Spiderman, you bastard...  

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7/25/2005 3:19 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Spiderman, you bastard...

Captains Log…

Stardate 11/07/2005 , 00:26

Location: Nice12’s House, Ugly (but special) red couch

Activity: Boldly going where no one I know has gone before, by striving bravely to get through 12 MaSahara Muffins I somehow got a name for at a small bar which somehow miraculously rocked dik stukke on a Wednesday night. They are no ordinary space cake. These, are Spiderman Cup Cakes. Complete with bubblegum icing, sprinkles and at a rough guess about a bankie and a half cleaned Malawi.

As I sit here with muffins kicking my ass and Nice12 reading over my shoulder and telling me to include him in my mostly incoherent ramblings (if you can ramble on a laptop keyboard) we watch some old DJ Surge video CDs. I am told they are from 2002 and 2003.

As I sit here and listen to music from the height of my time spent as a raver dancing myself to what should have been a standstill over periods of days, and images wash over me from familiar places like ESP Street Parties, the old Nexus Slippery ‘n Wet, and the legendary Splash I realise I am looking through the pulsating crowds for myself. I remember parties like those like they were yesterday, and they will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life.

Its been two and a half years, and it has been awesome. I had the most amazing time of my life. I have been listening to dance music as long as I can remember, and it was a matter of time before I was meeting dealers at lunch time on a Friday.

Weekends turned into one long attempt to push my mind as hard as I could, insisting on quality drugs as I was lo longer a casual partaker, it was my life. I developed personal taste in the illegal, not just anything I could get my hands on. I went from Only drinking alcohol, to drinking and smoking joint only, to drinking, joint and pills only. Eventually I stuck a straw up my nose too, and from there , I lost 2 years of my life. Wait, maybe lost is the wrong word. But before I knew it, it was past. I met a million people, shared a million moments of Joy, Contentment, Love and Unity with complete strangers and it didn’t matter.

Sure the emotions were boosted into what anyone with Dutchman (Afrikaans) blood calls its MOER by a variety of designer narcotics, but everyone chose freely to partake and consistently recreate atmospheres where that kind of feelings were felt, so I figure as long as you choose it, its ok. I mean I could have chosen drunken nights over Dutch Courage and coke, and drink myself silly and hit on ugly chicks and think I am king dingeling and anyone who dirrent fink so I can laaik to moer (hit) wif a bier (beer) bottle amoungst the eyes until the bleed becomes, die dom kont (the dumb cunt).

The mental images are quite scary.

Instead, I chose a bunch of crazy nutters who jump up and down for days and hugging each other when they are not. Gawd, the crazy conversations I have had, ranging from heavy issues of heart, to the answer to Life, the Universe and everything, and then looking to explain why the number 42 is in fact connected to that question. At some point I remember understanding exactly why, but alas, I cannot remember.

This one night, I even ended up on a rave train, the forever immortal D-Rail. Of the multitude of random people I met in my years partying the one I met that night made the biggest change.

At this point, I realise this I am going to type a lot more than I expected. We decide its time for another muffin.

En ‘n slukkie bier vir die droogies. (and a sip of beer for weed induced thirst)

We never became friends in the sense that he drinks beers on my couch and sleeps over when you become unexpectedly single. He handed my friend a little business card and said, here check out this site. For advertising and promotional purposes, and because i may score brownie points, the card bore the website address http://www.mrspencer.co.za

It was an Internet based Forum site whose regulars had a lot in common with me. Most were party animals, in the sense that they also worshipped the beat, and went to some lengths to experience it fully. Broo. … ok sorry I am stoned.

All of a sudden every time went out, I knew faces, I met some serious partygoers, and even out partied a few. I made some really good friends, some of which I will probably know for the rest of my life. We have come so far, in the year I have gotten to know them.

It was the time of my life.

I say was, because while I still go out and party for four days straight , though much less often, I realise something has changed. Something is gone . What you ask me? I don’t really know. Others feel it too. This fact has been widely debated. Some blame bad drugs, others say its the new drugs, others the change in music. Personally, I cant quite put a finger on it, but ill describe some feelings.

You don’t see the old crowd anymore and it feels like its only you still partying.
At first I thought they could not keep up, but its starting to look as if they don’t want to.
The music is still good, it attracts the crowd, but I find myself bored on the dance floor more and more often.
Parties at home become preferred, listening to my own collection.
My definition of what happy bouncing is somehow got lost in what is now being played.
I am considering giving up my chemical habits, coz the fun is not worth the comedown.
I regret spending so much the past weekend.
I am planning to really start focusing on work.
I get the feeling I am approaching crossroads.

I am done. Spent, I cannot party like that anymore, I may be getting too old. I am reminded that people have told me that it is over for them, and I realise that only now do I really understand what they were trying to express.

I know that I will still go find the beat, for many years to come, but it is getting less frequent. For now, it will be to see people I don’t otherwise see, and go shake my ass for the love of it, and I love it make no mistake. Eventually it may become something that happens on an old friend’s birthday, or on my bachelors with the boys for old times sake, and when the wife (whoever she ends up being) and I decide its time we cut loose for a night and the kids are with the grandparents for a week.

Tonight someone said don’t stress, leave it for a year, and when you look for it again, it will remind you of the old days.

I dunno… it’s just this feeling that’s been creeping up inside me that I’m hanging on to something that is gone. Maybe it was never there to begin with. I like to think that it has evolved, to accommodate the next of a never ending string of generations who love the beat, .and I have somehow been left behind.

Its not a sad feeling. More of a realisation maybe...

I will be pondering it for a while still.

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