One of my favorite memories of the Playa this year:

I was sitting up on the Rider truck watching F-Space pound the shit out of their instruments. Three or four wide-eyed metal kids reverently approach Aleph and hold out their hands, palms open, facing the drummer in an impromptu gesture of fealty.

They stand there for a few minutes with jaws slightly agape, minds turning into jelly. Presumably they were absorbing the pounding fury into their own contunua so that they can return to their dreary lives revivified by their fleeting encounter with Promethean greatness.

All hail Aleph, Vicar of the New Aeon!