Press to Make Music

Disclaimer: Some dates and figures have been approximated.

The opening scene is an interpretation of my experiences with EDM shows and festivals.

It’s nighttime. Stars dapple the sky but nobody notices. Over the rolling hills softened by greening grass, hundreds of people, mostly ages eighteen to twenty five, crowd together. A cacophony of chatter and laughter rises from the crowd. It mixes with the smoke of spliffs and cigarettes and drifts away on a lazy breeze. Some are drinking beer while others sip water from thin rubber hoses attached to their backpacks. Some are sitting cross-legged on blankets and a few are even dancing. Some are quiet; some are still. Waiting, watching the world through widened pupils.

Everyone is happy. Read more

Trump Cites Puerto Rico’s Debt, Threatens to Revoke FEMA

nasa_irma_puerto rico

Rarely can political issues be fairly described as “black-and-white.” As with many facets of life, there’s no singular answer to questions about healthcare, tax reform or gun control.

There isn’t just one right approach to improving public education. There isn’t just one correct way to handle illegal immigration, or diplomacy. These are nuanced issues with wide-ranging courses of action to consider, and they are always further complicated by the furious slurry of competing opinions and perspectives.

Puerto Rico’s current crisis, however, is not one such issue.

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No Cellphones Allowed

Monday, June 20th. The year: 2012. A young paranormal investigator named Elon was in Washington D.C. on a much needed vacation. The constant adventure and adrenaline of dealing with ghosts, zombies, witches, warlocks, Frankenstein-esque beasts and, above all else, his horribly incompetent partner, made him sick of the horror genre altogether and so, naturally, he fled. The historic landmarks, dreadful traffic, politics… It was the epitome of what Elon needed—it was boring.

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Ugly Ducklings

Floyd stood holding a cold can of Coors Light. With each drunken wave of his hand, beer splashed from the lip of his beer onto the sleeve of his dull-brown coat. He talked about how he was considering a Veterinarian degree now that he’d been fired from the ski lift up on Crested Butte. Apparently a flask of Jack Daniels wasn’t required snow gear.

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