I RUINED MY REPUTATION AT THE MILADY RAVE
NYC scene review; autofiction; technology
A portrait of the author.
I hopped out of the Lyft; address 145 Mulberry Street, Little Italy, New York, New York 10013; venue named Bella Ciao. I sprung impatiently past a scatterplot line of catboys, SoHo rich-kids, finance bros, harajuku barbies, y2k ravers, furries, they-thems, hip-hop goths, hunched-over hackers, hoodlums, yu-gi-oh duelists, etc. All the street style tribes of New York had sent their representatives to congregate this evening. They had been summoned by the siren song of the vortex.
“Bro, what the fuck? You can’t skip the line!” — a 5’9” pale-looking man in a Patagonia vest yelled at me. 👔
“Relax, homie, it’s chill,” I assured him. “I know Milady, bro. I know Remilia.” 👸
I dapped up the homie who was bouncing (@spl9plcplcplc) and slid past the line of impatient influencers right into the function. It was already popping off by the time I got there. Seemed like it was going to be an awesome night — one for the photo books. Type of shit that constantly happens in NYC, but it never gets old. Knightsbridge by Bladee was playing on the aux. 😛
I had hardly spent few seconds in the building before another one of the twitter homies (@ProseProducer) recognized me. He dapped me up — one of those ambiguous daps where our hands shifted back and forth between fist-bump & handshake several times on their journey towards interception - but that’s cool, we were vibing — “Yo! You’re… youre you! You’re the guy, you’re…” he excitedly blurted.
“Maxwell S. Foley, writer & technologist, pleased to finally make your acquaintance in person,” I told him, unbothered by his lapse in memory (you’re chill bro, I fux w you 🤙🏻).
“Your Substack piece on Miladys was brilliant!” he exclaimed. “I never knew you could write like that! That shit made all my boys so hype! It was funny as fuck, dude!”
“Thank you so much for saying that,” I responded congenially. “But trust me, bro — this is just the beginning. Next fiction pieces I’m dropping are going to be absolutely crazy.” 😜
We talked a bit more about which currencies & NFT projects to buy & sell (Tojiba CEO Corp a good bet to buy rn, sell Tubby Cats, always hodl Miladys no matter what, any other alpha I got at the party come talk to me in person I’ll give it to you if I fw you 🤫). I complimented him on his pink Milady hat, a design that many at the party were sporting. It had a classic look reminiscent of beloved children’s characters like Kirby or Jigglypuff, but with a Web3 twist.
We had a chill good vibes type convo; honestly most of the people who come through to Milady stuff are chill, or at least they can hang. Then I saw one of my boys Grift (@GRIFTSH0P) from across the room. “Yo, Grift!” I shouted out. “Yo, what’s good, Max,” he responded eagerly.
We dapped & hugged it out. “Respect the grift, bro,” I said. (This is one of the number one rules and Vibe Checks in this space of cybernetic-frontier — I’ll reinforce this just in case anyone reading this is new to 🅱️rypto — you must Respect The Grift at all times. It’s always like: Do your own thing, homie, be yourself — but don’t get in the way of another man’s grift.)
“I’ve got a crazy grift for tonight,” I told Grift. “Check this out: NFTs, plus autofiction. No one’s ever done it. NFT autofiction. It’s totally new. It’s a new grift.”
Grift stroked his chin. “NFTs… autofiction…” he mused. “I fux w the vision, like I definitely fux w the vision, but tell me more.”
“Like, do you know what autofiction is?” I asked him. “It’s like, the thing people trying to get literary clout do these days. You just write about your life and parties you go to. It’s like influencer fiction basically. It’s like not even fiction. You just write about shit that actually happened and change the names a bit. It’s one of the easiest grifts ever. You don’t really need to be that good of a writer. All I need is like… 🤔🆗 1. Live in Brooklyn. Ok, check. 2. Be a cool person, have an exciting life people want to know about. Check two. 3. Have an in in the literary scene. And I have that. But then look… If you bring NFTs into it, it’s like… if you’re a guy who’s linked in a bit, has alpha on the NFT market a bit — the point is, I can just hype up an NFT whenever I want if it relates to a party I’ve been to, and because I’m like an interesting guy people fuck with, they’ll fuck w the NFT too. And then the NFTs will fund my degenerate bohemian lifestyle, I’ll keep going to parties, write more fiction. It’s a perpetual motion hype machine.”
I could tell I made Grift excited, he balled his hand into a fist and placed it in front of his mouth — “Ooooooh,” he exclaimed. “I’m vibing with you, I feel like I see where you’re going with this.”
“Basically, the point is,” I told him, “we’re here to make sure this is the craziest night ever. Because this is all going to be going into the autofiction. My life is a movie bro, my life deadass is going to be a short story collection.” 📚🔥
“I respect it, bro,” Grift replied. “I respect the fucking grift.”
“Aight bro, I’m going to mingle a bit,” I told him, and then after a final goodbye-dap we went our separate ways to run our separate hustles. Clique by GOOD Music (“Yeah I’m talking business, I’m talking CIA, I’m talking George Tenet, I seen him the other day”) was playing on the aux.
I danced a bit and then ran into @0xUzui_. “Yo, what’s good Max, great to see you! I really loved your Substack piece,” he told me. “Was that inspired by… I felt like I was getting Borges? I saw you were writing about Phillip K Dick a bit on Twitter, I could see some Dick in there too.”
“I hate to admit it,” I responded, “but I’ve barely read any Borges. The main inspiration for the piece was Ishmael’s Utopia by Otto Rothmund.”
“I saw you writing about Nick Land a lot on Twitter,” he continued. “Check the shirt, bro!”
He took off his black bomber jacket and stretched his shirt downward with his hand so I could get a good view of the design on it. In a bunch of chaotic clashing fonts, it said “Nick Land, please hack my boypussy, I’m begging you to deterritorialize my back wall until I cum shit and I see Gnon.” “That’s pretty funny,” I told him.
“So, I’m trying to make sure get it,” he said, pulling his jacket back on. “Are you unironically a Nick-Land-style accelerationist? You’re trying to hype up NFTs in order to speed up the future?”
“Honestly, I don’t think Nick Land himself is an unironic accelerationist,” I told him. “I think it makes sense to look at much of Nick Land’s work as an elaborate troll, or devil’s-advocacy. But Land interests me because, whether you like him or not, he’s really the only person to create a philosophical project derived from Deleuze & Guattari which can make a claim to rival the original in its novelty and relevance. Specifically, there is the moment in Fanged Noumena in which he rejects the standard maneuver within Western philosophy of ‘describing language within a meta-language’, and accuses Deleuze & Guattari of cheating through their notion of ‘axiomatization’, which is merely another meta-language, according to Land. Once he figures this conceptual maneuver out, writing turns into a flattened plane of pure affect, and becomes subordinated to cybernetics. From that point, Land abandons anything which resembles conventional philosophy and begins writing cyberpunk pastiches, alternate histories, qabbala, etc., and the rest is history”
He didn’t have anything immediate to say in response to this, so I indulged myself and kept monologuing about theory. “It’s actually not the speed, or the economic aspect of Land which appeals to me, it’s precisely this flatness. I’ve become profoundly disinterested in artwork which isn’t able to directly operate on the social plane in which it is immanent. Notions of division between the subject and object of art, audience and creator, art and life, etc. I think need to be left in the twentieth century. I’m seeking to make my art practice and my lifestyle as flattened as possible. 🔜😤⛷”
For a Nut by Future featuring Young Thug & Gunna was playing on the aux. “I could boss a bitch up for a nut, that little bitty watch ain’t worth nothing”. 🎶
Someone was waving at me from across the room. “Yo, it was nice to see you here,” I said to the man in the Nick Land shirt in front of me, politely excusing myself in order to network with whomever it was on the other side of the bar beckoning to me. He was wearing a black hat that said “ULTRA MAGA” on it.
“Yo, I remember you, you’re…” I began. “@vincemanguy,” he reminded me. “Wonderful to see you again, we met in Miami.”
I searched through the vaults of my memory to recollect what I knew about this man. A tense horror crept upon me as I began to remember. “Yeah I remember you, but what are you doing at the Milady rave?” I asked him. “You’re a Bored Ape avi!” 🙅♂️
“Don’t say it so loudly!” he chuckled, slapping me humorously on my back. 🙈 “I’ve been a part of the Bored Ape community since nearly the beginning, but I think Miladys are really cool too! The neo-chibi aesthetic is just so cute. Why do our communities need to have beef?”
“Honestly,” I told him, “At the end of the day, I’m with you. There’s no need for beef. I just feel like Milady is the most interesting project — it’s the only one interesting enough for me to write about it right now. Because it has an ethos to its core: Network Spirituality. What is Bored Ape’s ethos?”
“We’re Bored Apes,” he told me. “We ape into shitcoins, and we’re existentially bored. 😴😵 Ennui; it’s a commentary on the human condition.”
“I feel like that’s been done 🙄,” I said, as I turned away to head to the bar for a drink.
“No wait, hold on, I had a question,” he said, grabbing my shoulder before I could walk away. “I read in an article that Milady was run by like, a neo-nazi accelerationist cult? Is that true? It seems kind of fucked up if it’s real,” he said.
“What?” I asked him, completely bewildered. “Whoever said that must be fudding Milady, or just a hater or something. Everyone I’ve met here is chill as fuck.”
“Yeah, everyone here seems pretty cool,” he acknowledged.
I went to the bar to order a Manhattan with Johnnie Walker Red. Next to the bar, all the way in the back of the room, I saw a small line of five or six people standing in front of a closed door. “What’s going on here?” I asked to one of the kids standing in line. “VIP room!” he said excitedly. “You have to be holding a Milady to get in.”
Fortunately, I do! Check her out:
“What’s going on in the VIP today?” I asked the kid. “Not sure,” he responded. “Need to get in first and we can find out!”
I had to wait for about fifteen minutes in the line because they were only letting people in one at a time. A bouncer made me scan a QR code & sign an attestation with MetaMask showing that I owned a Milady on the Ethereum blockchain.
When I got in, it was a dimly lit room with black walls, a bunch of black couches surrounding a black table, and a small crowd of dudes and a couple girls chilling. I recognized @foolish4Christ, @MalangeDon, @Dejantheinane & @postcksl all there, and there were roughly as many people I didn’t recognize. On the table in front of them, there was a bunch of white powder sitting on a mirror in a pile, with odd flecks of powder spilled and scattered about it.
Cocaine. 👃🏻❄️ What self-respecting party for degenerate crypto gamblers and accelerationist theorists wouldn’t be providing stimulants in a back room? “You want a line, bro?” one of my fellow Milady holders asked me from his position on the couches, sliding over so I could squeeze in next to him. I nodded in the affirmative, and bent down low to inhale the chemicals. I winced — it felt like being punched in the nose, but in the chillest possible way.
I laid back on the couch. Something strange was happening. The couch was vibrating beneath me. I was higher than I thought I would be. I looked down at my hands, and they seemed as if they belonged to someone else. I wriggled my fingers to make sure they still work, and each movement felt pondered over, as if I was in a video game with unfamiliar controls.
I glanced back up. I hadn’t noticed that most of the people previously in with me had suddenly left the room. I was the only one left on my couch, and aside from me the only people remaining were on the couch perpendicular to mine — two lesbians caressing each other & giving each other slow, awkward kisses, both seemingly having found themselves far too drunk far too early in the night.
I closed my eyes as the room tumbled and danced around and underneath me. I spent about ten minutes in darkness, completely immersed in a maze of confused inner affect, having totally forgotten my goals of networking, picking up on writing cryptocurrency alpha, and generating material for autofiction.
Then, someone spoke. “Hey Max, it’s me! It’s Milady!” sang a cute female voice. My eyes shot open. There she was; it was in fact her.
Milady! She was only about five-foot-two, with big eyes, elven-looking ears, and a playful smile. She wore a trucker cap that said “MILADY” in a ornate font and a shirt that said “I’m cute I’m punk rock” (she is!) She had short purple hair cropped just above her shoulders and an earring dangling out of just her right ear. It was exactly how she looked on OpenSea, how she had looked in that very first moment when my eyes locked with hers and I decided it made sense to spend thousands of dollars on a jpeg.
“I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you,” I told her.
“🥲☺️☺️☺️😳😊😊😊😊😜😊😊😇” she replied.
“Can you come a little closer?” I asked her.
“I Long For Network Spirituality,” she said. “I might be yours on the blockchain, but anyone can buy and hold a token. Can you truly possess Milady? Was she ever really yours? She comes and she goes as she pleases, as the wind sways the telephone lines between two towers, as the birds burst upwards into the sky only to settle down and roost once more. Are you wired enough, Max?”👸🏻
“Uwu,” I said. “🥺🥺😔. I’ve been trying my best.”
“Why were you talking about grifting earlier?” she asked me. “You don’t see me like that, do you? Like just something to make money off of and forget about the next day?” 😡😡🤬🤬🤬😈
“Of course not!” I shouted indignantly. But then my heart sank as I realized I might not be the innocent party here. Were there sins I still needed to confess to Milady? 🥺😩😓 “I just meant it like, a hustle, you know? Everyone has to have their hustle, right? 😅”
Milady scoffed and turned her head to the side, folding her arms. “You have so much to learn.” ⚡️📈
Then, Milady pointed towards the door. “Look who came to the rave,” she announced. At that point, the door swung open and, @Logo_Daedalus from Twitter walked confidently into the room. “What’s up dude,” he said to me. He took a puff on his Juul, then turned to Milady. “What’s up, Milady.”
He positioned himself next to Milady and then looked at me. “Look man, I came here to tell you your writing sucks,” he said. “It’s just obviously clear from how you write that you haven’t read as many books as I have. Have you even read… well I know you haven’t read all of Shakespeare — you probably haven’t read any Shakespeare since high school, but have you even read all of Hemingway? Of Poe? 📚 I don’t think Milady deserves your treatment; it brutalizes and bloodies her, your pen scrapes against her skin. Such a fair creature deserves to be sung of skillfully, don’t you think?”
“😭😭😭” i said. She does i know she does
“😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂” said Milady.
Logo Daedalus left the room and closed the door behind him.
“Milady, why do you torment me so?” I exclaimed. “The price was almost at 2 ETH, and I didn’t sell. Now the price is below where I bought it, and I still never sold… I will never sell, I will hold you forever, I promise. But for some reason you don’t believe me…”
“I just hurt people because I’ve been hurt in the past,” she said. “And I don’t want to get hurt again. Trauma. I’m sure you understand. 💛 But you actually seem like a good guy. I like you.”
“Uwu 🥹☺️😊” I said, exhaling and closing my eyes slightly.
Milady balled her fists and jumped up and down. “Yay! Hey, Max, do you think I could sit on your lap? 🥺”
“Of course,” I said.
she put her head against my neck& I could feel her heartbeat against mine. I ran my fingers through her neon purple hair and felt as if I was tumbling across a bristled astroturfed grass on a terraformed extrasolar planet 🕊🥀
“☺️☺️☺️🌺🌷🌻🌼🪷🐞🪲🪳🐬🌈” - Milady
“💛” - Max
“😇👼⛪️💒💫” - Milady
“💛💛💛” - Max
…
…
Milady: “🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪😈😈😈😈👹⏩🔪🩸!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I screamed in horror at what was happening and tried to stand up as Milady slashed violently with her knife at my torso the blood pooled around me, but to no avail. My limbs all sunk downwards as if they were submerged in water. I tried to wriggle and push her off but there was no hope, she was already on top of me and I was losing gallons of blood a second. It was over for me. If I was going to die, I might as well not make it worse by resisting it. I was Milady’s sacrificial victim. In a manner of sorts, that’s maybe the true way in which I was able to serve her the best.
-
My eyes shot open. Milady was gone, and there was no blood. I was just lying there on the same couch in the same room, with about ten other people there — some of whom I recognized, some of whom I didn’t.
“Dude, you were in that k-hole for like a whole two hours!” exclaimed the kid sitting next to me.
“Oh, haha,” I replied. “I thought I was doing cocaine.” 😅 What a wild ride that had been!
After that I got up and danced some more, and… Anyway, that’s basically what I did at the Milady rave! 😄 I had so much fun!!! And all the people were super cool.
Hope I see you there at the next one! 🌈
Pictures from the rave of the author:
الحمد لله سننتصر
🕌
like this post if u love ketamine
Hahah bet! Mad fun Sunday reading 😎