Glastonbury 2015 Diary: Part Two
Friday:
Fuck, so I got mangled and can’t read my shitty handwriting – got pissed and wandered around, and all was insanity. Had a bit of a dance, got lost, found everyone again (what are the chances?), got lost again and made my way slowly back to the campsite, where there was fire, and then passed out in my sleeping bag.
Coughing Blood
It’s all a bit fucked
because as soon as I arrived
I lost my mind;
I broke my phone
and have no way of getting home,
so I roam the fields alone.
It’s the morning after
my Wednesday,
even though it’s Friday,
and I scream
for the dogs and the badgers
and try to decipher some line
I wrote whilst pissed
in the dark
about time being like
a waterfall.
We come alive in the night-time
and we live to bring fire
to the lowlifes and liars
and to fight the good fight
for a lifetime –
we will not be beaten
by the loss of our modern technology.
It’s a good time
all over the place,
and I’m back
with poetic vengeance
mother
fucker.
Then I went to get OJ and a coffee, hoped the rain wouldn’t happen. Then had really bad anxiety – walked to Other Stage in search of food but not feeling it. Eventually walked back and got a fruit salad.
Pistols Mk#2
Skin tight lines
packed in Glade
and tucked up in
chloroform,
storms falling
like stars from the sky
and ganja smoke
rifling the bra-less,
fallen in the cracks
as they search your bags
for contraband;
a trumpet,
announcing another trumpet
brought down
in sickening harmony,
fallen in and out
and down again,
with vomit on my trousers.
Glade?
This ain’t a glade,
it’s demons in the shade
when we are not the same,
the blame game we played
an age ago,
true dub
tucked under
chloroformed jungle.
And now I’m feeling dire, sat by the Pyramid Stage watching weird ballet people – The Michael Clarke Company.
Let’s Get Vulgar
Hey man
dontchaknow
how it is?
The stench of
portaloos
baking
in the heat –
we’ve all got
bodily functions,
but some bodies
function more
than others –
as for me,
I have IBS
and anxiety –
both are made worse
by booze,
and they are
the two worst things
for a festival.
I have so much to do
and no time to do it in –
bring me hippies
or bring me peace.
The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament
This message
is brought to you
by the sane,
who refuse to pay
for the pain
you cause
to strangers –
I want my £100 billion
back
so bad –
think about what
we could do with it –
Bail out bankers!
Fund the NHS!
Pay my pension!
My nukes
are your nukes,
and if we are
all going to die,
then let us die
together.
After that, reggae from Chronixx – they were pretty good and helped to lift my spirits. Then back to camp for a couple more beers.
On-Site
Droplets of rain
as the fun bumps,
singer songwriters
with names like Tom Fletcher
and Carl Hopper
who all sound the same,
whatever the weather.
Photographed
mugshots
tripping along guy ropes;
the burn
of the high UV
and pollen count.
Battered barrels
used for scooting
usefully,
tops and bottoms
holding back
on the hillside.
Gotta be
homeschooled
living the life
uneventfully;
gotta catch the madness
like a butterfly
in a glass cage.
Then for short wander to Theatre & Circus field to chill at Poetry & Words before Dub Pistols. Heard John Hicks get welcomed onto the stage and shortly afterwards get taken offstage, whilst having a quick pint at the Ridge & Furrow bar. Then joined Greenpeace by accident and moved on to Dub Pistols – started raining but I was already inside the tent. Danced and shit, then back to campsite to resupply.
A Quick Poem Before the Wolves Come Home
All of the evil
spread like a hooker’s legs,
and your devilled eggs
are heaven sent,
I reckon –
I am an American
veteran,
sent to protect you,
and did I mention
that affection’s
my intention?
I wish I could afford
to risk my fortune
on the dice that fall
from your hand.
Out into the rain for Mary J Blige who was okay, then went for a walk and ended up getting cheesy chips and curry sauce, then watching Motorhead as the sun came out again. The sound wasn’t particularly good, but they were enjoyable enough.
Lemmy
You shoulda retired
and kept the glory
while you had it,
but with your sideburns
you try,
and that’s commendable.
Here we go again
fam,
it’s uncontrollable.
Back to the campsite again, then to Pyramid for the secret act before Florence, which turned out to be The Libertines, who were pretty good. Then to Park Stage for Jamie XX, followed by the walk to Sonic for Borgore. Couldn’t find it, so had a sit and listened to whatever the last act of the day at West Holts was.
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