Determined to Burn the Bucketlist

[Skylanec182]

Grew up the 70s Magical Mystery Tour era. End of the Vietnam war, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janice Joplin. Attended some great music festivals.

Have been following BM for a long time which looks to be the ultimate festival. Now is the time. Still hoping that we will be able to score tickets to make the Magic Carpet Ride from Iowa to this event.

[Sham]

Welcome to eplaya. I hope I speak for others when I wish you the best in making that large black check mark on your bucket list. I know how important that can be.

[BBadger]

Isn't that more late 60s?

[Skylanec182]

All early 70s except Magical Mystery Tour. Sorry

[lucky420]

Hola and hello...

[Elderberry]

Hey there, welcome to eplaya!

[AntiM]

Welcome, and roll up....

[BBadger]

All early 70s except Magical Mystery Tour. Sorry

Yeah, but early 1970s was when they died, not when the mainstay their work was created (even if their influence didn't just end at the moment of their deaths). Even the Beatles as a group officially survived until the end of 1970s, but they're rarely placed in that decade. I tend think of 1970s as more disco and forms of rock music.

Whatever decade you place yourself, welcome!

[Savannah]

Welcome, Skylanec182!

[Drawingablank]

Welcome.

[DoctorIknow]

Whatever decade you place yourself, welcome!

Burning Man has added significantly to who I became in the '60's, so, yeah, it's a perfect fit for those fortunate enough to have seen Jimi, Janis, Doors, etc.:

The "'60's" transcend the calendar years, but did end as individuals got off the bus one by one.

Hunter Thompson said it best, which every time I read it, I remember when "the' 60's" died for me.


“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 sheepherder's 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.”


― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

[Skylanec182]

Awesome post DoctorIknow.