those red kites hovered and turned above our heads quite low wheeling on hot therms looking prehistoric pterodactyl in their huge immense slow drift presence under the clouds unhurried and dreamy in blue sun sky when we put everything in pitched up canvas across parched grass and sweat and 1st drink in cool disco tent bar and sat and snacked and looked at sky again after dry road dust drive and motorway and flickering country lanes and hip hop and rock n roll and laughing crazy maniacs for the weekend to be all that again and more of drinks and friends and I thought I could never be happier now or ever and Bambi and Nick and Liz and me we broke our guts in merriment and booze in the dancing tent and favourite tunes that break your stupid heart and make you smile and we drank some more and set up our equipment and did our stuff together that 1st evening so that people might like the things we do and said in that black shady old wood barn while Neil and his family made man-sized bread outside and that show was the opposite to sunday when I read in the stuffy drawing room hungover dry-throated and sleepy but then it was all warm evening and muggy and doughy and dusky lights coming on as the heavens darkened ready for nighttime and new acquaintances and getting to know old ones more and deeper and went back to drink extra and pretend to dance before mooch across grass and Tilda wasn’t there but she was wrapped up in my heart on that 1st night and I stepped out on my own for a while and stood and watched bands in the dark hearing psychedelic drone buzz Alice Coltrane-ish repeat repeat mystic hum over beats ricocheting out from the glow and after that was bold heavy soupy rock blast that rooted me to the spot and we all met after for more music and alcohol served all kindly in beer tent with the hula-hoops and costumes and sense of everyone believing they were into some major thing so special and benign and together and we love you all and Bambi is the most wonderment and people were rolling over hay bales and lights and wood smoke of bonfires and foliage lit up all green at night and it felt like we should be here that it was never different and things continued in the trees and smoked and rang through the hours with drums and guitars and electronic sounds found all about this fresh community past civilisation then we awakened in a film about post-apocalyptic society where everybody decides to get along with breakfast after dreams of heavens and rolling wave crashes and inky life-drawing in the barn that woke me better than cockerel crow with quiet dark pencil scratch and brush swipe then outside and sun throw over this temporary town bared or dappled in woods and food smells and more beautiful music from the warm blood that rushes through our human veins to our heartbeats and the pulse of electronic reverberation and drum patterns so we sat there on a golden saturday afternoon with 4 bloody marys made by hand by papa Colin for only £10 and were taken somewhere else again by the nascent howl of the Plurals at their roaring best and Bambi was there and in my head too and Nick and her and I met up with Rosie for food and slow drinks in the shade and further along we got swallowed into jazz freak out wickerman procession across the field to the woods bell-ringing shaker shaking noise blast scrape and scratch and squawk beauty of ensemble chorale forward-thinking generous invention collaboration of beautiful zen madness into the dappled woods to bollock out the noise mess in robes and masks and I wonderd how the world could become more perfect and could it eventually make that other world itself more beautiful the one outside external to this mad delight of fantasy sped-up deliriousness next to ploughed fields and quiet primeval uneven tree woods where Bambi and I walked in silence on sunday afternoon and there were strange lights in the sky and pink clouds and more burning and embracing kisses that made you think that this is how it should always be and we had conversations without beginning and end and heard so much memorable strange and lovely sounds and words immersed in those terrible and gorgeous breasts and thighs and lips and all that stuff that makes you feel that the scream you are about to scream will scorch through the trees across the cornfields and make the electricity pylons hum and V-shaped geese flocks flying home to their home feel this strange and unusual movement connected to something that could be supernatural and darkly worshipful or magic that makes the cows in the fields and the sheep upon the hills and horses in their sheds shudder a little and gently stamp their hooves as if an alien wind had blown through their souls and they weren’t quite sure what this old nature was bringing and they didn’t understand fully but it didn’t frighten them it simply gave them a shiver of restlessness and uncertainty and the stable door slammed and all those people that sat and stared red-eyed into the fire and wandered into their tents and danced in the woods and across the uncut grass were the privileged knowing freaks and poets and music makers kicking the dust of moth’s wings through that glorious Oxfordshire countryside where most of us discovered ourselves at one point or another in the bleat of a discordant saxophone or on a thread of electronic mystery and it was like going through one door and out of another entirely different and there you were and there they were and all those dot-to-dot jigsaw puzzzled madly scored improvised or earlier planned moments came together and weirdly it makes some kind of freaky fuzzy sense then or sometimes not until much later when you suddenly sit up and see in your mind dancing silhouettes under breath-shortening sunsets that change lives and make men into stars and women remain all the while as godesses so they will always be up there glowing amongst the meteor showers in the naked sky and that becomes the norm of the present and of the future and that was our drive-in saturday and sunday and every other day of the week and that was Supernormal

august 2012