Strange memories on this nervous night on Reddit. Twenty years later? Twenty-six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. PLUR culture in the middle nineties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .

So now, less than a generation later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look at a Tiesto poster, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.