The cover design is reminiscent of a notebook: handwritten "Practices / Raving / McKenzie Wark" on a monochrome pink background. The small book is published in the Practices series alongside the titles Fly-Fishing, Juggling, and Running (Tomorrowing has only been announced so far, which somehow seems appropriate). The series' website states that the volumes shall "reveal the pleasures of losing oneself in doing anything that holds sway over us, no matter how common or minor it might seem" (Duke University Press n.d.). How does Raving fit into this randomly appearing list of profane desubjectifying practices? Raving unfolds in both detailed intimate as well as abstract theoretical passages, whereby these perspectives repeatedly transform into each other. McKenzie Wark writes in the styles of autofiction ("These things did not happen. The person to whom they did not happen is me" [4]) and autotheory ("to gather concepts from situations" [4]). Personal story fragments about raving and its entanglement with other practices-particularly social belonging, gender transition, drug use, sex and writing in bed-merge with political-theoretical thoughts on related aspects of queerness, blackness, gentrification, commodification and club culture. Six chapters, partly based on earlier published texts and lectures/performances, are written in this oscillating style. They are supplemented by a "Glossary of Concepts" (91-94), condensed paragraphs on key terms used throughout the book, including in chapter titles. The concepts are defined as "impersonal characters in the autotheory text" (93) and shall function as "resonant abstractions" (93). In addition to these impersonal characters, the book is populated by many people known by name or anonymised, often by single capital letters. Some of them are also referenced in footnotes, bibliography and notes on a collection of colour photos showing scenes from raves, festivals and clubs. Most of the personal situations described in the book happened recently in Brooklyn, New York. Additionally, there are some memories of the 1990s (including "Edward" [43], who plays a crucial role in Wark's [2020] previous autofictional/autotheoretical book Reverse Cowgirl).

Cognition in extended brain-body music systems becomes especially agile during psychedelic experience, necessitating a sonic rhetoric emphasizing transformative agency. Rooted in the recursive listening spaces of dub, three forms of psychedelic electronica—ambient house, trip-hop and glitch—foster an echological sensibility unique to records made largely from the bits and pieces of other recordings. In this article, longform albums representing each of these genres are offered as sonic pharmakomedia, pharmacologically activated non-human agencies that sustain psychedelic mind-machine systems. Managing the psychedelic experience by mediating set and setting through music selection is adopted in psychedelic research, therapy sessions and personal practices alike. I consider set and setting in terms of their contributions to a liminal sonic substance that facilitates encounters with non-human agencies. Putting indigenous shamanic practices in conversation with contemporary neuropsychopharmacology, sound studies and psychedelic music production, this article offers a diagnostic inventory of the effects of the sonic substance.

The aim of this article is to deepen reflections on the links between the technical aspects of techno music, the experience of listening to it and its social function. In order to achieve that goal, we carry out a comparative analysis between Theodor Adorno and Robert Fink, which allows us to construct an interpretation of the social dimensions of the techno technique, specifically from the analysis of its teleology and time. This work acknowledges the irreconcilable aspects of the authors; where Fink finds a liberating possibility of manifestation and creation of desire or an expression of an emerging new subjectivity, Adorno finds the innermost fibres of a mechanism of social alienation. These contradictory interpretations, complexified by contributions from other authors (such as Rick Snoman, Mark Butler and Diedrich Diederichsen, Ragnhild Solberg and Juliane Rebentisch), allow us to build a detailed description of the particularities of techno aesthetics.

When attending these environments, the psyvatars (Simão and Guerra 2016) point out limitations to the virtual dance floors, namely: the lack of human warmth, the direct interaction between pairs, the lack of movement and dance ritual, the resignation of the body (not in the sense of alienation or psychedelic experience, but in terms of physical perception) and the lack of multisensory experience. On the other hand, others argue that the objective of the party is reached as long they have the fundamental-the music.\nThe subjects who are more connected virtually are often more connected physically or in person (Wellman et al. 2006) and in these SL communities (even smaller than other EM and EDM communities), the feeling of belonging and empathy between the virtual members is quite evident. Beyond these similarities there are other parallels between the conventional and the virtual dance floor: musical aesthetics, empathy between members, the figure of the DJ and the centrality of the dance floor, decor and visual expressions, clothing, accessories and recreational consumptions, among others. It is also important to mention the constant concern in recreating the main elements of the physical parties. More than a simulacrum, these events are thus framing their own place and identity.\nThis imposed digital migration has clearly intensified the virtual dynamics, as well as boosting the hybridism of these digital incubators, but even though these virtual dance floors and online music events in general have proliferated in the first months of 2020, it is more prudent to consider them viable alternatives than effective replacements. Today we are living in the territories of the future surrendered to the permeability and fluidity of the cyber-era (Wilson and Atkinson 2005), listening and dancing to electronic and algorithmic music, but are we prepared to give up the real-physical-offline-sweaty dance floors? In the coexistence of isolation and crowds, the dance floor warriors must resist becoming purely egovatars of cyberspace and keep festivals and rave culture alive (Simão and Guerra 2016).