Perth

You can feel it, this electricity that pulsates when this many people come together over something they all love equally.


It's a Thursday night. 8:30 pm. They open with Perth when I'm in line, cursing myself for dishing out 8 bucks for a lousy beer. The weight of the day heavy on me, unwilling to dissipate as quickly as I'd wished.


Why didn't I bring a flask? Whatever.


The lights dim and I get antsy, this is it. An uneven guitar line enters, familiar and bittersweet. A death precession in the making. The weight lifts, I have my beer, I'm off to tuck myself in with what feels like 50,000 of us drifting in and out of one another.

It's so beautiful, I feel disconnected from myself momentarily. I'm slightly buzzed, it's been hours since I ate. I closed my eyes and inhale deeply, letting every sound, every ounce of reverb, break me evenly. 






I press myself into the green sweater of the guy standing in front of me. Even through the weed and smell of nearby settling compost, his soap or laundry detergent or whatever it is hits me.


Chamomile, maybe.


I feel content. At home. At peace with everything.


I finish my beer and take the stairs to the second level as they begin Towers, pausing to stare out across an uneven mountain side of faces. All faced forward, edges bleeding into the cascading lights pouring from the stage. My heart is full.

 I've almost forgotten what this is like. This cohesiveness. I'm grateful, I feel cleansed.