Diving under the neon TripTank sign buzzing and flickering alone in the night I came into the shop from off the steadily disintegrating side street. With a nod I paid two weeks wages to the fat guy on the counter smoking illegal cigarettes in his unwashed vest. I walked on into the locker room behind. No troubles. No drama. Deep in the tank I could be everywhere, everywhere but here.

Quickly stripping off down to my shorts I piled my clothes in a locker and stepped on through the dirty plastic curtain into the large back room beyond. All along both walls stretched lines of the big blue tanks stacked one on top of the other three rows high, marching off into the darkness the space too gloomy to see the end. I glanced down at the key in my hand, number 303 was my berth. After a few minutes of brisk walking, feet slapping on the cold wet concrete floor I reached my ladder, strip lights glitching on and off above. Virtually unable to wait my palms were sweating in anticipation; so excited!

The steps were cold and rusty beneath my naked feet gathering flecks of flaking paint and grime as I climbed on up to level 3. Tanks 302 and 301 stacked below, the heavy plastic containers a couple of metres square, each holding people deep and fast in the drift. I had top bunk! Hanging off the steps I unlocked the Tank, pushed open the deck and clambered in sinking quickly into the warm viscous fluid. Home! Closing the deck electric coursed atop my skin, totally enveloped I submerged fully in total darkness head down and under. Out from corners of the tank feeding tubes and catheters extended linking up with ports beneath my skin. Free floating in dark sugar fluid I relaxed fully in the serum, synthetic drugs flooding my system as I began to drift away. The next few days would be pure bliss on Earth.

The Article is not amused.
- Where ask for conformity, you display difference
- Where there is darkness you manifest light
- Where we demand absolute progress you present history
- We plan for stability and you create fluidity
- Where we demand security you promote chance

You simply cannot continue to ignore the rules of the birds in such fashion.

Flying low over the seas I tasted the waves and felt their steady rhythmic movement propelling great weights of water over the surface of the planet. The sun set in burning orange radiance, sunbeams reflecting off the ocean streaming photons into the deep purple hue of space or bouncing off voluminous clouds reflecting gold in the descending dusk. I say damn to the seagulls, fascist birds of the beaches. Im going out, way out West my beautiful condor self flying high and fast and free.

Deep within the TripTanks Icarus always wins eventually.

All this culminated in eight bit depression when the kid pulled the cartridge out of the machine and ran on downstairs for her dinner. Entire worlds of conscious collapsed with the process. Jenny I will not call you again. At least her world kept turning and it was vissticks for tea.

Gustav Goodstuff is a busy man. Besides working the counter in Clone Records in Rotterdam he is also responsible for running Midlight Records presenting releases from the likes of Swedish acid veterans Frak, Conforce alias Vernon Felicity, 80s synth innovator Das Ding and man of the moment Cliff Lothar. Meneer Goodstuff is also part of the team running Phuture West bookings agency with a focus on representing the growing melange of artists which make up the vibrant and prolific Dutch West Coast scene, names like: dark synthpop duo Antenna, Moustache Records man David Vunk, production whiz G-String and Pinkman Records gang leader Marsman etc. Add in shows on Intergalactic FM, an almost residency with Den Haag party crew Bakk and the Get On Down parties at the now sadly defunct Studio 80 in Amsterdam and its clear that Goodstuff is a key operator in the contemporary Dutch electro/acid scene.

This mix pulses with undulating bassline grooves, strong rhythmic tracks employing razor sharp cymbals and bone dry snares. Within the throbbing electricity a human touch is clear to feel. A classic from the late and much missed Andreas Gehm is deployed: Elec Pt.1s I Am simply Me, acid twitters unfurling slowly in the murk. Against the bass and rhythm a deep purple melancholy is released and given flight via mournful electro melodies. A homage to the Dutch West Coast scene and its myriad of influences Goodstuff selects an idiosyncratic range of tracks: positivity within the dark, destruction and rebirth and a healthy smattering of trademark Dutch eccentricity.