After the party there’s another party.

A silent celebration. Empty plastic cups, trees painted white. Leaves melting on the shivering worms, twisting themselves around the exposed roots. Ears still ringing with the super bass, ultra-subwoofers the size of a road train.

Weblock and Proxy swaying through the woods, looking for Tuttle’s red van. They zigzag, hopping first on one leg, then on the other.

‘How long have we been walking?’

Oh dear, was that my voice? No way.

Proxy shoves her hand in her jet black hair. Her bloodshot eyes, lonely islands on a pale bloodless face.

‘Weblock, Weblock, that’s not my voice! Or have I ever spoken before? Maybe not. This is the first time. That’s why I can’t recognize myself. I’ve never heard it before.’

‘We’ll never get to the van, Proxy…’

‘There isn’t a van. Just like there isn’t a forest.’

‘So where are we? When are we?’’

‘Where are we indeed…’

The silent after party of silence continues.

The rhythm, the footsteps in the mud.

Weblock and Proxy’s skintight spandex lined with beige mud.

Ears still ringing. ‘That was loud…’ she says.

Weblock rolls a cigarette or something.

The blades of grass reach for their ankles.

Are these trees? Or enormous blades of grass, seen by an ant.

‘Could be, Proxy. We shrink sometimes, only we’re asleep and we don’t notice.’

‘Actually I do, my good friend, every time.’

Proxy loses her balance and hangs onto Weblock’s sleeve. His head disappears under the collar.

‘Come on my headless friend. We need to get to the van. Tuttle’s red van. I haven’t seen him for ages, though.’

‘For years, I’m afraid.’

‘Decades I’d say.’

‘He was never here, I tell you.’

The trees agitated by the wind, seem to scream.

The two crouch down. Weblock shaking. Cold. Freezing. Sweating and freezing.

‘How long have we been walking?’

Difficult to tell. Our brains, dollops of wobbly matter, drenched in amniotic something.

Red eyes. Looking for the red van.

‘Is this asphalt under my feet?’ Proxy tries to focus. But she can’t. Lens flare on her eyes. So beautiful. Night lights, all of them out of focus. And shadows flickering all around her. Black and white. Long white stripes on the black asphalt. Cars whizzing past. Cars in the forest?

Such wonderful sounds tonight. Still echoing. Hovering in the night air. Enveloping. Liquid music, gushing through the body. A state of trance. Eyes dozing. The purity of all those bodies moving in sync. All moving to the same sound. Elementary monotones. Essential, synthetic, plastic music. Notes bouncing off each other in an electronic quadridimentional logic. And all of us synchronizing to the sound, glowing in the mist, intertwined between the flashing beams. Nature and electronics blending in an endless fluorescent night.

An after party on this guardrail. That’s nice. Through this dizziness. Labyrinthitis. Swaying. Dizzy. The after party of the after party now. An after after party.

Proxy has trouble balancing. ‘How can I stop the spinning?’

Nausea now. So much nausea. I mustn’t lie down. What’s he doing? Weblock, don’t lie down on the floor. You’ll choke to death, like Jimi H.

I don’t want to die like Jimi. Jimi, so young. Such a unique sound.

Sway, dizzy, zigzag. Sleepy, so sleepy. Fumes.

Tyres screeching.

After after after party.

What a night. What a night. My friend. What a beautiful night.