Tag Archives: Rave

I continue to pray, Romeo

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Here it is, my British, nihilist naturmort, I thought when he opened the doors, but only spat the tedious:
-Hey.
He was silent. Then shortly after taking not the most pleasant bath in my eyes, he began to suck the rest of the content. I started to feel as poorly as his face mimic, which pretty much reflected the ‘eh ‘ rating. He appeared to just have jumped from the bubbly, marble one to a public, covered in mold. Cursed hippocrate, he is not that … OK, I confess this rotter was hollowed out by the God himself, while I, or rather my face, is in the fourth Dante’s hell ravine. Well, you just can imagine the impact I felt after realising the differences of our worlds.
He left me in the doorway and went towards the record player like a goddamn deer… I have never seen a creature more graceful than this one, right before my eyes. In the middle of the process he seemed to remember me and an invitation to come in followed:
– Busy while waiting for a miracle? – Murmured, without turning around.
-What are you, bloody Dorian Gray? – Jealousy has taken the form of words.

The guy turned around and showed  puzzled  ‘I found myself ambushed’ type of smile. It was better than the 1/8 of a sneezing orgasm. I swear at this time I was going under a criminal case  and although I sentenced my heart for a death penalty, the head started to hold forth about democracy and rights, – all the boring dung, which acted as an antibiotic to the electrified hormones.
– Will it be? – Interrupted the inner case to offer a drink.
I took quite some time to digest the information, but did not fail to seem undeterred:
– With the ice. Fill the glass up to the end. – I threw a challenge.

He turned back and showed a slightly different smile, initiating curiosity and again his actions forced me to compare bottle-opening with the Victoria’s Secret show. He kept his gazes on me, I did too. For a second, I forgot to breathe, blink, swallow the saliva and just watched him watching me, that I watch him. He did not stop staring even when the liquid hit one millimeter to the excess point, he just knew when to stop pouring. This man was frighteningly skillful.

– Lynx – he says with a slightly hoarse voice. Me, still being reflex-less creature, tried to understand what this mystical creature is doing on Earth.
– Leo – takes the prepared drink of mine and his own,  while maintaining the eye contact and now starts massing towards me.
– Wolf – says, while shoving liqueur, contained in a quite luxurious looking  glass, to my face.
– After all, missus asked for an introduction, right? – as if explained the strange string of words and clearly satisfied with his reply he went straight back to the window.

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At this point JK Rowling’s world of magic and invisibility cloak, started to slowly disappear and the poison ceased to take over my body. The hormones, gave into the Penal Colony and now only my brain was left on the minefield.

– And you? – His tone suggested the lack of interest in my existence.
– I am Beatrice, but friends call me Deila. – I showed one of the best, sneaky smiles I had in my compartment. Buddy, it takes two to Tango. (lynx, leo, wolf and Beatrice are the characters from Dante’s “Divine Comedy”)

The guy starts to chuckle and I join.

-You read?- He put his guards down.

-A little bit. Dante just happens to be a personal favorite.

– I am surprised that you followed my remarks, but I guess I knew  it will go that way when you dropped the character name from Oscar Wilde.

-In fact, before this  game of words, I was thinking about the poem and that’s why I seemed undeterred.

-Kevin. Call me Kevin. – Slightly nods his head. Enchanted by his manners I did the same. Then I cursed myself. This man is none other than coquette. Demon closeted in a perfect body. What is his height? It seems roughly about 1.80-1.90 meters, can not exactly handle it from the couch’s perspective. Medium length hair,  directed to the back that reminded me of 1984 New York  trends. Rather a solid build, and a two-day beard, frowning eyebrows and long eyelashes, so tuned into the French fantasies I usually have. Plump lip tip with clear lines … one of those with pointy ends that kidnaps gaze. He wears a black Armani suit and slightly unbuttoned shirt exposes the delicate collarbone …

He must be joking. Such people should be driven away from the society, they pose a threat to the maintenance of a healthy mind. Coo, am I in traps, coo did the poison actually worked, Romeo?

I continue to pray for my heart to remain under the bars.

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Cubanisto: Discover the spirit within

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As soon as  I, and my fellow adventure-seeking mates entered the smoky corridor, we were blown away by the mysterious attempts of the new Rum flavored beer – Cubanisto. At that instant I thought to myself: ‘Well fuck me, that’s some next level shit!’

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And that’s, my beloved (decided to be nice for a change) readers, was the beginning of the masked awesomeness.

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-Hello Sir or Madam, – we were greeted by the  nursers in masks, hiding in the shadows of fabricated fog. Soon after such cloak-and-dagger suggestion to drop the identity (whether it was gender, age or an ugly face) we were asked to confess our secrets on a sheet of paper. I am usually pretty open, perhaps to a disgusting level, but this time I would rather not share my confession, as I was pretty downright there. Perhaps even too blunt, as later the perplexed faces of the two-speaking-at-once-nurses implied, while reading it. The misses were also  kind enough to  give a piece of  puzzle for each of us to solve. I felt  Zamza’s motifs messing with my essence and moulding it into a shape of a Sherlock Holmes’ magnifier.  Curiosity driven metamorphosis was now partying in my brains and pants.

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This and that happened, and we found ourselves facing a closet, and yeah, you guessed it, it was a hidden door to the party. Literally a God damn Narnia, but like tres tres cooler, as we knew that on the other side – free booze awaits (pardon me, the movie or book fans). The transfusion to boozy Narnia happened through a really small coridor with, yep, some lights at the end (almost the dying-like scenario). A lit sign offered to ‘discover the spirit within’ and directly beneath there was the most (and the only one, so far in my short life) beautiful midget door.

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*Opens the petite doors*

We see a pair of masked beer ladies, who provided the salvation to our poor alcoholic souls. The Sherlock within us soon realised that the puzzle pieces need to form a skull. We dared to take out our socialising paraphernalia – revolver of a smile, and M4A1 of word voms and began targeting the victims. As the expert of the later gun, I got an overkill: spotted, aimed and then GUNSHOT. After solving the puzzle, thanks to the guns , Sherlock or whoeverthefuc, we went to claim the key.

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Let me tell you more about this hell of a key. The party had some wooden creates with locks on them, but luckily, the key for the curious fucks, had an open Sesame function. Behind those boxes, almost angelic , were the free-food cards. I don’t think a child’s birth can compare to the happiness I found at that time.

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So I was eating my precious sandwich, drinking some (or rather a lot of) beers and enjoyed the swarm of people merrily glitter-pimping their masks. The confessions were projected next to the mask workshop, but I don’t think they put mine out there, as it was a bit too much, as I have warned.  There were also folks putting up some nice neon graffiti on walls, and a photo-booth that gives the pictures manually (instead of a machine printing it, there was a hand that poped-out (almost shat my pants, though)) so I was really on high happiness levels.

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Finally, a countdown to the midnight began, and at the end of it some sick  beat-boxing took over the vibes.

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It was a damn good adventure, let me tell you. Cubanisto and Ralph agency (the guys who put all this up), you sirs or madams deserve a freakin’ bow, for all I know.

All photographs are by ‘They call me GT‘  // @theycallme_gt

Warehouse//Grafitti raves

Recently I got invited into a private warehouse-graffiti party. And the first thing I saw when me and my mates entered the place was a bunch of people drawing on walls,

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Obviously, since we got invited, we already knew what to expect, thus we came prepared as well. We occupied a free spot on a wall and started scribbling:

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Good music, that after became a live band’s performance, audience that is of ‘arty’ type, and art itself complimented the experience of this secret gathering.

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These sort of hidden communities properly define London as a place for people interested in arts. It’s not Tate Modern or other publicly advertised and commercialized institutions that are worth of attention, but rather a place where people can get in close contact with art itself. Instead of taking a position from standing point of view.

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The only thing that might be bothersome, is that you can attend a place like this only through networks. But people here are friendly, so as long as you’re willing, you can come to the next party as well!

See you there?

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