A hundred days and it`s on.

Trying to understand the meaning of life is like trying to understand reality when you`re on acid or like trying to grasp the air between the palm of your hands. At the same time it is as meaningless to explain my love for Roskilde as it is to explain love for a person. It`s like, how can I explain why I had such a huge crush on this girl when I was sixteen. I just loved her immensely. Roskilde is a grand event of a festival but is that a reason alone to love it?

I’m sitting here drinking a glass of broth that makes me think of pee instead of fake, freeze-dried vegetables. When I drink the broth small pieces of the fake vegetables float into my mouth and make a strange squeezing sound when I chew on them with my front teeth. It is horrible, but somehow I keep drinking it. Outside the weather is in the early phase of pre-spring, when the heat of the sun is teasing your icy bones and making you long even harder for sweet summertime. It is at this very day a hundred days until the biggest event of the year swing its gates open. It is one hundred days until it starts and I am counting the days like a kid before Christmas, like a seventeen year old teenager with psychotic strict parents sweating out the days until he can get drunk with his buddies without getting in trouble. I am waiting like a madman about to be released from the loony bin, like I have been spending 14 yrs in prison and about to launch into freedom. What I do, actually, is trying to understand my love for the Roskilde Festival, and a tear rolls down my cheek with the realization of two tickets carefully mounted to the fridge with a magnet, like it`s a mental shrine.

It’s 14 yrs since the last time I held a ticket to the Roskilde Festival in the palm of my hands. Like the GnR song “14 years” it’s been a freaking long time since I went to my “Woodstockian” festival utopia. It’s been 14 yrs of longing, remembering, embracing memories and serving “The tale of when I went to Roskilde” to my friends and anecdote-sharing with people I meet who also have done The Roskilde Thing. It was back in `96. I was 18 yrs. Immature. And totally ignorant on the prospect of rain. I did not watch a weather report, did not bring a raincoat or rubber boots. Luckily it was sun all week long and I got sunburned like the too high idiot I was. I bought the ticket and togged along a classmate and his friends, and shared a train compartment with 6 girls from Tønsberg (no this was not as exciting as it sounds).

This time I am 32 but I feel like I’m that 18 year old kid again. But this time I am a hell of a lot more mentally prepared. This time I KNOW what I have to look forward to and it tickles my balls like anthill (I do not know what that feels like for real, but metaphors tend to be my kind of glove). The tickets are mounted to my fridge with a toy magnet and have increased in prize and nostalgic value. That immense love affair I had with the festival 14yrs ago is like a huge crossroad in my mind, like BC and AD is to the Christian community. Before and after Roskilde. And all I can do is check onto the webpage, everyday for news of bands, bands, bands. Who tha fuck is coming this year, who is playing, who is headlining, who-Who-WHO?? But it is not so much about the music as it is about the journey, about the feeling of being in that state of wonder, horror and joy. And still I can’t figure out just what it is that sets of a swarm of butterflies through my stomach each time I re-read the band list. I can only say one thing; Ah’ll freakin’ see ya there, dude.