RFID chips, a privately-funded police state, cult recruiters, and enough soma to make Indra tap out. Is it just another music festival, or a dress rehearsal for dystopia? From a rigger’s diary at RockStarMartyr.net:
It took nearly 24 hours of unbroken sleep to recover from my Bonnaroocleosis. Like other workers, performers, and festicle-goers in attendance, I’ve been hacking up silty brown lung-dumplings and blowing whole coal fields of black boogers into rolls of tissue.
The annual Bonnaroo dust storm could be a preview of the world after a nuclear cataclysm, where those so privileged will wring their desperate satisfaction from tingling chemicals, sun-seared flesh on display, and the pulsating rhythm of pleasure machines, leaving pathetic Plebeians to pick through the scraps.
Once again, I had a blast under the mushroom cloud.
Monday, June 6: Say “Moo” motherfucker
I’m late as usual to pick up Glen the Red, a fellow rigger who packed his camping gear and work tools hours ago.… Read the rest