A keep thinkin A’m in Braeheed but n A’m lookin aboot fur the seats n they’re no there, then A remember. Aw A kin dae is dance. A’m a fuckin ravin machine n ma petrol is Coors n Blue WKD. They hand oot cups ae water somewhere n yi tan them tae just stay alive. A’m floatin through the crowd. If yir headin oot, yir no wan ae the cult. Yir a trespasser in a foreign land. The only acceptable way tae go is forwards n praise the idol wae an offerin, a sacrifice ae sweat n youth, oh sweet n forgotten youth. A’m pushin against the current, goin against the grain. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. Pure random thoughts n mince n tatties in the brain.

Phasers tae stun, troops, we’re goin in. A take the last four pills oot ma pocket n gub them aw in the wanner. In aboot twenty minutes, A’m gonnae feel it. After the big come up, the ascension, takin mare pills just prolongs the dunt. Yi never peak again, never feel that rush. Yi flow along on a high, but never that nought tae a hunner sensation ae leavin the normal n headin fur the stratosphere. Hydrate n taper aff, ya sexy ride yi. Replace salts fae sweat. Minimise alcohol. Hydrate n survive. Salt. Water. Minerals. Hydrate, but no too much. A pint an hour, when sweatin profusely. That is the government advice. A know A’m gonnae feel these four. If yi took a number at wan time, yi git hit wae the hammer. Sometimes it’s overwhelmin, too much. Pleasure passin, vergin on sickness, dizziness, sinkin feelings n the bad times slippin in …

A’m maself among thousands noo n A don’t feel so good. Those four pills huv fucked me up. A’ve git a sick feelin in ma stomach n ma heed is light n dizzy. A bend over n spew. A’m only bringin up water n swally n foul tastin stomach acid n bile. Ma throat is burnin n A’m washin it doon wae a Blue WKD n lightin a fag. A feel ma heed droppin. A’m exhausted, shattered n broken – a casualty of our war against the system. A steward is pickin me up n usherin me towards the buildin. A cannae fight him n A don’t argue. A catch a glimpse ae the toilets. Queues ae folk standin waitin in the cold. They irnae smilin anymore. A see faces A huvnae seen before. They’re oot it, eyes rollin in their heeds, soakin n freezin. Lassies huddled intae guys who ir laughin. Cunts growlin at us n makin us para. Fuckin Young Team, ya bams, A think wae nae conviction. A’m cuddlin intae this fuckin steward in a hi-vis jakit. He’s ma saviour leadin me through the masses n A’m swirlin in the whirlpool. G4S, ma Redeemer is here.

A’ve went too far. A’m gone, fleein right oot ma dial. Pure spinnies n sick comin up again. Ma face n skin feels weird tae these alien eckto spider hands. A’m thinkin aboot Patricia in here somewhere n Monica, but she’s no here. A’m sure she’s no here. A wish wan ae them wis here tae look after me n ma baws ir tinglin. Even in this nick, A’m gittin rushes ae sexual pleasure fae deep within n a long, fuckin yearn n burn tae feel the mad eckto love wae wan ae them, or both – why no. Anyhin is possible fur the drug generation. The love generation, world – hold on. A’m led inside n told tae put ma fag oot. It’s been burnin away between ma fingers n ma hands feel funny. Ma eyes ir rollin in ma ain heed n A’m staggerin. The feelin is too much. It’s no pleasure anymore. Pleasure wis a few mile back. This is suhin else, some darker place. THE DRUGS DON’T WORK, YA FUCKIN FANNY. Trippin oot ma fuckin bush, man. They rockets ir dipped in acid, so rumour hus it.