Dear Tony 13: EDC, Gravestones, Gifts
Dear Tony!
Some random thoughts I had watering the gravestones in Japan. Graveyards and shrines are everywhere, little holy sites that invite prayer or offerings in coins, alcohol, flowers, fruit, or water. And because I have no time line in Japan, I nearly always take a second to play with the shrine.
Sometimes I feel a little silly, in my colorful clothing, watering stones, praying to totems from a religion I don’t believe in, to gods I don’t know exists, for no reason at all, at grave markers I can’t understand. But then again. Everything we do is just made up. There’s no purpose for any of it. We just make up the rules we want to live by.
I like watering stones. It’s an effort in futility. A sign of respect. A time to slow down and believe in something greater than myself.
See. I don’t know if there is resurrection or immortality. I don’t know if anything we mortals do will change anything we see; although the human collective does some powerful things. Observe the trains that rumble by with frequency. The drills and cranes that move tons of dirt and rubble to put up a convenience store to sell us cigarettes and beer and cheap fried chicken.
I know that we do not belong here; we made it our own.
Otherwise the spirits of the forest would reclaim the land we dug up.
Would drive us back to weathering rain in caves; uncaring, unrelenting mother nature.
But I know this.
Caves or homes or bars. I’d offer anyone a drink. Water is even better, water is free.
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I went to EDC Japan. Just for a 1 day. The festival was circling the things I was doing and the event continued to draw me in. It was going on while I happened to be in Tokyo. I ran into an official photographer. I also chatted with a Japanese local who lived 3 years in Fort Greene. And I was with just the right person to go with.
Festivals are a special place for me, because it breaks rules and barriers for social norms. Lots and lots of people find sin in freedom, as do I [I’m no saint.] But I also find a childlike form of wonder that gives me a fantastic ability to connect.
Enter Shohei, a very Japanese middle aged man. As a K?D drops Porter’s Shelter, we’re chatting about lives, goals, music, and poetry. At first, he was quite taken aback. I’m a weirdo in the best of circumstances. Festivals in other countries are definitely different. Plus tack on Japanese formality. The language barrier.
Yet. Somehow. I stumble my way forward into an authentic interaction. Weird, but beautiful. I gift some poetry, we share instagrams, tag the pic, and once again I find myself the owner of another precious memory of how connected all us humans are.
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I go to the bathroom, and as for every fest, it’s a shitshow [ha.] There’s clearly, clearly, not enough for the size of the fest. Maybe a dozen porta potties, plus whatever structures they had. And as in the Western tradition I was raised in, I am not interested in waiting in the biggest line, just to be polite, particularly at a festival. Sorry, not sorry. I’m not here to waste 30 minutes of a set just waiting in the line that crawls forward.
The Japanese love a queue, and are way too polite to bend rules; even for efficiency. But I’m always in for an explore to see my options. I ignore the portapotties, but to notice that right next to them are the permanent public bathrooms. The stalls in the structure are fairly abandoned and I sneak my way past the massive lines to be in and out in less than a few minutes.
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[ALSO! EDC Japan did not have water refill stations. They gave out single use free bottles that definitely ran out by the end. Because, sponsorship. Terrible]
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I’m not an anarchist, even if I definitely consider myself part of the chaotic alignment. I just happen to choose my own rules, sort of regardless of the architecture around me.
I do know this though. I’m generous with love. Gravestones or babies, festies or office colleagues, goodbois and Commodore, trees and rocks, strangers and friends.
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I hope you enjoyed the stories Tony. Save me a seat when my reservation is called, please.
Much love,
Winston
