The room was white with rainbow lights and warmth that glowed golden from the centre of the room outward in all directions. The space was called Speedway and I stayed all night, till the sun was well up and bright out.
At midnight Stacey Pullen hit the decks, Renny and I both remember how for 10 minutes he just played this like, sound. This ongoing evolving revolution of electronic hum that was louder than wind and subtler than a fire alarm. You didn't know whether you should lay down and nap or vacate the building. If you tuned it out it tuned you back in. You couldn't help but be interested in it and it just went around and around and on and on like nnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmssssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeaaaaaaarrrrrrum
and it pulled you inward and grew with you, made you grow up along side it.
Incence and innocence hung lightly in the air, blowing, and my best girl Bonnie sat in some gum so she went home early while I stayed to dance and jingle and shimmer and pulse the electric stars on. Late in the morning, somewhere approaching 5, everyone's clothes were stretched out from sweat, girls were undressing, people melting, we were all hearts bursting and sweating and raining ourselves together, smiling wide, heavy eyes closed, blushing, swaying, holding hands, sharing water, rescuing the overdoses, talking through the bad trippers, ravers huddling around dusty electric fans, desperate for air, but not desperate enough to leave the party.
There was a burst in the peaceful raucus and one of the dreadlocked shirtless boys reached up over our heads and starting to peel the boards off the windows which had been nailed up their for discretion. Ripping the pressed wood into splinters and bending the metal nails. Rip Creak Groan! went the boards, tearing.. He was right, it was too late to be discrete, the whole neighborhood knew there was a party going on, there would be no stopping it now, and "People need fresh air!" he yelled, questioning 'are you with me?' his palms up. We all cheered in agreement, waterbottles flying and waving in various states of dis-label. So he and his pals pulled down the boards, letting clean cold fresh air spill into our lungs and our brains, a whole night's worth of cigarette and hash smoke spilling out, opening us up like sponges to water, absorbing the approaching dawn, seeing that the streetlights were still on, knowing that they wouldn't stay on much longer. And I am still struck by the beauty of that foggy twinkling morning, outside and rainy and new, still dark and quiet, and by the beauty of the rhythm of the Detroit Techno.
I projected a vision in my mind of all the neighbors who lived closeby getting up and facing their Sundays unrested, complaining about the party that went on all night up at Speedway, and when the music stopped and this weird sound just played for like 10 minutes without any beat.