Vicious sunlight,
that solicitor,
slinks in through humid tents
to sell us another day
of concerts,
of risky, overpriced foreign food
and those pensive silences,
sitting side by side
on a beach towel,
where we fold our hands in our laps
and study the dried graffiti
of sweat and dust
spidering our palms.
All this time, I can't stop thinking
about how little this festival
really has to do with music.
No. It's about how taut
one can stretch the mind
before it fizzles and spins
like antacids in a cup of water.
I am still scrubbing music from my skin.
But even more vivid
is the outline
of that nameless man,
dreadlocks a perfect mess.
(A dead beetle caught between
two closed windows,
curved upward
in his last, undignified pose.)
We all paid for this, the possibility of death.
Drugs, insatiable heat,
the gleeful defiance of sleep.
Even so, we are enamored
by the humbling thrum of summer.
Laughter and glowstick-spangled dancing
tugged tightly over each of us,
the experiences
we wish to remember most.
You learn a lot about being human
by taking a piece of everything.
Author notes
This is about Bonnaroo, a four-day music festival in Manchester (Tennessee). The death I mentioned was someone from our camp site that I didn't know, but we happened upon him as we were coming back from the festival grounds. The way I described it above is not exaggerated. It really was very humbling.
I realize it's a bit long-winded, but I decided to just write from start to finish without stopping.
Honesty is appreciated.
Comments
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Something you will always remember for many reasons. Liked the scrubbing music from my skin - reminds me of the slot machine sounds at Vegas - how they keep ringing in my mind for days afterwards. Great golden winner -just written as it was...
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I was so very glad and excited to read this. I'm going to warped tour the last week of July. My boyfriend convinced me to go.
I love the line "I am still scrubbing music from my skin." After four days of music I imagine you would be, and that image is just perfect.
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