Yeah. I am not going to go because I heard the art was bad this year, and it was going to be hot, and it was going to be dusty, and the people were not going to be good or anyone I ever knew and I knew I wouldn’t enjoy it.
And as for that devious and neurotic joy in spreading rumors of a “dusty season” don’t you dare. We know you trollin’.
The snow pack and water level suggest to me that it will never ever be dusty at all ever… and any first timers reading this do not have to be worried about
c) bringing water
d) keeping the vagina properly lubed.
It all happens serendipitously.
I will say this thought…
You are a badass, and you don’t really have anything to prove to anyone ever. Â What’s funnier… you don’t even have shit to prove to yourself. You are proud, I know… I know. Â But you don’t need to prove anything to yourself. Â It’s like the last 10 minutes of a 60 minute workout. Â It’s easy to do, and there’s no point in stopping. Â But anyone willing to go the distance just to say “see I told you the fuck so” wouldn’t give a shit about going somewhere magical and spending the time in a different way because a) there is a lot to see during our short flicker, and b) FUCK ALL OF YOU.
Leave if you want. Â Who gives a shit. Â Go to Wilbur Hot Springs and soak, live, etc. Â go to the ocean and knock on doors and sell fruit and hope for clarity.
The season of abject doubt is over, and if you don’t want to finish your book you don’t have to because sometimes books aren’t as good as people say, and sometimes there are so many books you are an asshole for reading the same one over again.