Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Noodle In Time

Joanne Jaspen of Chicago gets some rest while wrapped in a sleeping bag in front of her car after the ìGrateful Deadî concert at J.F.K. Stadium in Philadelphia on Saturday, July 8, 1989. Hundreds of the bandís followers, or ìDead headsî, used the parking lots as campgrounds before traveling to the next concert, which is on Sunday in New Jersey. (AP Photo/Charles Krupa)

Hey, get up. I want to talk about mortality’s shadow, and show business’ relationship to the Divine, and the way memory de-platonicizes the ideal.


Post-war America and the Defeat of Community; the Eschaton of the Technodigm; the decline of the independently-owned fried chicken joints.


Can authenticity even be talked about in a football stadium without laughing? Can the Grateful Dead survive as a non-corporeal corpus of work? Whither Treyvon? Whither!? Hither? Thither? Jesus, man: whither?

Answer me, young lady.

“Iss 1989. Year. Iss 1989.”

Our walk through the lot seems to have taken a weird turn.


You sure about sleeping right under the car?


Someone stole your engine.

“Iss the past. They built shit wrong now.”



  1. Stop taking pictures of strangers

  2. I have a story about a guy sleeping under a car in a show parking lot but it’s really long

  3. Use my selifes instead

  4. Fucking Blakesberg! See what I mean, man?

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