This is the full 14th chapter of my book Paper Squares and Purple Stars: My Life as a Rave Outlaw. I have decided to share the whole book here for free. The book is already available for purchase at www.raveoutlaw.com, and the mobile game is coming soon, www.immortalgames.co.uk.
If you missed chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 or 14, go back and read those in order first.
Chapter 15 - Saturday Night Fable (December 2008)
Once I realized how much money there was to be made on the back end at Galaxy, I started showing up to work every weekend, whether it was my party or not. The club was getting busier too, now that we had a few good parties in a row and rumor was starting to get around about our pills and the freedom we offered. It was still pretty much the same crew that created “Galaxy Productions,” in the beginning. The only difference was that now we all had our own crews, and we were in fierce competition. This was also in the early days of social media when anyone who had a few thousand subscribers started thinking that they were some sort of celebrity. It was an easy trap to get caught in, especially for those of us who spent our lives as misfits and outsiders. Many of us felt invisible in our everyday lives, our egos were starving for attention, so when we found this new and unprecedented technology that thrives on attention and ego gratification, we were like moths drawn to a flame. It didn't matter if someone was a dancer, a dealer, a DJ, or a fan of the music, everyone was building a sort of personal brand through their online persona. I was attracted to the spotlight too, but I was still flying under the radar, which was somewhat intentional. Since I was selling drugs at the shows, I was afraid to put my picture on the Good Vibes MySpace page. So even though my profile quickly became one of the most prominent rave pages on the east coast, nobody really knew who was behind it. The mystery seemed to spark even more curiosity, and in a short amount of time, I developed a legendary reputation that I really didn’t deserve.
One weekend in early December, there weren't any raves scheduled at Galaxy, so we took a trip up to New York for a big party in Long Island. The party was called Saturday Morning Cartoons, and it was going down in an old movie theater. On the way there I was driving with Caylee, MC Manifest, Clyde, and Amy.
“Yo, you didn't bring a bunch of pills with you, did you? I want to impress these people, and I don't want them to think we are dealers. They might not want to play at Galaxy if they see either one of us selling in their party, I don't know what the rules are up here. How Hard and Integrity are both supposed to be playing for me next month, and I am hoping Jen Mas will become a regular headliner,” I said to Clyde.
“Here comes the fun police again. Don't worry John, I only got like fifty pills with me,” Clyde replied.
“Ok, give me half. The faster we sell out, the faster I can stop worrying and have fun,” I said.
“Be my guest, but you’re not taking all my money,” Clyde said.
“Nah, I'll just eat a few of the pills, and we’ll call it even,” I said.
“Fair enough,” Clyde replied.
When we arrived at the theater, there was a line stretching around the block, with How Hard and Integrity at the door checking for tickets.
“Looks busy tonight guys,” I said once we finally reached the front of the line.
“Oh...John, well, the venue was understaffed, we tried to warn them, but a third party set this up so, you know how that goes,” Integrity said.
“Yeah, no doubt, well good luck guys, I'll get out of your way,” I said.
When I walked into the mainstage area, I could tell that there was once theater-style seating in this room, but it appeared that all the seats were removed a long time ago, leaving a wide-open dance floor. Jen Mas was spinning, and the room was packed. I quickly recognized a few of the people I met on previous trips to New York and asked them if they wanted any pills.
The first person I talked to bought two ten packs since $15 pills were unheard of in New York. I ended up going back to Clyde and helping him sell the rest of his too, so we didn't even have to talk to any strangers or walk around with our business on display all night. As soon as we sold out, I reached into my backpack and grabbed a stack of flyers and started handing them out, since I didn’t want to be hustling and promoting at the same time.
No one seemed interested in our shows once they found out that the club wasn't in New York, since most of these people never leave the city. After a few minutes, I finally encountered someone who seemed to care. The dude called himself “Rembrandt.”
“Galaxy, I heard about this place, is this you?” he asked.
“Yeah, well I throw a lot of the shows there,” I replied.
“Well, I am sure you heard of me, I'm Rembrandt, I am behind most of the parties in New York,” he said proudly.
“Like Candy Ball?” I asked. I had never heard of him before.
“No, but pretty much all the others, anyway, we should work together, seems like you are doing cool shit down there. I can get you pretty much any DJ you want, but you have to book me first,” he said.
“Could you get Lenny Dee?” I asked.
“Yeah, I could totally do that, we’ll talk, here take my card. Do you have a card?” he asked.
“No, but my contact information is on the flyer, you can hit me up there,” I said.
“Cool, yeah, but you really should get cards, it's way more professional,” Rembrandt said.
“Yeah that's one of the things I'm working on,” I said defensively.
Just then, MC manifest came up and said, “Hey John, there you are! I was looking for you, let me help you hand these out,” he said, ushering me away.
“Nice meeting you Rembrandt, I'll send ya an email,” I said.
“What kind of Patrick Bateman shit was that? Was he seriously trying to have a business card competition with you?” Manifest asked.
“Nah, I don't think it was like that, I don't know. Dude says that he can get Lenny Dee to play for us,” I said.
“Really? Let's go upstairs where we can burn one and talk about this shit,” he suggested.
Caylee and I followed him up to the top floor where they had a second room of sound, only in here they left the seats in, so it looked like an actual movie theater, just with a DJ in front. They were even making use of the screen and projector, playing old cartoons. We walked up to one of the top rows and sparked up a blunt.
“So, that guy is kind of a dick, but if he can help us out like that why not? I'm pretty sure that's why everyone in New York puts up with the guy,” Manifest said.
“Yeah, he seemed a bit shady and he definitely has an ego problem,” I said.
“Well, either way, if he's for real about Lenny you gotta go for that,” he said, passing the blunt my way.
We sat there in the movie seats with the light of the projector behind us, passing the blunt back and forth watching the old cartoons on the screen dance along with the music as we kicked around ideas about our shows.
“We would have to come up with some really crazy theme if we did something like that,” Manifest said after a while.
“Yeah. That has kinda been a problem for me, I have been coming up with a bunch of lame generic themes for the most part,” I said.
“Nah, I wouldn't say that man. The cop thing was really cool, no one has ever done anything like that before and yo that crazy speech you gave at Jungle Juice, that was dope. How about that crazy logo of yours with the smiley face that has a third eye in the middle of its head? I can tell you got all these ideas and this creativity inside of you. You just gotta tap into those things that you are passionate about and use that to come up with ideas for shows,” MC Manifest suggested, puffing on the blunt.
“Yeah, you’re right, I really should do that,” I said.
Just then, Caylee leaned over to get our attention.
“I am sorry to interrupt but do you guys smell that?” she asked.
“Yeah actually, what the fuck is that?’ I said
“That is strange, let's go see what's up,” Manifest suggested.
We got out of our seats and headed down the stairs, but we stopped when we noticed that the entire first floor of the building was flooded with water. Flashing red lights from fire trucks outside reflected off the marble walls of the lobby below as hundreds of people fled the building.
“Don't come this way,” How Hard shouted as he leaped over the surge of water that was blasting through the concession stand at the bottom of the steps.
“Tell everyone upstairs to go out the back way! follow me!” he shouted.
He directed everyone back into the upstairs room and then led us to an emergency exit and opened the door.
“Go out this way, Fire Marshal is shutting down the party for obvious reasons,” he shouted to the room.
Apparently, the plumbing in the building was ancient and hadn't been used for years, so the pipes weren't prepared to handle an event with hundreds of people. We rushed out the exit with a line of other ravers and then made our way back to the car where we met up with Clyde and Amy. The ride home was chill, just like the old days, Clyde and I were both fucked up enough to tolerate one another.
Back in Baltimore things were going good, Galaxy was packed every weekend regardless of whose show it was, and the crowd was starting to become a sort of family, like that renegade tribe from my visions.
We were making pretty good money, but so was everyone else, a whole economy had sprung up around our events. Countless hustlers offering a variety of party favors were coming every single weekend to get rid of whatever they were working with, and they ended up depending on our parties for rent money just as much as we did. It was cool because the dealers stayed out of each other’s way and just let the customers decide what they wanted, there was plenty of money to go around for everyone. Even with an open market of psychedelics to choose from, people still kept on coming back for those purple stars, which kept me busy. I got into a pretty steady routine though and developed various strategies for staying safe and keeping my stash secure throughout the night. I would try out all sorts of different pill dispensers and cash holders to stay organized. Caylee became my accomplice, holding my stash and waiting for cash drops throughout the night, and keeping lookout when I made deals with new people. I had been selling drugs on a small level to get by since I was 15, but now things were different, the stakes were much higher. Having your pockets filled with cash and drugs in a crowded club is an extremely vulnerable position to be in, especially when everyone is fucked up, and they all know that you’re holding.
I had to be on constant alert for thieves, snitches, and undercovers, which kept my head on a perpetual swivel, always scanning the room for potential threats. That hypervigilance is something that became a habit, making it very difficult for me to maintain eye contact during conversations in public places, which often gives people the impression that I am uninterested or not paying attention to them. At my own shows, it was easy to stay on top of things and keep my shit together, since I was staying sober and focused on work, but I would get a bit sloppy when other promoters were in charge. On those nights where I could relax, I would end up partying just as hard as the ravers who were wandering around lost in the middle of the dance floor or drowning in a cuddle puddle.
This was fairly often too since I was really only responsible for one show each month, which meant that I was free to party for all the others, so long as I was able to show up and get rid of some pills. After a while, I had to delegate some of the sales to trusted ravers who had been buying from me for a long time. I would front them ten packs, and they would come back to me with the money once they made the sales. I usually ended up cutting them deals, so they made out better than I did. They all had their own sad stories and excuses about why they needed the money, and I believe that most of them were probably telling me the truth, although I am sure a few of them were probably lying to get cheap drugs. I wasn't trying to squeeze every last dollar out of this anyway, things were going good enough for me to quit my day job, so I was happy to pass along the good fortune whenever I could. On more than one occasion I acted as a sort of pawn shop, trading ravers pills for random treasures they brought from home. I was actually a pretty bad drug dealer, in the sense that I was bad at making money. I made sure that I brought in enough money to pay my bills and fund my shows, but it was becoming more about spreading love and waking people up than it was about money. Whenever I was approached by a first-timer who wanted to buy a pill, I would always give it to them for free and check up with them throughout the night to make sure they were having a good time. I was inspired to take up this policy when I learned about the first counter-culture acid chemists, who gave away millions of hits for free because they genuinely believed that the proliferation of psychedelics could bring world peace. Sadly, that breed of hippie is mostly a thing of the past, but it is a spirit that I wanted to revive. I tried my best to lead by example and pass some of this knowledge on to the ravers who were hustling for me. There were dozens of these kids who became a part of my network, and all of them held a special place in my heart, but one of my runners stood out. It was probably because the guy reminded me so much of myself before I discovered this new world of love and enlightenment. He was lost and alone, having just recently escaped the hells of high school, he found himself searching for meaning, just like myself and so many others. His name was Dave, and he definitely wasn't my best runner. He was fucking up constantly, but he was one of those loveable fuck-ups that was hard to be mad at. He would get too wasted to handle business and get his count wrong on a regular basis, and he really wasn't good at watching his back and playing it safe. One time he came by my apartment for a 50 pack and on the way out the door he made sure to say “THANK YOU” really loud in the shared stairwell so all of my neighbors could hear. I guess we all have to learn though, so I had to teach him important lessons, like exiting a drug deal quietly and casually, without shouting things that could tip people off about what's going on. The best way to express gratitude after a drug deal is to be as discreet as possible. No hustler is ever going to be mad at you for not saying thank you, that phrase actually makes us cringe when it is uttered within earshot of civilians. There is no need to give any clues to potential snitches. Dave wanted to learn the game though, so he paid close attention, and after a while, he started to pick up on things and was making fewer and fewer mistakes. I could afford to take on projects and mentorships like that since I had such a strong team to pick up the slack.
One of the best runners I had was one of my DJs, this guy named Gordon who went by DJ Psycho. He was an old head from the Buzz era who never really had much success when the scene was jumpin in the 90s, but managed to breathe new life into his career by playing at Galaxy. He was always eager to promote or set up shows and even get rid of pills. He was a team player who seemed determined to help me make this thing awesome. He would check in with me on MySpace every morning to see how things were going with promo and ask if there was anything that he could help with. He was among a long list of trusted DJs and ravers who had my back, which was a pretty cool feeling since I was always the weird kid growing up. That winter, things were going so good that I truly did become convinced that I was creating my own reality through some strange and magical force of manifestation. For the first time in my life, it felt like the universe was working in my favor instead of working against me, so it was easy for me to assume that I somehow hacked reality or stumbled into an alternate dimension. The club was a success, and my crew was at the center of it, with the biggest parties in the city every month. I quickly developed a network of dozens of promoters and hundreds of DJs across the country who not only took what I was doing seriously, but they actually respected it.
It was hard to give myself any credit for what was happening, and it still is. Even though many people credit me with putting that club on the map and sparking a new generation of outlaw ravers, it still feels more like something that happened to me, than something that I did. Success was difficult for me to comprehend, possibly because I still suffered from imposter syndrome, subconsciously thinking that I was not worthy of my position or the things I had achieved. I was always expecting some kind of disaster around every corner, which would inevitably strip me of my accidental success. These insecurities and feelings of inadequacy are burdens that I carried with me since childhood, and they had become a part of my programming. Ironically enough, this quality of mine is another one of those strange things that inadvertently contributed to the mythical character that was being projected onto me. I developed a reputation for being humble and devoid of anger, like some kind of monk, just because I had low self-esteem and was too anxious for confrontations. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, I wanted to keep a low profile to protect my drug operation, which also added to the mystique. People had an image of me that I thought was a facade, but somewhere along the way, I began trying to live up to the reputation that was bestowed upon me. I didn’t always do such a great job at this though, and sometimes I took things too far. I began to see myself as some type of guardian for the underdogs and the misfits, but as a result, I became intentionally dismissive towards the “local celebrity” types who had a lot of clout in the scene. From a networking perspective, this was an extremely foolish move, because I was rejecting powerful contacts who were interested in working with me. It wasn’t just that I wanted to give the “cool kids” a taste of their own medicine, I saw them as symbols of everything that was wrong with our community. They acted like they were better than everyone else and they all expected to be able to get into every show for free and cut the line just because they thought they were special. I noticed that many people who I encountered expected that sort of attitude out of me because my shows were successful, but I made a point of breaking that mold. When I went out to other shows, I never tried to get ahead of anyone in line, and I always paid too. I didn't even do a guest list for my shows for VIPs, but I gave away plenty of free tickets to broke ravers who couldn't afford to get in. The movers and shakers in the scene couldn't figure me out because I was motivated by an ideology that they didn't understand, but the ravers seemed to respect the way I was doing things. I was trying to use my position of influence to radically change the culture of the scene, to recapture the PLUR ethos that was fading away in this new age of ego and materialism. I wanted to do more than just throw parties, I wanted to start a movement, and I was hoping to set an example for others to follow.
