So funny, i didnt get no pictures…
so funny,
i ended up, after a gig gone awry….
(a gig gone bad???)
not really, just odd…
meeting up with some randoms,
after the party…
in front of my hotel…
girls who happened to party with Adam Beyer back in the day….in high school…
and crew, fifteen years ago,
when Scoot & i used to down GHB & jump into the swimming pool…
so long long ago…..(12 years?)
so long long ago…(14 years?)
how crazy.!!!!!
and she said (along with her smoking hot friend)
“they were not so famous, here, or anywhere…”
…
but we knew.
at least Scott & I knew.
Techno parties in the Sweedish forest were happening…
and so Robot Factory began….

they were partying here just the same as us…,

pills and pop-locks, and  lost-our-parents-trust…

SAME PARTY…CONTINENTS ACROSS>>>…..>>>….>>>

…to be continued…

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There was a way,  waaaaay out there among our city of lights at burning man,  there was a way that my hippie-ass necklaces bumped together and made a little ‘ding-ding-dink’ sound, a bell, a reminder, that all things are in their right place at all times.  I promised myself that every time i heard that, i would do my bestest to remember…the fleeting importance of life on this planet,  the eternal soul residing within.

AND ANYWAYS-  i suppose those ideas arent so hard to come by right now, getting flown to the far reaches of the planet, rocking on their dime and it all rides on music & charisma (might i be so bold).
But its all so different up in the far northern reaches of capitalism, and nobody knows here, nobody relates to our anti-establishment establishment.
But people, if this shit ever gets to my head, please sock me in the neck.  I realize it could all vanish in an instant.

AND back to the World Report :  Stockholm, Sweeden!!!   BALLS COLD here. Amazing beer. Ive spent most of my time sleeping, as usual,  only now with my gigantic pillar of a father in Tow, it might be funny to picture the both of us sharing a bed together for the first time in probably 25 years.  Trying to eek out some sleep before things get crazy and i have a show to put on.  He farts.  I fart.  The smell lingers.  He is huge. I am small.  We wake up and laugh about silly things, becoming more every day like the old friends we’ve always been, minus my drug-hiatus.
People here talk real funny, and cute.  Everyone looks like Tavis. Food is thick.   And for a good headspin, walk into old town, among buildings & history, five, six-hundred years. Whitey McGee has been here for longer than us punks set foot on injun soil.

always last minute, shit hits the fan.  i hit the wrong button or something.  so my gear goes batshit crazy on me,  as zero hour approaches every moment.   All-nighter-geekfests are commonplace lately as i try to get this shitshow running smoothly enough to board that beautiful Boeing 777 with confidence and a smile on my face.   This picture kind-of-sort-of captures the feeling of this ordeal…

i like how the laptop just sort of got kicked off the bed.