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    That is the background for my phone. It might be the perfect picture. I gain so much power and ability to conquer sadness with it. I never really investigated why or how, I just naturally let the leaves fall and for whatever reason they fell into a pile of happiness. Future is having fun. Future is having more fun than any other rapper out. Future is having more fun than any other rapper out and it bleeds into the Hive.

    A fan base that deems itself #FutureHive for all intensive purposes. Maybe its all a joke, maybe we are all just playing out a parody of certain peers oppressive obsession with certain pop stars that shall not be named for fear of the all mighty dragging. But maybe we are a legit fan base who follow our Freeband president’s unspoken guidance. We follow the examples set and capture the essence within our online interactions and contributions, and from all signs these are nothing short of a fresh breath of air to an unusually sodium filled internet atmosphere. In the timeless words of DJ Khaled “we the best”. In biblical words of Future Hendrix “foreva eva”.

     Just Twitter search #FutureHive if you don't believe me. Forgive my lack of concern for other Hives, especially considering their jam might just be a Future song. How’s that for subliminals.... I speak from a place of unbalanced knowledge and will still say confidently that #FutureHive is the more, not the lesser. You will laugh, you will cry, you will walk sandy shores and stare off into distances wistfully...but why?

    The answer is easy, because Future is generally enjoying himself amidst the whirlwind, like us. When someone is having that good of a time it is not hard to want to be a part of it. Even more so when it comes in the middle of life’s tidal chaos. Love spreads faster than fire. Smiles feel good. The sunrise makes the sand in strange places bearable..... We love each other for loving Future’s contributions to this see saw existence. We are trying to smile like Future using Future’s smile as the catalyst and we are succeeding.

  2:20 Am -  I wake up in bed feeling like shit. Too hot and nauseous, The nausea is taking over, I rush to the bathroom and throw up for about 15 minutes. I pass out on the floor next to the toilet.

Roses in my hand, I can’t help but focus on them, the more I try to hold them the more they prick me, I see her face, I drop the flowers. She turns into stained glass and cracks and eventually breaks into the tiniest splinters.

    On the floor, still covered in sweat, shaking, interrupted by overwhelming nausea. I push it down and drift into sleep again.

There’s a blanket covering my vision, I move it and I’m watching myself as a child helping my grandmother with the laundry outside, she’s singing something softly. She turns to me and repeats twice “there will be many, but don’t let that take your smile.”

     I wake up again with the same abrupt nausea as before. It’s rough, I dry heave for about 6 minutes, my stomach is tight, I try to drink some water and collapse on the floor again.

She’s there, it’s 5 months ago, in my old apartment the word “forever” keeps pouring out of her mouth, there is an emptiness in her eyes. Something strange that I can feel, a fire between us. I don’t want to hear her talk anymore, I leave and end up in a hallway. I turn and the door is locked. There is snow everywhere. The words forever echo from the walls as I begin to tear everything apart amidst a flurry of snow.

      I think I swung my arm around in my sleep because it feels like I just punched the toilet. No nausea, extremely thirsty, I gulp water desperately, I end up throwing it up roughly 45 seconds later, I lay down again

It’s the beach, its summertime. I seem to wake up in the sand, its low tide. The peripheral of my vision is hazy and useless, there is a small realm of focus in my direct vision. I’m following someone to the water but I can tell who it is at first. I begin to smell her. I know it’s her and I don’t want to admit it, I keep telling myself I shouldn’t follow her yet I do. She leaves my focus and a wall of water comes rushing towards me.

      I wake up because my washcloth had fallen over my nose and mouth. For whatever reason I am at the opposite end of the bathroom. I check my temperature and Twitter. 102 and Twitter is twittering despite it being 430 am. I’m angry, alone and dying. These nightmares are taking a toll on me. I sip some water, re-wet my washcloth & pass out again.

Water dripping from the ceiling of a place I don’t recognize the water is hitting the floor and becoming liquid puzzle pieces, forming a mosaic picture. It looks like the shadow of two hands holding each other.

       Awakened by my stomach again, dry heave for about 3 minutes. Complete misery and a litany of texts without responses. I crawl to the window, there is too much snow outside, this is hopeless. Some point after this I fall asleep.

A lemon tree in an endless field, the sky is completely purple and cloudless, I pick a lemon and throw it on the ground, the tree bleeds. I examine it curiously and I notice there is a person on my right in a chair. I cant identify them, looks like an old man. The closer I walk to them the further away they get.

        Wake up and I’ve fallen asleep with my back on the radiator, I’m covered in sweat. I’m so thirsty but know I can’t drink anything knowing it will just come back up. I sip water for awhile. Move towards the toilet because of sudden nausea and pass out again.

I’m in a hospital all alone, I’m wired up. I press the call button, nothing. I unplug myself from the machines and leave my room. There is nothing outside of my room. It’s just an empty building. I yell for anyone to help. No one is there. All doors to outside are locked. I walk back to my room and the machines in my room are making terrible noises, I lay down and plug everything back into myself.

        Sunday:  

       I woke up feeling really good and really hungry. There was really no food and I didn't feel like cooking anyways. No one else seems awake. I go out around the house to pee because all the bathrooms are in rooms with sleeping people. The sunrise was everything for 2 minutes. I head to the kitchen. I eat somebody's fruit and I decide to head poolside. There seemed to be a strange calm every morning until more than 8 people were awake. It never lasted long but those quiet reflective mornings were everything. I remember sipping water and staring at the mountains through the palm trees quietly. This trip had collectively become an awkward revelation that "living the dream" is not a half dead statement. We held a victorious stasis in a fantasy of which we maintained in the interest of making it just that much better as it grew.

         I was tired, sore, burnt out from never truly adjusting to west coast time and countless bouts with drugs and alcohol, I was never so happy. The thirst for more and a realization that this was the end, like the short disappointing and calming effect of the roller coaster making its stop. It was the last day for music, last day for fun but the first day for Jazz music and what could be more poetic on a Sunday morning. I was too intrigued with all I wanted to see today and had finally gotten the hang of everything. I started planning on the day. It wasn't long before the English crew were awake and Slimi joined me by the pool. There was a dust covering on the top of the pool that quickly disappeared as Tom jumped in. Most likely to feed his dolphin-like thirst for swimming.

          We had 2 hrs to get ready. Me and Slimi discuss attack plans and taking off early and logistics behind possibly leaving some of the Maserati Mini Vans crew if we had to. Before we can start to discuss nourishment French saves the day by suddenly appearing with a bag of about 40 McMuffins, breakfast served. Everyone is pretty much awake at this point. The buzz in the estate begins its swan song. Slimi disappears and tries to awaken everyone in our Mini Van bound circle. I eat 3 more McMuffins than was rationed to me because I'm a rude asshole with a bottle of hot sauce. Music comes on the Sonos ritually. I start preparing for the show. "Same damn time" comes on as I'm reminded of his performance with Kast and I feel like beautiful endangered species. Chaka is chilling. Slimi informs me of our time constraints and has somehow gotten the whole group organized for our departure. The man is a literal genius scholar. I scurry to get myself together in the middle of this. I might have been lit, really lit. Without realizing it, it is the last time I will see some of the group without saying goodbye. After losing track of many of the Mini Van crew intermittently, we finally find ourselves in entirety inside our swaggy spaceship, ready to leave for Coachella Day 3.

       The drive there is relatively worry free, none of the same wind squalls and dust storms. We make it to the grounds and I tuck my drugs in my shoe casually as I expect no trouble as with the 2 previous days. Instead, I get searched by the community's greatest asset, an asshole in a  festival security job who takes his duties too seriously. He strips me of my drugs and any initial feeling of joy. I do get let in after, so it isn't a total lost battle.

          Slowly as I walk in the joy starts to seep in again.  Slimi makes a straight line for Trombone Shorty, the rest of the group and I finally get over there after I inform them of my recent plight with top flight ass security. Trombone Shorty is amazing. There was an almost holy atmosphere to the whole performance. It was the exactly what I needed. He notably took atleast 2 obnoxious Green Day songs and turned them into a genius blend of funk, rock, jazz and stunning horn work by Mr. Shorty himself. Slimi and the rest of us are separated by a partition of metal fencing. We end up catching what was the last 40 min of Trombone Shorty. It was all so blurry and early in my memory. We then convene further away from the stage and made our way over to the Mojave for Preservation Jazz Hall Band. I laid in the grass while they marched their way thru an unintelligibly uplifting set. It was a moment when nothing truly matters in the most gorgeous and positive ways that you lock in the mental vault of golden moments. As the Preservation Hall Jazz Band winded down and we left this current form of heaven I decide to act on going back to the Do-Lab.

       The Do -Lab is the oasis. It was the best idea I could ever choose. It was getting slightly hot and all the water being sprayed was essential for survival. Two Fresh spun as we all danced and became entranced by one of the people operating the water guns. He was a young man with dreads, Aviator glasses and a red bandana and he danced with that water gun in the most inspiring ways known to humans. It was genuinely enchanting & infectious how much fun this dude was having spraying us down somewhat violently while he danced. We followed and danced as he commanded the crowd to follow suit with his water gun dance like a snake charmer. Two Fresh spun a good deal of trap beats blended up in strange ways giving a proper break to the sometimes overwhelming bro-fest Coachella can hint towards at moments.

          I left after about 50 minutes to go meet everyone at the Beer Garden near the Coachella stage and watch Chance the Rapper from a reasonable distance and beer. After 2 songs and plastic cup of wine I decide its not enough and decide to make my way towards the stage. As I leave the beer garden another top flight ass security guard makes me pour out my water bottle for no good reason. After unleashing a paragraph of slander I proceed to the front of the stage to see Chance. Its mid day, I'm exhausted and I now have no water, left to bake in the sun. I push my way forward briskly but at a certain point I stopped and looked around. Everyone is smiling. I forget my crippling thirst. Its amazing to me how much positive energy is collectively in my presence. This whole trip has been that, not being afraid to smile. Sometimes life reminds you that you don't need to......Justin Bieber just came on stage. It seems like a million girls just swarmed past us all like locusts. Some lost more than others, but we all lost something. A young man screams "She took my hat".... Goddammit Justin Bieber, have you no shame? Whipping this crowd into a frenzied panic of hat theft...I decide its not really my scene at some point after this and decide to start drinking. I make my way back to the Beer Garden.

          I meet back up with everyone at a picnic table and make my way to food and drink. At some point I break off from the group. There isn't much for me musically at this point and the combination of no water substituted with copious amounts of beer and burritos has left me sleepy. After walking around aimlessly for some time I decide to take a nap in some random shaded area, in the middle of everything. Exhaustion took over and launched me into a deep sleep amidst the noises of so many people. The noises and general commotion turned into a giant golden TV I was watching in an amber colored room. There were no real walls to speak of just an endless sunset like glow of melting blood surrounding me. The TV changed constantly from channel to channel all focused on content people in moments of elation or talking and laughing. A gentle warm breeze fills the room and sweeps at my back. The room grows brighter. The amber room started to melt into the TV. I start to feel the sensation of flight taking over me and.....I wake up.

         I wake up in the polo field grass with my backpack employed as a pillow. The sun has shifted and the area I'm laying in is now hot and directly in the Sun. I start to realize I'm dying of thirst. I check the time and my phone. I somehow only slept for about 40 minutes. Some of the group is going to Flosstradamus, I like the sound of that. I make my way to a water station and fill my bottle up. I get lost for about 3 minutes, about 5 different times and find my way to the Mojave somehow.

         Flosstradamus is so much fun. The few words that are written in the notes on my phone: "Floss is Electricity." No truer statement has been written in a smart phone's notes. I remember being still drunk and sweaty, possibly dying, still we rose. At some point this happened: http://thefreezepop.tumblr.com/post/82849766914/flosstradamus-mosh-pit-outchea 

        It ended, somehow, I have no memory of time but I know I was so exhausted and decided to stay in Mojave and watch Little Dragon with the group. Once again rewarded with the true pleasure of watching Yukimi Nagano sing live. It really was beautiful. I knew none of the music and I was beginning to succumb to my exhaustion. I survived though and I firmly believe Yukimi kept me and all of us alive for that hour.

Little Dragon ends and I am hungry but have no money on me because of my previous burrito and alcohol binge. I decide to fill up on water. I remember watching a water fight in the moonlight while I filled my bottle. I have no idea who won, I didn't care, we all won.

        I followed most of the group to Lana Del Ray. After navigating an obnoxious amount of people to get a spot that was absolutely nowhere near anything resembling a stage, I decide, fuck this. I decided to try to make my way over to Beck. Huge mistake. The crowd was so horribly thick into the Lana show that it was a land of a million "excuse me" and "sorry about that" before any kind of clear spot on the ground. I find one thankfully. I give up and sit down at some point. My legs and back are killing me. My fat stupid backpack is an albatross. After a brief regroup I go full east coast and push my way though. I feel like it was counterproductive to Coachella magic but I was tired and may the desert gods forgive me.

         Beck was really good. He played a lot of newer music I hadn't known of. He is blessed with a variety to his discography, and he took liberty to switch it up constantly. It was really a show. He was comfortable in his performance and had fun with it and it translated to me. At some point he slowed it down with a song I later learned was called "Say Goodbye".  I laid down on the grass and soaked up the moments that made up this weekend. It was far too appropriate. Everything was so strange and beautiful to me. Life becomes a different journey knowing that things like Coachella lie in waiting behind all of life's noxious fog. Before I can go too far in my thoughts someone texts me about meeting someplace and then to the Gobi for Jhene Aiko. So I just went to the Gobi.

          No one met me at the Gobi at first and I tried to sleep against the side of the tent and was successful. It also got really cold and I was wearing gym shorts and a polo. In the middle of fighting sleep, Drake makes a feature. I sort of wake up and stand up and watch but I'm too tired for any reasonable recollection. A lot of people seemed to enjoy it and that's always cool I guess. All of the group eventually filter in. At some point all of the Maserati Minivan's essential crew were huddled in the back of the Gobi tent tired and happy.

         What happened next was one of the purest incidents of life maintaining balance. There was foul noise and strange lights. Looks of horror contagiously shared amongst our group that deepen as everything happens. Seconds of time feel like horrible lifetimes unfolding in front of us. People moving and gesturing in grotesque and unpleasant ways on stage. I think there was a menacing Swedish voice chanting. Strange and frightening vibes fill us all. We all look like animals who sense danger. The Lucent Dossier Experience brings us all back to earth rapidly after our weekends ascent to the sun. We decide its time to leave. On our last walk through those distinguished grounds, I see Slimi up ahead as usual. The man who thought I deserved such an experience and was insanely correct, leading us on through the desert, again. Our one and only Coachella Moses.

          No one really says anything on the ride back. We all are tired or realizing its over on one or many levels. Some people stay up and party into the night to maximize their use of the place and bless them for that. I end up on the same stupid couch, passed out at the same strange angle.

14. Beck - Morning Phase

Why: Beautifully sombre and different enough to catch my attention, melodically interesting enough to keep it. Mainly because the last night of my immersion into the belly of the beast at Coachella led to a sunday night on a disheveled polo field and watching his set. Hearing “Say Goodbye” was poetry in motion. Subsequently going home, listening to this album and crying like a wolf to the moon.

13. Jungle - Jungle

Why: Within all the accusations of being too contrived, I found a great amount of fun in this album. From the start of “the Heat” this album exceeds the daily amount of nutritional funk that the soul needs. It may feel glossy and over produced, but I still cant see how that’s a bad thing with this project.

12. Mastodon - Once more ‘round the Sun

Why: It is the perfect example of metal aging well. I have been listening to Mastodon since “Remission” and I’m glad that as we both continue on with each other I can depend on them to not make me feel too old. Its tone downed but aggressive enough to be pleasing in the shadow of their previous outputs. This album sonically is an aged superhero smiling while looking through a scrapbook. 

11. 3rdeyegirl - PLECTRUMELECTRUM

Why: Why? Because its fucking Prince, that’s why. Prince manages to whip a rock/funk album for the modern quite perfectly. In an age of digital processing of music this album has a very vinyl like feel to it. The rest of the band feels a little too much like background but I imagine playing with Prince could be nothing less.

10. 100s - IVRY

Why: This album was criminally slept on. 100s came out as the west coast Andre 3000 incarnate on this. Starts out rap, ends rap, but the journey is definitely greater than the destination with this album. It turns into a late 80s pop/soul/funk oasis for 2 songs and then brings you back. Amazing album. 

9. Black Keys - Turn Blue

Why: Reliably good. Very solid from start to back and the songs are very cohesive to each other. Found myself listening to this a lot on drives home. “Waiting on Words” and watching the world speed by all around me was a pinnacle unforgotten. 

8. Peewee Longway - Blue M&M

Why: This album may not be the most solid or an actual album at all. The impact this mixtape had on my life this year is undeniable. There are too many great moments throughout this entire mixtape to list individually. Peewee displays the most potential of any rapper I heard in 2014 just off a remembered 10 or so songs off of this. Between potential and songs like “Juice” and “Blue Benjamin” it is clear Peewee deserves a spot in 2014 lists and will take over in 2015. (S/O to twitter user @BauceSauce for introducing me to Peewee with a simple lyric about mixing lean and root beer…)

7. Prince - Art Official Age

Why: Once again, It’s Prince, nuff said……. but further more it was such a great juxtaposition musically to his efforts with 3rdeyegirl. It had a very “Parade” feel to it. Also the fact that Prince can still sing like he does is amazing to me. Prince is probably the greatest musician ever and he cements that in reality with this album. 

6. FKA Twigs - LP1 

Why: Very hard to quantify in words. This album is like a constant seesaw battle of beautiful dreams and weird nightmares sonically. Her voice is gorgeous and undeniable. It feels like Portishead got into molly and EDM in the best way possible. Just beautiful and complicated in equal parts…..

5. Future - Honest/Monster

Why: I believe that Future really showed out this year for me. Between Honest, the subsequent tour, and then Monster, Future really put forth a Herculean effort to maintain a spot that could be challenged by a lot of new artists out of the Atlanta scene. In reality,Future is his own competition. I boldly declare that the second half of “Throwaway” off of Monster is one of the most surprising and gut wrenching pieces of hip hop this yr. Add to that “Benz Friends”, which features what is possibly the best  verse by Andre 3000 in the last 7 yrs. I truly believe Monster was buried under all the hype of Migos. Still, for me it got more plays than anything Migos did this yr. Yet……

4. Migos - No Label II/ RNT

Why: This part of the list took more time and dissection than any other, mainly because I really liked Future’s output this yr. But, this was the yr for Migos. Two albums, constructed flawlessly, spaced out perfectly, and a Grantland Xmas story. Add to that refreshingly different time signatures being rapped and great adlibs. Not that these are any kind of reliable metrics for an AOTY, but, they are somehow. No Label II was blast off, RNT was the orbital declaration of ensuing takeover. Takeoff’s first verse on “cross the country” and a cow moo injected into a hook and you have the makings of a perfect storm.

3. Rich Gang - Rich Gang The Tour Pt. 1

Why: From the gravity of the Birdman intro to the seamless interaction and chemistry of Quan and Thugger, this album wades in greatness for the entirety of itself. Thugger’s adlibs are on another planet on this, he literally says “quan voice” before Quan’s voice. The production is really good and the content is really good and with all that it wasnt expected, at all. Atleast not in this conceivable form, Rich Gang consumed the new ATL sound and delivered it a rebirth.

2. Freddie Gibb & Madlibs - Cocaine Pinata

Why: This was my earliest entry into documenting any albums of the year. I called this classic online back in Feb. and I’m glad to see I haven’t officially lost it. The usual trap sounds were replaced with soul samples and rough cuts. This was in essence a showcase of Gibbs’ ability to run any track put in front of him that coalesced even further as the year progressed (see: “Old English”). The production is really rough yet somehow Gibbs manages to silken it with his delivery and lyricism. Also, the oppressive realness that Gibbs delivers so effortlessly. There is no mythology here and it is the first breath after a deep plunge. If not for the next album listed this was album of the year in general. Regardless it is definitively hip-hop’s greatest offering of 2014.

1. D’Angelo and the Vanguards - Black Messiah

Allow me to present a fleeting introspective glance into minds of social media’s interesting and noteworthy, aka Document X. In the debut interview I got to run questions by the ever polarizing and often hilariously astute @the_blueprint . It was a terrifying process to ask such ridiculous questions involving Prince and crying, but I did it anyways and Print was patient enough. So please enjoy. Per una buona salute.

Who is your favorite character from the Wire/Why?

Blueprint: bodie. he was the most realistic character that i could relate to: a regular man, doing his best at his job while slowly recognizing the jig and realizing the futility of it all.

What is your favorite Prince song?

Bp: “nothing compares 2 u”, as performed by sinead o’connor.  i am not much of a prince fan, mostly because one is expected to be so.

What does music mean to you?

Bp: it depends on the context. the dope thing about music is like water, it can serve many purposes and take many forms. it can mean everything; it can mean nothing. it can mean a break from life or a moment of empathy. or it can mean it’s time to “turn up”.

I say “Jay Z” , first word that comes to mind…

Bp:not words, but the song “it’s like that”.

 When was the last time you cried?

Bp: a close friend experienced a major loss in their family.  i was overcome by empathy.

What is the worst opinion you heard last?

Bp: pretty much anything anyone thinks that i don’t agree with. this varies depending on what the twitter TL was talking about most recently.

What is Twitter?

Bp: i couldn’t define twitter any more than i could define the color blue: it’s simply a thing that exists that we intrinsically understand to be “a thing”.

What is your favorite childhood memory?

Bp: my dad would wake me up early (for a child) on saturdays and take me along on his errands. most, if not all of what i know about being a man comes from those mornings my dad spent with me.

  Favorite member of Wu Tang?

Bp: my favorite rapper in wu-tang is ghostface killah. if we’re considering the totality of one’s contributions to rap music, however, i would choose rza.

What was the first CD (Tape, for us real mf’s) that you ever called your own?

Bp: the first album i ever bought with my own money was ice-t’s “OG”. my dad had to read the song titles and “approve” it because of the parental advisory label. (he didn’t even look at it, but he told mom he did)

Who is the last person you wanted to punch in the face?

Bp: whomever the last person i spoke to because i was somehow obligated to speak to them.

You can own any 2 animals that ever possibly existed (mythical creatures included), what and why?

Bp: a male and female t-rex, because it seems like that would be the easiest choice to exploit into a vast, personal fortune.

 What is your greatest vice?

 Bp: fif.

Where do you see video games headed in the next 5 yrs?

Bp: at this point, i think we’re in for more and more of “the same”, but with increasingly better graphics. in seven to ten years, i do expect “grand theft auto” to preview online heists.

Favorite game?

Bp: of all time? my favorite game series is probably “halo”, because of all the good memories playing and my attachment to the characters.

What are some comic books you view as “must read”?

Bp: “transmetropolitan” would be my first ten choices. it is, in my not-humble estimation, the best work of fiction in any medium.

  Who is your favorite super villain?

Bp: bane or lex luthor; both acquire massive power only to use said power to fulfill petty vendettas and style on haters. it’s the (or my) american dream.

Your top 3 comic book storylines…

Bp:

“the beast vs the smile-er” from “transmet”

“civil war” (marvel crossover event)

“secret wars” (marvel miniseries)

If you could give one piece of advice for the world what would it be?

Well, here we are, reviewing Future's new mixtape "Monster" a little less than a month later. Why? .....I started it and lost interest. Also I think everyone worth their words got caught up in the Migos tsunami that occurred after "RNT" dropped. Furthermore, it is a tape that caught more unexplained spins from me than the aforementioned. Also I like to write when I've had too much caffeine. Executive produced by Metro Boomin blah blah blah.... I will spare you any introductory bullshit and jump right into the main course, a track by track analysis of Future's "Monster"....

Intro: Has a menacing tone, seems like Future has had about enough of the bullshit. Controversial clips followed by an ominous heartbeat, here we go....

Radical: Future started this track by calling someone or everyone a "fuckboi" or is exclaiming "fuck.....boi" either way its a special moment worth noting. Very typical trap track, actually don't enjoy this song that much, very lackluster and formulaic.

Monster: Title track that I have had plenty of time to analyze because of its appearance before the projects release. For this reason I will abstain from going too in depth on this track. Impression has been made and is moderately enjoyable. Production is middle of the road, Futures second verse and British sounding chorus save this song from being a variation of mediocrity.

Abu's Boomin': A skit. Fuck skits, since 98 rappers have needed to stop thinking they are as funny as they do....SKIP.

Fuck up some Commas: Pianos and a fast flow to start, this is the shit I have been waiting for. The Chorus is prototypical Future, which bleeds into the structure of the 1st verse. Another example of Future taking a somewhat bland beat and floating all over it. "coupe look like Akon" just one of many notable lines here. The stop and start traffic feel to the second verse has me ready to burn my house down.

Throw Away: Future kills the chorus immediately out of the gate. Song has the feel of dirty silk....The beat switch up just killed me. This may be the greatest Future song ever. What was a song about expendable women turned into a self reflection of being a "throw away", it has a strange Nine Inch Nails feel to it at first, this is truly an ascension. I don't want this track to end. The lone declaration of "monster" at the 4:26 mark has everything. Damn.....

After That: After that strange sentimental and sweetly angry song flip and 20 min. of aggressively crying in the shower its back to the trap. Future seems to have evolved his ability to make verses sound like hooks while still having enough ammo to drop an entire clip on the actual hook. Wayne's verse is good, I checked the date, its still 2014. Song could have used more Future but i cant think of many songs in the last 6 years I cant say that for.

My Savages: "Dressing fresher than a mannequin" just happened in less than 30 seconds. This track is another Future ballad-esque track and that's a beautiful and enjoyable thing always. The usual sonically induced space travel. Has an evolved "Pluto" feel. Pluto 4D.

2Pac: Interstellar trap anthem. Yes, obviously I was waiting for this track the entire tape. Yes, obviously I was gonna love this song bc of bias. Its a brilliant ode and comparison to one of the greats. Yes, "muddy drink" and "thug life" were treated as though they rhyme. Yes, it was a moment I will never forget. From 2:20 until the end is flawless victory/fatality combo musically.

Gangland: Imposingly grimy from the start. Confident and informative. Future is straight "Fuck you, Pay me" on this track and it resonates perfectly. Halfway into this I tried to steal my own car and I'm confident I could cook up a brick and serve it door to door. Saying this track goes hard is a criminal understatement.

Fetti: I really liked this track until the obnoxious springy synth effect kicked in. Futures lyrics really saves this track. That damn synth effect tries to drown it in the bathtub tho.

Hardly:

Wesley Presley: I played "Hardly" 3 more times before this, maybe it effected my 2 cents on this song greatly. This is a throw away. Beat isn't cohesive at all until they pull the bass out. I came so close to skipping this track.

Showed Up: Future says "Super Future, Future Hendrix, the Wizard" and I am excited. Not much until the 1:40 mark when Future hypes up and wakes the track up. Good track, I just feel like I drank too much coffee to really appreciate it.

Mad Luv: This is the out of the park home run on this tape I feel. The adlibs are amazing, the flow is on point and the bass switch before the hook pulls the perfect amount melody into the song. I really feel bad for anyone who doesn't get to hear this song.

Codeine Crazy: Last song, not sure what to expect at first but that reverse hi hat kicks in and this is starting to feel real cozy. Starts hazy and jumps into a beautifully jumbled flow.... "Drown in an actavis suicide"???... "Drowning in actavis suicide"?? ....either way, bravo. This whole track is a sunset in Jamaica. 

It was breathtaking, literally, everyone on the floor was smoking weed and there was no "fresh" oxygen to be found. People raise their cups and tip them into non existence. We are all here to get turnt under our lord and savior, Future Hendrix. The show starts with trap music spun by DJ Pup Dawg. I post up at the bar and order 2 whiskey & cokes, both for myself. While waiting for my nourishment I spend a few minutes convincing an eager young gentleman I do not in fact know where the Molly is. Him and his girl take off leaving me with my drinks and two extra patron and pineapples that the bartender angrily agrees to give me for free after some convincing.

Rico Love has come on stage at this point, running thru songs I have no clue about, but still sound good. He also has 3 DJ's that feverishly work a combination of 3 Macbooks, Two MPC's and 2 mini moogs. It feels like trap meets R&B meets love ballads. Its beautiful.

I decide to double fist my remaining 2 drinks and take it to the floor. Rico Love brings out Ciara and they share a song and half together, Ciara can rap pretty nice and on beat but I have no clue what the hell she was talking about.

Eventually Rico ends his set by telling us if we aren't caring for our kids properly, we aren't shit. I make a dash for the bathroom and run into a line of dudes rolling up backwoods at the sink. I sit there and stare at them for a few minutes like an idiot before one tells me it isn't a line and I realize they are rolling a blunt. I leave and make my way to the front. Turn around and notice a line of people following the path I cleave through the audience, I feel like Neil Armstrong. I make it about 12 feet from the stage. Futures DJ comes out, he asks us if we are ready and all sanity escapes us collectively. Future ascends to the stage. Drinks and blunts as far as the eye can see are raised toward the ceiling.

"Chosen One" & "Karate Chop" get things moving fast real quick. The energy is intense and therapeutic at the same damn time. I'm very drunk at this point and nowhere near reliable for an accurate setlist description. There are a lot of fedoras. I counted at least 12 fedoras and made note of it. I'm not sure what that is indicative of.

Future made a short run thru Honest at this point I remember "Tshirt" and "I Won" specifically being repeated by the audience to the point where Future just let us have our way with it solo.

Everyone cried as we all sang "I Be U" with each other and Future pointed out a few people and dapped them up. 

I decided within the next few songs to make it to the front. Our sobbing and solemn reflection was suddenly halted by "Bugatti". The DJ spun it into "UOENO" and we forgot all about the beautiful tears we just shed. Future takes some time to reflect upon us that we "turn up for real in Boston" and that this has "been the most turnt spot on the tour" so far. Oh the glory & hubris.....

I remember "Covered N' Money" and it was then I started to make it to the front. For some reason I was let through without too much trouble. I was so close and was forced to stop and lose my mind as this happened....

http://thefreezepop.tumblr.com/post/87906291656/future-hendrix-same-damn-time-5-4-2014-boston

The song that brought me here, the song that started my interest. It felt like a full circle type of achievement drenched in auto-tune.

I push my way to the front, I cant move but it doesn't matter. "Move that Dope" appears and runs its traptastic course w/ Future telling us again " its almost the end Boston, but not yet...". "Sh!t" gets dropped on us like 300 tons of atomic weaponry. We all know the verses, we all know the chorus and we are all losing our voices about it. Finally, "Blood, Sweat, Tears" comes on and Future takes time to thank us all and me personally by giving me daps. I still haven't washed my hands, as I felt it was important to the integrity and authenticity of this recollection. I probably will never truly wash this right hand of mine where the memory fades. I will never forget, we made it.

This next picture sums up the show entirely, words like "can't" or "prudence" don't exist at a Future show. With the right attitude and eyes anything can happen at a Future show, even a full bottle of Hennessy being allowed and diminished on the Floor. Live Hip-Hop never had it this good.

          Friday Night didn’t have much to speak of after the festival. We made many attempts to go to the bathroom on the way home. We found a 24-hr Subway, in the middle of the desert, thankfully. Up until this point in my life, I didn’t know this existed. I became very burnt out on molly, it felt as if every part of my soul shined so bright earlier that the bulb inevitably popped. I remember laying on the couch with intentions to lay for a few minutes waiting for the hot tub to warm up. My legs were sore and besides that every drink tastes that much better in a hot tub. I fall asleep.

Saturday: I actually get a fair amount of sleep and wake up with only half of my leg in the my arch rival that is the crease and negative slope of the couch. I try to stand up and stretch and notice that my legs are beyond sore. I should have bought insoles or more comfortable sneakers. I remember thinking about an email Slimi had sent out. I thought the idea of insoles was a bit over cautious. Feeling almost crippled taught me one of more important rules of Coachella; When a Coachella veteran says something listen carefully, there is a very good reason for it. I shuffle around until I find the remote for the hot tub. Oh, yeah, there is a remote for the hot tub, it also controls a fountain in the front yard and the pool, at the same damn time........

          Tom is in the pool and I’m not even sure he has slept or isn’t a dolphin. We are all dolphins I suppose.... I see Slimi walking around holding his laptop. I go to the kitchen and fill a coffee mug with Seagrams 7 and ginger ale. Breakfast of champions concealed in the guise of a responsible coffee drinking adult. The general consensus is that there isn’t much going on until about 330-4pm so there’s no rush today. I spend a good hour, maybe two nursing my drink and hot tubbing my lame legs. The fact that we weren’t going to be fighting the hottest parts of the day for too long allowed me to let loose a little. Charlie and James were cooking up breakfast. Also Jazz’s friend Sara arrived at some point coming in late off of a wedding. She became part of the Maserati minivan’s many essential crew members. I ate a small breakfast and talked with random people in the kitchen. In the middle of my "3rd drink" its decided we should go to the store and get more water and other supplies, with me as pilot. I take a shower to sober up unsuccesfully, throw on some clothes and Kourt, James, Charlie, and I drive to a grocery store called "Fresh n’ Easy". The English part of the crew are some real fun people, they can make many innate situations that much funner with their perspective and terminology that I barely understand. James and I met up in an aisle and he said “Is Fresh an Easy innit?” and I pretty much laughed my way through the rest of the experience. On a related note I was really drunk and I'm not sure I bought anything other than massive amounts of water and toilet paper. A genius move no doubt but what are we to eat? I find myself in the liquor store and was joined shortly by James again. We get whiskey and more whiskey. We left the liquor store and I set the car alarm off to make sure Charlie and Kourt were alert and ready for any and all fun that was to ensue.  We left after a brief meet up with some of our other Coachella family in the parking lot and also because we are cool important people with a minivan. I got back to the estate with about 2 hrs to burn and that’s what I did.

I spent a good hour chilling w/ Chaka and French for the show and figuring out how to approach the festival for the day. Slimi was playing Thugger through the Sonos and everyone seemed to be getting wound up in a good way. We all got ready to move. There was always something beautiful to me how at certain points we all acted as one brain, one collective decision to make every aspect of our environment better. I packed my obnoxiously fat backpack, stashed my drugs and we took off. Once again the same crew as the previous day with the addition of Sara got into the minivan. We take off for Day 2 of Coachella full of hope. Trip is similar to the day before with a few exceptions. I was drunk driving and Slimi was bumping Waka in what I thought was an attempt to ward off any evil. We arrived on the ground with no trouble at all.

       Security was lax again and I was grateful to not go through the same extremes as the day before and be rewarded with the fine company of my drugs in a uncompressed natural form. We got in at about 3pm it was still noticeably hot but not oppressive. We got to Chvrches halfway in, and posted up near one of the speaker set-ups. They were good but we were too far away for me to see what they had for a stage show. Groups were splitting and I decided to hang with a few people for a little while. We made our way to the Mojave to see Julian Casablancas. The entire band looked directly out of a drug binge in 1979. They seemed good, it sounded like the vocal mic was turned down too low and the guitar too high but I had no clue what it was suppose to sound like recorded so I was fine with it. For the most part its very hard to be not fine with everything at Coachella. There are acts you don’t like but the large number of other acts you do or find out that you do are just a stroll away. Slimi and most of the crew were staying at the Mojave for Warpaint. I had plans to break out of Julian Casablancas early and head over to Coachella stage to catch Kid Cudi. Nobody was down and I was going to be headed over solo. Chaka and the English crew were there but I didn’t know otherwise bc of terrible cell service and never checking my phone. Cudi was really good even though I don't remember hearing one discernible verse. He had enough energy for the crowd to feed off of and everyone gorged on it. Two songs in and the crowd was insane. Drowning in swag boys, someone passes me a joint. It tastes like shit, better luck next time.... Some very small girl keeps hitting me with a spray bottle and asking me questions I can’t really hear. I finally realize she is convinced she saw me spin at the “Do-Lab”. She and her 3 friends take selfies with me. Its awkward but inflating so I play along. I start wondering about this Do-Lab and break out of Cudi early and decide to go up to the Terrace solo to investigate. I stop at the beer garden and spend too much money trying to get drunk again. I’m successful & poor & hungry for the day.

         The Do-Lab was perfect for that time. The Do-Lab has pinkish, purplish, blueish towers that spray mist and people on either side of the stage hitting the audience with what looks like power washers. It's fucking beautiful.

          I catch some of Gorgon City, and some guy compliments me on the color of my hat for a few minutes before I understand what hes saying. I'm weirded out, but a man impressed with a green hat cant be too dangerous in my eyes. After 40 minutes of acting like I can hear one word he's saying he starts to leave. He signals me to follow him. At a certain point away from the Do-Lab he becomes audible. He says he is also from Boston. He tells me to follow him and his friends to the Heineken House “if I like bass”?, I oblige. Coachella differs drastically in that sense that you can get mixed up with strange friendly faces and be better for it most of the time. The Heineken House is more of a big tent and it is louder than expected. The people I’m tagging along with make towards the back left of the tent and huddle in circle. Before I have time to mentally deem this awkward and leave they produce a small bag. They all dip their fingers in and suck greedily. I’m more there for moral support but the bag gets passed to me, whoops... I proceed to the dance floor. In my mind I was killing it, propping up the white race for relevancy in dancing discussions. When in reality, I was probably just grinding at an intimidating and unsteady pace. At some point I realize I need water and this is trash. I leave without even a word to my newfound "friends", fuck these weirdos, actually. When I do my phone starts buzzing with texts from everyone. Most of the crew are watched Warpaint tear it down and are gonna go watch Future Islands. Tom texts me about going to Dillon Francis, Talia is in the beer garden watching Capital Cities. I decide to go find Talia and make it over to Dillon Francis to convene with the English conglomerate. I posted up at the exit to the Beer Garden and become enchanted by Capital Cities doing a medley of Michael Jackson, the Bee Gee’s into their song “Farrah Fawcett’s Hair”. I am forever sad I dragged us away from this. Talia tried convincing me it was the wave, I was too blinded by cocaine burnout and an honest attempt to chill with the English crew more at the festival. We walked over to the Sahara tent to see Dillon Francis. The crowd is deep and we cant make it any further in than the edge of the tent.

       We spend 20-30 minutes looking at the lights and flashing pictures of random vegetables with legs dancing. Its hard to catch the vibe outside the tent. We decide to leave and try to catch Future Islands two tents down, but I get drawn to R.L. Grime next door at the Mojave. R.L. Grime is killing it, he was just what I needed. He is more trap hip hop orientated than Dillon Francis and it sucks me in. Plenty of slow, bass induced remixes. R.L. Grime ends and we move next door again to get a good spot for Solange. I didn’t expect much from this and got so much more. Solange is very cool, she talks to us about topics, namely, how we should be smoking weed and tells us to dance constantly through out her slow R&B driven set. I have no clue any of the songs, they might of been one continuous song for all I know. Still, I groove along contentedly. It is a solid juxtaposition to everything I saw today and I diggeth....

         Out of nowhere Beyonce comes on-stage and dances with Solange. The Bey-hive also appears out of nowhere, loses it and starts to rush past me. My first thoughts are “Holy shit I am in the wrong ass place, they swarm with the purpose and mannerisms of sharks this will end in blood somehow...” but, my second thoughts are “Oh wait Jay Z is here then...” I begin texting everyone about my theories of surprise performances with both Pharell and Nas later on and ignore these frenzied idolators. As I leave, I confusedly watch a really tall Asian man crying and trembling about the Beyonce appearance. We meet up with Slimi, Jazz, Will, Kourt and Sarah near the back of the Gobi tent. During the Solange performance the wind has picked up and a dust storm is in effect. We all look like modernized caricatures of old western train robbers. Galantis is about to start any minute. The real concern though is heading to the Outdoor Stage early for Pharrell in hopes to get a good spot for Nas. Talia agrees, and bless her heart for that. Nas is the big deal tonight for me. He will be performing “Illmatic” in its entirety on its 20th anniversary. Has it been that long? 1994 at this point seems like ages and many worlds ago. Too long but we will relive its phantom relevance in a few hours. Our family convenes with us in the Gobi, no one wants to leave our shelter but we deem it necessary. We brace ourselves for the dust storm.

       It is insane out, people scrambling, unidentifiable faces covered in a plethora of colorful bandana’s and scarfs. You can feel the sand collect in the corners of your eyes in a matter of minutes. There is a desperate sense of desert vs. us now, and a realization that besides the beauty and scenery, we are in fact in a generally inhabitable place. We make it to the Outdoor stage for the very end of Sleigh Bells. We push forward comfortably after losing and rediscovering parts of the group a few times. We find a spot about 35 ft from the stage, once again near a sound tent. I sat for a spell then Pharrell came on, all I could see was his hat. It was a better performance than i was expecting. I thought hearing anything of of G I R L in this dust storm was insulting. He understood and proceeded to play “lose yourself to dance” and appealed directly to my sympathies of losing oneself to dance. Before I knew it he was bringing out Nelly for “Hot in Herre”. It was one of many guest spots Pharell had that night. 

He had Busta Rhymes and Diddy come out and bring the place down with “Pass the Courvoisier part II”. He proceeded with some N.E.R.D tracks that led into “Brand New” and then brought out Snoop for “drop it like its hot”. I light up and it smells like everyone else is too. Shortly after, J.P. took off. At some point the English crew also take off too and I don’t remember it. All of the sudden Pharrell brings out Gwen Stefani for “hollaback girl” and I really am having trouble caring at this point, where is Nas? I remember hearing “Get Lucky” before “Happy” came on for the finale. It was around this time people were making their out and It was just me. I searched briefly for a dinosaur and other friends only to find a lot of dinosaurs no friends. I push forward regardless because I'll be damned if I'm gonna battle to see Nas.. I meet Teej and his girl and two other guys, specifically remember one of them being a cantankerous white dude who was really annoying. They spent a good part of pre-Nas looking for something to smoke on. Sadly I couldn’t help them out of their predicament. We were so close to the stage, VIP really doesn’t have shit on us. Its Nas though and on top of it all its Nas performing “Illmatic" in its entirey 20 yrs after the jump off. The dust was getting terrible. At first I thought there was smoke machines but after about 5 minutes it became clear it was dust. It was like a visual white noise over everything beyond 50 ft. The lights drop suddenly, and we all widen our gaze as Nas comes on stage.

  Nas came out flourishing with a bottle of Henny. There were little words before DJ Green Lantern dropped “N.Y State of Mind”. He was spitting like he dragged his reincarnated 1994 self through a time machine. Or maybe he never really left, just laid low.... With the way he put down the Henny between verses one thing is clear, Nas is a fucking highlander.

There is a small wall with the images of city sky rises with stairs on stage and a large screen behind this wall that has not risen above it  because of “technical difficulties”. All I can see from where I am is half of a NY train under gray skies. Nas brushes over it with “I hope they have this shit fixed for next weekend, Oh well…” Indeed Nasir, fuck the props and gimmicks this is “Illmatic” reborn. He breaks into “The World is Yours”. I’m doing backflips in my head thinking about how, when or if he will bring Jay Z out. At the last chorus Hov slowly enters over the slight wall on stage and they perform “Dead Presidents II”. The place erupts. 

They proceed to “Where Im From”. They end and Hov signs off, hypes the crowd and thanks Nas for being Nas. The show goes on. Nas finally puts down his Henny bottle or finishes it. They cut into ‘One time 4 your Mind” I remember at this point being pushed up near a barricade trying to move closer closer and get a better angle to see. Someone molested me with the quickness and mystery of a ninja. I'll never know who it was. They weren’t gentle about it, but Nas was so good I was forced to ignore this mysterious and brutal sexual assault for the most part. All my energy was wearing down around “It ain’t hard to tell”. I remember being sad about it and hearing “Made You Look” and thinking it was over. Cant we just start "It Was Written" and keep it moving? I was wrong, Nas hit “Hate Me Now” and Diddy came out with a bottle of Ace. At first he was holding it timidly and Diddy-bopping to Nas’s first verse. All of sudden he was spraying it on the crowd and took one sip before disposing of it. Stunt Diddy, Stunt. 

The song ended, my mind races through what could be next. The beat for ‘One Mic” hits. Perfection, closure, everything we didn't know we wanted. There is a group of 5-10 people around me sporadically hitting prayer hands. Another night in a row, we flourished heavily. Nas thanks us, Diddy and Hov. I am quite honored to be mentioned in such company. We chill for a few and discuss what we had just saw and the previous day’s performance of Outkast. Without the wind resistance of so many people my classy attire of a Polo and gym shorts left me shivering. I wrap up in a beach towel I brought for sitting on and look like a creepy superhero “bro” off of his medication. I blend in perfectly. I make our way out  end up lost in the camping grounds. I stubbornly proceed for about 15 minutes before there's no doubts that we are in fact lost. After some luck and Coachella employees yelling directions we find Slimi, Jazz, Sara, Kort and Will posted up by some toilets. The dust storm is still in full effect and we make our way to the Maserati minivan hastily. The drive home is completely crazy. The dust storm was far worse on the highway. My burnout from drugs took a backseat to the adrenaline filled driving in this madness. The minivan in this wind is like a sailboat. There are squalls of swirling dust you can hear hitting the driver side, I was trying desperately to not scare anyone in the minivan when the wind picks up and tries launching us into the other 2 right lanes every 3 minutes. On top of it all I am truly in the throes of drug exhaustion and general lack of sleep. My eyes are not trying to stay open without more fuel. Finally at some point we got off the highway and it became less intense. We finally made it back to the house. We have to park out on the street and I really don’t remember how we all got in over the gates. Most of us fix ourselves with whatever vices are necessary and pile into the hot tub. Me and Slimi discuss hitting Coachella early the next day so we can hit Trombone Shorty and Preservation Hall Jazz Band so our families cannot disown us for missing them. The rest of the night winds down in talk of the days shows, playing pool with James briefly and hot tubbing our wounds away. It all seemed to melt perfectly into a deep couch bound sleep and dreams of finding a winning lottery ticket outside of the Do-Lab and trying to find the mysterious owner of the Ferris Wheel for a straight up trade.

        I started the night out by making cheeseburgers. I had tickets at will call waiting, my friends had told me they would accompany me, grab from the box office and check the scene. Nope. 10 minutes before we were gonna leave everyone decided a collective “no.” without me. Oh well, I have no time or patience to convince these classless bastards the greatness about to convene in Worcester, Ma tonight. The venue is one I am familiar with, but never for a hip hop show. I have spent a lot of time there for metal shows. One of my first concerts was there. I climbed and jumped from a stack of speakers seeing Deftones in 99’, I was 14, and there wasn’t anyway I could walk into this venue with any lesser degree of unnecessary purpose from that moment.

        The Palladium of Worcester, Ma has been a constant source for legally striking people about the neck and face area for me. I am off to see a show under the headline labellings of Tech N9ne. Its the act before him I am interested in, Freddie Gibbs. Gibbs has just released “(Cocaine)Pinata” a strangely pleasing intersection of Gibbs smooth "in the cut" delivery and producer Madlibs choppy & soul drenched production.  I finally arrive at the parking across from the venue. I enter the secondary lot to a barrage of loud car audio. I don’t recognize specific songs but they mostly had Tech N9ne on them. Me and two others from the SUV that parked next to me decide that neither of these ticket lines can be for us after crossing the street. We have will call, we already paid and we expect a luxurious treatment these “regular” ticket buyers aren’t dealing with. Nope. There is only one Box Office at the Palladium and it only has one window and one person working that window. It also serves both the purchasing of tickets and will-call.  We find this out after going thru security inside only to be sent back out to one of the long ass lines running down either side of the building. I didn’t bring a sweatshirt because I thought my entry wasn’t involving waiting in an hr long line. I get cold and stick my arms in my shirt at the cost of looking stupid. At some point the line progresses past a ominous red stain in the pavement that trickles back behind us. I hope it has nothing to do with this line, but it probably does. The well lit main road that the venue resided was littered with clearly marked Juggalo's. I was very out of place but nothing new there. Two guys round the corner into the alley we are all aligned in screaming “Fuck the Palladium!”. After some banter with the crowd the more bro-ish looking of the two yells while storming off “No I dont want your fucking phone!!! They took my phone, and now my son cant call his fatherrrr!!” I despise this idiot's drive-by attempt to appeal to the rest our sympathies for no reason. We finally get our tickets and are directed to security again. We then navigate to wristbands to procure delicious whiskey. After two drinks and third on the carry, we go down to the floor and proceed to shove our way to the front. Someone named Jarren is playing, no clue who he is but his DJ is good and hes hype enough to start things out.

He invites a female audience member to recite the opening of a song of his, he is really good at getting the audience involved. At some point he collects 8 random guys and girls on stage and a big ass dance party ensues for a finale.There is a “mosh pit” and its not surprising no matter how out of place it is. He leaves the stages with promises of Gangsta Gibbs. Gibbs comes out to applause with a big ass smile. I’m positive at least 80 % of the yolo swag 420 boys surrounding me know nothing of him. I feel so exclusive.

Gibbs comes on to “BFK” and lights it up. I swear I’m the only one who knows the words. Gibbs does a lot of beat stops followed by him flowing perfectly on an invisible beat at rapid fire for minutes at a time. It is superlative in its impressiveness.

He runs through “Rob Me a N****”. In the process every break from music Gibb’s has us recite “Fuck Police” 3-4 times. This is truly the way to see music live. High as a 747 agreeing with Freddie Gibbs’ proclamations of disdain for all policings 4 feet away from you. I start to notice people are disappearing all around me. Security is very aggressive and fuck them for trying to justify their presence in such a way. I saw kids being pulled over the barrier and body slammed for taking pictures. I haven’t been pulled, possibly because I’m big enough to give these brutes some trouble. Regardless, I decide to soak back two rows behind me to keep some buffer between me and them. I continued to take terrible pics the rest of the night with no hassle.

Gibbs does a mash-up of 2 songs I don’t recognize. He has us yell “fuck police” at least 15 more times. He also starts mixing in “when I say ES, y’all say GN” we all oblige gladly.

Gibbs jumps into “Lay it Down”. I spend most of this song fending off headkicks from crowd surfers and plotting striking some punk, for molesting and violently grabbing two female crowd surfers in a row. He ends up doing it again and I call off patience and fall away jump kick him in his spine as hard as I can. He drops and as I back out I watch the crowd and security picking him up and pulling him over the security barrier. Justice has been served, I feel like drunk batman, back to the concert. Gibbs asks if any of us are smoking weed out there, and suddenly the floor of the venue felt and smelt like the inside of a blunt within 30 seconds. I wait a song out near a staircase for safety from security nazi's and head back to the front as Gibbs says hes got 1 more for us.

He ends on “Deuces” appropriately. He walks off hyping the crowd for Tech N9ne. I take this time to replenish my whiskey and water levels. The bar is empty and I still spend 10 minutes ignored. I am also drenched in sweat which is the usual with me and live music. Finally, I get my nutrients and sit for 10. Tech N9ne has started. I’m not too concerned as I only know one song of his reliably, “Worldwide Choppers”. I make my way to the floor after hitting the bathroom and shooting off a tweet or two.

Tech N9ne is really good despite my initial thoughts. He is really high energy and can accurately rap insanely fast. Lots of girls on shoulders showing titties. The crowd is hype, the juggalos take over the floor. I am forced to move in the wake of the ugliest 3-some was in its initial phases in front of me. I am intent on staying until I hear the one song I know.

“I was within and without. Simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Indeed. This line runs strong through every memory of Coachella. A general sense that we are all doomed essentially but that doesn’t mean we cant taste paradise and dance like heathen kings of the desert.This is not a tale to glorify nothing other than glory itself.

Friday: I wake up at roughly a 43 degree angle at a time not worth mentioning. My first initial thoughts are that somebody roofied me and stuck me in this blasphemous couch as a joke. I see an empty red cup on its side staring at me. I remember hazily and begrudgingly its nobody’s fault but mine. The couch has an obvious slant backwards which I failed to navigate in unconsciousness and end up wedged in between the seat and back cushions uncomfortably. Also, I have slightly painful and stupid looking sunburn everywhere my undershirt wasn’t covering. I cover myself in lotion and ponder drowning myself in the pool momentarily. I hear faint sounds of life at the pool and in the kitchen, again I rise. I hear the stabbing sounds of Jazz music coming from the kitchen out of cell phone speakers. I want to kill it and eat its bones in the name of everything that values quiet until coffee is digested. I remember the windmills and decide to lighten up. I walk to the kitchen as first instinct and attempt to get coffee from an empty machine. Nothing. I shed 2 dehydrated whiskey laced tears to myself. I end up taking vitamins instead and decide to mean mug the coffee machine for failing me for about 5 minutes. In doing so James joins me in the kitchen for a spell and we lament on the lack of coffee filters. I head poolside to roll something up and think about how MacGyver would handle this.

Everyone has the same solemn “good morning”. After a few minutes on Google I realize that useless bastard MacGyver in 139 episodes never even once fashioned a coffee filter in a jam. Im not even sure he ever drank coffee….to hell with him anyways. Slimi and Tom are already awake somehow. Slimi is lounged up with a laptop looking at set times, smoking calmly. Tom is already in the hot tub and I’m not quite sure that he didn’t sleep in it. James joins us and hops in the pool. We are the early morning warriors, too blissfully ignorant of the serious repercussions of not sleeping enough to be worrying about such trivial things as being “well-rested” or the “possible onset of exhaustion psychosis”. I decide coffee will be made, now or we all die. I run into Kris and Simone in the kitchen feasting on a breakfast of beer and flavored Bacardi. I join them and while looking for a cup, find the coffee filters, Coachella magic. Coffee is made and I draw life out of two cups of french roast. Everyone is seemingly moving at the estate. Breakfast is made by J.P. who dominated the night before on some chicken. There were only 3 seasonings....countless lives were saved in the process. The breakfast was also no exception. I ate like a savage and thanked J.P. with a pat on the shoulder and a few muffled words of praise between bites. The rest of my time is spent in an endless cycle of procrastinating what I will see. I walk from the kitchen to pool area with the purposes and reasons of an Alzheimer patient. I shower and get dressed. Chaka and French come out in full Native American headdresses representing all of our hopes and daily swag aspirations proudly. Most of the group is also decked out in whatever necessary options became out first day uniforms. We get a group shot from about 5 different phones. Everybody is ready. Outkast, prosperity, flourish and victory await us. Possibly in that exact order. Initial plan is to follow Slimi for the predominance of the day because I only know about 5 of the acts and 1 I can absolutely do without. Sorry Ellie Goulding, you can fuck off indefinitely.  Slimi, Talia, Jazz, Kourt, Will and I got into the triple OG spaceship mini van. I remember driving and almost taking every possible turn for 3 miles before everything Slimi directed me on. I made that poor guy repeat directions and say “nah, not this one” enough times to drive him insane. He was patient though and no one caught hands, Coachella magic.

We get to a dusty ass field for parking. I can’t remember at what time but it was maybe 130 pm. It was a good walk from where we actually parked to the grounds. I had hid my essentials for the day in my shoe and every step mushed them into an attenuated mess. The first thing I truly see besides fences and security is the Ferris Wheel. Uncontrollable smiling and anticipation as it was getting closer and more prodigious with every step. I have never been this enthusiastic about my proximity to a Ferris Wheel and I guarantee I will not again. After a lax security check and brief and disappointing molestation we enter on the gounds. I am slightly annoyed I took such precautions to get anything in. This all really irrelevant very quickly as you get your first snapshot of your surroundings. You see the randomly brilliant pieces of art (functional or not) rise slowly out of a green field. The first thing I remember seeing is the pink and blue spiral cluster resembling a rollercoaster's infant child swelling up in front of me. There are string of balloons stretching out , never having any determinable origin or reason for their direction as well. Sometimes in defiance of the direction of the wind.

I soak in the amazement before I realize the the group has become smaller. The group splintered and I follow Slimi to the last song or two of GOAT. They were good enough of welcoming act. I do not remember quite well enough to put forth an honest account. I admit the next hour and change I was so busy soaking up everything and everyone around me and getting high on it. The music became more of a background and prescribed rhythm to walk to.There are so many faces overflowing with happiness and excitement. There's a giant Rust Colored Robot leaned and held a flower in one hand to us all. There is 40ft Spaceman who levitates across the grounds at all hours of the festival always looking ready for anything ranging from a hug to full on karate. I felt as if I had slipped into a beautiful layered dream of innate significance with my eyes open.

 So many brilliant distractions under the sun compiled for our joy and drug induced bewilderment. I watch some of Dum Dum girls and go to the water refill station next door and only to find out they are not working. Its starting to get hot outside, I elect to gather water for the group. I end up getting sidetracked by tacos and burritos, naturally. A man angrily throws a burrito in rejection of what he has purchased. He is a crazy idiot, the burrito's were delicious. Only a true psychotic could let a disappointing burrito ruin such surrounding greatness anyways. I eventually make it to a water refill station that was probably 2nd farthest away from where we left our group to die of thirst in this crisp 96 degree heat. Its the thought that counts, right? I end up making it back before everyone dies and end up early for ASAP Ferg. He comes on stage strings a few meaningful sentences together nobody truly remembers or hears. In that process he mentions ASAP Rocky as a “pretty motherfucka” and assures us lazily he couldn’t make it to Coachella. His performance was ok, his sound techs might need an ass whooping for having the mics way too low, its irrelevant, Ferg’s crew on-stage are so turnt having a bad time is an impossibility. Two of the crew on stage made the show for me for the most part with their constant energy and demeanor of a young Charles Bronson. This was one of the noticeable moments of what I deemed “infectious turnt syndrome”, an undeniable feverish vibe in the air of having a good time as powerfully and quickly as possible within the confines of your current surroundings. You can't fight this. Ferg hits “SHABBA RANKS” we lose it. At some point Ferg utters “Shout-out to everyone that ever died of a drug overdose” and I have never been as confused in my life. Has this joint been laced? I look around and thankfully see most of the group sharing the same “but, why?” look. A PSA about overdosing on drugs from Ferg that literally made me feel like I was possibly overdosing on drugs….Pure genius? I enjoy the show despite Ferg’s microphone being less than loud enough as he hits “cocaine castle”. He brings out ASAP Rocky again referring to him as “pretty motherfucka” which just seems out of place. Its too hot out to be surprised in any traditional fashion. I dream of more water as they end the performance complaining about time restraints. I decide to follow Slimi to John Spencer Blues Explosion and have plans of breaking out early to see HAIM. Instead I break out of John Spencer Blues Explosion and get miserably lost, miss HAIM in their entirety. I wander past so much but in the process I get familiar with the layout of Coachella. I end up around the Main stage to hear some of AFI which I didn’t know was AFI. I struggle with phone service until I end up at Shlomo and the bathrooms by the Gobi tent. Shlomo was absolutely dope. I finally lay out plans to meet Slimi and Jazz at the Garden caterpillar thing then follow them to Bonobo at the Mojave tent. First though, I pop my molly as the sun starts its crimson descent.

Everything begins to glow faintly at first. All these strange displays seem to have a duality of purpose that only becomes noticeable when the sun sets. Objects strewn about the grounds that made little to no sense at all become intensely relevant and filled with a contenting illumination. Mirrors that only made sense for purposes of vanity become great neon beacons for all. The temperature dips slowly and a cool and intoxicating desert air rewards us for sweating out all the problems and troubles of the day. The sun reaches its last viewable sliver on the horizon as the palm trees begin to sway and navigate their way through a endless shifting of coolly toned hues. All of this beauty gets dumped on me in the matter of 35 minutes and the drugs haven’t even kicked in yet. We enter the Mojave tent as the world around us becomes a brilliant and vivid orgy of lights. Bonobo gets it going early. I know none of their music previous to this but I am finding ways to sing along. Bonobo was beyond praise worthy and somewhere towards the end of the set the molly kicked in and I ran out of water. I venture out of the Mojave for some reason of fate and become enchanted as I look again at paradise through the eyes of my intoxication. Everything felt like a great sigh of relief while collapsing into a comfortable destination. Everyone here is truly a part of something beautiful and were feasting heavily on that wave length. Everything became contenting. I soaked up all the sights and lights through eyes that were romanced on every second of life unfolding. Sets had been pushed back and Girl Talk followed by Outkast were coming up soon. The group got moving. We filled up on water. We met back up w/ the English crew and pushed our way to a reasonable spot in front of the sound tent. Girl talk is a lot of fun, very energetic performance with an abundance of toilet paper flying around. Im very high and everything is hilarious for brief moments, I am also consuming water at an incredible rate. It was at this show that I first noticed the Rave stick with Putin’s face winking and he seemed to follow and haunt me from his admirable propinquity with the stage throughout the rest of my Coachella experience. Too Short comes on in a guest spot. I am out of water. With my last sip, I pop another molly with the intentions of kicking in for Outkast. I also decide its the best time to get water for me and the group. Wrong. Busta Rhymes and Juicy J come on for guest spots in my absence. For some reason the second Molly I pop kicks in with a quickness. I wrestle with it for a few minutes while combing through the crowd on the way to water. The world takes on plethora of warm digital filters in a heavy way. Everything becomes a rediscovered favorite. Every moment is a positive thirst for the next. My eyes cannot focus properly but I’m not necessarily worried about it. Girl Talk is over by the time I get back. I have no clue how I navigated back to the group from the water refill, my memory of it is a puff of smoke, Coachella magic. We see Janelle Monae in the sound tent behind us and she waves back to us. The set for Outkast is being put together. It is some kind of transparent cube covered in something that my eyes determined at grayish mesh. Theres some furniture maybe…I cant see too well and the strange filtering of light and reality molly has granted is not helping it. The pushed back set time of 11:15 comes and goes. We are about 35 ft from the stage and I realize this set will be captured in my mind in soul far better than my camera on my iPhone. I stare at the uncanny backdrop of palm trees, mountains and everyone around me. All of the sudden the twinkling descending syth at the beginning of “B.O.B”starts…We lose any and all control.

The vibe in my group is unmistakably frenzied. I stare around to see everyone around me hitting on the first chorus. We are all longstanding Outkast fans and blessed and thanked for our faith with this performance. Big Boi and 3K are inside of the cube which has a shifting translucent display. There is a hazy shadow of a wooden table with 2 chairs.

Its shifting strange images. Some I do not remember, some I’m not sure if the drugs deceived me. Andre is wearing overalls a hoodie and a green hat, simplistic. Big Boi is in cargos and jacket adorned by a dookie ass gold rope chain and heavy round pendant that is making him look like a 5-general from a distant future. 

They juxtapose each other perfectly in all senses. As we all chant “bob your head. Rag top”,  “B.O.B” melts into “Gasoline Dreams”. The cube display burns with fire. I am alive.

I close my eyes briefly as my eyes begin tear up, must be the molly…”ATLiens” is on next. I’m reminiscing on listening to this on CD in 97’ walking home from school, 1997 me would have been proud I made it here but I also would have thanked myself in 97 for getting into one of the greatest duo’s in music unknowingly. The hit hats on “Skew it on the Bar-B” start. It rolls into “Rosa Parks” without me knowing for a good 20 seconds as I write misspelled notes on my phone hastily. Everyone surrounding me are as deeply entrenched in this love groove as me. A blinding sense of “We made it”. They hit “Da Art of Storytellin’, Part 1” and the vibe switches gears. Bodies sway in rhythm amongst me and its impossible not to join in. “Aquemini” starts. I watch the stage intently, things are getting interesting. The cube has taken on the surrounding appearance of a flowing liquid and I can only see the rippling silhouette of Outkast.  I am not sure if it's real. These things aren't important. I spend the last 1/3 of that song staring with amazement at the stage.

Sleepy Brown comes out and they perform “SpottieOttieDopaliscious” sans Big Boi’s part. 3k and Big Boi have come out of the cube. It is a huge moment, we had talked about how amazing this would be for endless hours online and off. It happened and it was electric sugar for my soul. Sleepy Brown is on stage in what looks to me like the most lush charcoal and purple silk karate gi ever crafted by the hands of mortals. Sleepy Brown been stuntin’ on these haters. After a minute I recover myself and they dive into what becomes a Big Boi solo set starting with “Bowtie”. They run through “Shutterbugg” and “GhettoMusick” before bringing Janelle Monae out for “Tightrope.” Her hair is silly and she navigates the stage like Little Richard on meth. She looks tiny next to Big Boi. Still, she gives the song some some life on her own accord and we are all better for it. There is a short pause and acknowledgement for Janelle. The crowd seems a little tired. The staggering chorus of “Kryptonite” jumps at us out of the silence and we unite upon it. The set shifts over into an Andre 3k solo set. I stand in a trance as “She Lives in My Lap” morphs into “Prototype”. The molly is running strong. Theres a pause and Andre takes time to ask the audience as to where the good girls go before dispatching “Beeeehoold a Laaady” in 3k’s roller coaster falsetto. I look around me to make sure I am not dead and surrounded by angels in my minds idea of heaven. My crew is shoulder dancing as if compelled by an uncontrollable force yet, still on beat. Everything is beyond all right. I focus back towards the stage. Big Boi appears and they continue into “Roses” together with the swagger of a New Orleans frontline. They stop the show and I witness a tall astronaut by the name of Future Hendrix enter the stage upon introduction. I prepare to blast the fuck off.

I have a Charlie Murphy moment as I see Future enter in slow motion with a reddish purple aura. I am screaming and praying to any and all God’s that brought me to this juncture. The bells and delayed horns of “Same Damn Time” murmur hazily to my soul as Future devours his way through his first verse with Andre 3K and Big Boi shouting the hook with the rest of us.

I am expecting “Turn On the Lights” next. Instead Future puts the gas to the floor and plays “Aint No Way Around It” from True Story, probably the realest move available. I was foolish for thinking otherwise.  I’m starting to grip the ideas of a true enlightenment as it ends and Future and 3k make their way through a intoxicating song that I have never heard. This turns out to be “Benz Friendz (Whatchutola)” off of Futures new album. Its bouncy and perfect for the moment. Sadly, it turns out to be Futures last song with them for the evening. I weep and moan inside myself. I stand and ponder my dismissal of so many reports on the internet warning of such an angelic pinnacle of Outkast ft Future at Coachella. I think about how the internet led to the last 2 1/2 days of sublime excursion into the West Coast for the first time. Not all the world is crooked and if you find and surround yourself with genuine people like the ones in my group, all glasses start to look half full eventually. Admiration for the positive possibilities of the internet… These thoughts are chopped short upon the bass line of “Hootie Hoo”. Im so glad they bring it back a little bit. The bass lines of “Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik” are one of the reasons I begged my mother to buy me a Bass instead of a keyboard when I was 13. They play “Elevators” right as I start to think they havent played enough off of “ATLiens”.

I went to Coachella for my first time. For anyone reading that last sentence it will convey nothing more than simple information. For me, it conveys the beauty and truth of Jonah casually entering the belly of the whale and finding out the inside was actually heaven all along.

It all started months ago. I needed a vacation and I couldn't decide on where, all of the sudden whispers of Coachella and Outkast reunited were running through the internets whirlwind spiderweb of information. It seemed the wave, and smart people know that nothing tried will always mean nothing gained. There was a strange essence of destiny enveloping the whole thing for me. I somehow navigated purchasing weekend 1 passes when the general sale began. The momentum was there. So I confided in Twitter. After some time and through the strangest of ways a constituent, friendly second self and fellow twitter friend invited me to share in an experience. We would be staying at an Estate, with a dream team of fun and excessively useful people all varying in Coachella experience and wisdom.

Months later after booking and navigating the endless ideas of comfort and necessities, it was time. There was waves, nervousness and optimistic vision swirling inside me noticeably for the approaching week. I developed temporarily all forms of ADD and hyper activity diagnosable, It was messy but required. I lived on hype, I could bench-press a parking lot and faint within every breath.

Wednesday: I take the early train, exhausted, everyone seems to share the same sleepy disdain for life on a 5:35 am train. I decide to double check my flight details, no real reason for it in my mind at this point I have double checked things in my mind at least 300 times. The thing to focus on in that last sentence is "in my mind"...Panic! I am dangerously late. The travel gods want my blood today. Damn them, what I thought was a 7:55 flight time disintegrates into 7:35 with a 7:05 boarding time. Sweeping undulations of vicious thoughts and mini panic attacks from here on out. North station 6:20.....Blue Line transfer 6:32....Looking at my watch like it is condemning me to death.....Airport Shuttle 6:42....I am weighing out the idea to kick out this window and just run to my terminal. Instead I eat 3 Vicodin and a cheese danish because of my lack of comfort with flying. Shoving my way through the door, forgive my trespass but I must forge on, flights wait for no one.....Terminal arrival 7:02.....Setting records for Kiosk operations to obtain a boarding pass, sprint to security checkpoint 7:08.....Sweating and brimming with a feverish urgency, I get elected for additional screening. Gestapo tactics flaunted at my innocence for an indeterminate amount of time. Every tick of my watch scrapes at my soul. After a waste of time with no apologies I sprint to my gate. The door is closed! I turn in a panic and am greeted by a smiling face, I cant comprehend words with the blood pressure blocking my ears. I nod and smile enough apparently, she leads me down the corridor and inside the plane. Almost fucked over, almost. Take off, we are flying comfortably at 28,000 feet to avoid turbulence and the Vicodin I ate on the shuttle has kicked in. Flying high again, a dim smile and faint descending of my eyelids. Lazily searching for my ear buds, O , a kingdom for these ear buds.... . Where's my ginger ale? Drifting...I look out my window at the clouds and their billowing cotton blanketing of everything below us, and I realize I must be built for this by the hubris in my heart as I receive my ginger ale.

At some point I pass out after taking pictures, many ginger ales, and an honest attempt to read "The Great Gatsby". I am in LA and I feel amazing. I am to wait for my friend Slimi's gf Jazz, rent a car and proceed to meet up with Slimi for the first time in person. There's a shabby decadence of LAX to me on first impression. The random stores are nice and chic but if you look high enough the same ceilings have the same stains as every other Airport in America, there's a disgusting comfort in that. I have a pizza and beer to celebrate my safe flight. After confusion and finally meeting Jazz, we hop on the wrong shuttle. Luckily enough we had quite possibly the greatest shuttle driver that ever existed, he understandingly drove us to our rental company despite it not being on his route. Coachella magic does exist, it started becoming increasingly clear from this point out. I remember choosing a Ford Focus months ago, they did not have a Ford Focus. I reserved a Ford Focus. I was intent on getting a Ford motherfucking Focus. I get a white Kia mini van. This became our spaceship for the weekend, specially equipped with a disfunctional USB port and room for 7. It had an undeniable dad-swag factor and was all I could get anyways, we so fortunate. There is no choice but to accept the mini van life and I did so accordingly. After paying as little attention to the road and more my new surroundings and almost crashing no less than 3 times, I decided it was in my best interest to get it together and stop scaring Jazz.

We arrive in Echo Park after some time. A gate opens awkwardly and I meet Slimi. He is a skinny and intelligent man  who hands me a Modelo and suggests we procure more beer within 10 minutes of meeting him, my type of people for sure. After hours of introductory speech, delicious Golden Road beer and chain smoking joints I decide it is time to get to my hotel and get a shower. I vaguely remember some weird predatory commercial for dick pills directly after the news. I pondered what this was indicative of for no more than 38 seconds before I pass out.

Thursday: I'm still on East Coast time. I wake up briefly at 7 am and roll around in bed until 8. Its fine tho, I'm about to hit up the continental breakfast at 830 and smash everything on site. I take a shower in constant fear of a spider I didnt kill and disappeared somehow last night. Spiders don't forget faces, this is a known fact. On my way to breakfast I get propositioned if I want to buy heroin by someone who I thought worked for the Hotel. The declining process is smooth and surprisingly polite on the other gentleman's part. Despite the fake promise, bravado driven mentality of LA , everyone is very friendly, even the heroin dealers. I hit Slimi up after 2 cups of weak ass coffee and we arrange a meet up for acclaimed scrambled eggs and meeting of 2 more of our crew, Will and Kourt. As my GPS starts hassling me I realize I am pulling up to Slimi, Jazz, Will, and Kourt standing in front of the house we chilled at last night. Will is a tall and reserved guy, I'm never sure if i ever see him without sunglasses the entire weekend and I am extremely prideful in this fact. Kourt is slender and sweet woman who is easy to talk to, both of them brimming with an obvious ATL swagger and down south hospitality. I'm whipping that Maserati mini van so the obvious choice is we all comfortably ride together to a swanky wooden bistro not far away. We arrive and after marveling in the many types of ways to serve Kale we all pretty much order the same runny eggs with sour cream...I mean, "soft scrambled eggs with creme fraiche and herbs", they are actually delicious so I forgive the restaurant for making me order something so pompous this early in the morning. Requests for hot sauce reminds me I am amongst virtuous scholars of the same mind. I revel in this and digest until plans are laid out. Me and Jazz are to go to her friends house in LA and await the arrival flight of the Talia, another first timer, and then proceed to our awaiting estate and begin the turn-up festivities that are guaranteed to ensue. I remember noting to Jazz about the lack of LA traffic at some point, despicable hubris that will find its way back around to curse us later that day. We arrive at Jazz's friends house and after small talk over re-hydration we proceed to a sunny rooftop view of 405 traffic and descending LAX flights. We smoke heavily for a beautiful bright blur of indeterminate time. Bruno Mars was playing, which I enjoyed until i realized it was Bruno Mars and wondered if I was, in fact, too high. We leave and I am cripplingly stoned at this point. Everything has a vague texture of an orange peel and seems far more significant and brighter than it actually is. We make our way without incident and after a brief spell of confusion we navigate to the Southwest terminal and acquire the presence of Talia. She is a short girl with strong eyes. We exit the airport and proceed to run into LA traffic, which isn't all that bad but delays us from our estate, which violates my personal Geneva Convention. The lack of freedom of music is stifling me. We decide to stop and find an In and Out and a Walmart, in that order, to cure our current plight. I wanted to interrogate about the secret menu but nourishment and obligation forced me to order a double cheeseburger promptly. I also wanted to get lotions bc of a oncoming sunburn but got an auxilary cord and bounced, the videos were coming in from our friends of the estate and my thirst for turning up was at its pinnacle. We spend the next few hours joking casually and listening to improbable Outkast songs we would like to hear tommorrow night. We see "the windmills" and the atavistic wisdom that this is the point of no return for non-flourish ideals. As desert shifts into mountains casually we enter Palm Springs and start to see impeccably green lawns and civilization finally. We arrive at the estate with a definite sense of joy and accomplishment. I leap from the spaceship and proceed to run a victory lap around the house. I finally enter the house to a luxurious kitchen table packed with grocery bags of weed and a plethora of liquors. I meet everyone in a very staggered and unorganized way. I meet swaggy J.P. and his gf in the kitchen. I meet Chaka, meet French and his girl, briefly by the pool. I meet the English faction of this growing crew. Tom, James and Charlie who all have an inexhaustible source of "jolliness" and a thirst for booze and the pool that was beyond admirable.

I meet Bethany, Simone and Kris and Lian all of whom I regrettably spent less than enough time to get to know. I take a brief tour, get lost, and convene in the kitchen. We decide that we need some champagne to celebrate this moment. James also wants to roll out with us, we smoke, I finish my drink with a long half spilled sip and we hit the road. We see a bright light coming from the mountains in our proximity and determine it must be the house party of some half-mad Gatsby snorting a statue of cocaine and keeping the light on for any and all heathen visitors 24/7. Of couse we get lost and laugh incessantly at a road called Vista Chino at this point. Apparently, In Palm Springs, CA a good view of chino pants is revered enough to name a major street after it. Amidst all this we somehow find a CVS that sells liquor, more of the obvious Coachella magic. We acquire necessities and engage in a lengthy process of advising James not to buy Admiral Nelson Rum. He settles on Captain Morgan despite his affinity for a cartoon Admiral, no toilet rum allowed. We decide to use GPS to navigate home and find we arent actually as lost as we thought. we get back and the house is vibrating with "Sippin on some Sizzurp" which plays for the first of many times as I pop the first bottle of Andre. I enter the hot tub with a bottle of Peach Andre, and the purest form of joy in my heart.