est. 2023
Systems of Release is an evolving multimedia project presenting fragments of New York City's underground electronic music communities.
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Vanya Suchan
Rave Abstractions
Photo: Vanya Suchan
Place: Rash
I’m focused on the thud thud
thud
thud of my sneakers on the concrete. One step after the other. That’s the only way to get home.
His heels are less like my thud and more like a slow clap, one step echoing after the other; an applause for a late night. His rings glide against a chain link fence
Clink clink
Like a little bell calling me to consciousness or maybe to the acknowledgment of my lack of consciousness because
my head is blank
But the kind of blank-ness that hounds, and moans, and demands
I think its the coke
I think its the beer
I think its cigarettes
I think its the sun coming up
I think its the birds chirping and the light birthing dawn
I think its my life
I think I want to hide in corners and cracks and play pretend.
He breaks the silence. Breaks my ego chatter.
Remember being a kid
and running your hands
along fences like these?
The sensation? Touching everything?
And how good it felt
Yea of course.
I always wanted
to touch everything. It's true; I was a very hands on kid. Antique stores and dollar generals were my candy store. Objects and their unique textures
Feel
Shape
Touch is silent communication even with the inanimate.
Especially with the inanimate.
Now, all I do is touch my phone.
He continues, piercing my silence. My inanimate mind.
Its not the same, the feeling.
The sensation doesn’t hit the same
Now we need different sensations
Stronger ones
Ha
The statement reminds me of my kid-desires; to understand things by way of touch. I look for a sensation. An object to grasp. I’m high and overstimulated. I need a slight shock to my system. I instinctively reach for my phone. My adult pacifier.
I held it with nothing to do on it. No desire to do anything on it either. We keep walking.
I wished I was in a club. I wished I was dancing.
I wished I was holding sound
holding light
and panting breath.
The Club is the antithesis of a phone.
Rather, The Club is the ultimate inanimate object; coming alive with human touch.
thud
thud of my sneakers on the concrete. One step after the other. That’s the only way to get home.
His heels are less like my thud and more like a slow clap, one step echoing after the other; an applause for a late night. His rings glide against a chain link fence
Clink clink
Like a little bell calling me to consciousness or maybe to the acknowledgment of my lack of consciousness because
my head is blank
But the kind of blank-ness that hounds, and moans, and demands
I think its the coke
I think its the beer
I think its cigarettes
I think its the sun coming up
I think its the birds chirping and the light birthing dawn
I think its my life
I think I want to hide in corners and cracks and play pretend.
He breaks the silence. Breaks my ego chatter.
Remember being a kid
and running your hands
along fences like these?
The sensation? Touching everything?
And how good it felt
Yea of course.
I always wanted
to touch everything. It's true; I was a very hands on kid. Antique stores and dollar generals were my candy store. Objects and their unique textures
Feel
Shape
Touch is silent communication even with the inanimate.
Especially with the inanimate.
Now, all I do is touch my phone.
He continues, piercing my silence. My inanimate mind.
Its not the same, the feeling.
The sensation doesn’t hit the same
Now we need different sensations
Stronger ones
Ha
The statement reminds me of my kid-desires; to understand things by way of touch. I look for a sensation. An object to grasp. I’m high and overstimulated. I need a slight shock to my system. I instinctively reach for my phone. My adult pacifier.
I held it with nothing to do on it. No desire to do anything on it either. We keep walking.
I wished I was in a club. I wished I was dancing.
I wished I was holding sound
holding light
and panting breath.
The Club is the antithesis of a phone.
Rather, The Club is the ultimate inanimate object; coming alive with human touch.