Another festival, one year less of life, something like the equation on which to build the fundamental law of existence of somebody who has spent more years in than out. Truth is that this happens to someone who is after it, but it is not less truthful to say that it was impossible even for him to imagine reaching this point. Here, now and at this moment in time, it is difficult to measure success on the same scale as that teenager who in the mid nineties bought vinyl like there was no tomorrow. To decide whether this has landed on us or whether we have been chasing it, doesn’t bear thinking about anymore. What does it matter?
What is really happening here and now is that the lights have gone down again and that those last three days have snuffed away part of life, maybe the part between 56 and 59, or from 72 to 73, who knows. Three fucking days in which you put all your cards on the table…And what a fuck up, again!!!! And now what….smile and nod, again? Should we play Peter Pan again? No bloody way! Peter Pan doesn’t exist not even in Neverland.
I want to see my family
My wife and child waiting for me
I’ve got to go home
I’ve been so alone, you see