So, uh—shit got weird this year, no? I remember distinctly two specific moments from the end of 2019, raging at two of the most intensely wild transformative parties I have ever attended: Resonance 2019, and a badass New Years warehouse rave at a hummus factory. Dope, indeed. So dope, they ended the world.
Tipper Tipped the World
I don't want to get too 'woo' right off the bat, but dancing with my wife at the Polish Ambassador set first day of Resonance 2019, the Deemster Porn dude floats up to us, hands us a mystical crystal from Tibet, and relays something to the likes of:
"When things start to crumble, don't dance on society's ashes... CREATE!"
Getting down at Tipper late one-night, there was this moment in the set where it felt like something was unleashed on the world. A symbol blasted up on the screen—a strange broken sigil. I couldn't place it, but with the music being played in synchrony, it felt like a switch was flipped on the planet, and we were locked in for a ride.
The Hummus Rave
Flash forward to New Years Eve; it's about to turn 2020; life is in flow; shit is grooving; it's gonna be a great year! Out of some awesome connections Mangala made, we were invited to a super dope warehouse rave inside a hummus factory. As we sat atop a giant glowing flower, eyes the size of dinner plates, chomping dank hummus, with drippy bass music vibrating the echoing halls of the factory, we couldn't help but take in the absurd end-times-esque beauty of the kaleidoscopic scene.
We both agreed, as did our friends, "This feels like an end of the world party."
And it kind of was.
End of the World Etch-a-Sketch
I don't know if it was some intuitive faculties, but we just felt something, just like our Tibetan crystal homie at Polish Ambassador. Maybe it was because these parties were so deep, beyond, and transformative that our little brains were like, "Where can we even go from here? Shit, I guess it's the end of the world." Or maybe it's because the music being played sounded a lot like what you hear deep in meditations or trips—those squeaky edge sounds that let you know you are rounding the boundaries of discernible self—outwardly playing as an oracle for humanity, for all who had ears to hear it.
As the bassy rumbles of the new world phased out our old reality like a sonic, vibratory etch-a-sketch, 2020 brought in a wave which would erase so much of what we know about life, habit, and ourselves. As we sat and worked through the chapters of the pandemic, what we knew of as a solid reality has started to melt down and liquify.
You see, it was never the end of the world. It was the end of the world, as we know it.