Love Fusion Hate Patriarchy

Let’s get it OM.

Fusion Festival was set in the fields about 2 hours somewhere North of Berlin.

The line up was unknown because who cares, you’re told it’s techno, which is short for technology so still non the wiser. I’m outside in another county, I have won entry to an event I had to apply to be a part of a whole 6 months prior.

Happy fucking Valentines.

I attend a workshop about decolonising yoga and then lost my mates, so you get down hansolo on the nearest dance floor and give it beans.

She slinks between first and third person because you don’t know me.

Booka Shade is the first set I saw, a patch of earth cordoned off with tape, an angry German bird grabs the tape, rips it with her teeth, ties it around her head and shouts; “are we doing this?”

Black sugar smoke bombs erupt.

You get high ground to see and the tape is cut, the swarm flocks centrifugally, the track drops, needs must.

You crack your beverage and dance solid for 90 minutes.

You are just warming up.

No one cares where your jacket is from, they don’t even see Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed fucking in the corner.

Jesus is on her period so we must dance, hard.

The festival fosters a no photo attitude so you leave your phone in the tent but find your way back to camp before dark. That first night, like the bass, rained hard.

You find the soul lake, Holly from the Wirral and many naked folk, so you get undressed and jump in. You dance with strangers and become each other’s ally. You strategise world domination with your shoulder pops. Your hips don’t apologise for spilling that beer. Your hands are high and an elbow to the head is serves you right for the un-moving. Wolves howl in your heart, you don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you feed off of the feelings you feel.

You wrap yourself around the culture like a vulture you swing high to kick.

“Ce soir la lune et trop belle” so you stop and breathe.

The turmoil the last day brings because you failed to halt the sun from rising. Like hot wax your experience cools too quick. Poisoned intoxicating elixir, you drink from her lips everlasting amnesia, because why suffer to remember what’s passed kill me now in this magnanimous moment.

It’s a talk you never had, a fight you never won, its a wave you just cant catch.

Without photos how will you ever prove 30 x BLITZ Grid systems and 6 x PHAENON X RYGB 3000.

Close your eyes and imagine 100 naked down dogs.

I’m back to this dump so you tell your pestering thoughts to do the fucking dishes and shut the fuck up.