Party Crasher

I wander off from the straight path. Hard it is to tell what it is
like, this place of wilderness. The thought of it brings back all my
old fears, and how I came here I cannot truly say. Everywhere I look
the beast is there, so time and time again I am about to turn and go
back again. I see a Virgil standing in this wasteland, and she says,
“Welcome to the Ska House.”

The Ironclads are playing in a space that looks like it could
infrequently double as a living room. Everybody is singing along,
screaming “Cape Canaveral.” An eager girl dances carelessly in
front of the PA, and then frantically bops away with her fingers firmly
lodged in her ears. The band finishes, loudly. Everybody goes nuts.

The electricity shorts out frequently as Rowan begin to set up their
equipment. Some sort of twisted game is being played involving the
slamming of doors, screaming, and some guy dressed up convincingly as a
penguin. I begin to reflect metaphysically on whether I am standing
in a bedroom or a David Lynch film. A man is walking around and
handing out leaflets, wearing a jacket that looks like it is made
mostly out of metal. Flyers are pinned everywhere advertising the
resident band, Gladiators Eat Fire. Is this even a house?

I enter a hidden road to make my way back up to the bright world. I
never think of resting while I climb. I see again the lovely things the
heavens hold, and I come out to see once more the stars.

Want The Stranger to mistake your house for Blue
Velvet? E-mail the date, location, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.