}
This is the full 9th 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 or 8 go back and read those in order first.
Chapter 9 – The End of an Era (Winter 2008)
Days later, Mickey called me to give me the bad news. He ran his numbers and came to the conclusion that Charles was dishonest with him about the money that came in at Tru Zu. I never really got many details about the situation or what transpired between them, and to this day I still don’t know what happened or who was right or wrong, but my loyalties were with Mickey either way.
During the call, Mickey told me he was so pissed at Charles that he would probably go nuts on him if he were to ever see him face to face again. For the next show, Mickey wanted me to go in his place to count heads and make sure nothing crazy happened. Apparently, he didn’t stand to make much money in the deal that he and Charles had worked out, so he had nothing to lose by staying home anyway. But that was still a month away, the next party at God’s Basement was just a week later, it was Valentine’s Day, and the show was called “Can’t buy me love.”
This was another night that was a bit foggy for me, like so many during those years. The place was packed wall to wall and Mickey had his hands full running the party. I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to take just one pill to loosen up a bit and keep me alert for the ride home. Caylee was in the mood to party too, and that didn’t happen often, so I looked around for about a half hour and managed to find some pills.
They were “red bulls,” red pills with a bull stamped on them. Once we took the pills, we spent 45 minutes or so pacing the dance floor waiting for them to kick in. Just when we started to get impatient, it hit us, but it was nothing like we expected. There is usually a very awkward period right before a roll or a trip kicks in where things just feel tense and uncomfortable, but that usually only lasts for a few minutes before you start to feel the euphoria. Unfortunately for us, that uncomfortable "come up" stage never actually ended and stayed with us for hours.
Those pills made both of us absolutely miserable. Nowadays kids can test their pills on the spot with chemical test kits that check for purity and contamination, but they were much harder to come by back then. At some of the larger events, groups like Dance Safe would set up booths where ravers could test their pills, but we were on our own at the smaller underground parties. Luckily, test kits have become incredibly cheap and easy to purchase online in recent years. The best option for us at the time was pillreports.com, but since there were no smartphones, we couldn’t check the reviews until we got home, which in most cases was too late. I was not as careful as I should have been about the substances that I consumed in those days, but most of the time I was lucky enough to find clean pills. I got ripped off with fake or weak pills more times than I care to remember, but this was the first one that made me feel genuinely terrible. For the first time, I learned that a roll could actually make your night worse, instead of better.
Before long, Caylee and I both agreed that it was time to go home. Even though it was still early, both of us were in a bad mood, and the crowded room was making us feel increasingly uncomfortable. Our rides home were always filled with laughter and conversation, but tonight it was dead silent, and both of us just looked forward with blank stares and minds. That bad roll had to have lasted for close to 18 hours. Both of us spent the better part of the next morning and afternoon glued to the floor, watching movies for distraction and waiting for whatever was in those pills to wear off. Eventually, I searched for reviews of the pills online and found that they were filled with a strange research chemical that I didn't recognize.
I can’t remember the name of the substance since their weird alphanumeric labels always tend to run together in my mind. I usually do my best to avoid research chemicals, because you are essentially just being a lab rat for substances that haven’t been sufficiently tested. At least with LSD, DMT, or MDMA, we have decades of human usage to show us the side effects, which are minimal, but with research chemicals, you never know what you are getting yourself into, especially long term. Even though that was the worst roll that either one of us ever lived through, and even though it was incredibly unpleasant at the time, it was still a weird kind of bonding experience that brought us closer together. As the days passed, things grew more serious, and by the end of that month, we were already talking about moving in together in the not so distant future. It was moving way faster than either one of us anticipated, but it felt right.
There weren’t many parties in February, and the days passed slowly as we all waited for the next time we could escape the shackles of everyday life and return to the underground with our tribe of misfits and freaks. Our next chance was February 29, leap day, Mickey was throwing a party at God’s Basement called “Bonus Level.” For some reason Caylee couldn’t make it, she must have had work or something that prevented her from coming along. When Jerry, Duke and I walked through the doors of the venue that night, it felt like I was returning back home. It was strange to think that I was so intimidated by this place just a few months ago, and even stranger that I became an important part of the crew so quickly. As I walked through the crowd nodding at familiar faces, I felt like I finally belonged to something. All of the bitterness and stress that I felt about Clyde and Galaxy was gone, this is where I was supposed to be. I was itching to alter my consciousness, but I knew that I had to be more cautious than I was the week before. Buying drugs from random strangers is not a smart move, I had to find someone I knew. After a few minutes of searching, I saw Satoshi, who always seemed to have some of the best stuff.
“Yo, Satoshi, you know where I could find any good trips or rolls? Last time I copped from some random and ended up regretting it,” I said.
“Yeah man, John, right? Yeah, you should only buy from people you know. Come on… Let me introduce you to someone,” he said.
He walked me to a dark corner of the room to introduce me to a guy who looked tough as nails. He was surrounded by a large group of people, and as we approached him, I noticed him pass something off into someone’s hand and whisper in their ear.
“Yo, Enzo, I want you to meet my friend John here. This is one of Mickey’s new promoters from Galaxy,” Satoshi said.
“Oh shit! I was out there for that party last month bro! You’re Mickey’s guy out there? That’s dope... If you ever need anything let me know, I got your back. I wouldn't mind supplying that place either, just saying,” Enzo said.
“I'm actually kind of on a break from that place right now. I'll be working the show there next week, but Mickey said he wants to be more focused on God’s Basement, the owner there was giving him a shitty deal from what I heard. I am looking for some help tonight though,” I said.
Yeah bro I got you, what are you looking for?” Enzo asked.
“You got any trips or rolls?” I asked.
“I got both, hold on,” he said, rooting around in his pocket.
Then he asked me to hold out my hand, and when I did, he dropped a handful of pills in my palm. When he handed me the pills, I noticed a tattoo of a crack pipe on his arm, this guy was a remarkable character.
“Hold up, I ain't done yet,” he said, digging around in another pocket.
Next, he took out a plastic bag filled with long paper strips and carefully grabbed one of them using his middle finger and his thumb, then he dropped it into my hand. It was a ten strip of acid!
“I don't know if I can afford all this. This has to be a few hundred dollars here,” I said.
Enzo laughed and said “It doesn't cost me that much bro. I'm having a good night anyway, just keep all that, and ya know, consider that your welcome to the family.”
“Dude are you sure? I gotta at least give you some cash to cover your costs,” I asked.
“I got so much money falling out of my pockets I don't know what to do with it. Don’t give me anymore! Seriously though, you can call me if you ever need a supplier. I heard you Baltimore cats don't mind getting your hands dirty and I know I can beat whatever price you get. When you put that shit away take down my number,” He said.
I quickly dumped the pills and paper into a cellophane wrapper I pulled off my cigarette pack, then took out my cell phone to exchange numbers with my baller new connect. This guy definitely looked a bit intimidating at first glance, but you should never judge a book by its cover, he was extremely friendly and very generous with his stash. After a few minutes of conversation, Enzo was quickly overrun with other customers, so I politely excused myself and took my spoils back to the crew, they were never going to believe this. I found Jerry and Duke camped out by the nitrous tanks with balloons in their hands.
“I'll trade one of you guys a roll for a balloon,” I said smiling.
They turned and looked at one another with wide eyes and puffed out cheeks, and both of them quickly extended their hands to offer me their balloons at the same time. I grabbed both of the balloons and took the first down in two breaths, straight to the face. I held the remaining balloon between my lips and grabbed the stash out of my pocket with my free hand.
“Grab one out for each of you,” I said in a very deep voice, muffled by the rubber in my mouth.
“Whoa man, where did you get all this?” Jerry asked.
“Dude, I think I just met the guy who supplies this place, and he gave me all this shit for free. I think because he wants to supply Galaxy too,” I said.
“How are you gonna help him with that now?” Jerry asked.
“I don't know, I tried to tell him that's really not my spot anymore, but he didn't seem to care. He just dumped all that shit in my hand and told me ‘welcome to the family,’” I explained.
Jerry laughed, “Holy shit, well I guess we are partying tonight. Can we rip up this strip too?” he asked.
“Yeah sure, let's do it,” I said, finishing my second balloon.
It didn't take very long for us to devour the contents of that bag, maybe a few hours at the most, and that shit was way better than what we could get our hands on back home. As usual, my memory gets a bit hazy once the rolls and trips start getting swallowed, but I do remember that we had a blast that night. It was like we were on top of the world, we got free entry into the club, we got a big handful of drugs for free, and we were even getting discounts at the nitrous tank. We spent hours in our own world at one of the back tables near the tank just laughing, taking down balloons and embracing the wonder of self-induced psychosis. Our festivities were interrupted by some commotion near the stage, it looked like a fight, which is common in most clubs but something that never happens at the rave, especially God’s Basement. The lights quickly shot on, and Mickey and Juggalo ran into the commotion and carried two people out of the building. After a few minutes, Mickey came back and made an announcement.
“Look everybody...The party is over, we can't have that kind of shit here. Everyone needs to leave, but wait a few minutes and let them assholes get on the road first,” Mickey said.
We waited for a few moments as hundreds of shocked faces stared at one another in silence, unaware of what to do. When we piled out of the building with the rest of the ravers, I caught something out of the corner of my eye, it looked like a dude with a big camera, standing next to a professionally dressed woman. Both of them appeared to be hiding behind a car, but I'll admit, my vision was not the best at the time. I grabbed Jerry and Duke and ducked behind a line of cars parked along the road.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Duke asked, laughing.
“Dude, I think someone is videotaping us,” I said.
Jerry and Duke erupted in laughter, “What? Who?” Jerry asked incredulously.
“I don't know man, but there is some white lady in a pants-suit standing next to some dude with a heavy-duty camera, right there across the street.
Can't you see them?” I asked, pointing across the street.
“You are totally trippin bro,” Jerry said cackling. Both of them were nearly hysterical with laughter now, not even bothering to look and verify my claims.
“Let's just get the fuck out of here, I got a bad feeling,” I said.
“Mothefucker is trippin so hard he thinks we are being taped, and he sees Hillary Clinton out here in the hood sippin 40’s and shit!” Duke said sarcastically, trying to calm his laughter.
“I AM trippin, but I know what I see, unless this acid is THAT fire,” I said.
“It is that fire man. Do you remember where we parked?” Jerry asked.
“Yeah, in the new spot that Caylee hooked up, remember?” I replied.
The next week was Tru Zu 2, which Mickey didn’t even plan on showing up for. I went to keep an eye on things for him, although I'm not exactly sure what I was supposed to look for or do.
As soon as Charles realized that Mickey wasn't showing up, he went crazy and spent the rest of the night complaining about Mickey being “stubborn” and insisted that he would never be welcome back there again. His attitude was cold towards me as well, it was clear that battle lines had been drawn somewhere and that I was on the opposing team. While the situation was anything but harmonious behind the scenes, the party was actually a blast. The turnout was nearly as good as the show before, and the music was incredible, but there was plenty of tension beneath the surface, and even though it was a fun night, I couldn't wait for it to be over.
Typically, we would stay all night and party in the lounge upstairs after the club officially closed at 2am. That was one of the other great things about Galaxy, Charles had no problem breaking the state laws that required clubs and bars to close at 2am, so we could stay open all night like a real rave. He said it was safer than sending people home directly after last call, which was entirely true. Instead of joining everyone upstairs for the final hours of the night as we would usually, we headed back to Duke’s before the show was even over, not feeling welcome in the club that we helped build. I walked out of there with sadness in my heart because I knew that this was probably my last time there for a while, if ever. I had such high hopes for that place and my role there, and I had this vision of the future that was hard to let go of, but I knew that I was moving on to bigger and better things. There was a party the following week at God’s Basement for St. Patrick’s Day, and I needed to focus on continuing to prove myself and climb up the social ladder there.
Unfortunately, later that week I would realize that God’s Basement was not necessarily the safe haven that we all thought it was. I'll never forget the moment that I got the news, it was St. Patrick’s Day and I was standing in the middle of a cemetery finishing up a funeral for my day job. My phone was buzzing in my pocket, but I couldn't answer until the service was over and the grieving family left. As soon as the limousine pulled out of the cemetery, I checked my phone and saw that I had a missed call and several texts from Mickey. Some of the texts were meant for me, telling me to call him back as soon as possible, but some of them were a part of a massive chain text that was sent out to everyone in Mickey’s phone. The chain text said something like this: “URGENT: God’s Basement has been infiltrated by NBC10, and they will be airing footage smearing us tonight on the 5 o'clock news. Tonight's party has moved to another venue, look out for another text with the address and spread it around, but only to people you trust.”
I was horrified, but I wasn't very surprised. I knew that the media was not to be trusted. Whether the reporters realize it or not, their job is to cover for the people in power and justify the status-quo. On very rare occasions there are journalists like Hunter S. Thompson who have the courage to step out of line, and now with the internet there is a resurgence of investigative journalism, but most television reporters are just talking heads who get paid generously to dish out propaganda for the ruling class. Rave culture represents a complete rejection of the social norms that mainstream society holds sacred, and thus we threaten everything that the establishment stands for, making us a perfect target. I frantically called Mickey back, and he broke down the bad news to me. Some angry mother found out that her 19-year-old kid was going to God’s Basement, so she snitched us out to the news, more than likely because the cops couldn't be bothered. At the last party, reporters came in with their hidden cameras to do one of those “undercover investigations.” Mickey only found out about the investigation because the station contacted him for a comment that morning
I knew that I had seen someone with a cameraman the week before. It was a news reporter! He said that we had to move the party because reporters would undoubtedly be back to complete their story, and this time they might be bringing cops. The local cops had given us a break thus far because our little party was overshadowed by other priorities in the neighborhood and because we kept to ourselves. Now that our culture was blasted all over the news though, they would be forced to come down on us or risk being labeled as incompetent by the media. I felt heartbroken that our sanctuary was compromised, and the future of God's Basement was uncertain, but at the same time I was impressed and inspired that Mickey wasn't backing down, he was fighting back. Instead of canceling the show, hiding his face and disappearing into the shadows, he was moving the party to a secret location just like they did in the old days, and he was going to make a full statement to represent the culture and the community. By going public with his true identity, Mickey was taking a considerable risk and possibly exposing himself to criminal charges. If you weren't aware, anyone involved with hosting a rave can be held legally and criminally responsible for anything illegal that takes place inside the party, thanks to a piece of legislation called the “RAVE Act,” or the “Reducing Americans' Vulnerability to Ecstasy Act.” The bill was a pet project of a US Senator named Joe Biden, and it became law in 2003, as rave culture was beginning to go mainstream in the US. The bill was extremely unpopular and was struck down the first two times it was up for vote. Eventually, proponents of the bill changed its name to “The Illicit Drug Anti-Proliferation Act,” and they attached it to the Amber Alert Bill, an entirely unrelated piece of legislation that proposed the establishment of a warning system for missing children. An attack on the counterculture was hidden in the fine print of a bill that was supposed to be about helping children, which is typical of how the government works. The law effectively put raves in the same legal category as crack houses, and classified things like glowsticks or pacifiers as paraphernalia, which could allow cops to make arrests even if no drugs were found. These laws are rarely and selectively enforced, especially today, but they are still on the books, and the risk is always there. It was a risk we were willing to take though. Even though it seemed like we had a world of trouble on the horizon, I was so damned proud to be a part of this team. We stood for something real, we believed in something meaningful, and we weren't going down without a fight.