, dirty warehouse affairs. We all joined together in a place that must have previously housed artillery shells, large stacks of tires, or paperclips. Now, I tend to crawl around on the walls regularly at these parties, so I can tell you that I met veritable dust waterfalls--a rave grime necessity--every time I clamped on a light. I was shooting with two broken lenses and by the end of the night one had whithered dramatically; the front element was dancing precariously and springs were shooting out of it. I guess the party was that intense. Anyhow, I really don't know what thrills me so much about a warehouse (in this case, a art installation of a crashed UFO helped enhance the mood). I think I like the idea that people are dancing in a bombed out post-apocalyptic country, invisible to political elements, police squadrons, and mormons (now now - the mormons are cute and adorable, but, they say it's chic to plunge in a good-natured knife every now and then). So, I've got to summarize my thoughts into a sentence: It was a combination-ak47-uzi-laser-radar-triple-barreled-heat-seeking shotgun of a party (that aliens had crashed into).
I don't even care if it's an illusion and we didn't REALLY zoom to another country, I just like to be able to make believe. It's proof of extraterrestials regardless! If you don't believe me, look at what the camera captured (and bear in mind that I had two broken lenses that could not change their focus):
I don't even care if it's an illusion and we didn't REALLY zoom to another country, I just like to be able to make believe. It's proof of extraterrestials regardless! If you don't believe me, look at what the camera captured (and bear in mind that I had two broken lenses that could not change their focus):
