Lightning in a Bottle

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When in doubt. Go to the festival. When broke and ticketless. Go to the festival. Where there is a will there is a way. Then we were on the otherside. Inside the festival.

Life finds consistent peaks. Each peak out peaking the previous peak. Each night higher. Regardless of what happened to my pheromones, hormones, emotions, brain cells, skin cells, or thigh muscles Friday night; Saturday night topped it. Emancipator yet again lived up to the name. Freedom. Nicolas Jaar is the man + Griz. Thug Fuckers are more legit than they sound. Which puts them up there in world. Sunday's list was amazingly combined with yet again flying discs. gLAdiator, Giraffage, Gigamesh, Tycho, Pumpkin.

Santa Monica dolphin dive. Never did ocean seem more appealing, cleansing, nor was it approached so quickly. Sprinting across the sand. A miracle really considering the state of our bodies.

Laughter and love and booze oozed like a hemophiliac's open sore. All I ever wanted was a crew, lightning was a family. A family of phyzy fluids vacillating between dance and play. Introspection and connection. We annihilated space, but our conquest of time remains - because on Monday we left joy personified at LAX, and watched her walk with filthy bare feet into the concrete abyss.

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