holy shit.
85,000 people. our ten by ten tent full of artwork, lined with burgundy velvet, “that shit’s sick, yo.” says a dude pointing… looks sweet at four in the morning.. trippers come tripping by.. enjoying the scenery… enjoy…

how many stages again? dust everywhere. hot in the sun. hot in the shade. no fans could ever be enough. some stage nearby never has good music. blues traveler and rusted root on the stage opposite us tomorrow afternoon. madness, yknow? dust everywhere but still, once you been to the playa no where ever will be too dusty again. still tho, a fine layer of dust. look at that sun. these dudes come into the tent.

hi ho ya doin?

pretty good.

and so the conversation ensues….

could end anywhere…

and so it goes…

for a few

days

in the tennessee heat

with the lows of the appalachian rednecks

and the highs of the cosmic dancers

and all the nuances in between.

yo.

give it up for bringing it to the people.

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