Monday, April 28, 2008

There's a desert dust cloud in my head.

I sat down on the now-damp grass outside the Sahara tent during Chromeo - the second to last set on the third and final night - and with a pen borrowed from Danielle took short notes on particular items I did not want to forget. Coachella always produces so many unforgettably succulent pieces of information - entertainment at its finest, friends at their weakest, strangers at their, well, strangest - yet I immediately felt as though I'd forgotten every pertinent memory, every noteworthy experience of the last three days. Things would happen, crazed dreaded Cro-magnon men would stumble by me after flailing around in circles at my side only to stop and stare head-on into the scorching desert sunlight, friends would loose their wallets and receive phone calls from strangers saying, indeed, I have your wallet and knew to call you after riffling through it - a reassuring though, I'm sure - and sniffing out your personal information, caffeine-crazed concertgoers would stampede through the wet dirt towards the Glaceau Vitamin Energy drink van, sloshing mud up the entire length of my bare legs and narrowly avoiding my - luckily - short dress, yet all the budding insight and comments on the weekend I'd been storing in my brain, all of my captivating stories seemed to be stuck in a fog. All of the analyses of artist performances, all of my snide social commentaries seemed to swept up in the wonder of the weekend and the stockpile of situations stacked one upon another in the file cabinets of my brain. I'm hoping sleep will clear it all out. But for now, the three days at Coachella remain an insurmountable blur of happenings and occurrences that, in a brief word, made me unfathomably elated.

1 comment:

T Relth said...
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