A Night of MDMA in Berlin

He shows me how to do it. A bitter, savoury taste is all I feel. How will it be? We go out of the toilette. The beer is over. I fill the bottle with water. It is the only drink I’ll have tonight. I want to keep pure the sensations it is about to give me. It is the first time I take Mdma.

He shows me how to do. A bitter, savoury taste is all I feel. How will it be? We go out of the toilette. The beer is over. I fill the bottle with water. It is the only drink I’ll have tonight. I want to keep pure the sensations it is about to give me. It is the first time I take Mdma.

We walk around to explore the place. It is 02.00 am, still early. People is coming, a wave of nocturnal creatures is populating this realm of dreams.

Coloured soft lights gave to the place a cosy, dumb atmosphere. Violet, red, pink and blue, the illumination is not made to enlighten but to colour the darkness. The club is an old ruined mansion, a haunted labyrinth of rooms and long corridors on three floors. The rooms creep one into the others intertwining a dreaming confusion. They seem moving, rotating, endlessly composing. It is a bewitched world, the house of a fairy tale, an unreal theatre stage for the most unusual story. I still feel nothing.

Alice in wonderland? I said loudly. Yes, the rabbit-hole, somebody passing by answers. Weird paintings, statutes, lamps, sofas, a bed, a piano, stairs, doors, carpentered trusses, antique furnitures, puppets, candelabras, old pictures, masks, big curtains, wacky wallpapers, mirrors, hundreds of strange objects fallen out of the hat of a wizard overflow walls, floors, ceilings. I laugh. Berlin is vanished. The only world is here. I feel nothing but I know, It is working on me with perfect slowness. It is a wise master.

There are different areas where different Djs play different moods. They sound all good. It is the beginning, the moment when they build a bridge to the crowd, when they start sewing their own story of sounds through the flesh of the night to get, hour after hour, to the climax.

Nothing is sudden but a perfect increasing, a balanced crescendo. It begins from the finger tips and grows, on the skin. I am relaxed, comfortable, confident. A deep sensation of peace overflows me. All is how it has to be. There is no light, no sound, no person not in harmony. The mind gets empty. There is only present, no other thoughts drive me out of this moment of perfection. The effect increases a bit. My skin awakes, it opens its eyes of perceptions and bring to the body sensations I never felt before. It flows into my veins as a liquid light enlightening my blood my cells my veins, my being from inside. I feel my self as a cloud.

Slowly, perfectly slowly, the sensations get stronger. I close the eyes and I stretch the arms. Please, please, touch me, caress me, draw my skin. I am a canvas, a blank creature willing to take shape through your hands. I am open to you, to everybody of you, unknown creatures, friends with no name, light as feathers, as trembling wings of a fluffy bird.

There is nothing sexual. It is the innocent desire to be touched, to feel, to be filled, to connect, to lose my singularity into the crowd, to melt my flesh with the other bodies, to become one with all of you. I make no resistance and It takes over me. It does not dumb the mind, It makes it softer: If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. Music is here, it calls me, it seduces me. I answer to its voice. I join the dance.

The bodies of the dancers are a sensual swarm of butterfly caressing me. I dance, I touch, I am touched: this desire is pure, higher, perfect and never ending because it will never be fulfilled.

The faces are bright. The smiles are points of the same geometry. Times passes by but there is no meaning. What is an hour? What does the clock mean when it faces the perfection? Present is stronger than future, past is vanished, I simply I am and I feel the pulsation of the life as the beating of the music.

The space lose substance. I can’t feel the floor. Music is the only reality. I dance, I am dance, I am music. My body doesn’t belong to me any more, I don’t belong to me any more. I have no conscious purpose, I purely react to the impulse of the music, yet I feel what it makes me do as the highest expression of my self, a dancing self-inner-portrait.

There are streams, currents of dancers. New people joined us but some of them could not really join the dance. I feel them as others, as obstacles, as wrong notes ruining a perfect melody. Instinctively I get closer to the ones I recognized as me and I am back to be lost in the sound. I open the eyes. There is a girl dancing besides me. She is cute and I like how she dances. She keeps the rhythm with the legs and with arms paintings rounded soft curves in the air. It looks she is telling us a story. We look to each other, we smile to each other, we know, we belong to the same moment, we are part of each other. We share the dance for a while. I kissed her as one could kiss a child, She caressed my face as a sister could do. Then both of us are back to their own world.

I feel my self as the only human being here and at the same time I am not me, I am part of a tribe that share the same purpose, the same reason, the same meaning. I am alone and I am everybody. I close the eyes and people disappear. The reality is ruled by the music. Everything is sound, pure, the notes as snowflakes falling into the never ending. The space turns liquid. It rocks my spirit with a peaceful soft as a whisper vibration.

I float, alone, in a dark ocean of sounds I float, wave after wave, quietly, silently, I become a lullaby, a dream an echo, a memory of you drifting away, getting lost, into the distance vanishing, in the mist.

Slowly I am back to feel the others dancers. They are seeds falling in the water where I float, and then growing, slowly, sea weeds of notes swinging down waters of sound. I am in an underwater forest, its voices as a siren song.

Somebody touches me gently but firmly. I open the eyes. He is in front of me. He gives me water. I look around. The forest of people is still trembling in the music. He looks curiously at me. I share with him my “dream” and I decide to take a break from the dance.

We talk, we get lost in the labyrinth, meeting, joking, sharing this perfect night of mid-spring in Berlin. We go to the toilette to take a second roll. I lick the index finger tip and I dip it into that little plastic back once again. The white powder sticks on it. I open the mouth. I take out the tongue. I slowly pass the finger on it, then I close the lips and I suck lightly. The bitter taste full my mouth. I like it. I smile. Now it will be stronger.

I am back to dance. The Dj is here, here with us, he understands us, he knows what we need, what we feel, how he can lead us a step higher. Every time he made a good change, or build a perfect crescendo, the crowd shout, happy, light, strong as a tide. Is it my voice? It is our voice.

It is an orgasm of movement, a scream of dance that bring to the light all that lays down in the darkness of the soul. It makes us pure, open, light as children, as animals. The cheerfulness grows grows grows. It is an explosion of laughs, smiles, steps of dance, kisses, hugs. It is the ritual of love and friendship, the nocturnal ritual of the dance. I am part of it. The emotion can’t over, there is no limit, we flees, up, the sky is our self, our own skin. I laugh and laugh and laugh. Tonight I fallen in love with my self.

I would have one more roll. But He is wiser than me. He smiles and he takes my heads in his hands. Enjoy what you feel now, you don’t know but time passed. You fled but now you have to think about landing. I look around. There are fewer people, the music passed its climax. The effect starts to fade. We enjoy more quietly the rest of the party. I feel the reverse effects coming back slowly on the fingertips. I am satisfied I gave everything I had, I got everything I could wish.

We go out of the club. The sun is high warm bright, it is like a pat on the shoulder. I almost fall. We walk home. The morning is pleasant, slow, I feel we are strolling in the countryside after a coffee with my grandmother. We get a bakery to eat something. There are few people. Some of them have still the night painted on the face, some others are going to work.

I look at my friend. It is strange. We did not interact that much tonight. I think He was so silently close to me, taking care of me, that I could not see him. I rest the forehead on the window. The cold is a pleasure. I could sleep a whole season.

Leandro Perez Zambullo

A bird took my father, and my mother married a fish. I was born one leg in the air, one in the water was. That day sea and wind pulled so hard, that in two broke my chest. My heart fell in a well, and when I want to know who I am, I have to drink a lot.
I am Leandro, content writer at OTW.

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