Burning Man 2009
Here's what I've got thus far. Haven't gotten to the interesting parts yet, but I figured I'd post something....
SUNDAY
I wake up at 7 am. I am packed, but not packed well. I scramble and do some last minute checking as my roommate starts the car to take me to the airport. I'm very nervous. I've never flown by myself before, and I have no idea what to expect from Burning Man.
Life is very chaotic right now. I have no job, and have been spending the year going to burns. I just haven't made it out to the big one yet. I need to get my shit together but I can't do much until I come back from the playa. Part of me thinks this is a dumb idea, but it has to be done. Why, I don't know.
I meet Lucas in Dallas and we find ourselves by amazing chance sitting next to each other on the flight to Sacramento. We laugh about past adventures, talking about girls and drugs. We get some funny looks. We meet Parker take the shuttle to the rental place. I am completely disorganized and scatterbrained and leave a bag on the shuttle. Lucas and Parker watch for it while I fill out the rental agreements. God I am a mess. We buy as many items as we can for the trip at one of the Walmarts in Sacramento. We are throwing things jn the carts haphazardly and having trouble keeping track of what we need. We tally that we still need white gas and bikes and it is now getting late. The gate opens in three and a half hours and we still haven't reached Reno, so we split and hop back on the road. This day utterly sucks.
Something feels distinctively magical about the drive along I-80. Every other person is driving an RV. All the cars are adorned with )*( symbols and have bikes attached to them. We pass by a gigantic tractor-trailer that is lined with blowtorches leading into a giant dragon's head at the front. This is VERY different from the regional burns. The volume of this festival is starting to sink in.
When we reach the Walmart in Reno, it feels like a family reunion. Everyone in the store is wearing dreadlocks and raver gear, and is giving each other hugs and exchanging friendly smiles and advice. "Oh yeah dude they sold out of bike locks here, but if you come with me I'll show you where they're still selling them and much cheaper." There are giant corner displays of condoms and white gas. It is the most enjoyable experience at a Walmart I have ever had.
We take I-80 to Wadsworth, twenty minutes outside of Reno, and get on 447. And here's where the trip starts getting weird. 447 is a rinky-dink little highway that cuts from Wadsworth, a small desert town, into the middle of nowhere. And when I say nowhere, I mean it. There are no gas stations, stops, exits or anything resembling civilization for eons. I suddenly feel like my home North Carolina is getting a bum rap...we are said to be full of "rednecks," but the fact is anywhere you are in North Carolina is near something. What kind of desert folk live out here in this isolated wasteland?
447 is PACKED. We see a trail of red lights as far ahead as the eye can see and a trail of white in the rearview. We are ALL burners. We are surrounded by empty darkness that expands in all directions.
The cops on this road are like sharks in a feeding frenzy. There are enough drugs in the cars on this road to get all of Reno high. 5-0 weaves in and out of the burner line, what they are looking for exactly is something we don't know. I see blinking lights cut right behind me and tailgate me. I pull over, but before I come to a complete stop, 5-0 gets back in the passing lane and jets up behind some RV. Why my car? The utter lack of distinctiveness? An out-of-state license plate with no bikes or distinctive burner markings? Is that usually the kind of vehicle the big camps use to haul drugs in?
At about 12:30, we hit the line. A river of brakelights awaits us, and the waiting game begins. Vendors are scattered along the road. Bored and tired passengers get out of their cars and shoot each other with squirt guns. The line stops dead for long periods of time at various parts and we have to get out and stretch ourselves. Everyone is excited! We are almost at the gate!
At 2:30 I am too tired to drive and pass the wheel to Lucas. I drift in and out of consiousness in the passenger's seat. 3:30. 4:30. 5:30. This line is LONG.
The line splits into four lanes as the ground changes from blacktop to...damn, how to describe the ground. It's not soil, it's too barren and dead to be called that. It's not sand either. It's this thick, crusted dry mud-top that kicks up clouds of dust everywhere. We have been on this thing for five minutes and every car we see is already covered in this awful dust. If you open the car door for few seconds, this shit will waft in and cover the back seat. It looks like fine snowflakes against the headlights. This is the infamous playa dust that all burners must get WELL acquainted with.
We at last reach the gate. "Hey guys, welcome to Black Rock City! Can I see your tickets?" We hand them over, he tears off the tabs and hands them back. No ID's, no wristbands.
We follow the line of cars to a point where they start branching out to where other cars and RV's are camped. This is 6:00 and L ("Lineage"), the great entrance to Black Rock City. We pass waves of cars as we look for a sign for A street ("Adapt"), then make a left until we reach 8:00. There is no parking lot, you just park wherever. Lucas wakes me up. I get out of the car and stretch. This big dude named Jose comes and greets us. Jose is camped with PEX (The Philadelphia Experiment), the camp that owns the area where we are staying. We are neighbors to camp Chillax and BBC (Bouncy Bouncy Camp). Jose gives us a warm welcome and shows us around the PEX kitchen and gives us a drink. I am so tired at this point that I can barely maintain focus for even a simple exchange of colloquialisms. It's time to get the tents pitched and get some sleep so we can do the shade structure in the morning. We pitch the tents in a very half-assed fashion and throw some shit inside, and it is FINALLY time to get some sleep.
The air grows warm as the sun begins to rise, and before I can fall asleep I see the playa, for the first time, begin to be illuminated by the daylight.
I had envisioned the playa as being a barren, miserable shithole that just happened to be the only place on earth that could accomodate a 40,000+ person burn. This is not the case. The playa is unimaginably beautiful. The visibility of the dry air shows the definition of the Sierra Nevada mountains which engulf the playa miles out in the distance. It is like being on an alien planet. It is a truly bizarre natural wonder to planet earth.
I put on my fuzzy playa coat and walk to the Esplanade. PEX is still setting up but almost done. Tetris camp, our neighbor on 7:30, has already erected their massive soundstage. The giant geodesic domes of Root society at 10:00 are still going up. The wide arcs of black rock city stretch for miles into the distance, and half a mile into the playa I see the distant white glow that is the Man. For a brief moment I stop feeling tired. The scale of this festival overwhelms me.
This is awesome.
MONDAY
A lot of people manage to camp in tents without shade structures on the playa. Either they are just using their tents as storage and passing out in the chill-out areas or they are complete desert badasses, because trying to sleep through the playa sunrise feels like this:
Luckily, the problem is easily rectified with some rebar, PVC, and UV-reflective tarp. We groggily assemble a triangle-prism structure with the shade tarp. The tents are quite comfortable now. Amazingly comfortable in fact, maybe even more comfortable than most other campsites.
The playa, if adequately prepared, is a surprisingly comfortable place to camp. This may not seem obvious, but you have to consider the fact that many of the variables that make this terrain challenging...the dust and the sun...are very easily counter-acted with liberal helpings of shade structuring and sunscreen. There isn't much one can do against the bugs and humidity of southeastern swamps.
Without further ado, let's discuss
TIPS FOR PLAYA SURVIVAL
1) Water. Or better yet, Gatorade. Bring a giant tin of gatorade powder and mix it into all of your water so you actually retain it. The effects of the dryness are not apparent until you start noticing just how much water you are consuming. 2 gallons of water per day is about average, and it is meant to be drank throughout the day AND the night. The desert is a dry, barren place that is thirsty at all times. The air sucks the moisture from your lungs and the dust, which hovers over the playa at all times, dries out your skin. Carry it by the gallon or bring a camelback.
2) Sunscreen, lip balm and moisturizer. Your sunscreen should be an SPF high enough to make that smart-ass at the pharmacy say "you know, after SPF 45 there is no difference in UV protection." Buy SPF 80 and get on with it. All moisturizing agents must be applied several times a day to avoid looking like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western.
3) Dust protection. You need two sets of goggles, one with UV protection for the blindingly bright days, and one without for nights. You need a dustmask, not a bandanna. Bandannas don't work. If you want to look cool, get a gas mask; they actually work too.
4) A very well-organized backpack. You will need to have everything accessible to you at all times, often at a mile or more away from your tent. This may seem cumbersome until you realize that everyone else is wearing backpacks, gas masks, goggles and cowboys hats, and has figured out a way to make it look good.
5) Socks and shoes. Bring two pairs of socks for every day you are there and prepare to throw them away when you are done. This sounds gross, but the alternative of walking around in those filthy, crusty foot coats....or worse, walking around barefoot only to see your precious tootsies dried zombie white and cracking in pain...is far less than ideal. Socks and sandals are okay; be a jersey shore tourist.
6) A bicycle. Distances on the playa are HUGE; it is approximately one mile from 3:00 and esplanade to 9:00 if you're going directly through the man, and any distances through the streets need to factor in some variable and pi as well.
I have prepared poorly, and don't follow any of these rules.
I walk around for half an hour and say hi to friends setting up at various places. I hang out in Center Camp. Center Camp feels like a mini-bastion of capitalism within Burning Man; the only place where you can buy stuff (lattes, water, coffee, ice). There are various stages around where songs and spoken word are taking place. In the center is an open circle where spinners, jugglers and contact-improvers congregate. It is a very impersonal place, safe for newbies who don't know exactly where to go. This is a necessary function, as Black Rock City is large enough to be very alienating at times. If a friend who isn't camping with you wanders off, you may never see them again. It is unlike any other community burn I've ever been to. I spend most of my afternoon there.
The rule of sunrises and sunsets is this: if the air starts feeling comfortable, get back to your tent. The air is cool, but the wind is beginning to pick up. Hard. I can barely see through the dust thirty feet ahead of me. Goggles and dust mask on.
At this point I realize that I have an excellent idea of how not to build a shade structure. The wind is hitting the flat part of the tarp head-on and is pushing it back like a sail. The central rebar-pvc beam is cocking back and is about to rip out of the structure. Apparently Mondays exist even on the playa. The knife is with Lucas, and I have no idea where he is, so I take my keys out and start ripping holes in the tarp to let the wind pass through. The center beam rips out. I try to hold it back and it feels like the wind is going to knock me over. I cannot let the structure go and fck up someone else's tent, nor can I allow it to fall into shambles and deny myself respite from the desert sun.
The dust rips against the sides of my face. My goggles fog with sweat dripping down the insides. The top beam of the shade structure finally pops. I am stuck tending to this miserable mess while the party is starting inside the city.
And suddenly I have a moment of clarity. The rest of the world disappears; I am here and now, tending to the structure in the storm. Nothing else exists. This is part of the beauty of the desert: there are no distractions. No cell reception, no precipitation, no life, just barrenness. Whatever occupies your mind is right in front of you, there is simply nothing else. I am surprised to feel a focused, good feeling, like when you feel an adderall start to work. I smile underneath my dust mask at the absurdity of seeing beauty while bracing a shade structure against a punishing dust storm.
Lucas appears. We work together and cut the tarps from the guy lines. We fasten them over each other, forming a small dome directly over the tent. It's not pretty, but it will do.
TUESDAY
It's like waking up anywhere else, you have a morning routine.
1. Stretch
2. Take your vitamins
3. Make a futile effort to get rid of some of the dust in your tent.
4. Mix a gallon of Gatorade and down a quart immediately
5. Wipe the dust off a can of chef boyardee, pop it and eat it with a spork cold.
6. Wash the dishes and take a shower (both of these things can be accomplished with baby wipes)
7. Bathe yourself in sunscreen
8. Dress for desert conditions: cowboy hat, goggles, dust mask, bandanna, candy necklace, carribean wrap pants, fresh socks and pink shoes.
9. Shit. Enjoy reading the poop limericks that the LLC has taped into the stall. There's not much point of making graffitti in the stall, BM has already come up with something more perverse to post officially.
The weather is hot again. My body is adapting, but is displaying some weird properties in doing so. Namely, my emotions are greatly intensified. The eddies of thought drift through extreme highs and lows. Confidence feels REALLY confident. Happiness feels like euphoria. Worry is terror.
The reason for this is multi-causal. First, the conditions have my body on hyper-alert, so my adrenal systrm is overqcting while my body struggles to adapt. Second, the environment has created a shift in my normal priorities; I am focused on food, water, shelter and preservation. Third, the environment is extremely stimulating to the senses. This combination is sufficient to shut down all of one's normal, civilized coping mechanisms, because the whole world is too alien for them. Walking miles through the hot desert to find water while a double-decker neon schoolbus pirateship filled with naked chicks blasting electrohouse goes by you and whips up a dust cloud. It will fuck your mind.
And then there are drugs.
It's recommended that you spend at least a day or two in the desert sober just so you can get a feel for desert survival before you start doing mind-altering chemicals. Drugs hit HARD. I lay underneath the Cubatron (a giant three-dimensional visualizer) with a bunch of other happy trippers. They gift me mushrooms. Not much, just a cap and two stems. I eat them and relax for a bit.
As I feel something beginning to kick in, I make my way over to something a bit more exciting:
Spinning fire at the Shiva Vista stage is unbelievable. The video doesn't even do it justice. The entire place swells me with passion and happiness. The crowd is wonderful. I feel unbelievably free creatively; for such a large project there is almost no regulation on what you can and cannot do performance-wise (as long as you bring your own fuel).
I return to the fuel dump and watch the event from behind the new addition for 2009 to the stage: six three-part blowtorch cascades that fire out of the top, left and right of the tips. The lefts and rights are on pendulums and can swing back and forth as they fire, and have a slightly different tone to their blast, creating a giant sound visualiser made out of moving blowtorches.
That's awesome.
I am balls right now on that benign cap and stem. I have no idea how this is happening. I am a puddle of euphoric mush on the dead dusty ground, one with the explosiveness of the world. It feels like a fucking hippie flip. It's unreal. There is nowhere else better to be. Nothing else to talk about. I marvel at the inspiration of some of the most creative and beautiful and free minds of this world. I am inspired beyond belief. I can do anything. I am focused. I feel no fear.
Black rock city by night is something to be beheld! Handfuls climb a forty foot geodesic dome illuminated with blacklights, with no safety gear or pads beneath to catch their falls. Dancers rock the funky house soundstages from multiple platforms. Topless women serve free drinks inside raunchy bars. Pole dancers practice their art for fun and free in a completely decommodified and accepting setting. Rollers lay in friendly cuddle puddles in the open chill out spaces and invite strangers in for massages. Giant fire sculptures adorn the playa, creating a sensuous feast for the eyes. Public transportation takes the form of art cars and mutant vehicles, which range from the benign forms of hovering blacklight bunny mobiles to gigantic two-story steampunk victorian cottage airships. I watch it all from the center, in the white neon glow of the Man: a vista of MILES of parties, lights, domes, explosions. It is a vision of how human beings are capable of living in this world. It is beautiful anarchy. I smile joyously as I see this endless parade of bliss blast fireworks into the air, telling the world how good it is to be Human!
And it's Tuesday.
I love this place.
SUNDAY
I wake up at 7 am. I am packed, but not packed well. I scramble and do some last minute checking as my roommate starts the car to take me to the airport. I'm very nervous. I've never flown by myself before, and I have no idea what to expect from Burning Man.
Life is very chaotic right now. I have no job, and have been spending the year going to burns. I just haven't made it out to the big one yet. I need to get my shit together but I can't do much until I come back from the playa. Part of me thinks this is a dumb idea, but it has to be done. Why, I don't know.
I meet Lucas in Dallas and we find ourselves by amazing chance sitting next to each other on the flight to Sacramento. We laugh about past adventures, talking about girls and drugs. We get some funny looks. We meet Parker take the shuttle to the rental place. I am completely disorganized and scatterbrained and leave a bag on the shuttle. Lucas and Parker watch for it while I fill out the rental agreements. God I am a mess. We buy as many items as we can for the trip at one of the Walmarts in Sacramento. We are throwing things jn the carts haphazardly and having trouble keeping track of what we need. We tally that we still need white gas and bikes and it is now getting late. The gate opens in three and a half hours and we still haven't reached Reno, so we split and hop back on the road. This day utterly sucks.
Something feels distinctively magical about the drive along I-80. Every other person is driving an RV. All the cars are adorned with )*( symbols and have bikes attached to them. We pass by a gigantic tractor-trailer that is lined with blowtorches leading into a giant dragon's head at the front. This is VERY different from the regional burns. The volume of this festival is starting to sink in.
When we reach the Walmart in Reno, it feels like a family reunion. Everyone in the store is wearing dreadlocks and raver gear, and is giving each other hugs and exchanging friendly smiles and advice. "Oh yeah dude they sold out of bike locks here, but if you come with me I'll show you where they're still selling them and much cheaper." There are giant corner displays of condoms and white gas. It is the most enjoyable experience at a Walmart I have ever had.
We take I-80 to Wadsworth, twenty minutes outside of Reno, and get on 447. And here's where the trip starts getting weird. 447 is a rinky-dink little highway that cuts from Wadsworth, a small desert town, into the middle of nowhere. And when I say nowhere, I mean it. There are no gas stations, stops, exits or anything resembling civilization for eons. I suddenly feel like my home North Carolina is getting a bum rap...we are said to be full of "rednecks," but the fact is anywhere you are in North Carolina is near something. What kind of desert folk live out here in this isolated wasteland?
447 is PACKED. We see a trail of red lights as far ahead as the eye can see and a trail of white in the rearview. We are ALL burners. We are surrounded by empty darkness that expands in all directions.
The cops on this road are like sharks in a feeding frenzy. There are enough drugs in the cars on this road to get all of Reno high. 5-0 weaves in and out of the burner line, what they are looking for exactly is something we don't know. I see blinking lights cut right behind me and tailgate me. I pull over, but before I come to a complete stop, 5-0 gets back in the passing lane and jets up behind some RV. Why my car? The utter lack of distinctiveness? An out-of-state license plate with no bikes or distinctive burner markings? Is that usually the kind of vehicle the big camps use to haul drugs in?
At about 12:30, we hit the line. A river of brakelights awaits us, and the waiting game begins. Vendors are scattered along the road. Bored and tired passengers get out of their cars and shoot each other with squirt guns. The line stops dead for long periods of time at various parts and we have to get out and stretch ourselves. Everyone is excited! We are almost at the gate!
At 2:30 I am too tired to drive and pass the wheel to Lucas. I drift in and out of consiousness in the passenger's seat. 3:30. 4:30. 5:30. This line is LONG.
The line splits into four lanes as the ground changes from blacktop to...damn, how to describe the ground. It's not soil, it's too barren and dead to be called that. It's not sand either. It's this thick, crusted dry mud-top that kicks up clouds of dust everywhere. We have been on this thing for five minutes and every car we see is already covered in this awful dust. If you open the car door for few seconds, this shit will waft in and cover the back seat. It looks like fine snowflakes against the headlights. This is the infamous playa dust that all burners must get WELL acquainted with.
We at last reach the gate. "Hey guys, welcome to Black Rock City! Can I see your tickets?" We hand them over, he tears off the tabs and hands them back. No ID's, no wristbands.
We follow the line of cars to a point where they start branching out to where other cars and RV's are camped. This is 6:00 and L ("Lineage"), the great entrance to Black Rock City. We pass waves of cars as we look for a sign for A street ("Adapt"), then make a left until we reach 8:00. There is no parking lot, you just park wherever. Lucas wakes me up. I get out of the car and stretch. This big dude named Jose comes and greets us. Jose is camped with PEX (The Philadelphia Experiment), the camp that owns the area where we are staying. We are neighbors to camp Chillax and BBC (Bouncy Bouncy Camp). Jose gives us a warm welcome and shows us around the PEX kitchen and gives us a drink. I am so tired at this point that I can barely maintain focus for even a simple exchange of colloquialisms. It's time to get the tents pitched and get some sleep so we can do the shade structure in the morning. We pitch the tents in a very half-assed fashion and throw some shit inside, and it is FINALLY time to get some sleep.
The air grows warm as the sun begins to rise, and before I can fall asleep I see the playa, for the first time, begin to be illuminated by the daylight.
I had envisioned the playa as being a barren, miserable shithole that just happened to be the only place on earth that could accomodate a 40,000+ person burn. This is not the case. The playa is unimaginably beautiful. The visibility of the dry air shows the definition of the Sierra Nevada mountains which engulf the playa miles out in the distance. It is like being on an alien planet. It is a truly bizarre natural wonder to planet earth.
I put on my fuzzy playa coat and walk to the Esplanade. PEX is still setting up but almost done. Tetris camp, our neighbor on 7:30, has already erected their massive soundstage. The giant geodesic domes of Root society at 10:00 are still going up. The wide arcs of black rock city stretch for miles into the distance, and half a mile into the playa I see the distant white glow that is the Man. For a brief moment I stop feeling tired. The scale of this festival overwhelms me.
This is awesome.
MONDAY
A lot of people manage to camp in tents without shade structures on the playa. Either they are just using their tents as storage and passing out in the chill-out areas or they are complete desert badasses, because trying to sleep through the playa sunrise feels like this:
Click to viewLuckily, the problem is easily rectified with some rebar, PVC, and UV-reflective tarp. We groggily assemble a triangle-prism structure with the shade tarp. The tents are quite comfortable now. Amazingly comfortable in fact, maybe even more comfortable than most other campsites.
The playa, if adequately prepared, is a surprisingly comfortable place to camp. This may not seem obvious, but you have to consider the fact that many of the variables that make this terrain challenging...the dust and the sun...are very easily counter-acted with liberal helpings of shade structuring and sunscreen. There isn't much one can do against the bugs and humidity of southeastern swamps.
Without further ado, let's discuss
TIPS FOR PLAYA SURVIVAL
1) Water. Or better yet, Gatorade. Bring a giant tin of gatorade powder and mix it into all of your water so you actually retain it. The effects of the dryness are not apparent until you start noticing just how much water you are consuming. 2 gallons of water per day is about average, and it is meant to be drank throughout the day AND the night. The desert is a dry, barren place that is thirsty at all times. The air sucks the moisture from your lungs and the dust, which hovers over the playa at all times, dries out your skin. Carry it by the gallon or bring a camelback.
2) Sunscreen, lip balm and moisturizer. Your sunscreen should be an SPF high enough to make that smart-ass at the pharmacy say "you know, after SPF 45 there is no difference in UV protection." Buy SPF 80 and get on with it. All moisturizing agents must be applied several times a day to avoid looking like Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western.
3) Dust protection. You need two sets of goggles, one with UV protection for the blindingly bright days, and one without for nights. You need a dustmask, not a bandanna. Bandannas don't work. If you want to look cool, get a gas mask; they actually work too.
4) A very well-organized backpack. You will need to have everything accessible to you at all times, often at a mile or more away from your tent. This may seem cumbersome until you realize that everyone else is wearing backpacks, gas masks, goggles and cowboys hats, and has figured out a way to make it look good.
5) Socks and shoes. Bring two pairs of socks for every day you are there and prepare to throw them away when you are done. This sounds gross, but the alternative of walking around in those filthy, crusty foot coats....or worse, walking around barefoot only to see your precious tootsies dried zombie white and cracking in pain...is far less than ideal. Socks and sandals are okay; be a jersey shore tourist.
6) A bicycle. Distances on the playa are HUGE; it is approximately one mile from 3:00 and esplanade to 9:00 if you're going directly through the man, and any distances through the streets need to factor in some variable and pi as well.
I have prepared poorly, and don't follow any of these rules.
I walk around for half an hour and say hi to friends setting up at various places. I hang out in Center Camp. Center Camp feels like a mini-bastion of capitalism within Burning Man; the only place where you can buy stuff (lattes, water, coffee, ice). There are various stages around where songs and spoken word are taking place. In the center is an open circle where spinners, jugglers and contact-improvers congregate. It is a very impersonal place, safe for newbies who don't know exactly where to go. This is a necessary function, as Black Rock City is large enough to be very alienating at times. If a friend who isn't camping with you wanders off, you may never see them again. It is unlike any other community burn I've ever been to. I spend most of my afternoon there.
The rule of sunrises and sunsets is this: if the air starts feeling comfortable, get back to your tent. The air is cool, but the wind is beginning to pick up. Hard. I can barely see through the dust thirty feet ahead of me. Goggles and dust mask on.
At this point I realize that I have an excellent idea of how not to build a shade structure. The wind is hitting the flat part of the tarp head-on and is pushing it back like a sail. The central rebar-pvc beam is cocking back and is about to rip out of the structure. Apparently Mondays exist even on the playa. The knife is with Lucas, and I have no idea where he is, so I take my keys out and start ripping holes in the tarp to let the wind pass through. The center beam rips out. I try to hold it back and it feels like the wind is going to knock me over. I cannot let the structure go and fck up someone else's tent, nor can I allow it to fall into shambles and deny myself respite from the desert sun.
The dust rips against the sides of my face. My goggles fog with sweat dripping down the insides. The top beam of the shade structure finally pops. I am stuck tending to this miserable mess while the party is starting inside the city.
And suddenly I have a moment of clarity. The rest of the world disappears; I am here and now, tending to the structure in the storm. Nothing else exists. This is part of the beauty of the desert: there are no distractions. No cell reception, no precipitation, no life, just barrenness. Whatever occupies your mind is right in front of you, there is simply nothing else. I am surprised to feel a focused, good feeling, like when you feel an adderall start to work. I smile underneath my dust mask at the absurdity of seeing beauty while bracing a shade structure against a punishing dust storm.
Lucas appears. We work together and cut the tarps from the guy lines. We fasten them over each other, forming a small dome directly over the tent. It's not pretty, but it will do.
TUESDAY
It's like waking up anywhere else, you have a morning routine.
1. Stretch
2. Take your vitamins
3. Make a futile effort to get rid of some of the dust in your tent.
4. Mix a gallon of Gatorade and down a quart immediately
5. Wipe the dust off a can of chef boyardee, pop it and eat it with a spork cold.
6. Wash the dishes and take a shower (both of these things can be accomplished with baby wipes)
7. Bathe yourself in sunscreen
8. Dress for desert conditions: cowboy hat, goggles, dust mask, bandanna, candy necklace, carribean wrap pants, fresh socks and pink shoes.
9. Shit. Enjoy reading the poop limericks that the LLC has taped into the stall. There's not much point of making graffitti in the stall, BM has already come up with something more perverse to post officially.
The weather is hot again. My body is adapting, but is displaying some weird properties in doing so. Namely, my emotions are greatly intensified. The eddies of thought drift through extreme highs and lows. Confidence feels REALLY confident. Happiness feels like euphoria. Worry is terror.
The reason for this is multi-causal. First, the conditions have my body on hyper-alert, so my adrenal systrm is overqcting while my body struggles to adapt. Second, the environment has created a shift in my normal priorities; I am focused on food, water, shelter and preservation. Third, the environment is extremely stimulating to the senses. This combination is sufficient to shut down all of one's normal, civilized coping mechanisms, because the whole world is too alien for them. Walking miles through the hot desert to find water while a double-decker neon schoolbus pirateship filled with naked chicks blasting electrohouse goes by you and whips up a dust cloud. It will fuck your mind.
And then there are drugs.
It's recommended that you spend at least a day or two in the desert sober just so you can get a feel for desert survival before you start doing mind-altering chemicals. Drugs hit HARD. I lay underneath the Cubatron (a giant three-dimensional visualizer) with a bunch of other happy trippers. They gift me mushrooms. Not much, just a cap and two stems. I eat them and relax for a bit.
As I feel something beginning to kick in, I make my way over to something a bit more exciting:
Spinning fire at the Shiva Vista stage is unbelievable. The video doesn't even do it justice. The entire place swells me with passion and happiness. The crowd is wonderful. I feel unbelievably free creatively; for such a large project there is almost no regulation on what you can and cannot do performance-wise (as long as you bring your own fuel).
I return to the fuel dump and watch the event from behind the new addition for 2009 to the stage: six three-part blowtorch cascades that fire out of the top, left and right of the tips. The lefts and rights are on pendulums and can swing back and forth as they fire, and have a slightly different tone to their blast, creating a giant sound visualiser made out of moving blowtorches.
That's awesome.
I am balls right now on that benign cap and stem. I have no idea how this is happening. I am a puddle of euphoric mush on the dead dusty ground, one with the explosiveness of the world. It feels like a fucking hippie flip. It's unreal. There is nowhere else better to be. Nothing else to talk about. I marvel at the inspiration of some of the most creative and beautiful and free minds of this world. I am inspired beyond belief. I can do anything. I am focused. I feel no fear.
Black rock city by night is something to be beheld! Handfuls climb a forty foot geodesic dome illuminated with blacklights, with no safety gear or pads beneath to catch their falls. Dancers rock the funky house soundstages from multiple platforms. Topless women serve free drinks inside raunchy bars. Pole dancers practice their art for fun and free in a completely decommodified and accepting setting. Rollers lay in friendly cuddle puddles in the open chill out spaces and invite strangers in for massages. Giant fire sculptures adorn the playa, creating a sensuous feast for the eyes. Public transportation takes the form of art cars and mutant vehicles, which range from the benign forms of hovering blacklight bunny mobiles to gigantic two-story steampunk victorian cottage airships. I watch it all from the center, in the white neon glow of the Man: a vista of MILES of parties, lights, domes, explosions. It is a vision of how human beings are capable of living in this world. It is beautiful anarchy. I smile joyously as I see this endless parade of bliss blast fireworks into the air, telling the world how good it is to be Human!
And it's Tuesday.
I love this place.