True Faith In The Rush…

August 30, 2005

Dan’s post on Football Violence got me thinking – shame the sport is associated with such practices and although I can see the primeval reasoning for the tribal clashes, like Dan I can’t agree with or condone such actions due to the spiraling effects these clashes have for others caught up in it and the name of football in general – bunch of guys want to meet up and knock the seven shades out of each other – some would say “if that’s what gets them high and they are all consenting to the practice, duking it out in the middle of nowhere – fight club right?” – the argument against being ultimately they are doing it in everyone elses backyard and they need to be protected from themselves if that’s their drug of choice – they take so much down with them chasing their adrenaline Fight club hit - that discussion is over at Not the New Scientist – but it got my mind leading elsewhere…

….then this weekend I watched War Photographer about 2 years in the life of James Nachtwey , a celebrated award winning photographer (some say the greatest ever in his field) and someone you should definitely check out via the link and tracking down the documentary if you can – startling real life images grab your attention and take you right into the heart of the situation – I watched and knew this guy was an artist and that his pictures highlight situations to try and bring the world in on such matters – to be our eyes in the storm – but my thoughts on the rush began to gather momentum – that this guy was so reserved, laid back, aloof and detached in real life, yet when he was taking pictures he got as close as possible – right there alongside – and it seemed he changed into a different person then – he says he channels the emotion of what he sees into his work – truly tremendous work – that’s how he deals with it – that’s why he gets so close – to fully suck it in.

“I have been a witness, and these pictures are
my testimony. The events I have recorded should
not be forgotten and must not be repeated.”
-James Nachtwey-

One of the interviewees says of the man “the time you feel closest to death is the time you have felt well and truly alive” – now this guy is by no means simply a rush junkie – there’s obviously more to what he does than the guy base jumping off the Eiffel tower - but when it flows through you like water from a broken dam – dry eyes wide – mouth open – heart halting – the Holy Fuck moment – pure experiencing – that must be at least part of what drives him to take a step closer when all others take a step back.

That we need to be near to the edge to feel like this – that you have to risk something of equal measure to attain this level of rush in return – you have to put it all on the roulette wheel bet on black or red and let it spin – idiotic to risk so much to feel like this? adrenaline junkies? Or in fact searching for a much needed wake up call? To go through life never having touched that place? To know what the human body is capable of? To never know how high you can go?

(Click for lyrics)

The other week I was running and listening to Paul Van Dyk, going with the music, this wave of euphoria hit me, it worked its way from the back of my head, as though someone had put a hot towel over me just after coming in from the ice cold - take that feeling and multiply it by a 1000 – that’s too vague perhaps – difficult to describe – New Order said it better - I feel so extraordinary - like something’s got a hold of me - I get this feeling I’m in motion - a sudden sense of liberty – they call it joggers high, but Holy Fuck, to be this strong I thought I was recalling the stratospheric times of drug fueled wonder from the past – a sensory flashback – back on the terrace of the Plymouth Warehouse on Union street or enveloped by the smoke screen of the Brunel Rooms, looking down from the Opera House balcony – I wouldn’t say feeling like a million dollars – as I don’t think money buys this sensation – it can buy the items that create the sensation – but the feeling its self is priceless - I kept running – faster and faster – my heart rate hit 190 – then I started to come down – in many ways – that kind of rush – that adrenaline hit – achieved this time without the chemical encouragement – unless as I say, it was a total recall – not possible without the sensory memories of the past – but still the body created that feeling again….

Maybe it was a total recall from the Homelands drugged up Bungee – idiot boy am I, pills make pupils dilate, I feel fucking great but coulda busted my heart rate – but that day I said – I don’t care coz I’m not there - I don’t care if I’m here tomorrow - again and again I’ve taken too much - of the things that cost you too much - feeling good enough I wanted to see if it could get better – ecstasy + bungee = award of Holy Fuck Me! – I haven’t smiled so much for so long ever since. These days simply going on the London Eye freaks me out to be honest. These days not so stupid perhaps… well the car thing was stupid…

Other times I recall feeling flight like this – Pirate Galleon - Chessington world of adventures - aged 13 – sitting at the back – the HUGE ship went vertical – holds its position - I was lifted from my seat – mid air – bar wasn’t tight enough – I felt myself falling forwards for a second – then the boat swung forward and the seat collected me again – but that second I was in the air – staring at the vertical drop – Holy Fuck - that was terrifying yet my senses tingle thinking about it even now – (that’s got to be a hell of a way to go by the way – fall out – vertical drop – hit the concrete pit below – then as you raise what’s left of you, the boat swings down, grinds you into the floor and flings what’s left into the wide blue yonder – Death by Pirate Galleon – name a worse way to go and I’ll give thee kudos – I still won’t go on those rides again to this day)

Barnes, Kirsty and I sitting in a field waiting our turn – smoke the good smoke – then comes the call – 5pm last flight - two days of basic training we were about to be flung out a plane at 3000ft while a wire attached would pull the cord – they said all you gotta do is fall, direct yourself to the drop site and try not to fuck up the landing – yeah and what about the bit were you tell yourself this makes sense as you hang in the open doorway as the engine noise roars, the wind howls and below there are wheat fields that look like knee patches and villages that look like lego? That bit – right there – that Holy Fuck moment – when you jump and let go – your body and your brain is telling you it makes no sense damn it – but you do it anyway – those 4 seconds of tumbling freefall before the shoot opens were indeed a rush – but I think it was the first second looking down and letting go I always remember.

The chances are - we’ve gone to far - you took my time and you took my money -
Now i feel you’ve left me standing - in a world that is so demanding

In Hanoi on the back of Tri’s motorcycle sans helmut – piece of shit bike with no indicators, wing mirrors, petrol gauge or speedometer – he pulls out round the bus in front as we turn left out the box junction into the two lane one way strip - but here comes the truck from the right pouring into the same lane at speed – I felt the kick of the gears as I looked back at the trucks engine gauge gathering force - must of made it by inches – horns blared the bus braked hard we pulled infront and the truck broke past us – people pointed stared wide eyed – giddy laughter – Beechawaawaa - pull over you damn dirty Ewok – I need to take the breath that was nearly stolen - Holy Fuck.

My morning sun is drug that brings me near - to a child I lost replaced by fear - Jumping off the Death slide at Typhoon Lagoon aged 14 – impress the Cali girl in the Bikini – foolish boy – Ok, jump and don’t look down – too late - those initial seconds were special Holy fuck moments – as you catch some air, just falling before the slide and water takes you again - I spent the rest of the day with the attendants voice ringing in my ears “what ever you do, don’t uncross your legs” I certainly regretted not following that advice but I didn’t regret jumping.

The time after Brunel’s, Dibs and I drove up the road from mine to Anna’s at 3am – flying on something foreign to the body – but it’s a short drive – pulled the blind corner without stopping at the top of the hill – green van missed us by inches – lights, horns, tires – then nothing - what are the chances – middle of nowhere – 3am – but still – Holy Fuck.

Same with the car crash – both of them actually (just remembered the other one in UK) - boom goes the dynamite – tree’s and bushes flash up in view and then are sucked under the wheels – what the fuck? Where’s the road gone? Girls screaming - walls approaching - seems like we’re watching this on the big screen windscreen - then we’re back on the flat – Holy Fuck we’re ok – silence – then laughter – can’t think when I’ve said fuck so much in such a short space of time

And it seems strange that every time after these moments I came away grinning like the Cheshire Cat won the lottery, a bag of coke and a weekend at the playboy mansion.

And it seems that every time my last words on this earth would’ve been “HOLY FUCK”

I used to think that the day would never come - that my life would depend on the morning sun

I don’t think like that anymore – but I don’t fully regret the times I did - behind so much of what goes on in life there are people chasing that feeling of extraordinary liberty – trying to recapture the child of pure rush, now replaced by fear in a world so demanding - whether they know it or not - running towards that Morning sun which can destroy them - then jumping into the shade at the last moment, before everything burns to cinder.