Ars Electronica

Listen:
Saturate and then disintegrate regenerate pulse. Slice and grate on the overlay with a convex boom boom and the voice trails in ahhhs. Pop voice pop pop syyyn-thes-iiize in a loop a loop a loop of distortion.

Pause with a break; intertwine chorus oh yes oh oh emphasis, and again with the potent ecstasy. Layer instrumentation and evolve melody, symphonic hip-hop country mash-in and then rewind scramble to a fresh slope. Cut up and bang impossibly hard. Cut it up and bang.

Look:
Club hoppers gyrate. Spastic head bop to bob to pump. Eyes are closed, bass rinses clean and the music slows. Peeps brace for the crescendo and the beat drops and the crowd explodes into crazy hands and open mouths chanting love for the moment.

DJ hollers and all roar back, those lively puppets.  Candy kids glow as bright as their whirling sticks, stomp stomp to a fireball passed forward. Pills float to mouths, and hands smack and lips pucker when the rave turns risqué. Two sides form up and the Tektonik face-off begins like an 80's break battle. Nostrils pop, arms cock and the legs keep on moving. Always move, legs, always move. 

Feel: 
Music has escaped the speakers and has become the god of my trip. Hail o valiant energizer! I'm alive with your rhythm. I'll syncopate when you fluctuate. I'll turn in a solo on my guitar like I'm Aerodynamic. Pure sexiness with the grinding of my ass and fingers strumming the air in reverie. 

Damn I feel those purple and blue strobes, they're strutting in another dimension. I own this moment and everyone in it. Dopa and Sera are here, waving as they fly by with pixie wings. I'm a laser-beam of smiles, spins, and twists. My body is a conduit to nirvana. The sun breaks the edge of the horizon, but nobody stops. I'll never stop.