Cannibal Corpse might not seem like a show to take a kid to,
but that didn’t stop people from doing it.
Go try telling those homegrown Florida boys that they can’t see their
hometown heroes play at home. Some might
have brought the kid as a rite of passage, but you saw a tiny limp body dragged
out the pit.
Gatecreeper started the debauchery. The crowd got rowdy. Stand by the massive pole for safety.
Of course, there’s no barricades at a show like this, so you
have to bring a friend just for protection.
Anchor him to one side of you to try to prevent any impact from
shattering the camera and yourself. It’s
time to start practicing those martial art techniques, guiding incoming body
weight with deflection.
Try to hold the camera steady. People drench past you. Here comes another slamming body; get ready.
From the minute the music started, the crowd was more than
ready to move into a massive mosh. Dripping
sweat doesn’t take long to form on bodies, and people slime across you with a
snail trail. Getting close to the stage
allows others to take the most impact, but they push into you *squash.*
People tight like bees at honeycomb. They want to sting shit. Prepare to drag bodies to the catacomb.
Outside, under the dark cloak of night, precipitation
gathers, darkening the sky, making it cloudy.
Droplets of rain fall like the tears and heavy sweat of people as the
open floor becomes the menagerie. The
music starts, body parts fly, and it might be someone’s foot in your face as a
way to say howdy.
Get surrounded like a continental shelf. Yet, there’s a disconnection. Elbows, knees: protect yourself.
A wave of energy incited the crowd as the next band took the
stage; the crowd went bonkers cuckoo. People
become flying objects as people flip off of the stage, and they don’t care if
you’re unready. Divers jump even when
you think they’d know better, making Power Trip an unexpected breakthrough.
Seemingly nobody watched the stage. Jump without looking into a pole. Doing flips was all the rage.
Feel so many different pieces of body parts next to you that
you could be wrapped in a spring roll.
Dallas boys on stage, bringing that cowboy rowdiness to FL, were surely
a band that could engage. Something
about their music inspired the rage that made all the people seemed to lose all
self-control.
Get pissed enough to not care about jail. Vent bottled up hogwash. Hopefully, someone will bail.
By the time Cannibal Corpse takes the stage, things get a
little more under control on lock down.
There’s no more people jumping off of the stage, no more guys landing on
the kids in the crowd. There’s a video
of a lifeless kid being pulled out of the pit and onto the stage that will make
a frown.
It’s a hometown show.
Their friends brought their kids.
Nobody wants a kid taking full force elbow.
Let alone a shoe to the face, as I had the pleasure of,
which sent my glasses flying off of my face.
Attempting to look on the ground amidst people moshing is not exactly an
easy task to say the least. Luckily, the
glasses were found many feet away, amazingly uncrushed, which was like a winning
ace.
Put the glasses away.
Hurry up and take as many pictures as possible. Put the camera up, so it’s okay.
Hold on tight, as drunk people have gotten a little too into
the mosh, and there’s always those few.
Those are the ones that keep trying to start a mosh where there’s not
one; the families don’t want it. Still,
they slosh around, kicking and elbowing into the small fries cowering, as they
didn’t have a clue.
Those ones piss you off.
They turn passiveness into aggressiveness. You finally go off like a molotov.
It doesn’t matter how hard you hit, they keep coming back,
so you are ready to let them be plowed. There’s
trying to be nice, having a friendly mosh, then there’s the bitch switch set for
a touchdown. Don’t hold back, and let
them have it with an epic explosion that is like an exploding mushroom cloud.
You have the will to beast.
You’re ready to pounce and chase.
This punk is going to be your feast.
Ping pongs back again, bouncing off someone else back to
you, so you play football and leave skids.
Drunkard starts looking woozy, like one too many spins while riding the nonstop
ride of Calypso. Growing inside is that festering
rage that makes you pissed, wanting this punk to see only eyelids.
Grind your teeth until they grit. This guy’s got no clue. You’re ready to pulverize him, you admit.
Your friend looks over you and notices that you’re more than
ready to angrily launch mission impossible.
Tapping on your arm, he tries to mumble something to you, and you’re not
sure what he’s trying to say. He motions,
pointing away from the mosh pit, towards the bar, as he knows that you are explosible.
Perhaps it’s time to split.
It’s time; he knew. He wants to
prevent any crimes you’re ready to commit.
Where else is a better place to vent out the frustrations of
whatever it is that’s your oppressiveness?
The show had the best mosh pit in Florida of 2017 that was more
infectious than the whooping cough.
Getting out that anger, having a good time, even if you’re bruised up
the next day is impressiveness.
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/thorisaz
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