Paul Siegell


and the two Seminole Reservation-miles of campground immediately began un-
          piecing itself: tents a-comin’ down
as if melting Florida Everglade igloos/as if the fields of Big Cypress sea turtles
          had set their eggs & started packing their shells,
returning their lives to the traffic & whims a-the new, er, Millennium’s currents>

we left that stage, graduated—

for when the sun return’d, Day One in “Y2K,” return’d its stellar attention to the Big
Cypress Seminole Indian Reservation of the Everglades, we: the pleased spoil’d raw
awesome exhausted 75,000+ in attendance—some of which just up from slumber—

perceiving it monumental—

the celestially epic culmination of

                                                       a two-day fête soundboarding
                                          84 celebrated songs w/ enough gumption
                                  to make it, & us, feel: Meaningful> we_were there—
                               we_went—we saw                            it: An A+-ambitious,
                          hotdog- & cheesecake-                             ridiculous all-nighter
                            which transformed                                          a once glowring-
                                 iridescent                                                organic rave into an
                                                                                             8AM oatmeal-sluggish
                                                                                        movement of Happy
                                                                                     Refugees heading
                                                                            back to tents & the
                                                                       patterns inside our
                                                             sleeping bags; knowing
                                                     it stood for us
. the summit
                                             of a career accomplished,
                                      a jamband faced w/ hiatus
                                  & eventual hike down—                                                   apart.
                               all while amateur fireworks, SeVeRe to the ear, were still
                               in-flight & festive—ENORMOUS horses were still secure,
                               supporting our officers—& “nugs,” in high ironic demand.
                               (((Pharmies? Got any pharmies? I need some pharmies.)))

perceiving it stately, courthouse-like: pediment, columns and all—

for when the sun return’d alive, we slowly stitch’d ourselves outside the gates
           of American Concert Venue History
w/o a proper encore to New Year’s Eve—only an über-nasty, nonstop super-set
           beginning a quarter before Midnight & all-the-way ending just after
                                                  (((Whooo’s got my bootlegs?)))

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