Titles Inhibit Me Right Now and Separate Entries Scare Me for the Foreseeable Future

swimming through jagged waters never felt like this before
the undertow is peaceful
but my body won't let my mind succumb to plummet
to acknowledge a judge's decision
in favor of mind over body

a coup
a coup
a coup that can't happen
because the people wear masks of red, blue, green
and on and on and on…

I don't know where I'm going
I don't know where I've been
I don't know who I've known
The mirror has gone to static
And programming will resume
As soon as I...

Images and video are coming in from the wreckage
And here on the ground we're feeling the tension
But a detached mist hovers
We can't get at it
We don't even try

The tension isn't tension:
It's a force sweeping through
leaving nothing but complacency
in its wake
in its wake
we're at our own wake and don't know it
__________________________________

in a fog at dusk
the day we met has broad shoulders
big enough to blindly bully the unseen
adaptation's the game
i remember It and nothing else
[must forget, must forget]

O, fragmentary knowledge?
Where's the black box
The Black Box!
A holy grail we'll never know,
Should never strive for

the whole has been without lotion in the sun
there's a bottle in hand
but I'm worn out
I stagger on:
appreciative to my legs
and deploring my mind.

i'm back at the wreckage
ive forgotten my suit
the only armor i have is a paintbrush
and every shade of the rainbow

with my eyes closed, i paint
i remember:
your light gave me sight.
and i'm not worried anymore.

but i open my eyes:
[TICK, TOCK--TICK, TOCK...]
my pockets are lined with watches ticking
further
further
further
further from the moment
than it ever felt possible
when the moment was born
________________________________

i can't shake my shadow
he's a slob
and i'm a simple mirror
inseparable from him

the sirens blare
the searchlights scan
the megaphone imposes
drained of expression:
look but don't touch.

in my room, I shudder as my shoulders slump
first the right
then the left
then my legs
I goose step in time with my shadow's rhythm
And wander from swamp to swamp
_____________________________________________

It's always better on the inside
But who stays there too long?
i have plumbed the depths in isolation
only to find others content to surface fish

some say a once a month dive wont do it
you have to live there
but what is There?

There doesn't exist
And it's all in my mind
the depths are the surface too
And it's all in my mind

Wanton disregard
I soldier on with my oxygen and mask
Reality blurs but the surface is suicide

Epidemic!
Epidemic!
Epidemic!
Face the day, it's only a switch away
The newsie philosopher shouts to the faceless mob
As they christen their new baby
But there's no one home;
Please leave a message at the beep.
Get back to you in a century or two.

Untitled 3

A bat in the cave will keep the doctor away,
Or so Billy says.
He says that:
Looking in the mirror and laughing is
Pre-emptive warfare
Against enemies yet unknown,
yet to be discovered by the
24 hour news cycle in my head,
the tabloids plundering my ship,
mining its weakest points for the benefit
of some unknown tension
for some unknown bow
for a very known archer.

Possible experience is
Too Big.
The path of a whole life isn’t a box of cereal
But the difference is evasive, she said
And with a bitterly pitter-pattering heart
this realization numbed him.

A bed in flux,
Flashing in and out of existence,
In homage to the many clothes worn:
A pause button for perspective,
I desperately seek
As Zooming through monotony,
I look at the black sky overhead,
wondering is it a vulture or virus
A vulture it is and I turn up the stereo,
Another casualty of the ambiguous scapegoat,
Fate.

‘Argh’,
the day away in wakeful slumber
and fumble around Truth’s prickly, slippery bra strap tomorrow:
this moment is a tyranny upon my soul,
and I’m trapped in their
randomly interlocking concentric circles
that form vast Ven Diagram webs-
welcoming to both Pollock and Buddha.

Looking out at my miserable empire,
I feel like Alexander should have felt.
Anxious,
Bewildered,
Unprepared.

Habit is Reason’s mischievous little brother,
And the trick is to not ask,
“Who is my mother?”,
But, rather,
“How do I keep Jimmy clean?”

Untitled 2

months have passed, a commercial break to some,
but in my war torn mind,
an eternity of infinitesimal moments
oscillating back and forth into existence and
factions sit at the ready with spears made with

a blade as sharp and piercing
as I have become since the last night;

some wood mindlessly shaped,
while I lay in stupor, in wait
for the time of a season that will never come,
for flowers to return
and triumphantly bloom in pitch black;

one long piece of rope made from my own skin:
a mirror to re-mind the mind
of vanity’s allure,
and the strength of superficial certain uncertainties,
amid feeble uncertain certainties
thought by men in 2-story red brick houses,
simple structures with manicured lawns,
too proud to know the difference between
an apple and the apple.

Untitled 1

theres a space in the light of hindsight
that winds and acquiesces
with the shuffling feet and
darting, pensive eyes
of the man struggling for perspective:

understanding beyond words,
across mountain ranges,
from peak to trough
he lives as a man, finally

or, rather,
will finally live when the god within
accepts his fate as creator and destroyer:
a paradox only afforded the partially divine.

Roo 08

Well, Roo ’08 has come and gone.

I’ll be honest. Roo is my child. And I am Roo’s surrogate mother: I was pregnant with enthusiasm for half a year and then came together with my fellow surrogates and some select artists to birth a wonderful 4 day music festival in rural Tennessee. Roo is equal parts idea and concrete substance; each and every Rooer brings their concept of Roo, lives it, and creates a reality completely unfamiliar to not only the standard concert scene but the world at large. Within the nearly 600 acres covering the grounds, eclectic is the driving theme as human beings of all kinds unite to enjoy genre after genre of music. From MGMT’s psychedelic pop tunes to Tiesto’s driving beats to Pearl Jam’s grungy classic rock to the hip hop of Lupe Fiasco and Talib Kweli, there was definitely something for each person’s niche. However, Rooers are generally niche-less people. We can’t be easily wrapped up in a nice little box with a bow. We can’t be defined by one category of music or philosophy. The only definition that fits is a vague one: we are all authentic and open human beings that choose to brave the perpetual 90 degree heat and sunshine (and occasional sustained torrential downpour) of Manchester, Tennessee.

Choice is key because of all the different modern luxuries given up in favor of a simpler lifestyle. For most Rooers, a shower only happens on Monday and the trip to the portajohn is spent pondering what kind of Pollockesque combination of “stuff” they will find adorning the inside of their modern day hot box, like the container you see POW’s in, roasting away in the heat. Or the 30-40 minute walk that many face from campsite to Centeroo, where all the music goes down. These experiences that tax both the mind and body are chosen in favor of the overall experience that involves the music, of course, but also the opportunity to live in a 4 day Utopia, a 4 day test-run of a prototypical society where the freedom to act and think as one deems desirable exists with an a priori acceptance of The Other in a synthesized, unified manner. It is a freedom to be who it is you want to be - so long as it with a consenting partner and/or not harmful to any one else's passage to do the same. This takes place in two arenas: authority and peer. On the one hand, freedom is derived from a tiny, pretty much non-existent, authority presence within both Centeroo and the outside camping and vending areas; and on the other: virtually sight unseen faith in a human being based on the truth value of the very general proposition: you both made the same choice

Acts Seen
Thursday
Grand Ole Party
MGMT
Battles
Vampire Weekend

Friday
The Fiery Furnaces
Teagan and Sara
The Raconteurs
Rilo Kiley
Chris Rock
Metallica
My Morning Jacket
Tiesto

Saturday
Gogol Bordello
Mastodon
BB King
Jack Johnson
Pearl Jam
Sigur Ros

Sunday
Robert Randolph
Harrybu McCage
Aimee Mann
BSS

Best Sets
1. MGMT - From the very start the crowd was riled up to see these guys with at least 4 pre-show applauses attempting to eeke the guys on stage earlier. They didn't disappoint in the least and absolutely ripped through the first 5-6 songs. The guy on lead guitar really has a lot more area to roam in the live setting, and , overall, the band just brought a whole lot of energy.

2. BSS

3. MMJ

4. PJ

5. Metallica

6. Fiery Furnaces

7. Chris Rock

8. Aimee Mann

9. Sigur Ros

10. Harrybu McCage

Best Song
Kids/Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters/Time to Pretend - MGMT

One Big Holiday/Wordless Chorus/Lay Low - MMJ

'Black'- PJ

kc accidental/fire eye' boy/anthems - BSS

Save Me/Wise Up/Aimee Mann

Nothing Else Matters/The Unforgiven - Metallica

There was this one Fiery Furnace song that I loved but don't know the title to at this pt. Same goes for GOP.

Most Nostalgic Song
Black - PJ

Nothing Else Matters/The Unforgiven - Metallica

You are My Sunshine - BB King

Best Guitar Work
Kirk Hammett
MGMT Dude
Mike McCready
Jack White

Most Delicious Food
Chicken Gyros
Seasoned Curly Fries
Chicken on a stick
Jumbo Corn Dog

Beverage of Choice
Lemonade


Best Performer
GOP lead singer/drummer - dual duty in which neither one suffers


Best Cover
Crazy Mary/Love Reign O'er ME/Watchtower - PJ
Hot Fun - MMJ

Parent of the Year Award
At many points through out the weekend, I noticed children attending with their parents. They were of various ages - ranging from 10 year olds approaching adolescence to one girl who I swear couldn't be more than 3 years old, probably less. The parents were of different types as well: a dreadlocked young woman to remarkably average looking and "non-revolutionary". This is notable because on first blush I think many people would judge these parents as irresponsible, perhaps even many who do attend Roo themselves. I'm not sure entirely what the thought is but I think many would intuitively think that the Roo is an inappropriate place for a child. I couldn't disagree more. If as a parent you are trying to raise a child that is independent, accepting of others and cares about other human beings genuinely, is open to new experiences and possibilities, and appreciates good music, then there is no better place to take family vacations than roo. Why?? Manchester, Tennessee is a place where people gather annually to share 4 days brimming with these shared values on display on stage, in the food lines, in the audience, in the campgrounds, everywhere. This was a long intro for what is a simple story. During the end of the Raconteurs set, we were standing towards the back of the field. I believe we waiting for one of our group to return from the bathroom. I saw a mother dancing with her kids - perhaps, 3 and 5 or 4 and 6- and it was the most beautiful thing I saw all weekend. The three of them seemed so in the moment that I couldn't help imagining what a childhood filled with these types of moment would be like. I should say that I am a firm believer in environment influencing a person's development especially a very young person. The contrast between my own childhood and this somewhat hypothetical one is interesting because I think the vacations one takes has a strong influence on a person's conception of how time should be spent and the nature of success. The big vacations in my life were always to Disney World, and it seems to me the type of place that implants falsehoods rather than brings one closer to reality. Yeah, there are fun times to be had there and presumably time is spent with other human beings, but the general theme is one of inanity. You're there to make a break from reality; the names are written all over the place. Fantasyland. Magic Kingdom. Some takes us to the future: Tomorrowland. Some bring us lands and animals that are originate far away: Animal Kingdom. Some bring the allure of the ever-present modern obsession of the movies: MGM-Studios. Some bring countries straight over the ocean right to use in a nicely wrapped, contained package. Some bring us to exotic locations: the Polynesian Resort. You get the picture. The point is that the target is sensual pleasure and ignorant blissfulness: a place where everything is rose-colored and hope springs eternal. For what, who knows? I think the message is that anything can happen at Disney World. It limits the hope of fulfillment to within its confines. That's the definition of planned obsolescence. You gotta keep refilling the Disney inputs. At Bonnaroo, the specifics of seeing shows can of course only be repeated by going there again, but I don't think the enjoyment is limited to the 4 days spent there. More importantly, I think Bonnaroo is capable of a much more substantive and long-lasting change within a human being. The areas of a human being's "soul" (for lack of a better word) that are firing during a Roo trip are much different than Disney. It all goes back to the question of what is the best type of happiness which is of course a much bigger discussion than I want to get into here. But I will say that a kid that goes to Bonnaroo frequently during their childhood will be more likely


Best Story Premise Conceived
So, before the Grand 'Ole Party show, I noticed a middle-aged dude who was there all by his lonesome. He looked rather normal - no tie-dyed shirt, long hair, bushy beard, or other notable stereotype. And I saw him interact with a few young girls; they were probably 18 or 20. So, the story goes like this: Man has corporate gig with the suburban life - kids, nice house, a dog, the whole sha-bang. He encounters mid-life crisis in which he realizes the complete lack of fulfillment he has found in this life. How empty of joy. The desperate feeling that every standard he acted in accordance with was designed by someone else with the goal of controlling him. So, he walks around with this feeling in the pit of his stomach for sometime, not knowing how he could nuture it or how to even approach it. He comes across an article in a magazine that talks about Bonnaroo, the annual music festival blah blah blah - he decides this might be just the thing. He goes there - not really knowing anything except its a "liberal place" where people go to get away from modern society and enjoy some music. The real arc of the story is that he meets a young girl there - early 20's max. He makes a stunningly brilliant but stillopening remark. She laughs him off. She watches him as he rocks, seeing his earnestness, and after the show she bites the bullet, sidling up to him on the walk out, making small talk initially. the gist of the story is that they explore love, political and social philosophy, art and drugs. kind of like american beauty crossed with woodstock but with less of an unhappy ending. and no kevin spacey. probably a younger protagonist..