I love it at the festival
I miss it when we’re not together.
when we’re disconnected.
In the land of tarmac and mechanical rivers;
Fuck Brooker and his black mirror.
I want to stick together.
I want to outshine the weather,
No matter what the weather.
I want to rebuild this place,
With my friends and leisure at the centre.
I want to take back the centre of the road,
& I want it to go on forever.
I want to live life like we do
At a festival.
I want the craic that comes with creasing myself into the crowd,
with all the other happy people.
Not a sea of strangers,
Just the ongoing odyssey of brand-new conversation.
I miss it, how we play in a formation.
The blossoming billowing,
sewn into the meadows.
Once barren, now over-flowing
With the strange love that’s made,
Between hundreds and thousands of people.
Delicate, filthy and sublime,
As the music stretches time.
The feeling finally comes to mind,
Everything’s fine.
Because I do not live alone.
I’m just one of a kind,
gooey, peculiar group.
Who’s really quite good at reconnecting when it means to.
When we can afford the time and space to,
tend-to the knack of living well,
with diverse tastes and modern technology.
I LOVE IT WHEN WE DROP THE BOLLOCKSOLOGY.
That processed crap they market to us in the bread queues,
A 24-hour bullshit tribune.
No thank you.
If I am going to boil this planet,
I’d prefer to do it off my own stew.
Homegrown notions,
Little organically grown perception potions.
Or at least the best as I could get them.
God knows they
grow all better in groups.
And I miss saying hello to you.
That way that we do
There,
When the road is slow,
Because it’s made from soft folds
In the grass,
not granite.
I can’t stand it.
Running around at this apocalyptic pace,
For the sake of..
Remains to be seen.
What’s the ultimate goal of this,
burning down of everything?
Doesn’t seem sane to me.
So I want to escape.
Back to a cattle gate.
A sacred and sodden place,
laying in wait.
For the partly polluted,
but communal grace we make.
When we weave together
Our very best social inventions.
Enjoying our time together,
With every fibre of our best intentions.
Inside the structure we engineer and perform as a spectacle.
A place our ancestors would have considered mystical,
Mythical, part of some sort of loved-up smiley faced spiritual trend.
If only for the weekend.
The full power of love revealing herself,
through the most subtle and innocent of ways humanly expressible,
I miss saying hello to you at the festival.
