«Unthankful»

11-25-2309

There are a lot of things for which I’m not grateful in my life. On day’s like this its  easy to forget to depreciate all those little things that make it a veritable hell.

I’m not thankful for my government, the United Territories of Earth. I’m not thankful for the economy or the nonchalant onslaught  of a new commercial holiday in the face of our monetary crisis. I’m not thankful for the SHO and the disease control centers or the pharmaceutical forces fighting them, and how I can’t get a clear answer who to side with on the subject of vaccination.

I’m not thankful for technology, and the competitive way it’s created. I’m not thankful for private enterprises racing head to head instead of working together to solve a common problem. I’m not thankful for inventors who stop making products for the consumer’s convenience, but because it makes a lot more money flow out of their pockets.

Furthermore, I’m not feeling very thankful for my father right now. He’s done plenty for me in the past and I’m probably just expecting too much of him, but I don’t feel like he’s been too helpful lately. I’m not happy for the bills and creditors that make it hard for me to get through to him.

Of course, I can always feel thankful for a important few things though, but I don’t need to wait for a random Thursday in autumn to express it; there are things I’m thankful for every day.

I’m thankful for the roof above my head and the bed under my back. I’m thankful for the food and water I’m given to survive each day. I’m thankful for the feeling of companionship and family I’ve felt for the entire time I’ve lived with the Magnate family. I’m thankful to have them here on Mars, my quite remotely disassociated home.

«Tumultuous Apathy»

11-20-2309

From a distance the cosmos stands still. Days and weeks pass at a time while little or nothing appears to change. But the Solar system rages on, and underneath a seemingly static surface, it thrashes and spasms violently. Economic turmoil and inconvenient plagues. Wildfire and meteor showers. Death and regeneration.

When I woke up, I immediately flipped open my antiquated  workstation from where I lay in bed. It sprang to life with renewed vigor, a needlessly complex reformatting was still treating the Z-140x as well as one would expect within the first week. All that mattered was that I could access a network again, and within seconds I was connecting to the Magnate family’s portal. Though Allan and Rikka’s terminals were silent, and Ploki was still asleep, his porti was downloading a large file, so there was a little latency in the sphere.

After sliding through the various social webs I keep a profile in, checking my multiple inboxes and even the dashboard control panel for this tlog, finding no new messages in each, I hovered purposelessly in the internet for a few moments, idly rapping my fingertips on the case of the computer. I’d hoped by then I would have at least received word back from Olympus Coast College about my application or student financial aid. Not knowing what else to do, I brought up a window from an interplanetary newsource, probably based on Earth. The stark headlines it launched at me in grim menacing boldface startled me at first.

– [FLU DEATH TOLLS IN THE UNITED TERRITORIES ESTIMATED AT 3,900] –

– [NEPTUNIAN PIRATES FAIL TO CAPTURE IONIAN CARGOSHIP SECOND TIME] –

– [TIPS TO SURVIVE BLACK FRIDAY AND SHOPPING BATTLEGROUNDS THIS HOLIDAY SEASON] –

Suddenly concerned for my health, and worried that all those months of not worrying weren’t going to pay off, I thumbed over the article. I truly detest the tricks these fear mongering, ad-savvy newsources use to optimize search results to generate some more hits each day. The report is contrary to the one just a couple of days ago which calculated deaths to be closer to 130, so I just figured they wanted to claim that all of the regular annual flu deaths had been attributed to the H1N1 virus. I closed the window before I could see how many of those confirmed deaths were on Mars, lest I become a victim of the pharmaceutical industry’s scare tactics.

The next window informed me pirates had been thwarted in their attempt to gain control of a ship leaving the orbit of Galatea. Either by coincidence or the attractiveness of the damn thing, it was the same ship hijacked last spring near those same waters. These marauders from the sixth moon of Neptune have reportedly captured over 50 vessels, and seemed to have a pretty good reputation until the Euxine Carolina was rescued by UT marines earlier this year. This time, the enhanced security placed onboard the hundred-ton spacefreighter was able to resolve any issue before it even developed into one.

I didn’t care about holiday bloodbaths or a house with a bunch of dead people in it. I couldn’t be compelled to look too deep into the stories reported by the Ganymedean newsource or an associated feed I’d brought up in the background while I digested these either. I really didn’t care about Earth’s prison camp or the election being gorked up on Ceres, or any of the other news they don‘t often openly address in Earth media. I’m usually enthralled with that sort of stuff.

I brought SpaceBook, my main social network, back into focus and updated my status to something disparaging to human nature for letting the media get so commercial, and closed my clunky old porti.

As if stirred by a ripple in a pond, Ploki Magnate rolled over in his bed. As he rested, he’d probably been able to sense so many similar, relatively tiny waves just and slept right through it. But a rock being thrown into the pond from so close may have felt like a surge against the barriers of his constant digital stream. He sat up, rubbing the side of is head.

“Oh, good morning, Ploki,” I said, realizing I hadn’t actually spoken a word to anyone when my voice cracked. The name already sounded a little strange to the tongue since it was a throwback to old hacker slang from days when a keyboard similar mine would still have been used. It was the handle that he chose to go by in all of his social avenues, virtual or not.

“Morning,” he said, not looking up from the glow of the button already alight in his hands. It illuminated his sharp face and the accentuated Ganymedean features. If he had antennae or pointy ears I would have seen them in the wash of blue light, but his head was framed only by a short haircut and a little scruff of beard.  “What’s this about the news?” he asked me, responding to the notification that woke him.

“Huh? Oh, well ther-” I began before he cut me off, he’d obviously brought up the headlines.

“Pirates…prison camp…experiment demonstrates possibility of life in Centauri?” he read aloud, a questioning tone as he wondered if he’d already heard that somewhere.

I was rising off my futon bed and walking as I replied. “I think that whole thing’s a ruse to get more scientific funding for exploration,” I grumbled as I stepped into the kitchen to scrounge up something.

“So it’s better we don’t find life outside the Solar system? You’re so cynical, Klay.” He was beginning to wake and warm up, getting out of bed only to settle into his computer chair.

I spoke to him over the kitchen counter, his workstation setup just on the other side. Anyone who used this kitchen couldn’t help but feel watched if he was seated there, though his eyes hardly rose from his screen. “No, I just think it’s going to be a huge bust if it turns out we went all the way there again and didn’t find anything … again,” there was little I came across in the fridge that screamed edible to me.

“Well it won’t be any bigger of a waste than if that money went to the defense budget,” his sleek porti connected to the portal the second he touched it, and in moments he was tangled in his various webs. “They got something like 700 bil for the military, just for a single year. That calculates to almost 2 billion a day.”

“Gork,” I exclaimed, slamming an unyielding cupboard. “Nothing’s looking appealing to me in here, wanna start the vaporizer?”

He glanced at the time and yelled “Fire it up!”

«←→»

Hunger was of the few things that could involuntarily force someone out into the big, scary world; and even then there are the options of fast food, take-out and delivery services to minimize a given human’s exposure to the outside as much as possible.

Ploki and I trod along the broad walkways of Newport’s Style Isle. Fashioned by The Caspian Company after a cookie-cutter Ionian Mission, it was a way to disguise their corporate headquarters as an outdoor shopping mall and gain a little extra revenue. It’s not actually an island, just a small mesa overlooking the Amazonian Ocean, and was used by natives in the past for their jamborees. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see it twinkling like a thousand diamonds in the midday light, beyond the rows of fancy crawlers, oily parking spaces and pristine, artificial palm trees.

I used to work here. Tucked away in the digital media section of Style Isle’s outdated bookstore, I toiled the first year I lived on Mars. The commute to Newport from Fender was treacherous at the least, a whole 30 minutes. It was enough to make the job feel not worth it to me, spending the entirety of my only raise on the fuel it took just to get to work late every day.

We wove amongst the flow of shoppers, consisting mostly of wealthy women who didn’t need to be making any more money. It always felt a little strange, walking amongst the same people I used to serve, calmly passing them decked out in their most splendid weekday attire. From the hottest trends off the runways in Mihr Patera to soft velour sweat suits encrusted in rhinestones. Large embellished sunglasses, gaudy jewelry and any number of insanely eye-catching accessories glinted and dangled in the red sun.

Anything they could afford to distract or cover up the seams between cosmetic surgery and plastic treatments. Neck-tucks and antenna-removal scars can still be tricky to hide, and that’s where expensive bronze and ivory make-up assisted. They perfectly mimicked the exemplary mannequins, stiff in the windows beside them but so posh. I cringed to think what these reptiles would look like without any mods.

Just a few minutes there and I’d already seen  too many aged women showing off their new breasts and arms, many of which still needed some tightening and laser treatments to erase the damage of decades of sun exposure. Gray roots hid under platinum blonde, deep crows feet under cakes of eye shadow, and I’m sure I would have noticed the stench of death if it weren’t for the aroma of nail polish and hair products. I just wanted to find the cheapest place to grab a bite, then get the hell out of this commercial trap.

“I’m so excited for my appointment next week!” Ploki said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m going to get my license, and then my new toy will be completely legitimate,” there was so much glee behind his eyes as he said this.

“I just hopes it work’s out for you, it would suck if you were denied cause you didn’t qualify,” I pointed out, though that would be just as upsetting to all of us.

“Seriously,” he replied and winced with his blue eyes, tryinag not to imagine that possibility.

I turned to my Martian friend as we rounded a corner near the geyser fountain. “Hey, Ploki, can you look something up for me real quick?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, slid his button out of his pocket and unlocked the palm-held device. The flat, blue screen lit up in broad daylight, appearing a few inches above his hand.  It rested on a faint laser cone, projected from the solitary LED eye; simplicity was the only identifying feature of an AM-3Gi button. He called up a search application, and looked at me, asking “What do you need?”

“Gork, that was fast. Don’t you still have to connect to a network with that thing?”

“No, I canceled that basic service that came with it.” He pointed to his temple with his free hand, saying “I’ve been auged.”

“Ahh, now it makes sense, you are your own sphere,” I looked at him again as if I’d be able to see it’s sheen around him now. “That’s astro, I’d love to get a chip one day,” I said quietly.

The cyborg’s eyes locked on me in disbelief. “What? You haven’t been auged?” the question rang loud here, even outside. Any sort of alterations, whether internal or external, are regarded highly by those of status, and I’m sure any of the women who could afford a boost in confidence could pay an extra few thousand to have a little silicon implanted in their heads, too.

I looked around at no scowling faces or judging eyes, surprisingly. “No, what makes you think I have?”

“I totally thought you were. You don’t have extra memory in there?” he asked, genuinely amazed I hadn’t undergone any sort of capacity upgrade.

“No, not at all,” I said with as little pride as I could show these technophilic Newpsies.

“Huh, I could have sworn. Hmm…well I guess you just have a good memory then,” he said, adjusting to the idea of my head being emptier than his.

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment…especially coming from a machine,” I said facetiously.

He protested “Hey, I’m still mostly human!”

“Whatevs, Robot. Find me the cheapest food around,” I commanded.

He grumbled, and returned his gaze to the screen, manipulating the flattened beam that the browser was illustrated upon with the swish of his fingertips. He looked up, over to the other side of the food court we had just meandered into. “There. The pizza place has the lowest cost here,” he said at once.

“Wow, you found it that quick?” I said, astounded by his technology again.

“No, I just remembered,” he said with a grin, adding “Gorker.”

After we finished our two-dollar slices of pizza pie, and made our way back through the mess of grotesque human facsimiles, we found ourselves at his little, cerulean crawler. The two-door hatchback always reminded me of my elusive vehicle, though his wasn’t built on Ganymede.

His Saturnian-made Polaris was probably of a finer construction than my rodent. The interior had been optimized for comfort and visibility, so much so that even the HUD cowling had been displaced to the center of the dashboard, creating more storage areas.

At the press of the ignition switch, the engine whined and instruments illuminated with bright blue light, similar to the glow of the Ploki’s button, which now rested in a crèche on the center console. It supplied music from it’s harddrive to the entertainment system, and the driver or passenger could easily control media with the interface on either end.

We hurried home, where Allan waited for our return. He’d sequestered himself into his room, determined to make full use of his burgeoning class-load by doing everything he could to pass them all. Little had been seen of him, except when he needed transit to and from campus, or when there was a bi-weekly jam, or if Nymh had come over to lure him out, though she just as often did nothing to make him want to leave the room.

Similar could be said of the youngest of the Magnate siblings. Rikka was often out of the house since she was usually working one of her two jobs, and only appeared in sharp, semi-formal outfits when she was home from either, or on her way to an interview for a third. Attention seeking and a hypochondriac, she was currently fighting a bout with the deadly flu upstairs in her quarters, and no one could tell if she were actually sick or not.

I’d become good friends with Ploki over the previous weeks, finding similar interests was easy for us; or something like that. It could have been something to do with being the same age as me, or that he was easier to tolerate for an entire day than his often boisterous older brother. Perhaps it was because we had planned to move to that ski resort in Cyane this winter and had begun pre-roommate rituals of bonding. But it’s probably just because we both share the ground level of the house, he and I sleeping in the living room and family room, respectively.

We arrived back at his house in the mid-afternoon and immediately return to our positions in front of our workstations. Using some sort of control on his terminal, he remotely activated his brand new vaporizer, allowing it to warm up the 600 seconds so it will work properly. He then sent a message through the sphere to let Allan know he’d have about ten minutes to find a stopping point.

By force of habit, I brought up the newsources again with my renewed net connection, feeling warm with this novelty: the privilege of fresh information afforded only to those who have the technological means. By the look of the new banners, it seems healthcare reforms were stagnated by both sides of UT government, Earth’s new president visited Titan, and strife continued between warring factions on little Davidia.

A terrorist plot on another Earth skyscraper was foiled, a fusion plant in New Ganymede almost meltdown again and AM would probably release a new model of the button over the holidays. Students protested an increase in tuition rates at University of Mars campuses, a ferry crash in The Rings left 26 dead and the sequel to that stupid teenage-heartthrob-vampire movie broke box office records this weekend.

I closed all the windows at once and brought up one of my bookmarked links: a streaming, real-time image of the star Sol. I zoomed in partway, only until I spotted the well recognizable shapes of the gas giants, the thin haze of asteroid belts and the glint off the terrestrial worlds orbiting close the yellow main-sequence star. If it weren’t for a ticker running the time at the bottom you would have sworn it was just a still image, captured by a traveler from some rocket’s window.

I attempted to imagine for a moment that I was peering out of that porthole at the static but majestic view. I tried to picture myself away from any apprehensions of holidays, pirates, finances or vaccinations. It wasn’t working.

I collapsed the screen of the outdated porti. “Hey Ploki,” I called as I stood up, “I’m getting Allan whether that machine of yours is ready or not.”

«The New Martian Dream»

09-15-2309

The night’s air was crisp, the breeze warm and dry, breathing through my clothes instead of humidly pasting them to my skin. I struck the lighter I’d slipped past security and lit a cigarette. I puffed it happily into the crystal clear evening as I stood on the arrival curb of the spaceport with my possessions.

I had just been anxiously awaiting them at the baggage claim, worried they’d never make it to the luggage carousel intact. I was afraid of losing the few belongings I could be sure I still owned, and even more nervous about checking the guitar, whether it was in a spaceworthy titanium case or not. Fortunately my luggage arrived without a scratch, the only marks were the one’s I’d made to personalize them; matching the symbol tattooed to my left wrist. Satisfied, I turned to wait for my ride.

Shayne Lynoir pulled up a few minutes later in the silver 2-door she’d just driven to Mars in last week. In the few day’s she’d been here, I could tell that she’d began to adapt well, but still wasn’t used to all the little differences yet. She cautiously pulled out onto the closest freeway and headed us towards Olympus county, following directions from the navi fixed to her windshield.

“How are you liking living here so far?” I asked as I stared up at a sky filled with so much light, purely endemic to the Martian atmosphere.

“Oh it’s great. I’ve been smoking the best since I was in Omstel, way better than anything we found on Earth,” which I knew she’d say. “I’ve had a date with that girl I was looking forward to seeing. Uhm…I went to a strip club last night, Klay!”

“Wow, one week and Mars is already treating you right. You’re perfectly aware it’s all a trap, right?” I wouldn’t want her thinking the place was always this awesome.

“Yeah, I know. It does seem too good to be true, so I won’t be surprised when the bottom falls out. But I’m not worried, I’ve got two fellowships to pay for school. And in half a year I’ll have my Martian residence…and you know what that means,” she said with a devilish grin.

“Of course, Shayne, it’s the reason that at least half the people that come here still haven’t left yet. It’s why I came back. This is the land of opportunity, the gorkin’ Martian Dream was made real again. Now it’s the New Martian Dream: come to Mars, become a resident, and get a license to possess and grow,” being back had obviously inspired me already.

“Uhm. Kinda sounds like the old one…just without the whole movie business and stardom thing,” she pointed out, facetiously.

“Ok, fine. And this one’s a lot more like the first dream..you know, that whole gold rush thing,” I admitted.

“I thought you once said the first dream was that the planet was inhabited by Amazons,” she would remember me mentioning a thing like Amazons.

“Haha, it was the Ionians who thought that before they ever made landfall. I don’t think the Martian Dream existed until after Earthlings settled here, it’s sort of an evolution on their dream…or bastardization if you would,” I was starting to spill my rhetoric on the subject. “Their dream—our dream; whatever. We’re still Earthlings, after all.”

“And we can never really be Martians, anyway,” she reminded. “But I am looking forward to being called a Marsling,” she said with a wide grin, her imagination reeling on all the possibilities the future held for her. She snapped back into attention when the navi spout out the next direction in that robotic female voice.

We pulled into Allan’s complex, a cookie cutter community created by the Caspian Company. The large, bold letters and stylized directory maps at each of the entrances usually give it away, but if you were as familiar as I am to the area, you’d know to just assume they built it unless it wasn’t identical to everything else in a 20 mile radius.

Inside his mass produced housing unit, Allan sat downstairs with Nymh and Rei, watching a movie on his brother’s wide screen workstation.

“Ahoy, hoy!”

“Klayed!” the half-Martian, half-Saturnian toddler shouted as I slipped in the front door, leaving my suitcase, guitarcase and carry-on in the entrance way to give hugs.

“Hey, Rei. How have you been?” I asked, addressing her more as a peer than a 3-year-old. She turned away shyly, dumbstruck and speechless though she’d asked for me every single day of summer.

“Aww, Rei. Your boyfriend’s back,” Nymh joked, which made her daughter even more bashful, burying her face in my shoulder.

“What’s up, guys?” I asked as I set her back down and received hugs from my long lost friends.

“Not much, brutha! How are you doin?” Allan inquired, excited to see his buddy again.

“Oh, it feel so good to be back,” I said patting his shoulder. “Well, actually…there’s one thing…” I said, turning my eyes to the front door as if to initiate a crawler party.

“Back porch,” Allan said, understanding my request, though his answer confused me.

“Really?” I couldn’t believe they’d ever think a spot was more comfortable than the cabin of Allan’s vehicle.

“Yeah, go ahead, Lane, it’s already outside. I’ll be there to S-M-O-K-E with you in a second,” Nymh spelled out so her daughter wouldn’t be able to understand.

“You sure you don’t want me to watch her for a little while,” Allan asked his lovi in a saccharin voice.

“No, no. Go on, baby,” the Tethean said, giving him a kiss before he joined me on the back porch.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, wasting no time to get to business as I packed the glass full of fire.

“I have no idea yet, actually. It was such a struggle for me just to get back here…I really didn’t think any further ahead than this part,” I admitted, indicating to the pipe in my hand. He nodded, seeming to expect as much but shrugging cause he knew he’d have done no better. “Would it be alright if I crashed here for a little while?”

“Well it’s a little packed now. My sister never moved out, and my brother, Ploki, came back from Eris and doesn’t even have a room anymore. Also, with Nymh and Rei spending the nights here often, and Rikka’s lovi sleeping over all the time, it’s a full house,” he explained.

“I understand, well that’s ok. Shanye did say I could stay with her a little while if I wanted,” I didn’t want to mention it wasn’t too big of a deal because I’d probably be moving back to Earth before spring anyway.

“I’ll see what I can do though. If I find some room I’m sure my parent’s won’t mind you being here a few days, they did miss you too,” he said, lighting a cigarette impatiently while I took my time to finish packing the bowl.

“Thanks, bro, I appreciate it,” I was genuinely relieved someone on this planet had a heart. Though it wasn’t even my weed, I offered him greens out of gratitude. He shook his head to turn it down.

“Go ahead,” he waved, though I was reluctant to take it. “Welcome back to Mars, Mr. Lane,” he announced, handing me a lighter.

I nodded in appreciation and struck the lighter, focusing it’s flame on the leafy green and purple material packed into the chamber as I inhaled it’s milky goodness deep into my lungs. I felt a tingle emerge instantly, fluttering through my chest and head and easing everything it touched before I exhaled a plume of smoke into the open Martian night, the divine flavor I’d longed for most of the summer lingering on my tongue and lips. I smiled and closed my eyes, relishing the moment.

This is it: The New Martian Dream. How sweet it tastes.

«Summer Fling»

09-13-2309

I woke in a large soft bed, snuggled up beside a rare beauty. Koi stirred softly in my arms as I got up, yawning and blinking slowly, her big, doey eyes locking on mine.

“Mmmm. What are you thinking?” she asked with a smile, closing her eyes again.

I’ve always hated that question, but I smiled and chuckled, not really able to give an appropriate answer. I kissed her on the nose and said “Nothing, really,” as I tightened my embrace and nestled back into sleep.

A couple of weeks ago, the only thing I knew about her was that she was from Mars, since we’d had a lengthy discussion about it that first night when I’d met her. I figured she was a Marsling, though she looked as if she may have a little Martian blood in her. She was remarkable though, a look the likes of which I’d never seen. That small, angular frame, impeccably encased in the softest, bronze skin; those perfectly pursed lips, slightly pointed ears and the adorable button for a nose; her high cheekbones speckled with cute little freckles, making her large brown eyes even bigger and warmer.

After a week with no response, I figured I’d probably never see the gorgeous Koi Kidder again. Eager to take something positive from the experience, I thought fondly of her as a I prepared to write her off as an unresolved chapter in my life. Perhaps it was for the best, I thought. Maybe this way her character would remain pure, unwarped by the forces that pull at my life. Or at the very least, this way she would leave the story on a positive note, without me trying to dissect or criticize her.

The half-Titanian, half-Ganymedean finally got back to me when she sent out a mass message, apologizing to anyone who had been trying to get a hold of her, and claiming that her texti had been lost somewhere up north for the past week. I was too excited to hear from her to play it cool or aloof, but it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t going to try to turn this into conquest or victory, or worry about losing ground or influence over her; this was about two people who wanted to be together, not just trying to get something out of the other.

I attempted to make some interesting arrangements for the weekend, thinking I’d just take her sailing and maybe hang out somewhere in Chesapeake for the evening. Even though she was down for adventure, her schedule wasn’t, so I tried to find something nearby that would be worth while, I was so afraid of boring the classy girl. Somehow we ended up at the campus theatre in Nova City, slightly underdressed amongst the freaks and cultists lined up for the weekly Horror Show. I picked up a bottle of red and we went home for some sanguine delight.

Over the next week, I spent my time split evenly between catching up on my chronicling, hanging out with Rip and sleeping with Koi. I felt my time was being used productively though, whether I was adding a few dozen more pages to the file, playing a summers worth of video games with one of my bestis, or walking alongside a slender vixen on old paved streets and walkways. We always ended up somewhere rich with history it seemed, one night in Olde Town, the next across the river on the waterfront of Menesopolis. Out west, near where she and Rip each lived, we spent an evening on a Civil War battlefield, coincidentally visiting on the 147th anniversary of site. There were no spooks or spirits to be seen though, but what do you expect.

The next morning, I woke up with a new message from Koi waiting on my texti, saying she thought that I was postponing my return to Mars because of her, and that she didn’t want to keep me from my life. She suggested we not see each other until after I scheduled my flight, which seemed fair enough to me. I logged on to Zech’s terminal and found the cheapest spacefare before I thought about replying.

The earliest ship I could book passage on in my price range was embarking in almost a week. I confirmed the purchase and the balance was automatically deducted from my account. I sighed and sat back with a undeserved sense of accomplishment, creaking in what used to be my chair.

I ran my hands across the arm rests, feeling where he’d picked away the inner half of the plastic coating while bored, or impatiently waiting for one of his games to start. The yellow sponge-like foam that was revealed felt cold and moist to the touch,  leaving an unpleasant feeling on my fingertips. I got up to begin packing my bag, leaving my phone behind in my old room while I collected the rest of my possessions.

With all but one of the items I planned to take back with me to the bright, red world properly smooshed into my luggage, and resolving to dress out of the suitcase for the next 5 days, I went on a hunt for something to fit the other thing in. It’s not easy to throw a delicate, wooden guitar into a duffle-bag, so I racked my brains for any idea I could.

I had owned a guitar case at one point in time, but I had no idea if it would fit this, or any instrument. Back then I’d used the case the transport a four-footer given to me by an old co-worker; a purple acrylic monstrosity which took at least two people to operate. A consistently intense device, I recall blacking out one of the first times I used it, coming to on the floor in a puddle of drool and bong water and my friends cheering. The novelty size smoking utensil had been tucked away in storage closet, somewhere deep in Rip Gozo’s basement for the past 3 years. I hoped it was still there as I looked up his mom in my phonebook, knowing if I called her I’d have to visit her, whether she had what I needed or not.

It was still where I’d left it, luckily. The black case was ready for me on the landing, along with its molded plastic contents, covered in years of neglect. I caught up with Rip’s mom, updating her on my current situation and plans for the immediate future while Koi and I played with her new puppy.

“What about my son, is he ever going to get his driver’s license and become a productive member of society?” she asked in her most worried, demanding tone.

“He’ll be driving before you know it,” I said, half uncertain of my own words and realizing I’d probably spoke those same ones before. I smirked and felt more confident in adding “I don’t know if he’ll ever be a a productive member of society, though.”

“Well I can only ask for so much. He will at least be independent one day, right?” a thick New Tros accent still cut through all the years she hadn’t lived there.

“Of course he will, Din. Your son’s got talent and tenacity, I think he just has too much free time on his hands,” I took a second to scratch behind the dogs ears, her leg flapping on Koi’s lap. “He just needs to have a writing project that pays off, or work on his music career until he has a product,” the words seemed almost too familiar for some reason. “You know, I really shouldn’t be speaking for him…heavens know I’m more useless than he is. At least Rip’s kept the same job since I left 3 years ago.”

“Hey Klay, I don’t mean to cut you short, but we should really be going,” Koi insisted, furrowing her eyebrows as if to say ‘let’s smoke’. I took the hint without any hesitation and stood up.

“I’m sorry Din, but Koi’s right. I’ve got plenty to do still and I don’t have much time left on Earth,” I said as I inched myself towards the door.

“Alright, well be good. And tell my son, Ripton, to practice driving once in a while and be more productive,” she requested as if I were his handler, and gave Koi and I each a good hug.

“Even with him not living here with you anymore, I’m pretty sure you communicate more frequently with him than I do,” I admitted, stepping out of the front doorway with a hard case in my hand.

“Well, whatever,” she said, trying to sound cool. She shouted her superstitious blessing “Don’t talk to the pilot!” as she waved goodbye to us, Koi glancing at me with confusion.

“It’s just something their family says…kinda like ‘break a leg’, you know?” I tried to explain as I stowed the case in her cargo hold.

“Oh I see..” she seemed to understand, but her ever unsure voice always made me wonder if she really did.

We had two more stops to make before the night was through. First was just a quick one to my friend Gear’s house. Gearadot Haze, good friend since grade school, was currently on Mars, staying up north with a couple of friends from high school who also graduated college with him earlier this summer. I was actually supposed to cross paths with him somewhere on Luna, while he was hitching in the opposite direction, but I missed him when he caught a long ride through, right past the little town of Saline where we stayed that first near-fatal night. His parents wanted to send with me a few things he’d be needing, like a couple charge cards with the access keys and some other envelope I never bothered to peek in. As I left, the Hazes wished me a safe trip and, for the second time that night, I was asked to look after someone’s son.

Only one more thing to scratch off the list now: to visit my little brother’s ex-lovi, Nuggy, and her narcoleptic, lesbian, ex-stripper roommate. If there was anyone I knew who could appreciate and take care of a purple four-footer, it was that pair. When Mink went back to school, the girls’ living room became the new chill spot for my brother and I, and we’d spent many of the last days of summer vegging out in front of their screen. There was no marathon staring tonight though, just quick bowls and quick goodbyes, lest I be enlisted to be someone else’s guardian. With all my needs satisfied, we headed back out west to Koi’s house.

“What should we do now?” I asked, hoping the answer would involve sex, smoke or stargazing.

“I’m so tired,” she said without having to force a yawn. “I just wanna take a nap real quick, then we can do whatever you want.”

“That sounds good, I think we need to wait a couple hours, anyway,” I was searching the sky. “I don’t even think the moon’s out yet.”

“Well then, we should definitely nap until it is,” she smiled.

For our final escapade, I’d wanted to show her something special: her own world. I’d brought a simple telescope with me, a gift from Linda’s father a few years ago when he felt I might be homesick for Earth, so I’d never feel too far from my home. I’d intended to use it during the road trip, on the moon’s clear night skies, but the first night we were too excited just being alive still to bother setting it up, and there was too much atmospheric interference each of the other nights. From Earth, Luna and Mars were to be sharing the same sky that night, whenever they got around to rising. I thought it would be interesting to show her where she was born, and see the path I’d soon be taking myself–but it never happened. Instead, after tiring ourselves out even more, we passed out until it was almost morning.

As the sun’s golden light began to pierce the blinds, I woke up in Koi’s bed, our naked bodies pressed against each other.  We peeled apart like two pieces of the same fruit and she rolled over, her dreamlike eyes dazily fluttering open as she smiled, silently wishing me a good morning before closing, snuggling up to me again. I gazed at her affectionately, my insides welling up with the want to tell her I loved her. Who knows if I actually did, but I always seemed like I should tell it to her anytime I felt that warm happiness I got from looking at her. I always caught myself though, reasoning that it was all chemical, and I’d be excited to have any attractive girl to stare at. I also had to remind myself, if I were to say it, it would ruin any future friendship or relationship we could have–or worse: become a long distance relationship. I had no desire to ruin the good run we’d enjoyed, or treat myself to a sub-par sequel, so I bit my lip kept my feelings to myself.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, knowing I was staring at her again without even opening her eyes.

“Nothing,” it pained me to say. “Nothing at all, go back to sleep,” I whispered, kissing her forehead and relaxing back into my pillow.

I still wonder what it would it would have been like if I’d said ‘I Love You’.

«Still Stuck on Earth»

08-16-2309

Why am I here?

Still just waiting to go back to Mars at this point, it seems. It’s almost the end of August and I’m still exactly where I was a month ago. At the very latest, I was supposed to go back at the beginning of this month, that way if I couldn’t get the money to Witt for rent, I could at least get my stuff out of that apartment before she had a new tenant move in.

That didn’t work out, and now I’m trapped here it seems. I get to say goodbye to all my friends that have kept me happy here on Earth in my plight. Everyone getting on with their responsibilities, taking no longer than a month or two to get the jitters out and back to school or off to work again. All the guys I got to hang out with and all the girls I was hooking up with all summer have retreated back to their lives.

It’s been getting awfully lonely without anyone to play with. There was one girl I had hopes of working things out with, but she disappeared as suddenly as I met her. She’d come to one of my brother’s friend’s parties, knowing fewer people there than I did, and stood out immediately. The beauty from Mars struck me dead in my tracks, her petite frame wrapped in a tight, leggy dress–all the way up to her big, doey eyes.

She complained about feeling like the oldest person at the party, a notion I was well familiar with. I realized quickly that we were actually the oldest people present, or at least I was. She and Shayne were both tied for 21, and together we formed the elders of this shindig, and made our own little clique away from the racket. Actually, I would have never hit it off with the vixen if Shayne hadn’t been trying to hit on her.

Though Shayne thought she had this one wrapped up in the bag, I still managed to get her number, and prove that she was straight. I had hoped that if I was going to be stuck on Earth, I might be able to spend that time with an attractive girl I could vibe with. Unfortunately, it looked like no such look for me, as she never responded to any messages or calls. With Shayne taking off to move to Mars in the next week or two, it looked like I was going to be on Earth without any friends.

Also, it definitely looks like I’ve lost the what I have to return to there. My roommate seems to have gotten my replacement lined up, as Allan’s had to do me the favor of getting my possessions from my old place in the small increments she’s let him take without seeing any money from me yet. I don’t really know what I’ll be going back to when I free myself from my Earthly bonds.

I need to go back to Mars, but I’m getting more nervous about it each day that I’m away. The anxiety is near palpable, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m not better off here. I guess the only way to find out is to go back, but who knows when that will ever happen.

«GML»

07-23-2309

I’ve already been stuck on Earth for two weeks longer than I was supposed to stay. I gave myself another weekend to see my friends from the road trip, but in doing so I seem to have missed my only chance to get back home to Mars.

Things haven’t been going too well at my father’s company. With our solarwide economic crisis, people just aren’t putting the money they used to into the luxuries in their lives. The swimming pool industry is taking a hit in places its too expensive to reasonably upkeep a pool, especially if it’s only to have it open 4 months of the year.

He had to abandon having an office center with a storefront and moved into the separate apartment he’d built over my mother’s garage years ago. It helped them both since it was much cheaper rent, and that money went to pay my mom’s bills. It had just been a little strange that both of my parents were back in the same house, but it had it’s perks. One of which was being able to come downstairs to my kitchen on days when I’d come in and answer phones for a few hours.

It was an unrewarding job, taking calls from creditors and bill collectors all day long. Especially when that meant he didn’t even have enough money to pay his employees for weeks worth of money at a time. Another hour, another few messages from lawyers taken for my dad, whom I told them wasn’t present as I looked right at him.

He couldn’t afford to pay for my space fare back to home. He couldn’t afford to pay me for the work I’d done over the past 3 weeks at least. He couldn’t afford to pay my vehicle insurance, which surely has lapsed by now. He couldn’t afford to pay the rent for the apartment I needed to get back to on Mars, which put me in the predicament I’m faced with now.

Today I received an expedited parcel from Witt, my roommate and landlord Mars, a response to the one I’d sent a few days before with a check for the amount owed at the beginning of July for the past 22 days I hadn’t even been present. It informed me my father’s check bounced, that my lease would not be renewed at the beginning of the month, and that I was to be evicted if I didn’t pay the full rent, along with retroactive late fees on all the previous months when rent has been late a day or two, though she hadn’t demanded such any previous time.

What can I do with no money and no integrity left in her book? How can I afford to get back in time and take care of all my expenses when I get there? Why does my summer have to fall apart like this just when it was starting to get good? What’s going to happen to all my stuff if she needs to move someone else in to afford the place? How am I ever going to support myself if I lose everything now?

Gork my life!!

«Back Home»

07-06-2309

I’m home, I’m home!

After two long weeks, I’m finally home. Well, I’ve been home for a little while now, but there was plenty of recovery necessary. It’s actually been over a month now since I left my quiet home on Mars. I’ll just sum up the past few weeks quickly for you, none of the verbose detail of the past entries.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, spare a wet fiasco with part of the large aft hatch that wouldn’t stay closed during some rain we drove through, nothing that important, though. Ok, so the interior lights won’t turn of now, big deal, at least it doesn’t drain the beast’s battery every time we turn her on.

I spent the first week in Mink’s basement getting high, or out at the bar drinking with him; anything we could do to stave off sobriety another moment. Any form of altered state would suffice, this was our homeostasis for now. We asked ourselves why we couldn’t just go back to that paradise, or at least bring it’s irregular traditions back to the real world. There were no wake and bakes or early evening doses here.

I got a chance to go sailing that weekend, just my brother and I with my dad, out riding in the solar wind on his 38-footer. I had to reveal my tattoo to my father rather quickly, lest he notice it then I took the gloves off in between course adjustments. He didn’t seem too surprised by it, which is just as well since I assumed he’d seen it online beforehand. He just gave me the “You’re a free, white, Earthling over 21–you can do whatever you want,” speech, which was a relief when learned I smoked cigarettes sometime after that.

It was nice to be in my old house again, even though my brother acquired my room a long time ago, and the cats had acquired his. He had had to drop off all three at a shelter not too long ago, being unable to find a single person who could take care of any one of them. It was certainly upsetting, and something I still haven’t gotten used to; I still hear small thuds and mews when the house is empty, and any dark object on the ground–from a backpack to a watering can or a pair of boots–takes on feline qualities in the corners of my eyes.

Before they departed, my orange cat had left a present for my brother one day, rendering his mattress unusable if he couldn’t adapt to the smell of ammonia and saline. So he took my old bed in my absence, leaving me to rest on an unheavenly uncomfortable, inflatable mattress. More of a slip-and-slide, or plain old death trap if you ask me. The second weekend when Leona came to visit me, it proved near fatal.

She had driven down from New Tros with a co-worker named Ann to stay with me the weekend. We’d been keeping a strong correspondence since we had left the festival, and on such good terms, I had been looking forward to seeing my Earthling buddy this summer.

Sparks certainly flew when we saw each other, the friction of two like minds coming together with a similar goal. And every single tiny movement was amplified with the warping and squeaking of the terrible latex bedding, especially dangerous with Ann, sleeping on the floor of the same room. It was going to be an unfortunate evening for someone.

The next day we took the metro hoverrail into the capitol, apparently to join in the protest of a clean energy bill that wasn’t good enough for our needs. It was fun getting to carry around signs and wear green hardhats, but we weren’t entirely dedicated to the peaceful protest, or all the rules placed against it by the multitude of police and security surrounding the legislative buildings. We broke off when it was most convenient for us and wandered to the mall and the museums.

We visited two of the major ones, particularly both of my favorites. First, the Air and Space museum, where all manner of rocket and ship were on display, from the beginning of astronautics to modern day prototypes. I guided them through my most nostalgic spots, interesting to see how much smaller it all seemed to me now that I wasn’t holding onto my father’s hand.

The Natural History museum was our next stop, the giant mammoth that greets you in the main atrium definitely not appearing so gargantuan anymore. We explored a few areas of this museum I’d never remembered wandering before, particularly the mammals and the ancient sea exhibits, comparing the evolution of different types of similar animals on different worlds of our solar system.

We also spent a long time wandering through the gem and mineral showcase, until which I’d never placed much credence in crystal power. I never remember feeling that exhausted before, as if each cluster of amethyst and calcite, or the rainbow array of quartz each tapped a bit of energy as we passed them by. We called it a night soon afterwords, heading back to my little suburb and bidding farewell to Ann, who left to stay with a friend we’d met in the city rather than come home with us.

The next day we took a bit of a walking tour through my hometown, Vine, where I learned more about it than I’d ever previously known. On top of being founded on one of the most important routes to and from Menesopolis, it also acted as an important point for supplying the military effort in Earth’s civil war and both the solar wars. Also, it apparently used to be named Ayrhill, which would explain why every street in the old part of town are named after it.

One of the few landmarks Vine holds dear is the old red booster. A relic from the spaceport that used to pump life into the heart of this town, which is now a square of concrete and tarmac with rusted equipment and metal towers crumbling under the creepers that have weighed them down for decades. The industrial district contains no other remains besides this discarded first-stage booster, dolled up a little bit with a new shiny paint job. They still let you take a climb through it, the ancient wrought iron construction still reeking of oil and fuel.

That next week, after Leona had returned to New Tros,  someone else randomly came into town. Shayne Lynoir, the lesbian chemical biologist, was one of the nicer friends I had in high school. We’d begun to rehash things when she came out to visit Mars earlier this spring, seeing if she wanted to go to school at University Mars: Caspian. She had been on Adrastea for the summer, working some well paying chemistry job while she got to enjoy the sights of the canalous capital of Omstel.

She’d come home to Earth for a week to attend a funeral, so she was much relieved she could hang out with someone with whom she could share her new passion for the Fire of Jove. She went into detail about all the hi-grade cultivars she’d been privilege to, some of which I’d known from my new home, others of which I’d never even heard of. She had decided she would definitely choose UMC and a life on Mars over the peace corps or a Jovian school, excited to take advantage of the legality of the green medicine and become a rockstar chemist.

The third weekend I was back was the weekend of independence day. Leona came down from New Tros again, and this time Brick also came up from Carolina the day before, when we had a few drinks to celebrate his 21st birthday that I‘d missed since I last saw him. It was great seeing how my companions from the road trip were faring, and it would be fun to celebrate our world’s independence from Ganymede with friends from both my worlds.

I took them sailing the morning of the 4th. Along with my brother and a slew of his friends, we set out from a small port up in Chesapeake where my dad keeps his black-trimmed ship harbored. My brother and I manned the sails mostly while our friends got to enjoy the ride, taking a short tour out and around.

We had been maintaining a good clip for a short while when Zech got a mischievous idea. He had already felt the rush of invincibility when we hoisted him 40 feet upwards to repair one of the headsail lines that busted on our last jaunt. He got started putting a light suit on and finding a strong enough line, making for the aft.

“I’m gonna tie off and dive in,” he said with more confidence than I felt it was safe to have in space.

“Wait, what? I don’t think you…well…ok, I’ll get the camera,” I said, agreeing to the idea, but not sure if it was because I trusted him or if I liked the idea of something going wrong.

“To take pictures? That’s a good idea,” he said, securing his gauntlet like gloves to his sleeves.

“No, I’m gonna take a video, post you on the nets,” I snickered, turning on Leona’s clicki. “If this doesn’t get me a few hits on uScreen, I don’t know what will.”

“As long as you’re sure you’ll be fine,” our father said, making sure there was nothing ahead for a few thousand feet before locking the heading with the autopilot. “Just make sure you’ve got a life preserver ready on a line to give him, Klay,” he requested.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it,” I said patting blindly at it as I looked through the viewfinder. “Brick, Lazze, I want you guys on aft, ready to pull his rope in if he needs out.”

“Aye, aye,” Brick said, tightening a pair of gloves for grip.

I began filming. Zech secured the last lock on his helm and ran his thumb over a wristat built into the left gauntlet. He looked up, waved at the camera, and turned to wave at the rest of the people on board, I followed with my lens to get a shot of the audience before returning to my brother, leaning over to make sure his line was secure to a hard point on the ship, then snug it around his waist and looked to my dad for approval, who must have signaled him off camera. He dived off the back platform immediately.

At first he looked perfectly euphoric, simply tumbling weightless for a moment of bliss, I could see the glint of his smile through the visor. It disappeared suddenly as the rope pulled taught, jerking him violently towards us. He awkwardly struggled, flailing his arms as he tried to grab hold and swim back in.

“Get him out of there, now, start pulling, guys! Now!” my father barked. The other men began heaving him in while Zech crawled hand over hand up his end. I caught it all on camera, until he was back on board, threw his helmet off and was in my face.

“Why didn’t you throw the life preserver? I could have stayed out there if you did,” he was livid, and reasonably, I would be if I was just dangled off the back of a ship in outer space.

“Well somebody had to film it,” I said facetiously, still holding the clicki to my eye. When I saw he wasn’t amused, I switched it off and handed it off. “Dad wanted you back onboard and you already had a line secured to you. You think it would have been any easier to do it holding on to two ropes?”

“It might have made it easier to fight against the ship’s wake, I almost choked to death out there with the pressure,” he was still ready to hurt me.

“Or it might have made it harder to get you back in with even more resistance,” I tried to placate him, but he was upset. He calmed down eventually, but I could tell he was ready to push me off as soon as I wasn’t looking.

When we’d made it back to port we all split our separate ways. My brother had cooled down now, but he wouldn’t let me forget this for a while. Brick, Leona and I headed to their friends house nearby in Chesapeake, a part of the territory we referred to only as Fredneck.

We hadn’t arrived soon enough to get a good spot, or even find the park where everyone was set up to watch the large firework display, so we ended up watching it from the parking lot a nearby shopping center. The ecstatic incendiary devices tickled our senses for an extensive ceremony, filled with many new varieties I’d never seen blown up before.

The party afterwords was a lot of fun. I usually worry a bit about kickbacks I’m not familiar with more than a couple of people at, but I had a really good time with Brick’s friends from his Earth school. We drank, played pong and I played my music late into the night.

I bid farewell to each of them the next day, so glad we could get together again, and satisfied to finally have a sort of epilogue to the summer’s journey. I’ll glance back at this as the closing chapter of the road trip, and look forward to my next great adventure.

«The Festival – Part 3»

06-15-2309

On the third day, Saturday, I woke up staring at Leona again. This time I had rested much better, little white earplugs nestled deep enough to drown out the snoring coming from behind me. Lethargically we rose, groggy as we retreated from the hot morning sun, stumbling to the car as soon as we got up, starting the day off much alike the way we‘d ended the last–with beer, weed and AC.

We probably lounged inside for an hour or so before making our way to get some fresh water and wash up. We came back to smoke a little more, making some makeshift shade out of my tapestry and some duct tape. We got a little something on our stomachs as we hung out there, a few friends of theirs from Ithaki stopping by to say hello before going to get their drink on.

Still early in the morning, we heard music playing from the main stage, so we prepared what we’d need for the day, mostly the same as yesterday without the raingear, and headed over as quickly as possible. I also dragged Eon’s bag along with me this time, since I knew I’d have to do it eventually. I’d be bringing it home with me in Zech’s crawler anyway, and we could use another seat for a day or two.

They walked into the camp the same time we did, getting back from the Margarita Jim show that was put on secretly this morning. I knew he’d been added to the lineup last minute, but had no idea when he was supposed to go on. They had only heard of it when they were out getting breakfast, so they went to it unprepared. I wished I could have gone, again not a big fan but my dad is, so Zech and I would have known most of the word at least.

When they arrived they carried handfuls of confectionary delights to share with everyone. I looked down at the bloody mary I had in my hand and felt tickled at how wholesome my breakfast was today. Minkus raised a cup of tomato juice and vodka he’d got at the same stand to me in a toast.

“Nice. Breakfast of champions, my friend,” he said, taking a side on the behemoth‘s tail.

“I really like that I haven’t eaten anything today that didn’t contain weed,” Rip said with a big smile.

“If only every day could be like this,” Zech said, contemplating a life with edibles available all the time.

“It could be if you moved to Mars; it’s so legal there that it’s kinda scary,” I said, ever excited at the thought of buying it from a convenience store one day.

“We all know, that’s why we hate you,” Zech said, finishing his first cookie and taking a huge bite of the second while still glaring at me.

“What’s with the suitcase?” Rip asked, part of him hoping there would be drugs within.

“It’s Eon’s. She left all her stuff in NA when she moved back to Earth, so I got to drag it halfway across the solar system for her,” I said, sitting down on it heavily, spiteful to its contents.

“Ok…why would you do that for her after what she did?” he asked, always aghast at the stupid things men do for women.
“She’s paying me.”

“Oh, that’s legit,” he said, sitting down on the cooler next to me and retrieving his box of goodies from his backpack.

“Hey, I just ran into Eon,” Eli said, lighting himself a cigarette from a crushed pack. “I saw her, like, 10 days ago, or something,” he estimated, his eyes glazing over in memory.

“Oh, yeah? How is she?” I asked on impulse, just to small talk a bit. I really didn’t care about her well being, but I felt like I hadn’t spoken to Eli much this trip and wanted to chat. Ok, well maybe I was trying to figure out if she was still staying out of trouble, or if moving to Earth hadn’t helped her at all.

“She’s doing real well, man. I think, I don’t know, I can’t really remember what we talked about. I think she’s working at the mall again, or something,” he was beginning to get lost in his head.

“Knock, Knock?” Rip asked randomly right before he took a hit of the freshly packed bowl.

“Who’s there.” Minkus said quickly, holding out his hands to receive it from him.

“Hey, what? I’m sitting to the left of him, it should go to me,” I said, feeling confused and slighted.

“Yeah, but Mink said ‘Who’s there’ It’s kinda like a game, only someone sober enough to pay attention gets the second hit, then the rotation goes from there that round,” my brother kindly explained to me. I still felt gypped, but I shrugged, resolving to win the next time we played.

“So what are we going to see today?” Brick asked, glancing at the schedule for Saturday.

“Well the really important ones to see today are Cali Stripclub, Februraresque and GOVT, and those are all really late. Everything else today is pretty good, but I’m not so desperate to see anything in particular,” Rip assessed the day for us.

“Doesn’t The Boss headline tonight?” I asked, everyone around me flinching a little at the sound of his name. “What are we going to do during that?”

“Come back here and get high?” Minkus said? “Find ear plugs and get high?” 

“Either of those work for me,” I said chuckling. “I just wish we had something fun to take for Cali Stripclub,” I began muttering to myself without thinking.

My prayers were answered when moments later, out of nowhere, a heavy-lidded earth girl burst into our camp, necklaces and dreadlocks flailing about as she landed on to feet. She held in front of her a giant bag filled with tiny red and white pills as she shouted “Mmmescaliine!!”

We were simultaneously frightened and ecstatic; we didn’t know how to respond exactly. “What, yes! How much?” we seemed to each say, everyone reaching for their wallets at the same time.

“These are each 20,” she began to explain. “There isn’t much of this stuff around this year, so it’s going like mad. How much do you need, she asked, taking a count of raised hands, everyone but Leona, before trading a handful of capsules for a handful of money.

“Tell me, what’s this like, I’ve never done it,” Minkus requested, inspecting his pill, the only person who seemed nervous or at least curious.

“Well pure mescaline extract, like you’d get from a cactus, is like really intense, it makes your whole body feel weird and since it’s a purgative, it usually it makes you through up,” she started, watching Minkus tense up at the thought. “But this stuff is synthetic; it’s a lot mellower than what you’d expect from a psychedelic. It’s actually a lot like acid and molly at the same time,” she said, which seemed to illicit a sigh of confirmation from the party.

“Oh that’s perfect, that’s exactly what I’m looking for,” I said. She smiled; glad to find people who would really appreciate it.

“Is it anything like 2C-I or 2C-B?” Rip asked, obviously the expert here.

“I’d say it’s more like 2C-I, man. It will come in waves, too,” she said, stowing away the hundred-twenty dollars she just made. “Pleasure doing business with you guys, enjoy the gorkin’ show!” she yelled, disappearing as quickly as she came.

“Well this changes everything, doesn’t it?” Minkus asked Rip.
“Yeah, it does a bit. Well we’re gonna need a good half hour to let it kick in. You guys wanna just take them, like, 30 minutes before Cali Stripclub begins?” He suggested, looking at the schedule again.

“Yeah, that seems good, and we can just watch some of the end of Roger, Roger until it’s time to head over there, I know Klay mentioned them a few times on the way here,” Brick said, confirming with his schedule.

“Alright, so we can totes just go our own ways for now as long as we meet up back here in time to dose up,” he checked the time on his phone.

“Sounds good to me,” Brick began to put the schedule card away in his pocket, glancing at the little bit of green left in his pocket. “Today would be perfect if we had more of the good nug.”

“Heads! I got your dank right here!” a large man with a backpack was soliciting as he walked nearby. Everyone looked at him, then at Brick in wonder.

“This is just getting too trippy,” Minkus said, checking his shirt pocket to make sure he didn’t swallow his pill without thinking.

The day was shaping out perfectly, and so we set out for the arch, all seven of us together when we began. We managed to lose Zech somewhere before even getting to the end of line. He knew how to handle himself though, and he likely would have split the second we got inside, anyway. Minkus and Rip did, peeling off to leave Eli, Leona, Brick and I to watch Rod i Gabri.

The duo from Mars or some other Ionian world were masters each at the classical guitar. It was a great way to start the day, an event of true musicianship, the kind of thing you travel thousands of miles to see at a festival like this. The only musicians in the entire band, many songs would have Gabri playing her guitar like a bass while Rod played lead. Another featured a drum solo, her knuckles wrapping wildly against the hollow wooden body of the guitar while she slapped at the strings between beats. I was impressed, and when we had our fill we began to wander.

Gozo and Grambel were probably either at Kiley Jenis still, or they had moved on to Of Terranto by now, I couldn’t be sure. Brick and Eli wanted to see Executive Oxon, so we hung out a while at Which Stage to watch them. A solid, southern rock performance that proved more entertaining than I expected. They even had a girl from one of the other bands come on to sing with them as they covered some classic old songs, which were surprisingly well done, given how much I don’t like The Nocturnals. Before not too long at all, it was about time for us to head back to the camp.

We found Zech shortly before it was time to take our mescaline. He was passed out in the tent, where he’d apparently been most of the day since we became separated, all the cannabis food he ate hitting him at once with debilitating force. He wouldn’t budge as we tried to rouse him, so we shrugged and let him be, zipping the tent back up at Rip and Minkus walked up, eager to get started.

“Alright, here you each go,” Rip said, happy to be distributing them. He found he had one pill left over and asked “is Zech not taking his?”

“Yeah, he’s passed out right now, I tried waking him, but he’d probably be too tired to enjoy it even if he would get up,” I reasoned. He shrugged and closed up the container, slipping it into his box. “Hey, you haven’t taken one yet,” I reminded him.

“Oh, I’m not. I already know what 2C-I’s like. I did it, like, every day one summer. I sold my mescaline for 25, just in case something else interesting popped up, or we need more weed or gas,” he explained, a noble choice I wouldn’t have expected him to make, especially considering how excited he had been when we got them.

“That way he can babysit us too, if we so need a sober person,” Minkus added, obviously having discussed it with Rip beforehand.

“Alright then, I actually kind of safer that way. Uhh, bottoms up, guys?” I said, raising the tiny pill pinched between my fingers, everyone followed in suit and we swallowed them at approximately 5 pm.

“You do too much for your friends!” The voice of a desperate woman cried off in the background. Rip appeared, catching up with us after leaving the campsite.
“Someone on tranq just tried to sell me some,” he said, proudly.

“And you got it?” I asked, assuming that’s what his tone implied, and preparing my mind for the idea of a new drug.

“Wha–no. No, in fact, I didn’t do it. The way she got all offended that I didn’t want to, made it seem so much less appealing.”

“Yeah, she made an awfully poor poster for the substance, then,” I said, summing up his reasoning well enough to receive a nod from him.

We waited in line again at security, the time slowly ticking away each minute we remained behind a hundred hippies, nervous about what they’ve stashed in their shoes and crotches. I was more nervous about the sky melting away, or the feeling in my fingertips being replaced by fuzzy prickles, or any of a dozen other imaginative concerns worry you after you’ve ingested an unfamiliar psychotropic substance. Purely standard operating procedure.

Though it seemed like it had been doing something to my head since the moment I swallowed the little capsule, I can safely say that it actually kicked in as we approached the main stage to see Roger, Roger. A band from Earth that’s been around for a while, I had no idea they were as old as they looked, they have a very young voice and style. I was delighted to hear they were the same, if not better than their recorded material; crisp, clean, and so well polished.

It made a pleasant atmosphere for the onset of the mescaline. Slowly everything in my peripherals became brighter and moved about incomprehensibly, dodging perception by the time you turned to look at it. I could feel a strange weight come to rest on my shoulders, and a weird, cramp lurch across my stomach suddenly, as if I had just been ensnared in a trap. We bailed before the end of their show, wobbling along as Rip and Leona herded the four of us to Which Stage.

We arrived right as The Cali Stripclub began to play their incendiary introduction, setting up by a line of trees in the middle of what would be the first mezzanine. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them, or the first time I’d seen them at Bonnaroo. The cataclysmic psychedelic band, which blended a sharp and imaginative orchestration with a kind of sideshow attraction macabre, had been a favorite of mine for a long time, the reason I came here four years ago, and the only band I watched when I did that. I was on shrooms and acid that time; you picture it.

At the present time they had been given a much smaller slot to play in, but this only encouraged the Lunarian band to perform at almost twice the normal tempo, just to squeeze in everything the crowd needed to hear. The world that swayed and pitched violently around me heaved into fast-forward all of a sudden, like some eccentric magic carpet ride. Though the pace boggled the human mind, the singer, the drummer and the guitarist, who was the musical brains behind the band, never became unsynced in the audio melee. I, for one, had an amazing time.

So amazing that it only made the close of their show and the slog over to the main stage at sunset so much worse–especially when it was to watch The Boss and the C Street Band. The man, who really should have been washed up by now, had long been the poster boy for Earth, believed to represent it and all freedom that this nation offers. He may as well have written the national anthem as far as his generation was concerned, but that was the last one. Ours, a younger and, I’d hope to think, more sophisticated crowd, had no real connection to the man, other than bits of songs we’d heard on the radio growing up, which our parents probably became fed up with and changed half way through anyway.

I could see the appeal though, maybe only cause it takes cactus juice to do it, but I could understand why people liked him. He was a charismatic and powerful individual, one whom I couldn’t help but imagine leading some actual great cause, though now he was just playing with a dumb rock and roll band. I thought to myself ‘He should just fight our wars!’ not sure whether I liked it more because it would work, of if it didn’t we’d be rid of another worthless famous people.

Speaking of worthless famous people, as the novelty of the Earths patriot wore off, like some cheap spell they pumped into the air to enchant us for a while when the music began, I finally noticed the other members of his band. The guitarist looked just like that annoying old redheaded woman who thinks she deserves to be famous, the large bassist looked like the purple guy from the zombie movies and electronics commercials, hell, the drummer was the one from that late night talkshow; it was The Boss and the D-List Celebrity Band.

After the fourth song he brought the mood down and began to talk to the audience. We didn’t even make it through a single sentence before we began to pack up our stuff, it couldn’t matter what he was going to say.

“How’s everyone doing here at The Bonnaroo?!” he asked excitedly, his eyes wide from being high on being himself. “How’s everyone doing tonight? You know, tonight, folks, I know you thought you were going to go to a concert, but instead you came here to build a house,” he explained to us, very confused and still on enough drugs to interpret the moment with too much meaning for what he’s trying to get across.

“Really? A house?” I asked.

“Hey guys, we’re building a house,” Minkus stated informatively, as if trying to get everyone to pay attention himself.

“I wish I’d have known, I did not come prepared for this,” Brick said like a comedian, too. Mescaline seemed to make us think we were funny.

“Ugh, I’m so not down,” Rip sighed, packing his blanket into his pack.

“Let’s make like a fetus and head out,” Eli said for the fourth time today.

Some of the most unique music I heard was on the walk out of Centeroo. As if in protest or just contrast, the world outside the gates as alive as it had ever been. Excited and ecstatic individuals bounded about in the lanes, stoked that they had made the right choice for leaving behind that disgraceful salty shell of a man to wither on stage. The belly dancers and fire blowers were amuck, instrumentalists and censer bearers drawing in the crowds they didn’t wrangle. Men dressed in nothing but neon filament, glowing cords and self illuminating fabrics gallivanted by, along with women wearing nothing but a coat of paint and inlaid jewelry over their bodies.

If the price was right, you too could experience the event as any of the aforementioned characters, simply stop by a glow hut or a breast painting stand, or get your own instrument to fill the air, or join the harem for a while. You can do anything you want here if you have enough money, even purchase whatever feeling you wanted to from a passing salesman.

It’s like the Earthling Dream’s field day in this secluded paradise. By paying the expensive price for the ticket, you’re guaranteed a world of opportunity not afforded to those outside the event’s confines. And in this safe microcosm, this controlled experiment of epic proportions, all is permitted–and it still doesn’t crumble apart from the inside.

We were gonna wait out the next few hours of nonsense at the main camp, smoking and getting something to eat, but Leona needed to grab a few things from our camp, so I walked with her to keep her company. Also, I was coming down on mescaline at this point, and I felt like having a deep conversation in my introspective state.

“So what’s it like on Epimetheus? How is it different than here?” I asked, curious about the moon of Saturn that she’d stayed on last year.

“Here, like, Bonnaroo?” she asked, feeling like that would be a really easy question to answer as someone walked by offering some sort of pills.

“Hahaha, no. No, sorry; I meant here as in Earth,” I corrected.

“Oh..hmm,” she thought about it briefly, wondering herself what the biggest difference was for a moment. “It’s not all that different. I mean, people like the same things and they have the same complaints and struggles in their day to day lives. I was in the capital, too, though,” she clarified.

“Ah, I see,” I searched for another question, any question. I’d never been particularly interested in Epimetheus, especially compared to some of Saturn’s other moons, but talking about anyplace outside of the inner systems was worth while to me. “What was it like being the only Earthling on a planet of Dionians,” I asked.

“I wasn’t the only one there,” she said, knowing well I knew that, “But white people were few and far between either way. It was kinda neat though, anyone you saw that had the same color skin as you, you know you could probably strike up a conversation and make friends with. Otherwise it was actually weird cause they treated me like a sort of celebrity,” she started to explain.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you know… Cute white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing their clothes and eating their food and living life as one of them efficiently, kind of drew their attention more than you would expect. Maybe more than if I stood out like a tourist, maybe not; I’m not sure. But one time I was having a coffee, and looked up to like 50 men staring at me. Another time I was walking back to my home and I was followed by like 200 guys, some even taking pictures. It was crazy!”

“Gork, it sounds like it. That’s pretty cool though, not your typical reaction around here. I doubt I could go to any world were I’d get such a reaction, but I’d still like to travel plenty in my life,” I said.

“Yeah, I would suggest it. Something about seeing the world for yourself puts things in perspective,” she told me.

“I always figured so. Tell me, someone who’s not spent much time far from Earth, how much is our information filtered? How bad is our idea of the solar system compared to what everyone else knows?” an honest question I’ve always felt the need to answer.

“Well compared to a lot of places that aren’t linked up as well, it’s not that terrible. But considering what is actually served to us as a nation as opposed what one would discover on the nets, yeah: Earth doesn’t want it’s people to know everything. Especially about health and food–we make a lot of money off being sick and malnourished,” she had a tired spite behind these words.

“Gotta love this country,” I said sarcastically. “Well I think we’ve got everything we need, lets head back. I think Moar! will be starting soon.”

After meeting up for the last time that night to go through security again, we split up once inside. Leona, Brick, I peeled off to see the young jam band from upstate New Tros while the others headed in the direction of Naysayer. Having never listened to them to my knowledge, I couldn’t know what I was missing and reasoned I made the right choice. I also wasn’t familiar with Moar! but the others had vouched for them, and the epileptic light show at the end of the first song was enough to seal the deal for me.

When they dragged into their 4th or 5th extended jam I did begin to get tired. It had a lot more diversity than Karp did, but it was the same exact formula, the same style of music I’d listened to last night and would hear again tomorrow. I convinced Brick and Leona to leave so we could meet the others at This Tent for GOVT.

This would have been the third time I was supposed to see them by now: once I missed them by arrive to Sanctus Di Vinci too late, the other was much closer to Olympus and doesn’t have as clean an excuse. Here on Earth though I finally got to see what everyone was so excited about. We ran into Zech, who I hadn’t seen in heavens know how long, so ready to see on of his favorite bands.

After four boring songs I didn’t recognize, I proposed to the others that we leave and either see something else, or head back to the camp and call it a night. They agreed a little easier than I imagined, and together we made our way through Centeroo, passing by the closing number of Seven Foot Spikes, and one of those Moar! songs about beer. We figured leaving was the best option and headed back to our camp to smoke a bowl and pass out.

«←→»

I woke up on the last day of the concert feeling quite poorly rested. It was as late as any of us had slept, sometime around ten, but that wasn’t that much sleep even, considering no one in the entire farm had been able to pass out until Moar! stopped playing at 6 AM.

This morning, after crawling out of the tent like a pupa, we woke ourselves with water-bottle baths from reservoir of melted ice in the cooler, still freezing cold. It was refreshing, to say the least, and once we were into dry, clean clothes, we drank the last of our beers while smoking our waking bowl.

We met up with the others before noon, this time actually getting some food with everyon–real food and enriched food. We could tell it was going to be a slow day, no one making any real sudden movemnets, so when we got ready to see the shows we made sure to bring plenty of weed with us, as well as the blunt.

Civilian Cain was the first band we managed to watch that day, though I’m not sure any others were really playing early that day. We digested while we eased into the high of the day, Rip packing opium into one of the bowls to keep it interesting. There was nothing too memorable about the set, and soon we were on to the greens in front of the main stage.

We set up for Baditz Maru, the female hip-hop singer usually known for having outrageous hair or style. It looked like partied too hard last night as well, a grey sweatshirt hood pulled over her head and large mirrored sunglasses covering most of her face. We could tell it was going to be a slow day for her too.

After establishing the blanket that simply be our home base for the day, Zech, Eli and Rip left to go see some of the other attractions, Minkus wanting to watch her all the way through before leaving to run by the stand-up comedy tent. Leona and I left him with Brick as we ran to see Alan Falcon real quick. It was important that everyone be back before the next band came on the main stage, and especially important for whoever had the blunt.

Falcon put on an unbelievable performance. The band from northern Earth, surprisingly small compared to the depth of sound I’d known from their recordings, merely filled in the space between his multi-instrumental talent. During one song he could play four different ones, a guitar and a violin, both electric and hooked up to loop petals, along with a marimba or some sort of miniature xylophone as well as whistling into a specially effected microphone.

When we’d had our fill we headed back, and hoped Eli would be there in time. Luckily, he was the first to return after us, followed shortly by Mink and Rip, who arrived just before The Dogg took the stage.

One of the most famous and successful rappers still alive, and a fierce proponent for the sticky-icky-icky, it was a dream come true for every pothead in the audience, no matter what the color of your skin–though here it was mostly white. It’s always fun to see songs that have long been favorites of yours in a live performance, especially while doing the same things you would do listening to the music at home. We sparked the blunt and passed it around to everyone as soon as he began playing.

He put on an ever entertaining show, though it was often frustrating for an singer who is usually found featured on other artist’s songs and albums. All the really famous ones usually included another verse or two sung by someone else before he would start, so it was weird when the songs would go from the intro to the last verse when they began. It was still a great show though, and couldn’t have been topped off better.

“Smoke weed, mother gorkers,” he shouted, dropping the mic before exiting the stage.

We collected the foundation of our spot and moved forward one last time, setting up for the final show of the event. There were a few more shows going on: Posse of Ponies, Kitty Crate, and Aaron & Algae, all of which I could have seen myself having a good time at. Instead I was intent on getting a meal in heading back to the main camp to meet anyone who was going to drop acid with me for the last show.

Eli practically begged me for piece of the acid laced paper I’d bought, a sliver of a larger picture of Jerry himself, even offering to trade me his chillum for a taste. I felt bad enough that I didn’t even take it, and split it four ways between him, myself, Brick and Minkus as we sat on top of Zech’s long inert vehicle. We chewed our wads vigorously, intent to make up for ground lost to each other, and we walked to the event center one last time.

The acid was weak, though I’m sure it would have been just as impotent had it not been cut into itty bits. If it kicked in at all, it was a subtle filter slowly vibrating over the rest if the evening. The other three who dropped with me didn’t seem to demonstrate any overwhelming reaction either, but we had to enjoy the moment; the festival was coming to an end.

Back at the blanket where Minkus, Leona and Zech were seated, we rejoined our company with time to smoke before the next act went on. It was going to be Karp again, closing out Bonnaroo with a second performance. I was pretty sure they’d played everything I wanted them to the first time I watched them for 3 hours this weekend, but who knows what fun surprises they could have in store for anyone willing to stick around for the last show.

Unfortunately, the only ace up their sleeve was The Boss, whom they invited on stage to play a couple of songs that I’m not even sure he wrote. Luckily, it was uncanny enough of a shock to make it feel like the acid was working, so I sat back and tried to at least enjoy the novelty of it all–trying hard to ignore the tortured screams and shouts of protest all around me.

“Gork. I thought you had to be on something to have a bad trip,” Minkus said spitefully.

“And this is it, this is my nightmare,” grumbled Brick as he laid down, covering his face with a bandana he had around his neck.

“Should I wake you guys when it’s all over or do you want me to get you up whenever the four horsemen arrive?” I asked as I looked up at the sky, half expecting skeletal riders to mounting a sulfuric storm front to the tune of Mustang Sally.

“Don’t bother, just get me for the fat lady…or the messiah…whoever they get to sing the closing number,” Minkus grumbled as he too layed down, pulling his had down over his eyes.

After a moment of reflection, I turned to Rip, who was packing another bowl now that only a few people were still awake to smoke it with him. “You know, if this really were the end of the world, I think I’d be satisfied with my life, especially after everything that’s happened this past week.”

“How many times have you supposed to die by now?” he asked, taking a hit.

“Four times,” I answered quickly, obviously having counted already. “Wait…5 times; there were some awfully questionable quesadillas the other morning.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, handing off the pipe as he exhaled.

«←→»

I woke up on the fifth day, better rested than I had on any previous day of the festival. Technically it was already over, as there were no events scheduled or entertainment planned, but the final day is still always an important part of the Bonnaroo tradition. This was the day you do your last minute shopping before the vendors leave, or snatch up the things everyone left behind. Today you try to find the friends you lost at the beginning of the festival, or the ride home you never really had before it started. This is about the time you sell the last of your weed or anything else you can to make gas money before it‘s too late.

I packed up my few belongings, my backpack and the small suitcase I brought, and helped my companions dismantle the tent and load up Brick’s crawler. Without any real ceremony or hesitation, I waved them off as I stood in an empty campsite, watching them slowly roll away. I began the lonely trudge to my brother’s camp.

At first I thought it would be odd to have five people in a party, but Zech was reasonably incapacitated from the weed cookies he’d already eaten that morning. The three remaining standing did little more than that, difficultly sloshing through each step they took as they slowly filled the car. It was frustrating to watch happen, the potential energy not being utilized.

Anxious to get this show on the road, and generally irritated that I was joining this crew just to chauffeur it to Dominia, I felt a bit like a lieutenant given a unit of uncooperative cadets. I looked down on them stumbling to get the last of their things as I secured Eon’s case to the roof rack, feeling like I already hated them and I hadn’t even gotten behind the wheel yet. I barked a few commands at them and climbed behind the controls to adjust the settings, seats and monitors to my trim while I waited for them to finish.

Rip was the only one willing to be useful, so I had him sit shotgun, in charge of navigation, music, and bowl packing. Eli and Zech were completely passed out on either side of the back seat, as I wished Mink had been. He was awake and complaining the whole time, especially if I accidentally switched off the audio to the movie he was watching on the screen installed into the ceiling of the cabin, which was easy to do when we had to turn down the music to take a phone call. He wouldn’t let us turn up our music too high, either, otherwise it would drown out his headphones–which raised the important question of who’s comfort was more important.

I grumbled to myself as I thumbed over to cruise control, operating acceleration with my hand to give my legs a rest. Rip handed me a bowl right before I merged onto the freeway that we’d be taking most of the way through Dominia, and passed a small sign for the town Morris.

«The Festival – Part 2»

06-12-2309

On the second day of the festival, I woke up to the cry of the evil magpie, awake at the crack of dawn and willing to share the experience with everyone. I looked up at the already illuminated world with dirty, bloodshot eyes. To my right Leona, still immune to anything audio, was well asleep. To my left Brick was still snoring away, like a shield against any noise that could potentially wake him. I envied his defense as I rolled over and covered my head with the sweatshirt I’d used as a makeshift pillow.

I couldn’t tell if I actually rested over the next two hours, or just tossed and turned myself around one little nap, but I didn’t start getting up until the others did sometime around 9 in the morning. We roused ourselves slowly, eating what we could find appetizing that early in the morning, which wasn’t much more than a PB&J sandwich and a granola bar. We were anxious to meet up with the other group, so we briefly washed up and got on our way to find us a map.

We got our first taste of the strange world around us. Passing by a small pocket of food stands apparently on loan from a carnival, with flashing lights and an iridescent paint jobs, we found ourselves on the paved road we’d used to drive in last night.

“We should probably head that way,” Brick was pointing opposite of the way we came in, the direction everyone else seemed to be traveling in.

“Looks good to me. Do you think that giant question mark will be of any use to us,” I asked, noting the floating white balloon nearby to our right.

“Couldn’t hurt to check,” Brick shrugged as he started to lead the way.

The giant question mark was labeled well enough. There they filled us in on all we needed to know, handing us each a map plate with the abbreviated concert information contained. Before getting back to the road, I used the map to locate the closest water station to fill up with fresh water before searching for my brother’s camp among these thousands of other camps.

“Good morning,” I said spitefully over the phone.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” my brother simply responded.

“…Not much, where can we find you?”

“Uh, well we’re….you can…if you…well right now…” he continued, unhelpfully.

“Heavens, man! Where are you?” I was past impatient with him and I hadn’t even seen him yet.

“Balloon three. We’re by balloon number three right now, ge-” I cut him off after I heard all I needed to, hanging up the phone and pulling the map out of a cargo pocket to find #3.

The plastic card, loaded with a single program, displayed an aerial view of the 700 acre farm, broken up by a score of streets and avenues. The camping areas were in yellow, themselves each containing a dozen smaller lanes, and the 100 acre event center was in white at the south side of the farm, boasting 5 main stages, several small stages and hundreds of artisans and vendors–according to the info bubble.

The green circle with a “3” in it was located very close to the entrance of Centeroo, marking east-most secton in the first ring radiating from it. We ended up at the far end of the thoroughfare and could see the green balloon tied off somewhere ahead, and even further off, the very tip of the entrance arch visible over the top of the swarming crowd before us.

All three of us, the Martian and both Earthlings, marveled at everything we passed on display. Bags and blankets, with intricate, trippy patterns woven of hemp. Flowing hippie skirts and tie-dye shirts and accessories. Incense and burners of each shape and size, made of wood, stone and ceramic. Of course, there were the pipes and bongs, but most of what we saw looked thin and generic, nothing truly outstanding that called to us to waste our money on. They also sold food of the strangest types, brought in from all sides of the solar system, and all supposedly healthier for you–well, not the funnel cakes.

They definitely appeared to be on something when we found them. In an apparent daze, staring about and confused by their surroundings, was how we spotted them, loitering about a food stand. Rip and Zech were brightly colored, each with curly messes of hair atop their heads, cut by the same barber. Minkus was uncharacteristically bald, and appeared bruised about the eyes and forehead, like he’d been in an accident, or bar fight. He was bobbing up and down, singing back the name of his order to the beat of a nearby band playing when we sauntered up to them through the mud.

“Blue-Berry-Pan-Cakes! Blue-Berry-Pan-Cakes!” he went on in a deep voice, mimicking the bassline.

“What up, motha gorkas?!” I shouted sliding in when they hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Blu-Oh hey, what’s up!?” Minkus said, giving me a hug.

“Hey, man!” Rip was next, throwing an arm around me.

I stepped up to my brother, glaring at him for a second, before hugging the little guy. Well, not so little anymore it seemed, though he was only two years younger than me, it was strange to see he was as big as me now, and had more hair on his face. “Hey bro,” I finally said.

“What’s up, man?” a voice from behind me asked.

I turned to see Eli standing there, apparently having been there the whole time. “Whoa, I didn’t even notice you, man. How are you?” I asked, embarrassed I didn’t see him. He just shrugged.

“Hi guys,” Brick said, clearing his throat from behind everyone.

“Oh right, everyone this is Brick and Leona. They go to school in New Tros, and Brick‘s from Olympus county, he knew Linda,” I said to my old friends, who each nodded in understanding. “Guys, these are Rip, Minkus, Eli; they all went to school with me, Mink goes to school up north now, too. And this fuzzy guy is my brother, Zech.” I felt like I’d introduced everyone well enough.

After Minkus had received his blueberry pancakes, singing the theme song between each bite, we began the short walk to their camp site. Literally just around the corner from where we were standing, it didn’t take long at all for all seven of us to reach the nose of my brother’s supersized SUV. They opened the hatch to reveal a few seats on the tail and also pulled the cooler around for another.

“Sorry, we haven’t had this many people here. We didn’t realize we wouldn’t have enough seats,” Rip said, apologizing for his camp.

“No worries, I think I can fit up inside the hold, are you guys gonna be ok?” I asked my two companions.

“I’ll be fine for now, Leo?” Brick passed the question on.

“Yes, for now. I’ve got a folding seat back at our camp I could bring here. And a lamp for later at night,” she added, not noticing any of the tarps or lanterns you’d see accessorizing the other sites.

“You guys may wanna head back pretty soon and take care of that while it’s still early. It gets kinda hard to go back and forth all the time with this many people here,” Rip advised.

“Yeah, but first things first,” I insisted before anyone started moving.

“Hey, he’s right. You guys haven’t smoked yet right?” Minkus asked, his mouth full of breakfast.

“Oh, right on,” this convinced Brick to get comfortable and he sat down on the cooler, offering the other half to his roommate. Rip began to remove his box of goodies, a strange variation on the multi-pocketed case he usually carried his accoutrements.

“Check this out,” he said to me, removing his brand new teal blue pipe and handing it up to me on the tail.

“Wow, is this a…ah…what the gork? This is amazing, man,” I said, admiring the unnaturally blown glass with shock.

“Look what I got,” my brother chimed in from behind, displaying his bizarrely stretched pipe. I rolled the sturdy thing over in my hands, inspecting it.

“Well done, this one is perfect. I’m really impressed with these guys,” I passed both on to my original companions to appraise them.

“And I got this thing,” Eli said, leaning back from one of the front seats with a small blue chillum in his hand, still loaded with what looked like a ball of resin.

“Wait a sec,” I said, smelling something familiar before even taking the piece out of his hand. “Is this opium in here?”

“Yeah, son!” he said, excitedly snatching it back and removing a lighter to hit it.

“Pipes, opium…” I started

“Midies,” Minkus added, holding up a large bag he’d brought in.

“and Heads” Rip finished, producing a jar of what looked like purple and a bag of something orange, as well as the small baggie of black tar.

“Gork, how did you guys get all this stuff, you’ve only been here a day,” I was understandably impressed.

“We willed it all to us,” Rip explained in a deep, mystical voice as he clutched at an invisible ball of energy at his chest. I laughed a second until I noticed the deadpan expression on everyone else’s face.

“No really, we did. We manifested our desires,” Minkus said, usually skeptic of these sorts of things.

“Wait, really?” I was in disbelief.

“Yeah, it started when I sent Rip to find something for us to do,” he went on, “I was just telling Zech that I’d love to try chasing the dragon, and then bam, he appears again with opium.”

“Then I wished that we had something to smoke out of, besides the little thing I bought my mom,” Rip continued. “Then a glass blower wandered in and sold your bro and I our new pieces.

“Yep, then I wished for some dank, and someone came by to deliver it to us in moments,” Zech said. “Craziest thing ever, man.”

“Does it work with anything?” my mouth was agape as I looked about, marveling at the possibilities.

“Everything we’ve tried so far…here, hold on,” Minkus said, passing a freshly packed bowl to me to start. He stretched his arms for a second as he stood up, flinched his head a few times and cleared his throat before saying, very loudly “Man, I could really use some pussy!”

Everyone held their breaths as they waited to see if it would work. Would a desperately, attractive girl come running out of nowhere? Would a naked hooker fall from the sky? Would a kitty cat appear? After a minute it was apparent nothing would happen.

“Maybe it only works with drugs,” Brick suggested.

“Maybe everyone only gets one wish,” Leona said, looking around to everyone contemplatively nodding to her answer.

“Well, I don’t want to waste a wish, so somebody hand me a lighter,” I said, eyeing a green bowl in front of me.

After we were thoroughly baked, we wend our way through the other camps to find our own. Brick, Leona, Rip and I arrived back at the b-site in near no time, bringing with us a sleeping bag, pillow and jacket more suitable for Earth’s moist climate. We made sure to prepare everything we thought we’d need for the day: sunblock, water, snacks, maps, cigs, and a few umbrellas and ponchos incase the rain made a second appearance tonight. I grabbed my guitar to leave at the other camp and we were back on our way and harassed by the pushers in no time.

“Rolls, rolls, rolls,” some people would say under their breath as they passed. ‘Dust’, ‘Meteor’, and ‘Ultima’ were also whispered in such a way. The most common messages shot out this way were just initials like ‘K’, ‘H’, ‘X’, or “Q”.

“Lucy? Who was looking for Lucy, I found her,” another would say, less subtly. Girl’s names like ‘Molly’, ‘Stella’, or ‘Helen’ were often used, but sometimes over played, so people would start to get creative. ‘Kaleidoscope Eyes’ and ‘Chocolate Covered Shoelaces’ were obscure choices, but not as confusing as ‘8 Medal Olympian’. Eventually, you just assume anyone speaking in your general direction as they pass is trying to sell you something.

“I’ve got acid, 5 bucks a hit,” the most indiscreet of the salesmen would tell you as you walked by them. So forward and honest it was truly surreal, one had to marvel at it. What an amazing place where you can be so straightforward with your clients, and even haggle back with your vendors.

“Cookies. Five dollar cookies,” one kid with a large tuberware said passing by. I could see Rip straighten to attention, his antennae perking up a bit.

“C’mon,” he said back to us with determination as he sped up, tapping the kid on his bare shoulder and inviting him to take a walk down the nearest lane, away from all the prying eyes of the street.

“Alright, how many do you guys need?” he asked, getting his wallet out and opening the lid by rote.

“Uhm, well let’s see,” our Ionian-Davidian representative spoke, for us, turning to count heads real quick. “What if we get a bunch, will you cut a deal?”

“Yeah, just hurry up, what are you thinking, five for twenty? Six for twenty-five?”

“How about eight for thirty?” Leona chimed in real quick. I was already handing Rip 10 from me and another 10 from Brick to add to the pool. The salesman locked eyes with her for a second and then saw Rip handing him 30 dollars.

“Alright, alright,” he said, scooping out eight sugar cookies, benign enough in appearance, and trading them for the cash. “Pleasure doing business, gents. Enjoy,” he said, and returned to the real world.

“Ok, who wants how many?” Rip asked as he took two for himself and offered the other six.

“Oh, I don’t want any yet, thank you,” Leona politely turned it down.

“Really?” Brick asked. “Ok, I’ll take two then, Klay?”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll take two and we can give one to Mink and One to Zech,” I said taking my two and leaving the remaining pair for Rip to pocket. “I could always give my brother one of mine… or half of…naaaah,” I said, deciding to eat both as we hiked back.

I handed Eli the guitar, who graciously snatched it and disappeared for a while to play by himself, somewhere still in earshot. The rest of us discussed the plan for the remainder of the day.

“So what are we taking tonight?” Minkus asked of Representative Gozo, distracted by the act of packing his pipe.

“Hmm. Not sure yet,” he stopped everything to ponder. “I’d like to find E or Molly, maybe even 2CI or B. I think any of those will make this night most enjoyable,” he threw in.

“Well, you guys have fun with that, I think we’re gonna call it a night after Karp,” I said, speaking for the rest of the other camp, looking to them for confirmation to see they already looked ready to pass out.

“Aww, but you’re gonna miss Cedarpleat if you go to sleep. And Shiney Dots,” Rip said.

“Yeah, and GuyChat, dude; so sick,” Minkus added.

“Don’t you at least wanna see Ferrous Fortress,” my brother asked, insisting.

“You know, I’ve supposed to see them in Olympus two times already, I’m sure I’ll have another chance to when I’m less sleepy,” I said, received with a general shrug from the others.

“Hey did you ever finish all those flowers you guys had?” Zech queried. Brick and I looked at each other and shuddered slightly, remembering how close we came to dying that night.

“Yes, I think we’ve still got about an eighth left, I’m sure we didn’t eat anymore than a half each. They’re probably just in the cooler, too, Klay.”

“Do ya…want them?” I asked.

“Yes! What, you don’t?”

“Heavens, no. Please, you’d be doing Brick and I a favor.”

“Hey, can I have some, too?” Minkus asked my brother and I, whoever was in charge of doling it out.

“Yeah, and me too?” Eli wondered, miraculously appearing at sound of a new drug.

“Yes–gorkin’ vultures–you may. But I’m not just getting it for you. Follow me if you want the Flowers of Taurus,” I declared standing as I flipped my yellow scarf dramatically, and turned to lead them away.

“Wait, we’ll have to head to the shows soon,” Rip shouted to stop me.

“Hmm, well what do you suggest?” I asked, stopping mid-step.

“Well I think we were gonna go find some food,” Leona said, looking to Brick who nodded back, hunger behind his eyes.

“I guess I’ll go looking for tonight’s main course while the rest of you are gone then. Rendezvous here at 1500 hours?”

“When?” Zech asked facetiously.

“40 minutes, bro; let’s go.”

And so we split into three different missions, like in some RPG where all your characters separate to go on their own quests somewhere early on–so early you don’t get to choose who you take in each of your new parties. Brick and Leona’s goal seemed easy enough to handle by themselves, and Rip was leveled well enough to make it on his own. I, as the main character, felt like I was just dragging along a few expendable NPCs.

We got to the camp sometime after 2:30, the tent and crawler already hot to the touch from the unrestricted sun. I thumbed the keys in my pocket to open the door and began digging in the cooler for the psychedelic remnants.

“Hey, any of you guys want a beer? They’re still ice cold.” They all asked for one and I handed them out, they’d need something to wash what I removed next. “Behold!”

“Coffee?” Minkus asked.

“Chocolate truffle coffee?” Zech asked, looking more closely at it.

“Shut up,” I began to open the package and dig around the finely ground stuff with my wet fingers. I sighed, wiped my hand off on my pants, and poured half Venusian bean on the ground. I stopped when the baggy fell out.

“Behold,” I said again, retrieving it for them. “It’s up to you guys to decide how much you each get,” I handed the flowers to my brother. I grabbed myself a snack and popped open a beer while I watched them divvy up the larger pieces of heads and stems, then take pinches of the bluish powder at the bottom.

It’s always amusing to see people react to the filthy, mucusy texture when eating them raw. I happen to like it; it reminds me of the taste of sunflower seeds. The two blonde Earthlings grimaced and cringed with each tangy bite, immediately washing it down with a big swig of lager when they couldn’t take it anymore. The dark haired one, face shaded by the brim of his baseball cap, ate it like candy, delighting in the end of the bag when the others didn’t want anymore. We grabbed another round of beers before heading off to join the other parties.

After our rendezvous, we made our way to the event center. The lanes and roads were well established by sandled foot by now, the main streets slick with mud from runoff at all the water stations and cafes, laid over with hay that too had saturated and slipped under foot. Rip had to head back before filing through the security checkpoint into Centeroo, he had to drop off the pure MDMA he’d just bought himself and the others who were staying up late tonight. We entered separately but managed to reunite again at an easy enough landmark, a blue pillar with a hood over top like a mushroom cap that dispensed water.

The first band I saw was Mammal Commune, one of the prime names on the ticket for me. Unfortunately, it was mostly stuff of their new album; more mellow than their typical lineups of the past, and was too relaxing of a show to start my concert off at. Brick and Leona were willing to stick around with me while I waited for them to play something I liked, the other four went to see some other sets and promised to meet back up at the same place to see the next band on the same stage.

This was the ‘Which Stage’, the second main stage of Bonnaroo. The first was called ‘What Stage’, and there were three smaller tents called ‘That’, ‘This’ and ‘The Other’. Then, on top of that, there was a series of smaller, even harder to remember venues, and if you think this explanation is confusing, it’s not any easier when you actually have a map.

We sat on our blanket, amidst dozens of other groups of happy concertgoers similarly seated, surviving only on frozen lemonade treats after the Mammals were over with and we waited for the others to get back in the afternoon sun. A few minutes before The No No Nos were about to go on, Rip and Minkus returned. They had no idea where Zech or Eli were, lost somewhere in the mass of others aimlessly crowding all of the paths.

“It’s fine,” Rip said, packing the pipe he snuck in. “We’re each getting our own versions of Bonnaroo. If your bro’s ever not enjoying himself, he can always leave and go see something else, or even just find us,” he finished, handing it to me. I hit it as the band started, their female lead as hot as ever, seeming to be making love with the very air around her. I would have been content to stay and watch their entire set, no matter how repetitive it would have gotten, but after the first few songs we packed up our spot and began to find our next event.

Rip chose Sinisilver, the spunky Neptunian-Earthling girl who’s gotten real big just over this past year so. She was really fun to watch and had amazing report with the audience. After Eli had met up with us, my original party retreated with me to grab some food somewhere still in earshot of That Tent.

The three of us made it on to Art Blue, the old fellow at What Tent. None of us were particularly fans of his, or really all that familiar with his body of work, but we knew he had been popular since before our parents were our age. It was also amusing to see what kind of a crowd the soul singer drew, until we got too much a taste of an old couple in front of us.

It was just painful to watch one purple guy dancing with an over enthusiastic lady, double fisting two empty beer bottles so he wouldn’t actually have to lay his hands on her. We also tried to keep our eyes off the cellulite wedgie-matic, or the man dancing with another girl that continued to pick it out for her no matter how many times it lodged itself between her cheeks. For a while I wished I had gone to see 3D on the Teli with the others, but I’d already been unsatisfied at one of their shows.

We were so relieved when Art finished his set and the crowd had dispersed. We picked up our stuff and eagerly made our way a little closer to the stage, setting back down where we could see the stage and both of the building sized screens on either side of it. We were joined by someone, Minkus I believe, shortly after the start of the next band.

The Devlish Dudes, long lasting cult icons of rock, hip hop and rap, weren’t doing too bad in their old age. In their lengthy set they managed to play all of my favorites, a truly wholesome lineup they could have easily gone out on. Minkus departed before the end to meet up with the others at the main camp, just before the band began to fall apart. They managed to sabotage one of their most famous songs, but for our sake attempted to get it right instead of giving up.

When they’d given their bows and cleared off, Leona, Brick and I moved up even closer to the stage, but not by much. We still remained far enough back where we could set up and take a rave nap while the next act got ready. It was the main event of Friday evening, the recently reunited Karp, who got back together shortly after the leader’s year of court ordered rehab.

Either he had relapsed or never needed them though, because they still put on a satisfyingly psychedelic performance. During the first song, at every crescendo and turnaround, a wave glowsticks and other illuminated objects erupted into the night sky. The audience was truly participating, small pulses rising consistently at every beat and more swells emerging every couple of measures. The screen showed the band’s incredulous reaction, staring out under the hundreds of bright lights to see the multicolored swarm hovering over the crowd. You could tell they were enjoying this show too.

The crowd’s enthusiasm dwindled reasonably, settling in to enjoy the extended jam sessions that stretched each song to at least 10 minutes. We ached where we stood, our bodies requesting sleep from us as we tried to enjoy the rest of the show. We made it to the end though, a couple grueling but enjoyable hours later. Satiated, we grabbed our belongings one final time and trudged our way back to the camping areas along with the rest of the slow moving crowd.

Just outside of the gates we ran into the others, on their way to take molly and dance their asses off to the evening lineup for another 4 hours.

“Hey Zech, gimmie your keys, I wanna grab something from your truck on the way back,” I said, stopping him for only a second as he shouted back.

“It’s open. The batteries dead so the doors won’t lock. Just don’t lock it or we’re gorked,” he warned, running to catch up with the others.

At his quiet campsite we collected the items we’d left there over the day, sunglasses and hats, our battery powered lantern and the green that Brick had found earlier. I also grabbed my brothers new pipe, since none of us had anything appropriate with us, and they had others to use if they so need to tonight or in the morning. I had a feeling I would likely be its custodian this summer, or at least at just over Bonnaroo, so I tucked it with care into my pocket as if it were my own.

Back at our camp, we immediately climbed into the crawler and sunk into the seats, turning on the AC even though it was night time, just to cut through the layer of humidity stuck to our skin. Brick turned up the music, Leona passed us beers from the back seat, and I packed a bowl at the end of the second day.

«The Festival – Part 1»

06-11-2309

We woke up late and didn’t even hurry to get ready. We felt confident we’d make it in time. 9 o’clock rolled around and, sometime after breakfast was served, we finally got around to getting on the road. Our party of three set out in the 4-wheeled crawler down the last stretch of our journey before our main destination, the Bonnaroo festival.

It was at this exact same time that my brother pulled his SUV into the parking spot a volunteer in an orange vest waved him into. He had waited so long in line, following the slow moving trail of vehicles, all honking and hollering with excitement constantly for the past hour. On and on it went, to the middle of a grassy field, beside hundreds of others, and enough space between to comfortably fit a tent for each group.

His behemoth of a crawler lurched one last foot forward and came to a rest in the soft, rain fresh soil. He killed the engine and removed the key, his seat automatically un-adjusting to allow him more room to exit. After he set down the keys and remained seated, Zech Lane turned slowly to the rest of his group.

“Now bitches, we are here. Let‘s get high!” he said dramatically, and to much applause and cheer from the others.

Within thirty seconds all four members of their party had stepped down out of the navy blue beast and begun stretching and moaning. Minkus Grambel was the first out; he cracked his back, flinched his head to side a few times and pulled out a cigarette, tapping on a pack that matched the color of his shorts before lighting it.

Rip Gozo was soon after, slipping out of the passenger’s seat on the same side as Minkus. He stretched his arms together, giving out a strange, high-pitched grunt, and patted himself down for a pack of cigs. Finding none, he turned around to face the other Earthling.

“Hey Minkus, can I bum a Red from you?” he asked in a curious tone.

“You say it like we could possibly have another type of cigarette with us,” he retorted quickly, being on the road had made everyone a little edgy.

“I know that’s all we have, I was there when we bought the carton…so, can I have a cig?” he inquired again.

“Oh, right. Of course, man,” Minkus said apologetically as he pulled out the red and white box. “A cowboy killer for you.”

“Thanks,” Rip said as he lit it, and only taking a little puff of it. “I really hope buying all 200 of these will be worth it by the end of this.”

“More like…175. That was one long line, man,” Eli interjected. Mr. Bayer was a dopey looking Earthling in baggy jeans and a ball cap pulled low, but always had an ability to seem inconspicuous; the man would be downright unnoticeable in a crowd of garishly dressed hippies, let alone the likes of Rip and Minkus. “I’m sure I smoked a pack by myself,” he exaggerated, but lighting another as he joined them, walking around from the other back door.

“Guys, we really need to focus on setting up the tent,” my brother, Zech, reminded everyone as he rounded the front of his truck.

“He’s right, we have to stake our claim before the next car moves in, otherwise we won’t have enough room for everything,” Rip confirmed. He had been to every one of these festivals here since the year after I first went. I may have gone first, long ago in the day, relaying tales and fragments of what my memories revealed to anyone who would listen, but Rip was seasoned in the experience of Bonnaroo, this would be his fourth.

“Yeah..that..and I need to sleep,” Zech explained, glaring at Minkus for not getting behind the wheel at any point. He had made the 10 hour trek from Northern Dominia in one long stretch, and sat in line for another two; he desperately needed rest. He held out three fingers, putting them down one at a time, saying “Tent. Blunt. Sleep.”

“But I want to go out and…find something,” Eli moaned to himself, holding his elbows as his eyes searched far off.

“We can go out and find anything we want later,” he assured everyone, though he too looked off into the distance, longing to discover what palpable offerings there were at hand. “Also, it’s gonna be, like, way easier once everyone is done setting up, too,” he said, telling himself more than anyone else.

Zech was removing the nylon sack containing a 4-person tent that belonged to the Grambel family. “Mink, you’re really gonna have to help me with this. Eli, stop rolling that and…well…on second thought, roll it. I think we’ve got this.”

We were still elsewhere in Appalachia about two hours later. After an embarrassing, and downright soaking, stop into a Uber-Mart to stock up on last minute supplies and food to fill up whatever room we had left, our car had reached the end of waiting line for the festival. Ahead of us it seemed to go on infinitely, everyone pulled over to the shoulder to let local traffic through, and quickly behind us, as far back as we could see, it continued on, endless.

The police would roll by occasionally to assist, though that was mostly added up to shouting cryptic messages on the megaphone and getting our hopes up by continually saying we were almost there. They couldn’t be bothered to stop and inform us how long we actually had, better to just ride on by and squall at anyone standing in the middle of the road.

Brick, Leona and I waited about 15 minutes before becoming restless, eager to get in and get set up, knowing we were just around the corner from the entrance. It was about this time we started noticing pairs and groups of people bailing out from their vehicles and making a run for the tree line, sneaking in a quick pee break. We scoffed at their impatience, thinking we were mere minutes away from being let in.

“That’s it. I’m gonna get out and start making friends with the neighbors,” Brick said, unfastening his seatbelt.

“By neighbors you mean the car in front of us in line?” I asked, with a slight bitterness since I could have used a tree myself.

“Yep. Looks like a good enough time,” he said, opening the door as he snatched the pack of the cigarettes out of the console. The door slammed behind him, followed by a moment of silence.

“Well, I guess that means we get to be friends,” I said turning to Leona, taking the first opportunity alone with her to have a nice conversation.

Two hours later, at Zech’s campsite, Rip and Minkus returned from a browse through the shops along the thoroughfare to the event center. They managed to lose Eli somewhere along the way, but felt confident he‘d find his way back. Zech was still passed out in the tent, so the two present members opened up the tailgate of the behemoth, sat down and shared a bowl together.

“This is so astro, dude,” the blonde Earthling said, hitting the pipe out in the open, in broad daylight. He passed it back to his pointy eared companion, making no efforts to conceal it.

“Yeah, it’s always really nice here,” he responded flatly, well aware how awesome it was from the past three times he attended. He picked a curl of his dark hair out of his face and hit the little pipe they just. He glanced down at the tiny glass piece with a sour face as he exhaled, saying “Man, I should have bought a bigger one…I guess I’ll just give this one to my mom.”

“How many pipes that you didn’t want anymore have you given to your mom?” Minkus asked, facetiously.

“How many has she given to me?” Rip smirked.

“Hey, you guys wanna hang out over here?” a young woman’s voice called from another campsite. “We’re about to play a game of pong.”

Rip and Minkus looked at each other and nodded, turning to say in unison “Hell yeah!” They walked over with the unfinished pipe to the adjacent camp.

“Oh look, she’s making friends already,” their neighbor said to his brother. His girlfriend turned and gave him a face, sticking out her tongue.

“Shut up, now you have a team to play against,” she explained to him. None of them seemed too bright to Rip, Minkus just thought the neighbors were funny. They handed their new friends the bowl as they joined their game.

At nearly the same time, after two hours of waiting in line, I was finishing up the last pages of my tlog. Well, not the whole thing, just this ‘best of’ collection I have; the highlights, if you will. Realizing these last pages were all about Lou, I cut it short, making an ending out the middle of a random paragraph.

No one noticed, so I put my computer under the seat and picked my texti out of the console to check how long we’d been in line.

“That’s it, time for a beer,” I said to the back seat, holding my hand out and waiting for it to be filled.

Leona obliged, handing Brick and I a red and white can, then getting herself one. As we each cracked open a beer we noticed a crowd of hippies, and other brightly dressed folks our age, out frolicking and playing in the field we were parked beside. The traffic was remaining static in long enough intervals for people to start a game of ultimate or soccer between hobbling from point to point.

The best toy we could find was a beach ball Leona brought for the concert. As quickly as we could, we inflated it and ran out to the field. We soon learned how difficult it was to control such a light object in the breeze, which added a whole lot of unpredictability to the game, but frustrated the hell out of us.

Sometime around 2 in the afternoon Zech awoke, bathed in blue light and sweat, on top of his sleeping bag. All around him were the sounds of celebration: people laughing and shouting, beers popping and fireworks screeching, and music–music coming from more directions than he could count. He stretched, yawned, and unzipped the door of the cerulean tent they’d assembled some 5 hours ago, crawling out into the real world.

He was instead astounded by how surreal it was; standing up in a pool of vivid colors and sounds. He seemed to be treading in a sea of tents and cars that spanned as far as he looked in any direction, the horizon spiked with masts and waving flags, alive and brightly adorned. Giant balloons floated off in the distance, tethered to the ground by massive lines, and bottle rockets exploded in the sky nearby.

Rip and Minkus returned from another neighboring camp, waving goodbye to the pierced lesbians they just met. Minkus had a smitten expression on his face his companion was more than eager to wipe off.

“Just cause you’re extra feminine doesn’t mean they’ll find you any bit attractive,” Rip said, popping his bubble.

“Shut up. A man can dream, damn it.” He paused a moment to think, then said to himself “she kinda reminded me of LZ.”

“Well, look who’s finally alive. I mean, huh-what?” Rip quickly deflected, lest anyone notice how snarky he is all the time.

“Mornin’,” he responded, letting the joke roll off his back. What happened to Eli?” my little brother asked, noticing that his crew was short a member.

“Eli?” asked Minkus in a tone that made it seem like they’d been joking about him for a while.

“Yeah,” Rip continued, glancing at him with a smirk. “We haven’t seen him in hours..

“The man completely disappeared after we smoked and you passed out,” Minkus expressed with concern, but not enough to go out looking for him.

“Oh, but come on. We’d never find him out there; it’s, like, too insane,” Rip interjected with a swish of his hand.

“You’re right, it looks crazy from here,” Zech agreed, peering about for a second.

“If you really want to see something, check this out,” Minkus said, leading everyone to the side of the resting beast, where he climbed to the roof by stepping up the ladder and the wheel cowling to the hood. “The view’s amazing, guys. C’mon up here,” he waved to the others to follow. “And bring that fire, Rip.”

In a minute they were passing around the bowl, sitting 2 meters above everyone else’s heads, atop the blue back of the sleeping behemoth. To every direction there was excitement and joy; festivities raged to the horizon line. They could see the pulsing veins of fellow concertgoers between the other tents and vehicles, flowing like blood to the core of the several hundred acre event. They trailed with their eyes until they were all looking forward in amazement, jaws open.

“Holy gork!”

“My gorking heavens!”

“Shit, we can see the main stage from here,” Zech said, finally starting to wake up a bit.

“Wow guys…this is going to be a good year,” Rip said humbled, thinking it may be his best trip to this etesian Elusian so far.

An hour later, I was seated where I had been for what already felt like an eternity, head on my hand as I stared out the window of Brick’s crawler. I sighed, lit another of the non-menthol cigarettes I bummed from one of my neighbors. We’d started to get friendly with the adjacent cars in the few past hours.

To my left were the guys who drove down from New Tros, ready to take their X as soon as it got dark. On the right, behind us in line, were the guys from some other part of New Ganymede who debated whether or not they should fire up the grill the next time we come to a stop. And directly in front of me, knife-kid was at it again, beheading any wild flower he saw.

“That kid who seems to despise flowers is back,” I reported lazily. Leona hardly stirred from her book but Brick opened his eyes at least gave him a glance.

“That guy’s still choppin’ away, huh?” the Martian muttered, rolling his head back over where he was resting.

“I wonder what those poor, white flowers ever did to him,” I said to myself as I turned back to him, exhaling slowly. After another moment, I suddenly felt very fed up and started to climb out of the window as I exclaimed “That’s it!”

“How many times are we gonna go through this, you’ll never make it in on foot,” Brick hardly opened his eyes as he spoke.

“No-No, not again. I’m just gonna sit on the roof,” I said as I pulled myself out and up onto it.

From here I could see further ahead than I had before, and I definitely didn’t like what I saw. Nothing but the same thing over and over: tie-dye and technicolor crawling along the side of the road at a slug‘s pace.

I leaned over the driver’s side and pounded on the roof. Brick stuck his head out and stared at me irascibly. “Hey-” I started.

“What?” he snapped quickly.

“We shouldn’t have smoked the last of our weed last night.”

“I know, I realized that already,” he said glaring, “or sacrificed the last of it for luck last night, you Callitian.”

“Yeah, my bad. Look…we should have slaughtered a goat…or Leona,” I said jokingly.

“Haha,” his mood changed a bit. “No we’re trading the blonde for hallucinogens, remember?”

“What’s that?” she finally interjected, sticking her head out the window too.

“Nothing, go back to reading, hon,” I said, dismissing her. She gave me a puzzled look and shrugged, withdrawing back inside. Brick chuckled again and retreated as well. I remained on the roof, finishing my cigarette as I stared at the anxious line, slothing its way along.

Another hour later and Rip was just getting back to the camp, excited to smoke what he just bought. He was almost frolicking by the time he bounded into the site, greeted by two pairs of confused, blue eyes that only said goodbye to him a minute ago.

“Guess what I got, like, three camps away.”

“What, what?” Minkus asked, hoping it was something better than the brick weed he’d brought from up north.

He removed a baggie that contained a black, lumpy substance, and held it aloft, shouting “Mmmm-opium!” This lit up the eyes of the other crew members, excited to add the first exotic drug to the list for this trip.

“Did somebody say opium?” an optimistic voice called from around the car. Eli Bayer stepped out of nowhere, as if summoned by the tarry stuff.

“Yes, in fact, I did…Where did you come from, El?” Rip asked, feeling most confused of all.

“Huh? Oh, I was just in there,” he said, pointing to open driver’s door of the 6-wheel’d truck everyone was currently seated on the tail of.

“Really?” Minkus turned in amazement, obviously not even knowing he was there. “How long?” Eli just shrugged and joined them, sitting on a cooler with a jacket on top for a cushion.

“Now if only we had another pipe to smoke out of,” Rip started to mutter, staring at the little blue one. Not even a minute later, a large hippie came roaming passed the camp with a massive black case.

“Blown glass pieces! Finest Quality! Get them while they last!” he shouted in all directions, unashamedly. The crew just looked at each other a moment before, responding.

“Yo, over here!” Rip said, acting as representative for them. The salesman came over and displayed his wares: truly the finest of triple blown glass they had ever seen.

“I made these myself; all the ones you see here in blue don’t change color because I blew them with silver,” the artisan explained. Rip immediately gravitated to one of these metallic blue pieces, particularly such with what seemed like a sidecar-handle. Zech locked eyes with a different, sturdy one shaped similarly to a gavel. Both had strange honeycomb patterns that seemed to sweeten the deal. They noticed the prices though.

“I really won’t have enough for other stuff this weekend if I spend a hundred on this,” Rip complained. Zech was getting his wallet out.

“But it’s so gorkin’ awesome, man. You have to get it,” Minkus pleaded.

“It really is a pretty one,” Eli even added with his mysteriously present southern drawl..

“I can throw in one of these chillums here for free,” the man offered, still holding the case with one arm as he pointed to a series of short one-hitters in the front. Rip spotted a white one that looked surprisingly like a squid and snatched it up.

“Yea, ok. I’ll take these too then,” the dark curly haired Earthling said, bowing his head as if in defeat.

“And I’ll take this one for 75,” the light curly haired one said, handing over the money immediately.

“I appreciate it, pleasure doing business with ya’ll,” he thanked them and disappeared, but could still be heard, continuing to advertise himself nearby for a few more minutes.

“Wow guys, that was real lucky,” Minkus was still in a bit of shock. Rip and Zech continued eying the new pieces of their arsenals.

“I really wish I had some dank weed to christen this thing properly,” my brother said, seemingly to no one. Some force seemed to beck their call, as another, even brighter dressed hippie came trading through.

“Headeez! I‘ve got Orange and Purple!” he bellowed as he rounded another site and entered theirs.

“Yo, over here!” everyone yelled.

The clock in the HUD of brick’s crawler showed a few past five o’clock. I grumbled as I looked down into the pack of cigarettes I’d bought this morning. I at least consider myself lucky that I’d bought two, but that meant I’d really only have one the weekend. As I lit it, Brick turned to me.

“Hey, put your tuni back on, I’m getting sick of my playlist.”

“Uh, I exhausted mine hours ago, but I guess I could find something obscure,” I said, spending the next moment in complete silence, spare the click of the selector wheel. I sat, running scroll-wise for what seemed forever, eventually forgetting what I was doing and just absent mindedly spinning my thumb around as words streamed by unintelligible.

“Pick something, the click is maddening!” Brick had been getting impatient.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” I picked the next thing I saw, something we’d listened to on Luna, but it was long enough ago by now. “Damn it, why aren’t we at the shows yet, we’re missing out on so much right now.”

“Its ok guys, I’m sure we’ll be there soon, I mean…how much longer could this line be?” Leona asked rhetorically.

“It’s just we’ve been in this car for so damn long,” Brick moaned. “I think this is the longest we’ve been in these seats consecutively this entire trip,” he stated, looking to me to confirm.

“Well considering that we’ve gotten out and to play on every rocky out cropping along the way, or at least sat down in a restaurant for a good portion of time each day, even if it was a fast food joint, I’d say yea, this has been unbearably long and I hope it ends soon,” I said to two nodding heads. We had no idea how close or far we were from getting in.

It was about the same time, only a couple of miles away, that Rip, Minkus and Eli left the camp to go on another excursion into the vibrant world that surrounded them. Zech remained behind to mind the camp, an activity that wouldn’t require too much of the already fatigued lad. The others attempted to establish a viable path out of the three rows of other camps that impeded them from reaching the closest lane.

When they’d reached the already well trodden path, they came to join the gaudy, surging mass making its way to the junction between the event center and camping areas; a giant arch constructed in the middle of the farm with the words ‘Bonnaroo’ illuminated for all to see, though it was only slightly visible unless you were quite close by.

Rather than tag along the column of slowly moving bodies to the stages, the gang became distracted by the glittering attractions of the thoroughfare vendors. All sorts of baubles and trinkets dangled from leather thongs on the posts holding up the blue tarps of their shops.

Belly dancers and fire jugglers played in the street to bring attention to the shop, some waving about smoldering bunches of incense that filled the entire avenue with a pungent but memorable aroma. Brightly colored fabrics woven of natural fibers were sold alongside wood carvings and incense burners; screened tee shirts beside music memorabilia and ash trays. Every manner of smoking device available on display for all to lust for sat at their fingertips, and all could be theirs for the right price.

“This is what heaven is like, right,” Minkus asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, not at all,” Rip argued, “this is so much better!”

A roar of excitement filed its way back through the line to us, catching my attention and stirring me from my daydreams. It was just after 6 by the clock in the dash, and it looked like we were moving a considerable amount, compared to the last hours of drudgery that amounted to very little.

We suddenly came around a corner, a sharp right off the street with which we’d become sickeningly accustomed, onto an even more secluded, backwoods road. This really looked like the home stretch, and by the applause of all ahead and behind, there was no reason to believe it wasn’t.

We watched people in other vehicles climb out their open windows and sit, sideways on the door as if on a railing. It looked like a good idea, so I grabbed my guitar and followed suit, hanging onto the wooden instrument as we crept along at a few miles an hour. I tried to play anything but the same song I had been for days, the one I wrote right before this trip started, but eventually launched into a 6 minute rendition of it. And still, we kept crawling.

“We’ll be set up in no time, guys!” I shouted with glee, though my excitement began to wane when I looked ahead again to see red break lights flowing at us.

An hour later and it had begun to rain over the 700 acre and its surrounding areas. Hard rain; heavy and unrelenting to those improperly covered or prepared for such an occurrence. Three individuals, particularly so, began their withdrawal back to the car. A slow retreat though, none seemed to be too bothered by the downpour.

The one with strong Ionian features (dark curly hair and pointy ears), a brand new tie-dye shirt, and a new blanket wrapped around his shoulders, woven of coarse pink and grey fibers, lead the way. Behind him, the Earthling with blue eyes hid his buzzed blonde hair and slightly pointed ears under a brand new blue hat as he nestled his arms, warm underneath his favorite sweatshirt. Trailing in rear was the dopey looking one with dark hair and blue eyes who wore nothing but a t-shirt, but was too busy staring the new piece he had bought himself, the little blue chillum he imagined he’d get to use plenty.

Surprisingly, the fourth member of their crew was awake when they returned to the camp. The youngest one, skinny and pale with light blue eyes and long, curly blonde hair sat in the wide open cargo bay, noming on a box of cookies, dry and safe from the storm underneath the large hatch, swung up above him. He scooted back to let them in, seating himself on top of someone’s luggage.

Rip simply shook out his blanket and folded it up, the material dry as he was underneath it. Minkus swapped sweatshirts and wrapped the hood of his wet one around the inner handle of the large hatch to let it dry. Eli took off his soaked t-shirt and put a sweater on over his damp back, muttering something to himself as he hung his only shirt over a seat‘s headrest.

“Alright, who wants to get high,” Rip said, removing his tool kit and some freshly purchased supplies. Three eager faces responded by huddling up close to where he sat, the glow from the dash illuminating them all from behind.

At that same moment is when I noticed it beginning to rain. I was just thinking to myself that it had gotten dark all of a sudden when tiny points of moisture began to strike the windshield and my arm hanging out the window. I saw, already, that there was no one left playing outside or hanging out on someone else’s hood and started to roll up my window, the others doing so as well when they realized why.

We obviously weren’t at the gate yet, the short cut or whatever we thought we had taken ended up being just another lengthy leg of the line. There was no considerable end in sight and we sighed as the drizzle became a rain and then a downpour.

Two hours later and it was still coming down hard on the exterior of the vehicle, pounding arhythmically for what seemed like forever on this already infinite day. There wasn’t even music playing anymore, we only ran the engine to keep the air circulating while the windows were closed. Brick feared if the line kept going any longer that we’d run out of gas before reaching our camp. I tried to reassure him we’d never be able to burn the rest, but words like ‘never’ ‘could’ and impossible meant very little in these conditions.

“I wonder how the others are enjoying the festival so far,” I grumbled as I looked back out the window into the dark, wet nothingness.

“This isn’t so bad, you know?” Minkus said, turning to the others. “In fact, I think it’s kinda cool. As long as we’re dry, I don’t care if we’re missing any of the bands.”

“I wouldn’t want to be out at any of those shows in this weather, anyway,” Rip decided, pausing a second to think if any of them would even be worth getting soaked for. “No, it always seems like a good idea, but it only gets more and more miserable as the show goes on.

“What do you mean, that doesn’t sound like a good idea at all,” Minkus objected, turning to see Rip wasn’t being the slightest bit serious.

“You think Klay and his friends made it in ok?” Eli spoke from where he sat in one of the forward seats.

“I hope so,” Rip answered. “I thought they would have called the second they got in, but maybe they’re too tired or all their phones are dead,” he reasoned.

“Ok, look. There’s no way that all of their phones are dead. No, I think they just haven’t gotten in through the gates yet,” Minkus stated pessimistically.

“Well that sucks because they’re gonna have to cut the line off eventually,” Rip began thinking to himself. “Man, I hope they get in soon.”

“Seriously, I dunno how much longer I can stay awake,” Eli said groggily, obviously already starting to doze off.

“All we can do is wait I guess…” Rip said to the rain still falling outside.

Another two hours later and the rain had let up. At this point, we’d been in line nearly 12 hours now, and half a day of this monotony had worn on us greatly. We were, without a doubt this time, certain we were approaching the final stretch.

The locals were out here, set up all the way on the other side of the lawn from their trailers and track homes–front row seats to the freak show passing by. In folding chairs with a can of beer in their hands, they watched the procession march on ever slowly from the edge of the road. An entire day of amusement just came to them, better than anything they’d be able to find on teli.

One particularly hairy Earthling, seeming to barely have had a cut or trim since the turn of the millennium, decided to thrust himself into the spectacle. He made his way down the line of foreign vehicles, meeting and greeting every single one of the ill humored, brightly colored individuals with his beer-free hand. He informed us we were in Asbury, a promising detail according to what I’d remembered seeing on the map. Then he was on his stumbling, stuttering way to the next car down the line, the odorous oaf.

Next there were even vendor tables; unofficial, redneck-run kiosks offering everything from cold beer to ponchos and bug repellent, and all for three times the price that we saw them for anywhere outside in the real world. But this was a trap from here on in, no way to get out now so we’ll jack up the prices. Welcome to our amusement park–hope you enjoy the ride.

Less than half hour later and we were finally at the gate, one of the last cars before the cutoff. Suddenly, after hours of seeing nothing but other vehicles on either side of us, looking back we saw nothing but an empty road. We look forward and we’re the next car to show our tickets and get our bracelets. They also gave us garbage bags, which we brought plenty of, but they were out of event programs, which could have been really useful to have at the time.

We joined the last pack being led to their camp sites, and sat tangled with it for mere seconds compared to what we’d just been through. We wanted nothing more than to wait and rest a short while after we’d pulled into our lake front property, but we knew time was against us, and it could start raining again any second.

We started to set up our shelter, stomping out a square of grass large enough to lay down a tarp and then stretched out nylon construction. The tent up easily enough, and we were just getting inside for the first time to assess how much space we‘d have when the deluge resumed.

“Wow, good timing, guys,” Leona said, shocked at how well that worked out.

“That was pretty near perfect I must say,” and I did, sighing with relief.

“Eh…not too perfect,” Brick interrupted in an unsettling tone. “We’re leaking,” he said, pointing up.

We could see that the seal on the fly was weak, very weak. Water began to pour through all the seams of the hexagonally shaped top-piece of the tent, and the main layer wasn‘t designed to hold back moisture . We futilely held towels up above our heads to stop the flow until it lightened up enough to go out and do something about it.

I cut up one of the ponchos I bought at Uber-Mart for 50c and we used duct tape on the other seams, making it as waterproof as it would ever get. Brick and I made a ring around it twice with our rolls and covered every single spot and crack we could find, Leona helping by doing the same inside.

We all prepared to call it an evening, deciding it was probably too late to try to find anything to smoke, and that we should cut our losses and try early in the morning. That’s about when I realized that Zech was bringing my sleeping bag and ground mat, and none of our crew had brought a real blanket with us.

I called him up immediately, he answered the third try. “Hello?” his groggy voice crackled from my texti’s speaker.

“Hey bro, we’re in, where are you?”

“Uh..I dunno,” he paused a moment, “do you have a map?”

“No? No, they didn’t give me one.”

“Oh, well…I don’t know how I can be helpful right now,” he admitted.

“Ok…is there anyone still awake who could be more helpful than you?”

“Uh…no.”

“Well…thanks?”

“Night,” he said, his voice disappearing with a beep.

I ground my teeth together for a second before giving up, letting out a regretful sigh. “Guess I don’t get a sleeping bag tonight,” I shrugged.

I ended up using a giant hippie tapestry as a blanket, and a genuine, Venusian poncho as a sheet on top of the inflatable pool floatie I was offered as a mattress–luckily with a pillow built in to it. And, at least, I was given the middle, more comfortable of the three spots and least likely to roll up against the damp side of a tent in your sleep.

Unfortunately, like each other night of the trip, Brick began to snore heavily once he passed out. Each of the other times I had been stoned enough to ignore it, or was given a separate room entirely. Instead, I was sober, uncomfortable, and not properly covered. I rolled over and looked at Leona, deep in dream already with self-molding earplugs nestled deep enough to even drown out one’s own voice. I leaned back over, flat on my back, staring up at the top of tent until, finally, a kindly bullfrog serenaded me to sleep.