We go to sleep early, to get up early, to go to the rave. It’s 4AM. We eat light, get caffeine in our bodies. Drop some edibles. Pick outfits. We wear light jackets. It’s spring, but not warm yet. We pack rave bags. Check for the location. Call a car. Dark streets, indigo night, shiny stars. Door man knows us. Love his energy. Vax check and then we’re in. Our glasses fog up. We can’t see anything. We hear everything. Feel everything. We bring a bin liner for jackets. We bag the jackets and hide them. We greet friends and hug them. We buy water. We put in earplugs. We’re ready. We always go for the front. We like the feel of the sub bass. We like the breeze off the big bin. We try to find that place. That place in movement. It takes a while. We go into the sound. We let sound into flesh. We’re moving but we’re not quite there. We hate everyone around us. All the other humans are annoying as fuck. You are all so annoying. You have your phone out. You are talking loudly. You won’t let the beat in, won’t let it fuck you. You are smoking a cigarette. You are joined at the hip, the couple form, ignoring all others, zagging across the room like a Roomba. You are all so annoying. At first. We try a different spot. Its better over here. Less annoying. Now it feels good. Not annoying at all. Everyone here is dancing. We are all dancing. Dancing is all we are. We sense each other’s bodies around and let a little of each other in. We are in this together. Whatever this is. It’s a time where everything is a friend. How long have we been here? How long are we dancing? How did we get here? Into this other wave. We are in a pocket in time where there is more time. We are in a sideways time, that spools off aslant. We go into weightless days, seconds, millennia. On the other side of the measure of beats is a time without measure. We are in a time of dissociation. Not the bad kind, the good kind. We go out of this world. Those thoughts are still here. They don’t bother us. Those feelings are still here. They don’t bother us. This body is still here. We can endure this gendered flesh. We go. We go hard. We are gone. Then we are back. How long were we out of this gravity time? I don’t care to know. We are thirsty. We are tired. We ache. We take a break. We get water. We eat the chocolate bar we always bring. The one with coffee and hazelnuts. We find a spot to sit. We make out. We kiss. We touch each other’s sweat and flesh. We sense the heat, the vapor of bodies. We feel the bodies all around us, separate yet here. Swirling into this same air, fog and sweat. It’s hot. We fan ourselves. We rest. We go again. We dance again. We are gone again. Into the sideways time, the sideral time, out of orbit. We drift away from ourselves, into that other time. We are away with the edgeways tide. We forget. We have a lot to forget. We have time to forget. We have a world to forget. A world in pain. The whole world has dysphoria. We go out of the world and its crooked seasons. We go to another. We go to the era between one beat and the next beat. We love techno because the beats come fast so there’s much more of that slanted other time folded in there. We feel the light changing. Daylight is coming. Through a hole in the curtain, we feel a beam of that cursed sun finger us. We dance some more and then stop. We are out walking the streets of Brooklyn. We are in this big sky. We have electric skin. We see birds flocking, we see the bird rave in the early light. When the birds rave, they don’t even bump into each other. We are back now. We close the curtains. We drink water. Eat raspberries and pistachios. We peel off our rave clothes. Those sweated rags. We don’t shower. We lie in bed. We touch. We are tired flesh. Flesh without tension. Flesh worked free from labor. From care. We play ambient music. We go into the ambient time. It is also a time where there is more time. A different one though. A lasting where mammals breathe technical air. Ambient time. A time that isn’t between the beats. Maybe there aren’t any beats. It’s a time that opens when the sound becomes a space, and the space has another duration. A sideways time too but the other sideways. A slantwise time. We tour and touch in these other moments. We are in the air of this little room, lit with candles and fairy lights. There’s art on the walls, by our friends. There’s books on the shelves, by our friends. There’s sound in the air, by our friends. They can’t see us or hear us or read us. It’s a different kind of rave. We don’t have much time. We go into this turn, ooze into its calling. We are here. We are healing. We are home. We go to sleep early, to get up early, to go to the rave. It’s 4AM. We eat light, get caffeine in our bodies. Drop some edibles. Pick outfits. We pack rave bags. Check for the location. Call a car. Rainy night, the sky a dark grey hoodie. Door man knows us. Vax check and we’re in. Our glasses fog up. We can’t see anything. We hear everything. Feel everything. We greet friends and hug them. We forget to buy water. We put in earplugs. We’re ready. We always go for the front. We go into the sound. We let sound into flesh. We’re moving but we’re not quite there. We hate everyone around us. We try a different spot. Now it feels good. How did we get here? Among these swerving particles. We are in a pocket in time where there is more time. We go into weightless days, seconds, millennia. On the other side of the pleasure of beasts is a time without measure. We forget. We have a lot to forget. We go out of the world and its wonky seasons. We go to the era between one breath and the next breath. We make out. We kiss. We touch each other’s sweat and flesh. We sense the heat, the vapor of bodies. It’s hot. We have to get used to this heat. We dance some more and then stop. We call a car from the rave. We are the passengers. We ride and we ride. We see Brooklyn’s ripped-back sides. We see the streets from under glass. We see the silent, hollow sky. We are back now. We close the curtains. We lie in bed. We are tired flesh. Flesh worked free from labor. We play ambient music. We go into the ambient time. This slightwise time. We tend and tease in these other moments. We are in the air of this little room, lit with candles and fairy lights. This other kind of rave. We don’t have much time. We go into this turn, seep into its calling. We are here. We are healing. We are home.

We go to sleep early, to get up early, to go to the rave. It’s 4AM. We eat light, get caffeine in our bodies. Drop some edibles. Pick outfits. We wear light jackets. It’s spring, but not warm yet. We pack rave bags. Check for the location. Call a car. Dark streets, indigo night, shiny stars. Door man knows us. Love his energy. Vax check and then we’re in. Our glasses fog up. We can’t see anything. We hear everything. Feel everything. We bring a bin liner for jackets. We bag the jackets and hide them. We greet friends and hug them. We buy water. We put in earplugs. We’re ready. We always go for the front. We like the feel of the sub bass. We like the breeze off the big bin. We try to find that place. That place in movement. It takes a while. We go into the sound. We let sound into flesh. We’re moving but we’re not quite there. We hate everyone around us. All the other humans are annoying as fuck. You are all so annoying. You have your phone out. You are talking loudly. You won’t let the beat in, won’t let it fuck you. You are smoking a cigarette. You are joined at the hip, the couple form, ignoring all others, zagging across the room like a Roomba. You are all so annoying. At first. We try a different spot. Its better over here. Less annoying. Now it feels good. Not annoying at all. Everyone here is dancing. We are all dancing. Dancing is all we are. We sense each other’s bodies around and let a little of each other in. We are in this together. Whatever this is. It’s a time where everything is a friend. How long have we been here? How long are we dancing? How did we get here? Into this other wave. We are in a pocket in time where there is more time. We are in a sideways time, that spools off aslant. We go into weightless days, seconds, millennia. On the other side of the measure of beats is a time without measure. We are in a time of dissociation. Not the bad kind, the good kind. We go out of this world. Those thoughts are still here. They don’t bother us. Those feelings are still here. They don’t bother us. This body is still here. We can endure this gendered flesh. We go. We go hard. We are gone. Then we are back. How long were we out of this gravity time? I don’t care to know. We are thirsty. We are tired. We ache. We take a break. We get water. We eat the chocolate bar we always bring. The one with coffee and hazelnuts. We find a spot to sit. We make out. We kiss. We touch each other’s sweat and flesh. We sense the heat, the vapor of bodies. We feel the bodies all around us, separate yet here. Swirling into this same air, fog and sweat. It’s hot. We fan ourselves. We rest. We go again. We dance again. We are gone again. Into the sideways time, the sideral time, out of orbit. We drift away from ourselves, into that other time. We are away with the edgeways tide. We forget. We have a lot to forget. We have time to forget. We have a world to forget. A world in pain. The whole world has dysphoria. We go out of the world and its crooked seasons. We go to another. We go to the era between one beat and the next beat. We love techno because the beats come fast so there’s much more of that slanted other time folded in there. We feel the light changing. Daylight is coming. Through a hole in the curtain, we feel a beam of that cursed sun finger us. We dance some more and then stop. We are out walking the streets of Brooklyn. We are in this big sky. We have electric skin. We see birds flocking, we see the bird rave in the early light. When the birds rave, they don’t even bump into each other. We are back now. We close the curtains. We drink water. Eat raspberries and pistachios. We peel off our rave clothes. Those sweated rags. We don’t shower. We lie in bed. We touch. We are tired flesh. Flesh without tension. Flesh worked free from labor. From care. We play ambient music. We go into the ambient time. It is also a time where there is more time. A different one though. A lasting where mammals breathe technical air. Ambient time. A time that isn’t between the beats. Maybe there aren’t any beats. It’s a time that opens when the sound becomes a space, and the space has another duration. A sideways time too but the other sideways. A slantwise time. We tour and touch in these other moments. We are in the air of this little room, lit with candles and fairy lights. There’s art on the walls, by our friends. There’s books on the shelves, by our friends. There’s sound in the air, by our friends. They can’t see us or hear us or read us. It’s a different kind of rave. We don’t have much time. We go into this turn, ooze into its calling. We are here. We are healing. We are home. We go to sleep early, to get up early, to go to the rave. It’s 4AM. We eat light, get caffeine in our bodies. Drop some edibles. Pick outfits. We pack rave bags. Check for the location. Call a car. Rainy night, the sky a dark grey hoodie. Door man knows us. Vax check and we’re in. Our glasses fog up. We can’t see anything. We hear everything. Feel everything. We greet friends and hug them. We forget to buy water. We put in earplugs. We’re ready. We always go for the front. We go into the sound. We let sound into flesh. We’re moving but we’re not quite there. We hate everyone around us. We try a different spot. Now it feels good. How did we get here? Among these swerving particles. We are in a pocket in time where there is more time. We go into weightless days, seconds, millennia. On the other side of the pleasure of beasts is a time without measure. We forget. We have a lot to forget. We go out of the world and its wonky seasons. We go to the era between one breath and the next breath. We make out. We kiss. We touch each other’s sweat and flesh. We sense the heat, the vapor of bodies. It’s hot. We have to get used to this heat. We dance some more and then stop. We call a car from the rave. We are the passengers. We ride and we ride. We see Brooklyn’s ripped-back sides. We see the streets from under glass. We see the silent, hollow sky. We are back now. We close the curtains. We lie in bed. We are tired flesh. Flesh worked free from labor. We play ambient music. We go into the ambient time. This slightwise time. We tend and tease in these other moments. We are in the air of this little room, lit with candles and fairy lights. This other kind of rave. We don’t have much time. We go into this turn, seep into its calling. We are here. We are healing. We are home.

We go to sleep early, to get up early, to go to the rave. It’s 4AM. We eat light, get caffeine in our bodies. Drop some edibles. Pick outfits. We wear light jackets. It’s spring, but not warm yet. We pack rave bags. Check for the location. Call a car. Dark streets, indigo night, shiny stars. Door man knows us. Love his energy. Vax check and then we’re in. Our glasses fog up. We can’t see anything. We hear everything. Feel everything. We bring a bin liner for jackets. We bag the jackets and hide them. We greet friends and hug them. We buy water. We put in earplugs. We’re ready. We always go for the front. We like the feel of the sub bass. We like the breeze off the big bin. We try to find that place. That place in movement. It takes a while. We go into the sound. We let sound into flesh. We’re moving but we’re not quite there. We hate everyone around us. All the other humans are annoying as fuck. You are all so annoying. You have your phone out. You are talking loudly. You won’t let the beat in, won’t let it fuck you. You are smoking a cigarette. You are joined at the hip, the couple form, ignoring all others, zagging across the room like a Roomba. You are all so annoying. At first. We try a different spot. Its better over here. Less annoying. Now it feels good. Not annoying at all. Everyone here is dancing. We are all dancing. Dancing is all we are. We sense each other’s bodies around and let a little of each other in. We are in this together. Whatever this is. It’s a time where everything is a friend. How long have we been here? How long are we dancing? How did we get here? Into this other wave. We are in a pocket in time where there is more time. We are in a sideways time, that spools off aslant. We go into weightless days, seconds, millennia. On the other side of the measure of beats is a time without measure. We are in a time of dissociation. Not the bad kind, the good kind. We go out of this world. Those thoughts are still here. They don’t bother us. Those feelings are still here. They don’t bother us. This body is still here. We can endure this gendered flesh. We go. We go hard. We are gone. Then we are back. How long were we out of this gravity time? I don’t care to know. We are thirsty. We are tired. We ache. We take a break. We get water. We eat the chocolate bar we always bring. The one with coffee and hazelnuts. We find a spot to sit. We make out. We kiss. We touch each other’s sweat and flesh. We sense the heat, the vapor of bodies. We feel the bodies all around us, separate yet here. Swirling into this same air, fog and sweat. It’s hot. We fan ourselves. We rest. We go again. We dance again. We are gone again. Into the sideways time, the sideral time, out of orbit. We drift away from ourselves, into that other time. We are away with the edgeways tide. We forget. We have a lot to forget. We have time to forget. We have a world to forget. A world in pain. The whole world has dysphoria. We go out of the world and its crooked seasons. We go to another. We go to the era between one beat and the next beat. We love techno because the beats come fast so there’s much more of that slanted other time folded in there. We feel the light changing. Daylight is coming. Through a hole in the curtain, we feel a beam of that cursed sun finger us. We dance some more and then stop. We are out walking the streets of Brooklyn. We are in this big sky. We have electric skin. We see birds flocking, we see the bird rave in the early light. When the birds rave, they don’t even bump into each other. We are back now. We close the curtains. We drink water. Eat raspberries and pistachios. We peel off our rave clothes. Those sweated rags. We don’t shower. We lie in bed. We touch. We are tired flesh. Flesh without tension. Flesh worked free from labor. From care. We play ambient music. We go into the ambient time. It is also a time where there is more time. A different one though. A lasting where mammals breathe technical air. Ambient time. A time that isn’t between the beats. Maybe there aren’t any beats. It’s a time that opens when the sound becomes a space, and the space has another duration. A sideways time too but the other sideways. A slantwise time. We tour and touch in these other moments. We are in the air of this little room, lit with candles and fairy lights. There’s art on the walls, by our friends. There’s books on the shelves, by our friends. There’s sound in the air, by our friends. They can’t see us or hear us or read us. It’s a different kind of rave. We don’t have much time. We go into this turn, ooze into its calling. We are here. We are healing. We are home. We go to sleep early, to get up early, to go to the rave. It’s 4AM. We eat light, get caffeine in our bodies. Drop some edibles. Pick outfits. We pack rave bags. Check for the location. Call a car. Rainy night, the sky a dark grey hoodie. Door man knows us. Vax check and we’re in. Our glasses fog up. We can’t see anything. We hear everything. Feel everything. We greet friends and hug them. We forget to buy water. We put in earplugs. We’re ready. We always go for the front. We go into the sound. We let sound into flesh. We’re moving but we’re not quite there. We hate everyone around us. We try a different spot. Now it feels good. How did we get here? Among these swerving particles. We are in a pocket in time where there is more time. We go into weightless days, seconds, millennia. On the other side of the pleasure of beasts is a time without measure. We forget. We have a lot to forget. We go out of the world and its wonky seasons. We go to the era between one breath and the next breath. We make out. We kiss. We touch each other’s sweat and flesh. We sense the heat, the vapor of bodies. It’s hot. We have to get used to this heat. We dance some more and then stop. We call a car from the rave. We are the passengers. We ride and we ride. We see Brooklyn’s ripped-back sides. We see the streets from under glass. We see the silent, hollow sky. We are back now. We close the curtains. We lie in bed. We are tired flesh. Flesh worked free from labor. We play ambient music. We go into the ambient time. This slightwise time. We tend and tease in these other moments. We are in the air of this little room, lit with candles and fairy lights. This other kind of rave. We don’t have much time. We go into this turn, seep into its calling. We are here. We are healing. We are home.