And now, I can’t write that post here. The words were fluid in my head: a space where nascent ideas are brilliant, where then and now blend, and where everything makes sense. My shower creates a similar space: when I wash my hair, the running water and the mundane task at hand release the flow of thoughts. Yet when I sit and try to put these words down, I can’t slip back into that zone.
But hearing it again, knowing that we’re not invincible — that I’m no longer 20, and he is no longer here — was odd. It’s as if the song died with him.
There’s just something about dubstep. It is unlike the music I used to go out and dance to. Good dubstep wraps around you. You get lost inside it. Or, it can get lost inside you. It morphs and shapeshifts, it clings to your body, it transforms into the moment.
After posting a few well-received pieces on Facebook at the end of 2011, I made a New Year’s resolution—my only resolution—to post tighter pieces, even if that meant posting less frequently. And that’s exactly what I did, and over the past five months I’ve written better stuff (I think) and built a wider readership.
Ibiza was on my “to do” list for 10 years. I made the long-awaited journey to this island of beats and debauchery last month. While I no longer chase the party, I still love venturing out and dancing for hours — although most of the time I feel too old, even at 31, for the scene. But techno, the dance floor, the dancing until you’re sweaty, the feeling of the bass in your chest—I will never not find all this unappealing. I grew up on this music and in this scene. It’s in me.