Dang, if anyone in the 80s would have told me, in 2015, when you’re 47, you will be walking through a full-mooned – though not blood-mooned unfortunately – night to dance your head off in one (dark & black-lighted) basement to Skinny Puppy & Cabaret Voltaire, in another room full of “people with exploded mattresses on their head” (thx Urbanus…) to SPK & Virgin Prunes, & most mindfucking, in a third room (with a semi-functioning smoke cannon) to a lot of post-millennium noise, Coil and Foetus… (the 4th floor with the batcave stuff I just took a peak) and leave the party with the birds singing, the sun shining & a straight blue sky, knowing I would probably miss a beautiful day..
I don’t think I would have believed them…