I wrote this poem a LONG time ago and thought you guy’s might appreciate it. It’s all about my ultimate top night out made up of all the best bits of all the best nights and all the best drug experiences in my sketchy memory and fucked up imagination…

It’s in the air,
There’s something there.
Too many weeks spent in the lair.

Chaos, harmony, mayhem with friends,
In a glimpse the whole night started to blend
Into like one mad trip with no fuckin’ end.

Kitted-out with fags, skins and cash,
(Everything’s sorted except for the stash)
To the hills we head in a flash!

Hours pass without even a hint
But out of the darkness comes the glint
Of a strobe perhaps? And is that the splint-

-Terring sound of a bassline on the wind?
Sheer magick. For sure. “We found the damn thing!”
With a rush and a yell, let the festivities begin!

Ravers, techno, everyone’s here,
We’ll be tripping tonight ’cause E’s are too dear.
Besides, it’s a family affair, there’ll be no shit gear.

Rush, Rush, Colour rush,
Trip, Techno, Acid rush,
Noise, Colour, Noise rush.

Psychadelic sunrise with a twist for breakfast,
Lost and confused at long last.
Reality? Just a distant figment of the past.

As the morning sun warms my brain,
Clearing the dust as well as the rain
From the sky, there is no pain.

Anaesthetic extacy with frisbee in the sun,
Definitely funny but my legs don’t work none!
The music’s still jumpin’, but ain’t much raving goin’ on.

Maybe some uppers and a boogy, or something fly
Will help to pass this Sunday by,
“Where’s that bloke you said was ready to take my

Money, in return for a pill or a wrap?”
Anything as long it’s gonna slap
Me out of this tripped-out ketamin crap!

Onomatopoeic comedy from the school of slap-stck,
In-your-mutherfuckin’-face is that sub-bass lick,
That pill hit the spot, I think I’ll be sick!

And so the ravers return from their trip to the hills,
But only because they ran out of pills.
On the whole, the night went without any spills.

One thing in mind – simply to die
In a bed, with a babe and a sweet cherry pie.
But you gotta laugh or you’d surely cry!

Well, that’s it! Any more rave poetry or creative rantings out there?