Tex and the City is a column written by Amanda Foust chronicling her experiences with Austin rave culture, concert life, and college fraternity experiences at the University of Texas at Austin. These are writings to preserve the present moment in ether and not have it run away from my memory. These are writings that keep my recollection alive, and not let it slowly decay. I’m so scared of decaying and getting old; but, writings stay young forever.
We piled into the Uber, realizing too late that we had pregamed too early. This became very apparent when Devansh made inhuman noises the whole twenty minute drive, while Jake and I just stared at each other, afraid of what would happen at the actual venue. Even though we said nothing, our eye contact made us know tonight would be something worth writing about.
Concourse was supposed to be more packed than ever, so we arrived relatively early in order to beat the line. Tchami wasn’t coming on until 12:30 or so, yet we still got there around 10. In the meantime, we had to listen to the two openers before the main event. It was strange; my fear of not seeing Tchami had led me to not see Tchami.
The most important part of the event, though, was the fact that it was Carol Anne’s last rave until she and her boyfriend, Steve, left for the Czech Republic for their study abroad program. As someone who had lived with her for two straight years, her departure felt monumental in a sense. It’s like I was staring at her the whole time, because I wanted to preserve who she was right then. I knew when she came back she would be different and changed, and I wanted the present moment to be forever. I wanted to stay in that rave pit for as long as I could, just to keep the moment going. I wasn’t prepared to grieve the experience after it was over.
The present moment is so interesting, because it’s truly the only thing we ever experience, but why do I feel like I take it for granted so much? There are times I’m at a party, when afterwards I must do homework, and I think the whole time “You know, I’m going to really miss this when I leave. I want to appreciate it as much as I can,” but I never end up appreciating it enough. I always find myself missing that moment no matter how much I remind myself to breathe and be present. It feels like a disease, like we are cursed to be creatures plagued with remembering, but never experiencing.
The whole time I was thinking about how much I was going to miss it. And, I was completely right. Concourse feels like a drug within itself – you indulge, yet you still want more after it’s done. It’s never enough.
Raves and concerts are my escape from my responsibilities. It is my allotted time for the week that is not dependent on thoughts or intellect, but instead pure emotion and feeling. I’ve found the best way to appreciate these moments for what they are is to not think about them as they happen. Instead, let them happen to you.
During the openers, I would turn my head to either Jake or Jess or Carol Anne or Devansh, and all I saw on their faces was pure bliss. I could tell none of them had thoughts in their head like I did; it was like a plate that had been rinsed clean. It solidified for me that the only thing better than experiencing the present moment yourself is watching others lose themselves in the moment. As a photographer, I get so annoyed when people pose for my candid shots, but as a raver, that’s never a problem. Nobody is worried about anyone else. It is the epitome of dancing like nobody’s watching.
So silly of them, though. I am a writer after all. I am always watching.
This rave taught me something very profound, but also very obvious, and that was that I had found my group of people that I had been searching for all my life. They include me in everything, they love my presence and we all enjoy the same functions. I don’t feel like an addition, like a bond added onto another bond, but instead, one of the foundational covalent bonds making up one conglomeration. I was part of the whole. As we danced together, I felt us become more connected.
There’s some kind of relief that floods your body when you realize you have found people that will stay with you for the rest of your life. You know that if others leave you, these ones will stay. These people have seen me at my lowest moments, but they don’t think of me as my worst moments like I do. They simply see them as part of a whole, a whole that is so much bigger than all of my worst times. You need depth to have dimension; I would rather be a three-dimensional figure with worries, qualms and problems, than a flat surface void of any issues. I would rather bleed than be without blood flowing in me.
When Tchami came on, it was fantastic, but my substances had faded away. I was tired, yawning and exhausted, but more than anything, I was sad. I knew my experience was about to end, and not in the way I wanted. I wanted to say goodbye to Carol Anne, but I left in the crowd and never got a chance. I know she’s going to come back, but she won’t come back as the same person I saw at the rave warehouse.
There are some moments you can never relive, except when you write about them. While I was writing that, it felt like I experienced it a second time, and that is such a gift. I spit in the face of linear time and fate. I stop being another cog in the machine; I am still part of the machine, but now, I am cognizant.
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