This is what I would have seen if millions of people weren't blocking my view

Radiohead Live

This post is two weeks overdue. I saw Radiohead on Friday the 22nd in the Golden Gate Park at approximately eight o'clock in the evening. They were the first nocturnal musical act ever to play in the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Apparently no band has been worthy enough to perform at night since the establishment of this great urban park space in the late 19th century.

I saw Beck give a performance beforehand. I need not waste further words on this matter (sorry but mediocre performance + ZZ Top/ Blues Brothers look= loser! Seriously. And he played that song quite mediocrely).

When I finally made it to Radiohead's stage after a 15-minute journey traversing the wretchedly cramped fields of orgiastic music fiends, reaching a spot about .025 miles away, I stood in a sea of crazed uberfans far larger than the state of Alaska. Larger by millions of people, some would guesstimate. I would have loved to see Palin govern us: ha! (Sidenote: burn! Did you catch that burn? I totally burned that lady--what a scorcher).

I wrote an epic poem for Thom Yorke in my head as I listened to my favorite song in the world, "Paranoid Android." I recited it to my friend Ami later (she's just like me, but withou the "ty"):

Thom Yorke
You make every pore of my body morph
into tiny vaginas
to be penetrated by the great cosmic cock
of divine sonic rapture
simultaneously
If you were an astronaut
you'd be out of this world

One day I shall endeavor to write a poem a bit on the eloquent side, like this one from Joseph Moncure March's "The Wild Party":

Some love is fire: some love is rust:
But the fiercest, cleanest love is lust.
And their lust was tremendous. It had the feel
Of hammers clanging; and stone; and steel:
And torches of the savage, roaring kind
That rip through iron, and strike men blind:
Of long trains crashing through caverns under
Grey trembling streets, like angry thunder:
Of engines throbbing; and hoarse steam spouting;
And feet tramping; and great crowds shouting.
A lust so savage, they could have wrenched.
The flesh from bone, and not have blenched.

Sigh. Next time.