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Aftermath of a Stellar Rave

I heard the Buzz, 
It was at Nation 
So we packed our 
White suburban youthful vigor 
Into tight polyester and 
Faux leather 
Stuffed singles in each pocket 
For the bums the watch your car 
Hid twenties in secluded wallets 
To pay for entry and ecstasy 

And off we went, 
Deep into the dark jungles 
Of Washington, DC. 
And there, upon the border 
Of Ghetto and Government 
Stood Nation, surrounded by bums, 
Whores, and other suburban kids 
Who’ve come to the bacchanal 

The bouncer weeds out the chaff 
From the grain, and we enter into a world of 
Oscilloscopes and subwoofers 
Technics 1200’s and Peavey Amp’s 
That energize and amplify that sound 
That hard thumping sound 
That fills the air with movement 
Like the heartbeat of the god 
It pumps through you 
Like the alcohol in your blood 
Or the ecstasy in your brain 

As the suburbs pour out their youth 
Into this urban space 
The denizens mark their entrance: 
The dread-locked white hippie, 
Oh he’s the dealer… 
Or the DJ, it’s hard to tell the difference 
There’s the usual assortment of oddities: 
The fairies doused with makeup, 
The clubkids adorned with sparkling lights, 
The avante guard couple in their 40’s that come 
Just to hear what the kids are listening to these days 

And there, in the corner stands a relic from the 70’s 
A woman in a red disco dress, and 
A man in a white leisure suite, 
Both looking very confused, 
Unsure how to dance, 
To the new rhythms of Bacchus, 
So they stand there and watch the kids 
Tech step, and house bounce, 
And acid trance their arms to glow sticks 
To the merriment of those on E or acid. 

Plastic girls and boys, 
Dance around like Japanese toys, 
While massage trains a dozen people long 
Form to smooth out the passage of the god 
Through their bodies, through their brains, 
It is here, that Bacchus Reigns 
Inhibitions are shed 
Like fake ID’s at the door 
As coke sniffing fiends, 
Go looking for more. 
Outside on the patio, 
You can see the Capitol, 
And smoke a joint to congress, 
Or good ol’ Clinton, if you will, 

For the night is young, 
And so are you, 

And you will never be like that old guy 
Who’s walking through the swill, 
Dazed, wondering where his lost youth went, 
As women in their peak fecundity, 
Dance and show a little nudity, 
To onlooking crowds of revelers, 
As teams of break dancers 
Go at it like Ninjas 
In a bad kung-fu movie
And sometime during the night, 
You find your way home before light, 
You drop into a coma,
and sleep through the day, 
Knowing that you’ll just go out raving,
the very next day.