Mart-deBlog

This post will be painful to write, for various reasons. Demystification, melancholic nostalgia, vulnerability of words, expressing the inexpressible all play their parts. Not writing what I am about to write; I might as well quit this whole blogbusiness. Reader has to excuse the horrible chronological structure (and its length), any over-abused, cliche or repetitive expressions, the sorry shortcoming pictures(didn't make many, some were just black) and the fact it is yet another 'deep story', I also hope Hong Kong will have some lighter events in store as well.

So, now about the days of Psy. I came across this poster hanging randomly on the white plaster of a scyscraper: psy trance & goa on a remote beach of Lamma Island. Should I go? The earliest boat leaving from this lamma beach was the next afternoon, so I really would stay there by myself for more than 16 hours. So, a book went into my backpack, together with drinks and a nerdy flashlight. And I left saturday evening with the boat to lamma island and then with the sampan to the party [superfast, this little speedboot shot right through the maze of concrete pillars of a spooky water factory]. During the trip there was already meeting felllow Psy'ers, this never stopped. On arrival, there were wet feet, loud amplified electronics, rocks, tents, sand, happy smiling eyes, unreal warm welcomes, pills, colors, darkness, backround waves, magic fireshows, and above agressively overtaking melodies. First there was exploration, of the beach and its secret corners, of the people approaching and sharing, and then a surrendering to the psychedelic present that was there and then, for always. I danced. I danced in the water. I danced on a big boulder. I danced on the music and ultimately, I just danced. Simple forgetting, dissapearing and dancing.









































There was more. There was Kali. Kali was not any of the beautiful girls that were flirting, or the the beautiful voodoo people dancing, not one of the chilling smily faces. She was really not anything, nonexistent in experience, not one of my categories or symbols. She was a conceptual vortex asking for meaning. She was standing, looking out over the sea. I asked. She answered, 'No she wasn't waiting for the sun, the sun rises in the back.' For some 6 hours, we talked. She deluded meaning. She was over in her fifties. People glanced in their passing by and wondered what this was: the elder and the younger. They already had their meaning, they were understood. The interesting girls distracted slight attention drops, but Kali did not loose from categorisation, as these girls did in a blink. We talked with the sunrise, in our backs, and she ordered for dancing. We danced, in ourselves, through the morning; outlasting everything, forgetting and sinking in all the spoken words. Water was coming up. The DJ performing with the sea until his ankles. In the late afternoon, I took a boat and Kali another, but at lamma pier she was waiting. We had coffee and we had food, the party and the music in our limbs, everything everlasting.
Then we said goodbye.
I think we will understand eachother.
































Now, bodily, I feel I sacrificed ten years of health. I could not sleep last night either, parts of my body occasionaly go numb, I almost lost consciousness, fell from stairs, my tongue has many deep cuts, my eyes' white is completely red and won't go out of focus, my jar tightens beyond will, and dizziness: very dizzying, attacks of spin. I miss psy night. I want to go back. It really is exactly intense 'missing', a suffering from the rupturing passing of time.
I believe 'The Kali', goa melodies, new words, bass and beach all melted the very structure of my mind, now flowing around in this psychedelical revival. Reborn confused or reborn young, I don't know.