BM 2008
Thus spoke the convenience mart attendant in Sparks:
"A blue haired man with a week's worth of dust still between his toes? [author's note: after 2 showers, mind you] Buddy, you must be in a whole different world right now!"
Indeed, sir. Indeed.
Burning Man can take a lot out of you. Almost as much as it gives back. Sometimes more. This we already know. But it's a bit rough when it does so at the same time. For 14 days I was on a perpetual rollercoaster ride that only had two settings: 1) holy-shit-WTF-are-we-going-to-do meltdown, 2) OMFG-this-is-absolutely-worth-it amazing.
I started to make a list of highs and lows while writing this entry. But then I realized there was just no way to coherently sort them all. Let's just say that this year contained a great many lessons at about every turn. Next time I'll see if they were actually learned.
The feeling of grasping the full cost of everything we'd put on the line and asking myself exactly how many hours away I was from writing it off as a complete failure/loss was matched equally and oppositely by the feeling of our maiden voyage on the playa with a boatload of passengers dancing off their hineys to a rockin' set by the man in a mohawk and realizing that we had become THAT car.
The dread I felt waking up on Wednesday to yet another day of neverending work was matched by the self-indulgent-snoot I felt in the American Dream style irony of trekking all the way out to find "The End" only to discover it had burned down long ago (here's to you, HST!).
Thus read the scribble on a hanging ornament:
"May the desert heal you"
I needed that. The thing I appreciate most about the sadistic sort of vacation we call "Burning Man" is that, in one way or another, it forces one to face themselves. Some people run, some people face the music, some people change, but mostly they just burn. This year was a particularly heavy burn for me. The ups and downs were interspersed with moments of things gone unspoken for far too long finding a dramatically resonating voice. Some hurt. Some brought a very unexpected joy. Some just annoyed. And others just weren't worth it. "Here's to being alive", she said in a way that seared the importance right into my soul while scorching my heart.
In short: it was BM.
Thus spoke the mechanic in Gerlach:
"What in the hell...? How the hell did y'all do THAT?!?!?"
The truck moved forward somewhere half a click between P(ark) and R(everse). N(eutral), D(rive), and 2 did nothing. 1 put us in reverse. This situation led to quite a number of revelations such as:
1) In Gerlach, Bruno calls the shots.
2) Never ask the paranoid--probably rightfully so--and strung out man controlling 8 tons of mass barreling down a narrow two-lane highway at 3am at 70mph to turn up the heat.
3) Explosive mortar shells with a smile can be found in the most unlikely places.
4) The line between accidental and sociopathology lay somewhere around smashing into your third cow.
5) Jameson is like a little blanket for your heart.
I always wanted to take my slow sweet time coming home from the playa.
Not quite like that.
But then, that's how that usually happens, isn't it?
As of midnight, I'm home.
Away from home.
Oh... and one more thing... Bacon Without Borders will FRY YOUR WORLD!!!!
"A blue haired man with a week's worth of dust still between his toes? [author's note: after 2 showers, mind you] Buddy, you must be in a whole different world right now!"
Indeed, sir. Indeed.
Burning Man can take a lot out of you. Almost as much as it gives back. Sometimes more. This we already know. But it's a bit rough when it does so at the same time. For 14 days I was on a perpetual rollercoaster ride that only had two settings: 1) holy-shit-WTF-are-we-going-to-do meltdown, 2) OMFG-this-is-absolutely-worth-it amazing.
I started to make a list of highs and lows while writing this entry. But then I realized there was just no way to coherently sort them all. Let's just say that this year contained a great many lessons at about every turn. Next time I'll see if they were actually learned.
The feeling of grasping the full cost of everything we'd put on the line and asking myself exactly how many hours away I was from writing it off as a complete failure/loss was matched equally and oppositely by the feeling of our maiden voyage on the playa with a boatload of passengers dancing off their hineys to a rockin' set by the man in a mohawk and realizing that we had become THAT car.
The dread I felt waking up on Wednesday to yet another day of neverending work was matched by the self-indulgent-snoot I felt in the American Dream style irony of trekking all the way out to find "The End" only to discover it had burned down long ago (here's to you, HST!).
Thus read the scribble on a hanging ornament:
"May the desert heal you"
I needed that. The thing I appreciate most about the sadistic sort of vacation we call "Burning Man" is that, in one way or another, it forces one to face themselves. Some people run, some people face the music, some people change, but mostly they just burn. This year was a particularly heavy burn for me. The ups and downs were interspersed with moments of things gone unspoken for far too long finding a dramatically resonating voice. Some hurt. Some brought a very unexpected joy. Some just annoyed. And others just weren't worth it. "Here's to being alive", she said in a way that seared the importance right into my soul while scorching my heart.
In short: it was BM.
Thus spoke the mechanic in Gerlach:
"What in the hell...? How the hell did y'all do THAT?!?!?"
The truck moved forward somewhere half a click between P(ark) and R(everse). N(eutral), D(rive), and 2 did nothing. 1 put us in reverse. This situation led to quite a number of revelations such as:
1) In Gerlach, Bruno calls the shots.
2) Never ask the paranoid--probably rightfully so--and strung out man controlling 8 tons of mass barreling down a narrow two-lane highway at 3am at 70mph to turn up the heat.
3) Explosive mortar shells with a smile can be found in the most unlikely places.
4) The line between accidental and sociopathology lay somewhere around smashing into your third cow.
5) Jameson is like a little blanket for your heart.
I always wanted to take my slow sweet time coming home from the playa.
Not quite like that.
But then, that's how that usually happens, isn't it?
As of midnight, I'm home.
Away from home.
Oh... and one more thing... Bacon Without Borders will FRY YOUR WORLD!!!!