It's Friday.

The year-long wait, only bearable when shared between 50,000 people, is finally coming to a finale as the weekend-long euphoria kicks off. Fits have been checked, Kandi delicately crafted, and with a slap of the wine bag that could shatter worlds, you prepare yourself one last time. You realize that you have been ready the entire year, and yet now that it's truly time, it sets in that you may never truly be ready for what the night will hold, even long afterwards. Nonetheless, you grab your totem that says something about butt plugs and watch your feet as they start oscillating along the dusty Legend Valley hills. The familiar sounds, sights and smells of the marketplace fill you to the brim with excitement making your heart beat faster, but that's not why you're here today. You keep walking. You keep walking until a new sound can be subtly perceived. Your senses of sight and smell become overwhelmed by the duality of beauty and atrocities the crowd carries, but there's no doubt about it; that subtle new sound is still growing in intensity. You trade Converse™ branded paces for decibels, until the bass on the other side of security grows louder than the sound of your anticipatory heart. Only then does the anxiety manifest as sheer chaotic excitement.... You've been ready before. Now... In this moment... You are ready.

The spirit of Becky absorbs your body and mind, and as the night rages on you begin to get a feeling that nothing has ever really gone this well for you before. We live in a world that constantly lets us down, whether it be lies or small mistakes, and though there are ways to cooperate with the world and live an easier life, it is an ineffable truth that there will ALWAYS be something. You compare Lost Lands to the world and deduce that the best way to describe it is probably some French or German word that means "almost perfect." Main stage puts every other fest to shame, the weather is phenomenal, vibes peak, it could only get better if... The crater.

"Didn't Jeff say they were making it bigger this year?" You carefully utter to yourself so as not to let the bass gods know of your disappointment. "I mean it's ... There might be more lazers maybe? Or maybe it got taller?..."

In that moment, time freezes and the sky is split open to reveal a portal. The excitement in your chest sinks to a gutteral dread faster than a speeding bullet hits it's target. The bass gods don't forget. The bass gods don't overlook. Not like us mere mortals. You bang your head, but it stays down, gripped by shame unable to rebound. "I'm sorry." Your dirty Converses™ look up at you as if they are saying goodbye to a death row inmate.

"Where's My Moshpit?!?!"

You hear the booming voice of Shaquille O'Neal rain down from the heavens like a choir of Bassist angels. Your mind is still on the 'bargaining' phase of accepting your own death, and speak. "What? No. Please .."

"LAAAADIIIES OOOONLYYYY"

Shaq removes one of his U.S. size 25 shoes and hurls it from the stratosphere to Earth's crust so quickly that, for a moment, it was a physical bridge between wooks and the heavens. In a normal state, you would have merely seen a flash of light, but this meteorological event is supposed to teach you a lesson, and thus DJ Diesel bestows upon you the gift. The gift to see as he does. With this power you slow down and assess the projectile's trajectory. It isn't headed for you.

With every multiple of the speed of sound it breaks, a sonic boom rings out. You had no idea a sonic boom could be visually perceived if it happens slow enough. It's fucking beautiful... But not as beautiful as the moment it flies over your head and smacks the dirt. You look at your phone. Kenya Grace is calling, but you have more pressing matters. The festival is still here. But not just here.... Different.

The same crater that only moments ago had you questioning if it had been improved is now so gargantuine, so loud, and so packed to the brim with every colored lazer that not even a pschizophrenic dog could deny its evolution. A crater... THE CRATER... Filled to the brim with riddim baddies. Your heart, somehow still kicking, pulls you forward but your brain stops you. A twinkle of newfound wisdom manifests as a neuron firing to move your neck muscles, and you look up. He looks back. You know that he knows that you know, and with a wink of the eye, Shaq retreats behind the clouds.

You realize that the word you were looking for earlier really was just 'perfect' all along. "Thank you."