I almost got killed.
I’m talking about that fucked up festival again of course, and trust me, we’re almost over this completely, but here’s a little more of what we were all dealing with.
I guess a lot of people know the person I’m going to talk about, and my guess is that normally he’s a really good guy, and honestly, I can believe it.
I had met the guy way before the free mushrooms, free MDMA and free booze were long gone and no one slept and a blanket of noise rock and the occasional rendition of Amazing Grace penetrated our minds, but come on, when I tell you what happened, you’re gonna have to admit that some one might have been slightly too far gone.
You might have even seen him fall off of the drum kit if you were lucky, onto his head, right on the clay stage.
That could have been a sign for someone to hand the guy some water, because whatever he had, he had a lot of it and it certainly wasn’t water.
Whatever it was, maybe he had too much too fast as The Grateful Dead song goes. They sure know about that Psychedelic shit.
They also talk about the darkness in the eyes. Nothing new under the sun, I tell ya.
Regardless, when the rain finally stopped, and I was done trying to save the Juno 106 from being destroyed while anyone else willing tried to raise a tarp over the speakers and chaos dominated the general vibe as water dumped out of the sky like God himself was sick of the bullshit pumping out of the speakers, I was standing by a fire, by the makeshift kitchen wearing some crown of thorns type of head piece I had found and I was shirtless, full of cynicism and sarcastic energy, and as I danced and laughed, I let everyone who was crowded under the one small amount of shelter available, that the rain was over and we were ready for more music and lets all join hands and praise the sun and be thankful for each other and love is the answer, and techno makes the moon glow at night and so on and so forth, when suddenly in front of me, also shirtless, and large and looming with a darkness surrounding him, and holding a wooden spear type of weapon, was the guy, who very well could have killed me, if things went the way they didn’t go.
Big guy. His eyes were telling a story. The story started with a lot of drinking, in the middle of the story was no sleep, and the ending was about to be written, and looked like the typical Stephen King type of bloody horror, where the Rasta Man gets sick and tired of the little whitey kid having fun at the expense of everyone else’s feelings, and loses his mind, like that writer guy did in The Shining and starts killing everyone with a small wooden spear.
He stood right in front of me pointing his mini spear at my chest and spoke up,
“Hey” he said and poked me with the sharp wooden end of the spear.
“Ok, bud. That actually hurt, and at this point the jokes over. You could probably kill me with that thing if you tried hard enough, especially because there’s no ambulance out here, and quite possibly not even soap, or a band aid.”
It was then that the reality of the situation struck me and I remembered a time when I saw the LAPD strap a friend of mine down while he jerked off violently, and I remembered my own weird trip once were I started in Philadelphia and ended up in Atlantic City New Jersey where all kinds of weird sexual and violent shit happened like me trying to steal a Grayhound bus, and shit got real for a second when dude talked again, very calmly.
“You’re the human sacrifice” He said as I tried to creep away, slowly.
“No, actually I’m not. I think you got the wrong guy. Perhaps you’re confused by the crown I’m wearing. Here. It’s not mine. I found it. I hold no importance here, trust me, I’m the last guy God would accept as a sacrifice. I’m pure skin and bones. Nope. Not me bud.”
He was still pointing the spear at me.
“It’s gotta be done. You know it’s true. You know it man.”
He was reasoning with me?
His eyes were insane. I mean, no disrespect to the man, I know he was gone, but I haven’t seen something like that since me and two people drank a whole bottle of Bacardi 151 in Hollywood and one of us lost her mind and swore she was gonna commit suicide that very night.
I tried to reason with the cat back, because we’re family, right?
“Hey man, what’s up? Why me?”
I swear to God, this is what he said, and I’m not even writing this in a bad way, I found it hilarious and I also have to say at this point that as unimportant as race is, this dude was African German, not just a German dude, so anyway, this is what he said,
“You have a Jewish attitude.”
I laughed. I actually found it funny, and said,
“Hey dude, blame my mom for that one, and further more WHY IS NO ONE JUMPING IN HERE TO HELP ME? Why is the only other big guy here walking away?”
And that’s when the whole situation was diffused in one sentence, when the other big dude went,
“Oh my God, he’s not gonna hurt you, we all know him, he’s a sweetheart.”
And then I looked at dude, and his spear dropped to his side, and his eyes were back and he was smiling, like one of those, ha ha ha, I’m so drunk I just pissed in the corner of your bedroom smiles and it was over. I was alive and the spear was no longer pointed at me and jesus, only seven more hours until the bus takes us out of here.
Then we hugged.
Love wins again.
One thought on “Part Three. I almost got killed/sacrificed.”
GENIUS: “like God himself was sick of the bullshit pumping out of the speakers”