right now i am sitting on the edge of a pull-out couch whose rods have been disaligning my back, in the guest room in my aunt’s house in miami because me and my mom are here visiting my grandma. and right now you are at the Pitchfork festival, wasted and making out with Bethany from Best Coast

you are passing out in ecstasy as the sun comes up after seeing your favorite bands, i need a klonopin to knock me out at 10:20 after streaming seinfeld

you are partying all night long in the Chicago area’s finest luxury accomodations, you are throwing furniture out the window of the Hard Rock Hotel Chicago with Stephen Malkmus as he looks you in the eye and tells you how much you mean to him, gorgeous groupies wander in and out offering you drugs, Stephen wants you to play auxiliary percussion on the rest of the Pavement reunion tour, he texts David Berman and asks him to write a book of poems about you, David texts back and says he already did and the publisher is working on the layout but they need more pictures of you

i spend 45 minutes explaining to my grandma what my blog is, my mom asks my cousin if he reads pitchfork and he says he is “only familiar with pitchfork as a farm implement”, me and my family are into different things, you are LITERALLY INSIDE the physical manifestation of pitchfork, now you are getting your shoulder blade signed by Tom Breihan and getting a cab to the tattoo parlor to get the signature permanently inked onto your body. you tell the cab driver to “step on it!!” because your sweat might wash the ink off, he says he’ll get you there “on the double” and compliments your cool haircut

you passed Mark Richardson on the street in the afternoon on the day before the festival and he invited you into his house, Wayne Coyne was sitting on the couch and Mark says “have you heard Zaireeka?” and you say “yeah in high school i listened to it a bunch of times in my friend’s basement” hoping Wayne will be impressed that you had the will and fortitude to actually listen to Zaireeka. and then Mark and Wayne look at each other and giggle and look back at you and say “NO YOU HAVEN’T!!!” and you say “what do you mean?” and then they put Zaireeka on, except instead of 4 stereo systems there’s 7 stereo systems!! and you are hearing the 3 Lost Discs of Zaireeka and you feel like you’re discovering that there were 3 more commandments

and then Mark goes over to his computer and logs into the Pitchfork backend and goes to the page with the Zaireeka 0.0 review, and he tells you to step up to the computer, then he and Wayne stand behind you and say “go ahead, click Delete” and your hand is trembling as you reach for the mouse and click it, and the 0.0 is deleted forever, you’ve changed history, you’re the hero of the festival, and then they say “it’s your job,  to write the review for the 7-disc Zaireeka you just heard” and you feel like a young Luke Skywalker, they just made you an honorary Pitchfork reviewer and you text Bethany about it right away, she texts back that she’s so proud of you, you don’t know how you’re gonna do justice to this unearthed masterpiece and Wayne senses your hesitation and says “i believe in you”

now i am eating lox and bagels at my aunt’s kitchen table, streaming the festival on a laptop, just realized the shorts that had my klonopin in them are in the washing machine, you and James Murphy are comparing white label collections and eventually he admits yours is more impressive, you and Big Boi are smoking marijuana that costs $150/gram and he is playing you his next record and literally music has never sounded better. St. Vincent writes you a love song addressing you by name but you tell her you’re already with Bethany, Nathan from Wavves tries to fight you but you kick his ass in five seconds!!!! you’re the fucking man at this Pitchfork festival

my aunt’s seventeen-year-old dog that can’t see, can’t hear, and can’t bark vomited on my backpack in the living room last night when everyone was sleeping. you are at the pitchfork festival and i am in miami visiting my grandma