SXSWut?

It is without doubt that, while the withdrawal symptoms from SXSW last week in Austin, TX are finally abating, many are still trying to process what in the hell happened throughout the festival – myself included.

Music, Film, and Interactive: the trio of perfection. It is like the cock and balls of Joseph Gordon-Levitt if they were ever to grace me with their presence. For the purpose of this, however, I am going to focus more on the cock (music), and merely TICKLE the balls near the end.

Now, if you’re paying for overpriced Lonestar or not having beer as your first meal of the day (at least three times) during this festival, you’re probably not doing it right. My experience of SX this year was from the free perspective as opposed to the one badge holders without a soul had (because they obviously sold it for the badge).

Who knew, that without a wristband or badge, I could end up on stage with Travi$ Scott and T.I. at the mtvU Woodies and go HAM* with them just for returning the hat Mr. Scott dropped into the crowd? Or that I would end up performing with power couple Cherie Lily and Andrew W.K. on stage as her last minute backup dancer for her song “WERK”? Truly, I am still trying to wrap my mind around how the latter happened.

Sneaking into the Cirque Du Soleil #EVOKE13 show. Experiencing Alt-J front row. Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips giving birth to the universe and a never before heard album The Terror; all while holding a prosthetic baby still attached to its giant lit umbilical cords. Andrew W.K. playing my old school favorites from the I Get Wet album at Viceland. Can you feel the mind-fuck yet?

Other lesser known notables that contributed to my week long adventure include: rapper B L A C K I E (think cathartic performance art rap) belting it out in his boxers in the middle of the crowd (epitome of “0 fucks”) and then decking some dude with his elbow causing him to fly across the floor, Truth DJ’s from New Zealand, Andre Fernandez and Tristan Roake; dropping some of the dopest beats I’ve ever had the pleasure of dancing to, Molotov playing Mexico’s national anthem “Puto” (kidding, it’s not their national anthem, but I can say that because that’s my birthplace) at Auditorium Shores and Mike and the Moonpies, a classic country (say what? That’s right, we do it all) band that made us stick around and drink whiskey until we went blind.

If variety is the spice of life, SXSW is the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion (currently the world’s hottest pepper). I haven’t even touched the interactive gaming portion that came very close to being as impressive as some of the other gaming conventions I have been to; it was as if Wizard World and NY Comic Con had a small indie child who was still cool enough to play with the mainstream kids.

I guess what I am really trying to say is that SXSW can be whatever you want it to be. I had friends who played multiple shows and exhausted themselves with their passion for music (shout out to salsa/hip hop band La Vida Buena and DJ Dario Aravena), a friend who smoked out with Café Tacvba and Molotov, and his friend who smoked out with Snoop Lion. I had friends who just did yoga at Black Swan and biked the city everyday. Every single one of them has a good story, a great memory to relive in the future whether it was chill, crazy, free, expensive, incredible, perspective-altering, or quite literally, death-defying (death is a certainty for me next year though; I will have a badge and access to everything – IT’S GOING TO BE AWESOME).

For a brief 10 days, our “imagined self-importance” became realized through the fact that it wasn’t actually important. It was about having a great time and gratitude for the freedom that allows us that. That’s just the magic of SXSW. The saturation of good vibes, music, and people can’t help but permeate your whole self while you’re there. So, when the only bad thing that happens is your iPhone getting stolen at the top of Mt. Bonnell during your final hurrah and you have to run buck ass naked into the woods before you get caught having too much fun (if you know what I mean (fuck, I love parenthesis) all you can really say is “I ain’t even mad.” That last story, however, is for another time.

*HAM – hard as a motherfucker