Pump up the feeling is that true thing, a night out where you lose all grip on the middle world, where you let loose and let go. Entering the club, crossing a threshold into the unknown.That slap in the face, the overwhelming mass of people, sweat and funky vibrations that seem to permeate everything, a disorientating wobble that sends you spinning. You can stand at the peripheries or you can throw yourself at the mercy of the speakers. Your head splits open for a moment and eventually comes back together, the thoughts re-arranged into a new you, one not concerned for typical social norms, you and everyone else submitting to that insipid groove, the DJ watching for that perfect time to strike. A lull, a moment of silence, respite from the relentless otherworldly massacre of your primordial senses. You can hear the breathing, the murmurs the rapture, then as quick as it stops it starts again and your drawn into the fray, the melee the momentary telepathic melding of consciousness through shared sound. Together under a groove, lost in music.