Tbk420

This is my personal summation. I've posted it before, and it's definitely TLDR, but what the hell:

Similar to many, I discovered the Dead at a point in my life where my priority was self-exploration. I was 17, fresh out of my parents' house, and the world was my playground. Is it any surprise that the lure of Dead lot was irresistable? Sure, I had heard "Skeletons from the Closet", but lets face it: I was going to the Civic Arena to find a rabbit hole, hopefully with the help of a kind vendor in the lot.

At the time, I was dating a girl who was living at the Jersey Shore, and things were not going well. Nonetheless, I slept out overnight in line at the National Record Mart for tix for us, and her friend. Back then, you could still sleep out without a hassle. I was stunned by all these strangers in line, who admittedly did not know each other, yet still had some strange "family" bond with each other. Even more odd was the way they readily accepted me into their clan. We partied, played chess and cards, and gave a collective "WOOHOO" when the doors opened, vowing that we would ALL meet up at the show in a few months.

So it's the day of the show, and the circus is in full swing outside. Fire jugglers, swirling tie-dye nymphs, bells, patchouli - all made a feast for the senses. To my left is a dude with an entire beer case full of mushrooms: $10 for all you could fit in a handful. To my right was my gatekeeper for the evening. "Gooney Birds" was the evenings sacrament, and I looked humorously at the little cartoon airplanes emblazoned on those little squares.

Show time, and things are building to critical mass. I mean the weirdness was thick enough to cut with a knife. We squeezed through doors that seemed drastically too small for the collective expanded minds, and I laughed when people started to "moo". Of course, although I did not know it at the time, life at a show will always lie in wait for the perfect time to throw you a nasty curveball. As my face was threatening to slide off, I was informed that I was dealing with a break-up, and found myself alone in the seats, ditched and obviously bummed. The lights suddenly went down, and the sudden blackness sent me further into funk.

. where I remember remarking that the opening act (Bruce Hornsby) really sounded good with Jerry when Jer sat in.. looking down as Jerry rendered a particularly soulful rendition of "Standing on the Moon". As the years went on. it was a middle-aged mama sitting next to me. when it was so hot you could fry an egg on the ground. and there was Jerry at the forefront. my secret became less and less intimate. calling 1-900-RUN-DEAD to get setlists. feeling a crushing blackness as the gates came crashing down. treated me to a "natural remedy".something big was going to happen.. I experienced the last Great American Adventure. FEELING the awesome power of percussion. Well. at times. Escaping the heat at RFK under the bridge. who sensed my meltdown. in this huge room that had gelled into one massive entity. Three Rivers 1990. leading us all like some teddy-bear Pied Piper.Sometimes salvation comes in the strangest guise. And on and on.. I felt myself swept into the vortex of collective consciousness.. listened intently. Four years later I would experience my last show there. Seeing the naked dude at intermission down on the field. directed specifically at me. I was changed forever that evening. One of many coincidences of time and setting that just floored me at a show. she kindly inquired what was wrong. I still vividly remember the huge full moon. She hugged me powerfully. I literally felt my soul being cleansed at times. my Pied Piper soldiered on.. . This night. All the while. Lucy in the Sky at Landover '93. and told me to focus on the right corner of the stage . The carnival that was Buckeye Lake. Through my desire to see Jerry and the boys.and so many others. and would spend the next eight years exploring this new world that opened up magically for me. At JFK. I wondered why there were so few people that made the trip to these rolling fields in the midst of a quiet Indiana town. The '91 Richfield Terrapin which ripped my face off. I received a gift that perhaps I still don't fully appreciate. and told me that everything was going to be OK. and my ex was 7 months pregnant. and a whole group of mamas gave up their smuggled water to keep her cool and hydrated. I unwittingly experienced a lifetime of uniqueness in a few short years. The last show ever at JFK. In '91. checking and re-checking those damn index cards the night before mail order. happen it did that night. His licks seemed. In true Kerouac style. In the small span of the preshow tuning. as a whole stadium cheered his clumsy attempts to elude security.. after we trudged through a cancelled show and the Blizzard of the Century to get there. Hornsby's last shows at the Palace '92.

vowing that we would ALL meet up at the show in a few months. Fire jugglers. and the world was my playground. Back then. and the circus is in full swing outside. I had heard "Skeletons from the Closet".But throughout it all. patchouli . you could still sleep out without a hassle. but the lessons and life that you crafted for me still live on. and her friend. This is my personal summation.all made a feast for the senses. If I listened carefully. And for that. I am eternally grateful. and I looked humorously at the little cartoon airplanes emblazoned on those little squares. We partied. I mean the weirdness was thick enough to cut with a knife. Is it any surprise that the lure of Dead lot was irresistable? Sure. but what the hell: Similar to many. I slept out overnight in line at the National Record Mart for tix for us. I thank you from the bottom of my soul. who admittedly did not know each other. "Gooney Birds" was the evenings sacrament. Nonetheless. the world outside ceased to exist. and gave a collective "WOOHOO" when the doors opened. Show time. and stars crashing to earth. I was 17. Jerry. I was dating a girl who was living at the Jersey Shore. swirling tie-dye nymphs. To my right was my gatekeeper for the evening. fresh out of my parents' house. but lets face it: I was going to the Civic Arena to find a rabbit hole. I lived for that moment when the lights went down. and then it was time to once again listen to Jer spin familiar tales of sea-captains. So it's the day of the show. I discovered the Dead at a point in my life where my priority was self-exploration. And for at least a few hours. played chess and cards. I've posted it before. and the collective yell ripped to the sky. cowboys. and things were not going well. hopefully with the help of a kind vendor in the lot. and things are building to critical mass. At the time. and I laughed when people started to . I'd hear his stern warnings about excess and anger. We squeezed through doors that seemed drastically too small for the collective expanded minds. I miss you more than any common words could ever hope to describe. and it's definitely TLDR. Even more odd was the way they readily accepted me into their clan. My skin would tingle in anticipation. To my left is a dude with an entire beer case full of mushrooms: $10 for all you could fit in a handful. I was stunned by all these strangers in line. yet still had some strange "family" bond with each other. bells.

This night. leading us all like some teddy-bear Pied Piper."moo". FEELING the awesome power of percussion. I was changed forever that evening. and told me that everything was going to be OK. Sometimes salvation comes in the strangest guise. life at a show will always lie in wait for the perfect time to throw you a nasty curveball. As the years went on. and would spend the next eight years exploring this new world that opened up magically for me. I unwittingly experienced a lifetime of uniqueness in a few short years. I was informed that I was dealing with a break-up. and found myself alone in the seats. I still vividly remember the huge full moon. I literally felt my soul being cleansed at times. and there was Jerry at the forefront. at times. and the sudden blackness sent me further into funk. Through my desire to see Jerry and the boys. she kindly inquired what was wrong. my Pied Piper soldiered on. although I did not know it at the time. In the small span of the preshow tuning. listened intently. Of course. my secret became less and less intimate. In '91. it was a middle-aged mama sitting next to me. in this huge room that had gelled into one massive entity. where I remember remarking that the opening act (Bruce Hornsby) really sounded good with Jerry when Jer sat in. looking down as Jerry rendered a particularly soulful rendition of "Standing on the Moon". I felt myself swept into the vortex of collective consciousness. Well. feeling a crushing blackness as the gates came crashing down. In true Kerouac style. Four years later I would experience my last show there. happen it did that night. directed specifically at me. At JFK. I experienced the last Great American Adventure. Escaping the heat at RFK under the bridge. All the while.something big was going to happen.and so many others. His licks seemed. and told me to focus on the right corner of the stage . The lights suddenly went down. ditched and obviously bummed. who sensed my meltdown... As my face was threatening to slide off. as a whole stadium cheered his clumsy attempts to . She hugged me powerfully. I received a gift that perhaps I still don't fully appreciate. The last show ever at JFK. One of many coincidences of time and setting that just floored me at a show.. checking and re-checking those damn index cards the night before mail order. Seeing the naked dude at intermission down on the field. treated me to a "natural remedy". I wondered why there were so few people that made the trip to these rolling fields in the midst of a quiet Indiana town. calling 1-900-RUN-DEAD to get setlists.

And for that. and stars crashing to earth.. The carnival that was Buckeye Lake. I lived for that moment when the lights went down. I miss you more than any common words could ever hope to describe. Lucy in the Sky at Landover '93. but the lessons and life that you crafted for me still live on. and then it was time to once again listen to Jer spin familiar tales of sea-captains. I am eternally grateful.elude security. The '91 Richfield Terrapin which ripped my face off. and my ex was 7 months pregnant. I thank you from the bottom of my soul. the world outside ceased to exist. cowboys. after we trudged through a cancelled show and the Blizzard of the Century to get there. Jerry. And for at least a few hours. Three Rivers 1990.. Hornsby's last shows at the Palace '92. And on and on. . But throughout it all. I'd hear his stern warnings about excess and anger. and the collective yell ripped to the sky.. when it was so hot you could fry an egg on the ground. If I listened carefully. and a whole group of mamas gave up their smuggled water to keep her cool and hydrated. My skin would tingle in anticipation..

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