Why acid house is the last thing I want to listen to when I'm on acid

It’s been just over two hours since I popped a tiny square of white paper in my mouth and my vision is fuzzy with swirling hallucinations. The acid has officially kicked in with full force. I’m at a music festival which is nestled in the forest of the midwestern United States, completely cut off from the outside world, but the landscape and atmosphere is comforting. Giant trees brimming with life are all around me. A soothing sense of calm takes over my headspace as I wander the grounds. Suddenly I’m at a giant stage where booming, soulful house is permeating the airwaves. Pure bliss.

Then suddenly there’s an abrupt shift that rips me from my bubble of calm. It’s like an atomic bomb just blew up in my mind as the DJ decides to fuck shit up and play a squelching, lightning-paced acid tune. An uneasy feeling comes over me.

I’m frantic.
I’m anxious.
My skin is crawling.
I’m not panicking.
I’m not panicking.
Oh no, I’m panicking!
Why did he do that?
Was it something I did?
I need to get on the move, fast.
Why is this genre even called acid house?

At that moment I knew, deep in my bones, and I’m more sure of it than anything on earth: acid house is the very last thing I want to listen to when I’m on acid.