"Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run… but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.…
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of "history" it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherders jacket… booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change)... but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that…
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda.… You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.…
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave.…
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
Ok not literally comparing Polygon 2009-2011 to San Francisco in the middle sixties. But the way Hunter S. Thompson explains that time has a similarity to the fond recollection I have of my Polygon days.
“What are you going to do with your life?" In one way or another it seemed that people had been asking her this forever; teachers, her parents, friends at three in the morning, but the question had never seemed this pressing and still she was no nearer an answer... "Live each day as if it's your last', that was the conventional advice, but really, who had the energy for that? What if it rained or you felt a bit glandy? It just wasn't practical. Better by far to be good and courageous and bold and to make difference. Not change the world exactly, but the bit around you. Cherish your friends, stay true to your principles, live passionately and fully and well. Experience new things. Love and be loved, if you ever get the chance.”
Government officials who place reason behind the riots are doing their job, fair enough, imagine a world where our leaders don't know the answers? Chaos. But their accounts, like most, are dishonest and biased. We need to consider the bigger picture and come to our own informed conclusions.
“disaffection with the existing power pattern”
It needs to be understood that the riots were not purely a political protest, neither a cause of mere hooliganism. Things got out of control... Ignorance + lack of compassion → poor communication → oppression → impatience + immaturity → ignorance + lawlessness → lack of respect + peer pressure + mob mentality + greed → violence → disaster.
The human race brings chaos and destruction again and again.
San Antonio represents the stereotype I've always had of Ibiza holidays - overload of young Brits, tanned bodies, shit tattoos, British bars, shit music, rowdy lads and lasses, pervy locals, pissed off locals, dirty streets and little to no real culture... This is where the majority of the Ibiza reps stay for the season, or where the groups of 18 year olds stay while they're on their annual boozers. It's alright if you're with the right people, after all it isn't where you are, it's who you're with. the right people can make any situation enjoyable in one way or another. Next time I go to Ibiza I will stay in Playa d'en Bossa - this place was better; here felt like the Ibiza people had told me about, better beaches, more focus on the music. Bora Bora, Space, Ushiaia and DC10 not far away. Much better than the West End of San Antonio (which reminded me of Malia/Zante all of those places don't appeal to me in the slightest). I definitely see the appeal of Ibiza, and I would go again, next time I think I will plan a long weekend of the best parties. Circo Loco at DC10 was my favourite, gutted to have missed Seth Troxler the week before!
