Eyes wide open.
Because we had to see it to believe it.
As if we would never know how to shut them again.
We had been warned, but it wasn’t enough.
As if we had to check for ourselves.
When the sun sets, it takes away most of the people.
So we would get away, on the sly, to join the others: the remaining ones alive, the last ones awake.
Like them, we wanted to live in the night. Overcome our own fear of the dark.
Because we were too old to believe in the sandman. And wisdom was so far out of reach.
We had been warned: it was a dangerous game and we were heading towards a void.
So, oblivious to their advice, we would run for it.
We’d have to sneak out, sometimes sneak in. But never turn around.
We’d play at getting lost, convinced that we could win it all.
In the shade of the day, we wanted to shine.
Eyes wide open, lashes petrified, only the strobe lights would bat.
We would dance carelessly, like a flame in its hearth.
It was forbidden, but we would play with fire.
Eyes wide open, we would capture images.
Not to miss anything. Not to regret anything.
Only the shutter would blink.
Pupils dilated, and time crumbling.
m y d r i a s i s
is a self-published collective photobook, made in collaboration with Service Local,
gathering the work of photographers documenting the techno and rave scenes all around the world.
We are sitting in silence, watching the wind ripple across the water. I can hear three different tracks playing out of three different soundsystems, in three different rooms
and the pulsing heartbeats of the people around.
I think to myself : is this not reality?
We arrive at the river as the sun begins to set. The sky turns from white to deep-blue. Deep-blue.
It is cooler now, there is a caressing element in the air. The day lays open, now, and I am somewhere else…
Here, in all its strobe-light, laser-beamed, audio-amplified glory – people come together.
It is about 6:30am, Sunday morning. Have been awake for at least twenty hours and have work the next morning.
I hear the distinct hissing noise in the dawn’s silence. Sweeping sheaves of stars. Rustling wings and crying birds. Wings and crying birds.
I am in the moment.
My vision flutters, and I think to myself : it is covered in shimmering blue dots. The vision flutters.
They talk and dance
until everything is blurred.
Beautiful white arcades.
Looking for the switch.
o u t t h e w i n d o w.
page 92 .
The cold feels like a blade through me vertically.
A shiver, a shiver lacking flesh and skin.
I try to not let it consume my last strength.
I think of swimming in an indefinable brightness.
I think about a healthy, natural place,
In the mountains, in a forest, near the warm sea,
A forgotten place, with no souls,
Away from the cars, the people carrying briefcases,
A place where there is no pain and no sense of time.
I imagine it, I melt with it, I bury myself inside it.