(no subject)
Wake up. Eat a can of Chef Boyardee, brush teeth, apply sunscreen, don goggles and dust mask, pack backpack, take a shit in the porta potty, go to the chill-out area. I'm getting used to this.
The sheer alien-ness of Black Rock City and the Playa itself are impossible to convey to someone who's never been. I don't think I can say that enough. Everything you know from the "real world" makes no sense. Out there, aloofness and reserve when meeting strangers is the norm. Here, it is a sign of spiritual maldevelopment; a good burner gives a friendly smile to strangers. We have status symbols, but different ones. Creativity is status here. The best costumes, the coolest theme camps, the best inventions, the richest experiences, the freest minds. Fuck the outside, this is the real world.
There is a geodesic climbing dome set up near the PEX camp. It is made of triangles, each side is about 5-6 feet long. It is forty feet high. It is spackled with climbers, who are evenly distributed throughout the various heights. There is always one at the top, who looks like he is playing "King of the mountain."
I get about halfway up before the angle starts to change. The wind picks up a bit, and I remember that I have to get down too, and that's harder than getting up. The drop to the bottom looks painful. I force up two more levels and hold on. Below I see girls posing on the bottom levels, doing splits in tight shorts. Their bodies are hard and tan like desert warriors.
I can't go up any further, it's just way too freaky. I look around at everyone at the same level. They are all feeling the same thing I am. We all recognize that we are in a weird sort of danger that we never get to experience in the outside world. Our outside world instincts tell us that we shouldn't be doing this. Someone should be coming over here and chastising us, because this is wrong. We should be being told by the owner of the property or by the police to get the hell down, and be more worried about that than the actual climb. But that person isn't there. The only person who is there is a buff, shirtless mountain climber jumping gracefully from section to section with a power drill in his right hand. He fits the hex bit around a nut near the top and tightens it. He says to me, "I heard there was loose nut up here, do you see any more?" I shrug and he continues his Sherpa-ing about.
"How long did it take you to build this thing?" someone asks.
"Couple hours."
"How much weight does this thing hold?"
He doesn't even change his gaze. "I don't know. You read the ticket."
The city is probably twice as populated now as it was on Monday (and will be twice as populated again come the weekend). It's turning into a costume contest. A man walks by with stilts on his feet and hands, and a gas mask that hangs down like an elephant's trunk like some bizarre humanoid quadruped.
I think the best one is an infamous fellow who is known to attend every burning man and freak the hell out of people. He is a big fat naked guy who rides around on a bicycle with an amazing assortment of tattoos and piercings. You catch a glimpse of his penis. A ladder of bars runs up the top and bottom of his shaft, with ampallangs and dydoes through the head, a row of rings up and down each side of his scrotum and a prince albert which has been stretched enough to hold the combination lock bolted through it.
It's hard to be an individual out here. Yes it's a festival of radical self-expression and you can do things that you can't do on the outside, but if you're trying to draw attention to yourself, rather than the performance or the camp or whatever you are contributing, you are S.O.L. There is always going to be a bigger freak than you are. No one cares.
And yet, that's ok. Why do we try to be individuals in the first place? We are so desperate to feel human connection that we will go to great lengths to pull people out of their own selfish minds and give us attention that we fight to be better than everyone else and distance ourselves from our own friends. But here we don't have to do that. The love is right here. The ego just doesn't have as much of a purpose. If you want to do something here, you make it something that everyone can enjoy. Because no one gives a fuck otherwise.
Almost none of us are good citizens to our communities or to our countries, and there is a damned good reason for it. They are worthless. They are cold, alienating, regulated social clusters of randomly selected individuals there because that is what their economic status dictates. We can go years without saying hi to our neighbors. Our voices go unheard in the democratic process. Our cities have no real spirit to them, how can we lose our selves in them?
We cannot give to communities when there is no community.
To finally be presented with a real, honest, no-bullshit community is a beautiful experience.
The best international fire performance troupes in the world come to Burning Man. Seeing them live will BLOW YOUR FUCKING MIND. The Cinder Circus is a prop-heavy troupe from America that put on a show at Shiva Vista. And damn if they don't have some amazing props:
Click to viewMy favorite, though is the Pyronauts. They come from all over the globe, Japan, USA, Canada, Britain, and so forth. Their technique is amazing, but originality and charisma are unmatched. Burning Man is one of the few places on earth where you get to see shit like this:
Seeing fire spinning at Burning Man is like watching fire spinning for the first time. It rekindles everything I ever loved about the art. I feel focused. I feel like I have a purpose. I feel like I belong. I feel like I can devote me life to this art and this amazing scene.
A strange feeling suddenly comes over me. It is a wash away of fear. I feel, for just a moment, perfect focus. Unafraid of failure or death.
I go back to the cllimbing dome and ascend. My wrap pants and playa coat should get in the way, but they don't. It's an easy climb. I know this in my mind, but now I know it in my heart as well. I climb to the top without a shred of doubt. The view is amazing.
What a mind-fuck.