[ WP ] You find a device that turns out to be a time machine . But as you arrive , you realise that the machine 's date formatting is different to what you 're used to ...

At first I thought it was... like fate, you know? And then I thought like, maybe I'm just trippin' sack. And THEN I thought, yo it's probably just an art installation. 
 
 Matty and Gen are'using the tent', so I'm just wandering around the Forest, seeing the sights. I like stumbled off the beaten path to roast a bone and there it was -- - like big and stone and carved and glowing and stuff. It had these spinning numbery knobs that like burnt my fingers kindof when I touched them. I spun it to the raddest date in history -- - August 15, 1969 -- Woodstock. To go to Woodstock would be just like -- - ugh, the coolest you know? Everybody dancing, doing drugs, loving each other, making peace, you know, making history, humping in the mud, rocking out to Jimmy Hendrix, oh man. And dancing, dude. People just gyrating and jiving, vibing, just feeling the music. 
 
 And then it was like -- BOOM I could n't move. Like a bright light then it got so dark all the trees just melting away like, I don ’ t know, my brain cells on a bad trip. Part of me was like OH SHIT, dude you ARE tripping, but the other part of me was like WORD, I'm going to Woodstock, I got ta find Uncle Terry. 
 
 I landed way far away from the main stage. It was super green and summery, totally upstate in August. I hop up out of the leaves, but I still got this roach in my hand. Is it lame to show up to'stock empty handed? Nah, I smoke it down and put it out with my fingers. I'm hoping my drug rug n' courdaroys will fit in but these Etnies are gon na give me away so I kick them off and start walking towards the sounds of people. 
 
 It must be morning -- awesome, I got the whole day cuz who knows when that rock is gon na show up and take me back. This is my favorite part of festivals, you know? The morning when everyone's getting up, making breakfast, remembering where they are. These hippies are busy though dude, it sounds like a horse n ’ buggy ripping around over there. 
 
 I stumble back on to the beaten path, but this one is made of these fat stones. I did n't know'stock had a recreation village on it, man. But this one is totally authentic. Maybe there was like a Renn faire on the farm at the same time? Who knows, I am baked though and it smells like fresh bread and cut grass and I'm feeling it man. 
 
 I walk up on a pretty maiden in a peasant blouse and skirt pumping water outside a white mud lookin ’ house. 
 
 “ Hey, miss, ” I call, trying to play it cool. What was the slang back then? I can ’ t even remember. She looks up at me all shocked. “ Oh shit, I didn ’ t mean to scare you. ” 
 
 She answers me, but it just sounds like that time Chad dared me to take my German exam with a bunch of marshmallows in my mouth. She ’ s pointing back at the forest, all like gan, gan!, so she ’ s like foreign. Then another girl busts out of the house and she must be tripping cuz she ’ s dancing in that Woodstock way I was talking about earlier -- twirling, arms out, just unstoppable. She ’ s like, crying too, and I ’ ve totally been there, I once sobbed for an hour because of how soft my sweatshirt was. But she ’ s screaming zwester zwester helfen, which I can deduce from many hazy years with Frau Johnson that she ’ s crying to her sister for help. The first girl tries to grab the sister up and for a second they look like they are spinning to some crazy ballroom dance but then she wrestles her to the ground. The little sister is still flopping like a fish, the big sister is hollering at the top of her lungs and like 5 huge dudes in weird hats and the ugliest mom you ’ ve ever seen pour out of house. I book it, not back into the woods just away from the situation. 
 
 Yo, these reenactors are committed to this market scene. They ’ re all talking in the same gibberish-y German, just going about their day, looking sideways the whole time. They do not appreciate my fine geometric print alpaca poncho or my dirty feet. Some old lady spits at me and calls me wigker, which is like pretty rude and I didn ’ t even know that they used that term in the ‘ 60s. I thought ‘ stock was about peace and love and interracial dating. 
 
 My high is starting to wear off, thanks for nothing Chad with your alleged medical grade kush. There ’ s this like little baby thought on my mind, that maybe I ’ m not in upstate New York, 1969. Maybe I ’ m like someplace totally different. I ’ ve smoked too much to ganj to not have realized a thousand times that time is just like a thing humans make up, trying to impose order on chaos. Just cuz I typed in a human day and year doesn ’ t mean that ’ s what that stone thing thinks of as time. Trees don ’ t care about clocks, birds don ’ t care clocks! Woah, no I take it back, I ’ m still a little baked. 
 
 I ’ m smacked back to reality, another girl, different from the sisters, literally whacks me in the face with her upraised arms as she dances through the town. People start screaming and rushing around. Some dudes run out of the shops in their aprons and I ’ m giggling -- butcher, baker, candlestick maker, all tackling this dancing girl. Then another woman starts dancing, all the eggs and flying out of her basket while she spins. Then a little boy picks it up, then his mother and sisters. A gnarly old guy with a cane starts hobbling in circles. Then whole street is dancing and crying and screaming, chickens and ducks running around, as a few young dudes try to get everyone to stop. Like if M. Night Shyamalam reshot the opening scene from Beauty and the Beast. The sisters from before appear, spinning and crying until the youngest one drops to the ground. The older sister wails but can ’ t stop her twirling to help her. 
 
 My high is totally harshed by now, which is good cuz I need that cold stream of sober thoughts to float me out of this bind. I wanted the chaos of free love and flower power, not whatever maniac dance vibe is going on here. People keep dropping and the town is just waltzing on over them, literally smashing them underfoot. I got ta get out of here, but where ’ s my magic monolith? 
 
 I turn back to head to the forest, but instead of moving forward once I ’ ve turned, my body just keeps spinning. My mind is screaming at my legs and arms, but my feet keep turning and my hands are in the sky and I ’ m careening into this mosh pit of terrified dancers. 

