so last night i went to a rave on the riverbank of the thames
it was the weirdest night ever
me and amy got on the bus at like half one in the morning and met ed in piccadilly then walked down to the river, hopped (very ungracefully) over the fence and went down onto the sand where there was a dj and like a couple of hundred people off their tits and it was so surreal but so awesome and we stayed till like four/five and then amy and i left and sat crosslegged in the middle of the jubilee bridge and had a huge dmc while watching the sunrise and drinking gin out of a water bottle also she was casually wearing a tiger onesie
holly and ed passed us later on and got this fantastic picture of amy looking really drunk and me just chaining it out. i think it kind of sums up the night.
dunderfunk asked: WHAT WERE WE THINKINGGGGGGGGGG
oh. my. god.
apparently i’m that much of an idiot that i’ve let ed talk me into going and meeting him at a party in embankment under the bridge that may or may not be legal it is half twelve i have been on my feet all day and i am about to leave my wine to go out and party with strangers i am not sure about this
I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness-in a landscape selected at random-is when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern-to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal.
Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory (via bookmania)