Riding the Synchronicity Wave

My last days in Long Beach weren't stressful, but they should have been. I didn't care, and took my time packing. When you pack to move, its not worth doing so unless you do it at the last minute. I mean, you need your computer. You need to wear your best clothes. Listen to music. Keep all your stuff for as long as you can hold on.

I was told we'd be leaving on the 12th, a Friday, but then J.D. turned it into the 10th, a Wednesday. Finally we left on the 11th, a Thursday. (There would be much obstacles to scheduling on this trip, and all I can ever to is to happily flow with it.) Fine compromise. Ominous day . . . 9/11.

My hair, unwashed. I rushed to finish my comics from the library - Y The Last Man and Alan Moore's Wildcats. I packed my books except for a pile to take on the road, and began my re-read Illuminatus (which I last re-read on the train to California three years ago). First I packed my media mail, two days before leaving. Tons of books and a few movies and cds; and also art and printed writings that I could fake as media mails. Heavy trip to the post office later, and I'm 150.00 poorer. Then at the last minute - before learning the last minute would be delayed a day - I shipped my clothes and computer and UPS wasn't the cheapest after all so it was another 200.00 post office to mail that shite. It all only just arrived at my mother's house recently.

I would have liked to have a party, but nobody wanted to come. Raven called me on the phone, and Jenn came down to Long Beach to visit. I said bye to Alex and Alan and Ramsey multiple times before leaving for real, and then one Thursday afternoon J.D. called me on my phone as he lay at my doorstep in a ridiculously tightly packed little Volvo.

And there was a cat! I didn't realize we'd be traveling with a cat the whole time. My allergies. Actually, Mia was a good cat and I got along well. Often times I find myself crashing at a friend's house with cats and I sneeze and such at first, horridly uncomfortable, but by the time I wake up I'm relatively cured. Some cats I can get used to, and Mia was indeed one of them. Even though she had to stay within the front seats the entire week-long trek, standing on my lap, meowing nicely, but few sicknesses.

We drove and drove and drove. 22 to 605 through Orange County (no LA-Hollywood pit stops unfortunately, no more goodbyes) to 10 through Riverside. Somewhere outside of Indio I had to use my food stamp EBT card to buy a hundred bucks worth of dry junk food, as it was my last chance within the state of California. And we switched off driving, and had to dig for local radio music and AM talk shows to sustain us. Funny story: first we had the portable CD player but we couldn't find batteries. Then when we found batteries we bloody couldn't find that CD player at all. J.D. is a DJ and had a million CDs and tons of music files on his computers/external hard drives, but no iPod/mp3 player. Although we could play from his laptop, and lovingly did (although it was burdensome on the passenger rider's lap), but then the plug-cigarette lighter didn't work and the laptop ran out of power too. Finally bought one at a Wal Mart in a small town in Texas (one of those super centers that take over the whole town, which I'd hate to shop at but its J.D.'s bag). Late into the trip, finally a music choice. J.D. played his four-hour mix, and I also enjoyed Infected Mushroom.

First state: Arizona. This route would introduce me to many new states. We went to J.D.'s dad and stepmom's beautiful home outside of Phoenix. It was cumfy at night, but in the day quite hot. An elegant house in the desert. Lots of lizards. Super-kind family who really wanted to feed the hell out of me.

Sometimes I'm uncomfortable around rich people. These people weren't that rich I suppose, but way more middle class than I'm used to and it really was a beautiful house. But lately I wasn't so uncomfortable around such people. In fact, the whole universe seemed on my side of late. Its hard to contextualize, but in certain regards there was no more anxiety, just a smooth riding of the synchronicity wave that brought me to Arizona in the first place. I had nice conversations with everyone, except maybe the bratty little sister, and they seemed to like me, and they even had cable TV which is a luxury I've missed for years now. Watched cartoons and the news mostly.

But the biggest obstacle of all: Hurricane Ike. Why must the very first time I ever stay in Texas I have to worry about hurricanes? Well these things always take longer than planned, though we planned as safely as possible, and decided to not even leave until late so we could specifically get there on Sunday when the storm might pass. Later we went to J.D.'s friend's place nearby, as I learned that almost all his friends are cat-people. Mia, who had a big problem not peeing on the road, got to use a litter box. It was cool to hang out for a bit around Phoenix but we didn't crash, and we checked the weather carefully, and then we began the long drawn-out drive to Texas.

Fourteen hours of endlessness. You hallucinate on the road. You truly do. J.D. dozed off next to me and I counted away the hours, one cigarette every :30, and begged for something decent to come on the radio. I became very grateful for decent reception of the plainest oldies station. Perspectives flattened, lights on billboards turned into cars. Clouds turned into trees. Sizes didn't make any sense. Four hours in and I had to wake my buddy up, tell him to drive.

In the morning we pulled into Fredericksburg, where cell phone reception was minimal, and drove through the small town desperate to communicate with Sarah to figure out how to get to her ranch. Somehow we made a connection, and she'd meet us in a corner, and then we waited a while and the cat walked around outside and then I met Sarah.

I don't really like nature. Its dull. Its a nice scenery to be sure, and then you're over it quick, and then I'm just bored. But I should embrace what I can, wherever I am, especially when letting go of control and going wherever I am taken. So the flow took me to a ranch in Fredericksburg and that's where I hung out the next two days. Sarah's parents were ridiculously nice, like many Middle America people on this trip (I'm so very not used to it), and fed the hell out of me. We all went hiking, and smoked cigarettes and other things, and observed the unique plants and animals and there was giant piles of cow shit everywhere. Sarah was nice, and I guess she used to be a raver chick back in her and J.D.'s college heyday but nowadays she seemed more nerdy and shy. Kind of an anime geek, and I can totally relate.

We shot guns while drunk, my very virgin first, a .22 caliber rifle. We drove around the acrage in a beaten-up ol pickup truck which had a broken right door. I checked my email on their old computer, a priority. Observed the old Texan architecture. Ate fresh tomatoes. We watched Independence Day the first night while I was a bit altered-stated and I wouldn't shut up, deconstructing the hell out of it. J.D. went to his Grandma's the next day, and I switched up my luggage and stuff to her car.

I was kind of confused. Did Sarah live here? I wanted to go to Austin too. Turned out that Sarah was only here for the weekend and indeed lived in North Austin. After being fed homecooked meals yet again, we went down there. She drives really fast. Manual, something I still have yet to learn how to do.

J.D. had a ton of music stuff to do with his college buddies in Texas, and I was to crash at Sarah's place for the following two weeks. I depend so much on the kindness of acquaintances lately. To give me a floor and a roof, to buy me beers, to drive me around. Right now at this juncture in my life, though I very much make sure I make it up to people in gas money, I am quite a freeloader. But Karmic balance isn't about paying back the exact amount you were given to that particular individual, its about knowing that someday you'll do the same for someone else. That's why Raven lived with me for two months and didn't pay rent. That's why CouchSurfing is so great, to host and to surf (of which I've done exactly one time of both). That's why we all mooch off our parents and know that one day the next generation will do the same to us.

Anyways, the first night into a real city Sarah knew some friends going to a little redneck bar in North Austin, and I was invited along to play pool or whatever. Her friends were cool I suppose. One thing to note: while overall everywhere in America is pretty much the same there is one inherent difference between people in Austin and people in Hollywood. Sarah has a friend who's a professional drummer and toured with Poison recently. She was the one who mentioned it, and I hung out with the guy and he didn't name-drop at all. There is no question that if I was hanging out with musicians in Los Angeles they would casually bring up their amazing contacts within the first minute of conversation. There was definitely a different mindset here, though subtle, but to be appreciated.

Played pool, and I lost, as usual. Drank beers. Sarah got consecutively drunker. I met a black comedian there, and I got to talking to him, and he told me his dream to perform at the redneck bar: "I know its an all-white redneck bar, but I want all you guys to give me your best nigger jokes." Yeah, sometimes I love not being in the West Coast.

This guy really wanted to smoke out with us, and afterparty at Sarah's house, and after a few detours of waiting around in front of some ghetto house we all went to Sarah's and played guitars and chilled. I observed that bud in Texas is much crappier than in California. Dark and twiggy and rough, not the bright green smelly shit the Pacific Ocean accustoms one to. And that is 100% fine by me, because strong pot always freaks me out. It got later and later, and wasn't Sarah supposed to work in the morning? About 4:00 or 5:00 she kicked everyone out (except for me), and had to go to bed. "Isn't this a great introduction to Texas?" she boasted. To some degree, I suppose, but actually my whole life these last few years has nights like these in all sorts of cities, and honestly I wasn't that terribly impressed just yet.

I set up my stuff in guest room. Slightly awkward - Sarah sleeps naked and you have to go through her room to get to the bathroom at night. (Interjection: J.D. joked about me hooking up with her, and possibly staying in Texas indefinitely, and I sort of gave it serious thought. But, sleeping in the nude or not, she wasn't my type that way and we were just to be friends.) The next morning, hungover, Sarah called off work. She's a librarian by the way. It worked out for me at least, and now I got to have a guide for daytime Austin.

Woke up at noon and helped wash her car and went on some errands at the post office. She took me to a super-cool comic store. We went to a toy store near UT. Lots of cool stuff on Guadalupe near UT. Ate healthy Italian food. Neal Stephenson would be doing a book signing at a Book People the following week. Listened to Kimya Dawson and Connor Oberst and Tom Waits at the record store. The next day I discovered a truly amazing pad: Brave New Books; a conspiracy/9/11 Truther/Alex Jones/Ron Paul/Libertarian stronghold, and there was conversation there.And, oddly, there was no sign of Hurricane Ike damage. There would be all the way in Cincinnati, but nothing here. Just a cumfy breeze was commented upon. I rather dug Texas.

Then we went to famous 6th St where it was really hard to park. Right near the Congressional building (is it correct to label as 'Congressional building'?). I wonder how it is that this hipster Texan oasis just happened upon the Is there a link? So we hung around differing bars, watching blues music, and there were Miller Lite girls to give us more free booze. Truly, it was too much.

But I left too early. I didn't get to find MySpace friends. I didn't get to stalk Alex Jones. I didn't get to network with CouchSurfers. I did however, get to have my picture taken at the amazing Daniel Johnston mural of Jeremiah the theological frog, at the very last minute as J.D. whisked me off away. There was some drama between J.D. and Jessica, and he felt he had to go soon and whisk her off away.

It was unfortunate. Just as I was let loose on my own to wander the town by myself, taking the bus and reading Jodorowsky graphic novels, it wasn't meant to be. Expecting to stay for two weeks - and broke - I even applied online emailing my resume to a few places, just to work for a week, and one called me back! But I couldn't do it! So we repacked and said bye and had to go. I know I shall return one day. Austin is too cool not to.

We went all the way to the next town over (Belton or something it was called?), and then stayed the night there. Another of J.D.'s college friends, another cat-person, but it was great in that there was a quite a high novelty of intelligent conversation. His buddy Andrew had a lot to say on the subject of personal research into atheist philosophy and Judaism (even tried to bring me back into the fold), and his own direct experience of learning that secret society's invent their own history. I recommended he read Foucault's Pendulum. And, of course, all conspiracy theory researchers - and true philosophers - need to read Robert Anton Wilson.

There was much drinking and staying up late and even talk of suicide (why must the most intelligent people in the world be both depressed, and also college dropouts?). And I crashed early and J.D. crashed after me, and there was free food again, and then the real driving was to take place.He seemed impressed by me, a mere film school dropout, with my self-taught well-readness. People seem to think I'm smart for some reason. I don't know why.

J.D. was pulled over three times. He laughed it off, good for him, even as there was pot in the car and one time an open container (but a car that packed, nobody would search it and nobody did). I didn't get pulled over, just drove at cruise control 70mph. We ran out of gas at in the morning at a nowhere Arkansas hotel (hate to say I told you so but I told him to get gas the night before). I spent about 180.00 on gas, every other fillup. Drove through Bill Clinton's birthplace. Fretted over his cat not peeing. Went to Memphis' Beal street for waffles and such. J.D. went through Kentucky for the first time. Finally, my territory.

And then, after showing off the coolness of Louisville by highway, slowly but surely due North, 80 turns into 71, only a few more hours left, I thought it was early at midnight but actually I lost an hour in the timechange, and 1:00 AM there was the Cincinnati downtown beautiful cityscape. Home? I suppose I can call it that. And what did we find there?

Also, I learned that I am going to move to China soon.

I still haven't washed my hair.

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August 29th, a Friday, Black Rock City:

I was having a mystical experience in the desert and I met a guy at a firepit. He told me he lived in China for a while. I asked him how he went about that . . . and if I could ever do the same. Needed contact information.

"Can we get this man a pen, so I can ship him to China? Seriously!"

September 19th, a Thursday, on the road in some godforsaken state that I don't recall:

Still haven't washed my hair since the mystical experience, but the playa dust now long dried out, and I'd been emailing some Chinese people about the possibility of teaching English in Shenzhen. Emailed my resume, sent my number, answered questions. And then I got an overseas phone call.

"Hello is this Ray He-ch-t?"

Talked for about a half-hour about the program. To teach small children. Don't need to know Mandarin or Cantonese. Not a lot of pay, but lower price of living. Room and board payed. The economy is doomed here and you know it; move to Asia.

Okay!

And the following week was a week of bureaucracy, of mailing my passport to a travel agency in San Francisco, getting visas, figuring out flight times, reimbursements and such, and finally its all confirmed.

Perhaps I shall live in Asia not just for the four-month semester but indefinitely, and nomadically travel and work where I can. Put the novelist thing on hold. Lean a bunch of languages. Pretend I'm Christopher Doyle (look him up), cuz it seemed to work for him finely.

So far this works out very well, because honestly I cannot bloody stand being at my Mom's house.

You ever get in that ambitious conversation while drunk/fucked up. "Yeah, let's do this!" And then you inevitably never get around to doing it. Well this time I got around to doing it . . .

And this is Riding the Synchronicity Wave, for I have let go of control in my life. I must allow whatever will be to just occur, and enjoy the ride. No expectations. No structure. No plans. Unless the universe wants to figure it out for me.

And if J.D. didn't cut our trip short I would still be in Texas and this may not have worked out.

See. The cosmos knows what its doing. The Buddha always provides.

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Anyways, the first night in I tried to show J.D. that Cincinnati could be a cool city. The downtown lights were good for my argument. And then we went to Hamilton to go to Jessica's. Butler County, I assure you, is no kind of example for anything. Poor Jessica.

It was good to see her though. There was minimal drama, and lots of love. But they had a lot to talk about and it wasn't for me to listen in too closely . . .

The next morning we stuffed into the Volvo, me driving and her on his lap. Went to Frisch's for breakfast. I inadvertently put my foot in my mouth when I told Jessica that she better treat J.D. right. I only wanted to be a friend, but this caused much doubt. Whateva

I got to my Mom's house, they had to go sign for a one-month apartment, and I was officially here!

Mom's house still had no power from the hurricane! Everywhere the streets are filled with rubble and tree branches. Who knew this city was so disastrous?

And its nice to visit Mom and my little little sister every once in a while, but its a bit hellish to be here indefinitely. Hugs around, then the novelty ends, and its constant bickering. Every morning I sleep at 4:00 and am waken up by arguing at 8:00. Nowhere to go but to walk to the library to read and to use the internet. When Mom works I can't use her car. Nobody wants to come here. Kenwood/Madeira drains my soul. Fuck it though, I won't let it succeed, and this is my philosophy right now.

But I don't care. I refuse to be depressed. Even among all the mosquitoes, I refuse to let it get me down. Its interesting, after the mystical experience described above I haven't felt that hollowness the way I used to everyday. The 3D world is screaming at me to fall into despair, because I am a loser and everything sucks, and I just cannot muster the reaction to take it seriously anymore. I may be surrounded by crazy immigrants I am related to, old friends are recovering junkies, I have no money, and yet the universe remains such a joke I find it so obvious that it will work out just fine.

Well, the first few nights out and everybody bought me beer. Hung out with my cousin, saw old friends (some recovering junkies), and had conversations at bars. Jeremy and Randolf's mansion. Randolf's music show. The beautiful Jen drove me around. I talked to her about children. Chloe doesn't want to communicate with me. Talked to Zac on the phone. Seeing Trevor was trippy. Seeing Joel is cool but sad. J.D. had a dj gig already and Jen took me to a little rave in downtown. Cousin Leah drove me around and wasn't feeling the party scene at all. I got a girl's phone number at the hipster bar in Northside (and what am I to do with it?). And so on and so forth. Guess I could write a more detailed play-by-play schedule of each little subadventure but I don't really feel like it.

Overall, Cincinnati is on the up-and-up. Just a microcosm of LA, and everybody hates it here just like there. But all cities in America are pretty much the same, I can assure you, and I've checked this very thoroughly. This is just as good a place as any. Just not for me, right now.

Many people I know are doing great. Some aren't. They are evolving. They are paranoid. The world seems to be coming under (must I repeat the news?), but that's no excuse to not do well.

Currently I am doing very little. I argue with my sister to use the computer. I ignore the chaos field of my family. And my credit score is very terrible, and I refuse to give a fuck.

I am re-reading Illuminatus! and the Invisibles concurrently and this no doubt contributes to my naive assurance of the world as illusion.

Do not worry that I am lost. I prefer being lost.

Feminist critique of his-story states that the male experience of orgasm has led us into this lifestyle of preparation-to-goal-to-resolution-to death, and then repeat the Jesus process all over again. But Alan Watts has a Zen perspective that maybe life is more like a dance, with no particular goal in mind but a flow all the way . . .

Do you see what I'm getting at?

Everything is pretty cool in the universe. There is nothing worth taking seriously.

It is all arbitrary. It is all fun.

We must all move to China every once in a while, and disconnect. And reconnect. And we'll all make it big if only we'd allow ourselves to. Its difficult, but its also easier than you may think.

Just smile, you're in hell, and you've finally figured out how to work it.

Does information lead to wisdom? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just stupid.

;)

)'(

BURNING MAN

Year 23

(Yeah, I didn't even realize it until I got there, but this was the twenty-third year ...)

"The American Dream." What's the point? I guess that's what we set to find out.

Cliché'd philosophical ramblings aside, the journey was a lot of fun. As we know, the journey is usually the point, and the destination is moot. So, let us try to figure out this point, and along the way, learn the game ...

I'd planned all year. Time was crunching. I shopped at the last minute at Target. I packed up with Jessica and Ryan and Max, the latter two I had only just met. Jessica, an intelligent neuroscientist at UC Irvine and a true entheogen researcher. We met on MySpace. Her husband Ryan, who was more straightedge and didn't even particularly like this hippie culture. Max, a younger fun metalhead guy, cool, chill, and quite happy to get fucked up at any point. I partied with them in OC the night before and helped them pack their stuff into the Uhaul. The next day they picked me and my stuff up, and off we went. Hopefully they'd enjoy my presence for this fourteen-hour roadtrip. Up the California coast, the 5, east of San Francisco, into Nevada, with a stop in dead Reno - and I never liked casinos anyways - and I spent so much money on gas that I don't really have. And then finally the sluggish ride through the tiny city of Gerlach behind a line of spraypainted glittery trailers ... until of course Black Rock Desert approacheth.

We waited in line until dawn and watched the South Park episode about the hippie festival. It was ironically appropriate. I walked to the porto-potty, the first of many treks, and then paid my 95.00 low-income ticket in cash. We made it past the barrier, "Welcome home!" said the dude, and made Ryan - the virgin - ring the bell and roll around in the dirt. The first of many playa dust messes.

We met with our theme camp at 7:00 and Allante, who I'd only known online from the Yahoo group and already mailed my eighty bucks. Black Rock Bureau of Hospitality! In retrospect, the theme camp thing might not have been worth the trouble and money but at least I got to stay at a good location near the middle. We built our tents and Jessica and Ryan had a hexiurt structure thing; a big dome of aluminum foil-ish material. Then the Monday nine-hour whiteout started. It was the stuff of legends, worst dust storm in ten years from what I understand.

Mercifully, I finished my tent before the dust-storm got too bad. It was far worse than any I experienced last year. Still, I was set to experience this Burning Man thing for the second year and make a lot more of it than the previous more observational year. Done being a tourist, I demanded to be a citizen. I rode my bike to Center Camp, with goggles and bandana, and hung around. Mostly, I wanted to talk to girls. All this PUA research was finally to pay off ...

It seems that life, or at least my life, requires a choice of either sex or drugs. You can't have both indulgences. I'm just not that kind of rock star. While my friends really wanted to get mushrooms, and I unfortunately wasn't able to secure a deal from my guy in time, I didn't care for it. Last year I had a bad trip on mushrooms; it was just too confusing. My trips are usually a bit horrifying and very introspective, and I cannot relate to these people who find entheogens a partying experience. Plus, in order to talk to girls and be impressive, I must be in control of my faculties. I didn't even get that drunk, even amongst the endless parades of free alcohol. I paced myself carefully, only got smashed like once.

Must be in control of my faculties! As my training goes, I have learned that seduction is all about placing yourself higher on the social ladder than the girl, no matter how hot and amazing she might be. While there are an infinite amount of subtle methods: to be likable and witty and funny and touchy and attractive and confident - in the end it's simply all about maintaining an aura of higher social positioning. DHV: demonstrate higher value. And in order to strategize this sort of social intelligence - especially if you aren't one who does this naturally (i.e., me) - it's very necessary to be sober.

At Center Camp I met an Asian girl (actually half-Okinawan) named Kiku, and her white friend Jeanie. Struck up a conversation concerning her see-through dress, and got the address to her camp. Later it was nightfall, and I wandered over to the 7:00 and Hummer - not too far from me in a nice synchronicity - and I also met some cool Australians cats. There was another girl I talked to, and she mentioned she had a boyfriend, but invited me to hang out at her camp. I climbed up to their flagpole for a nice view with these guys, and talked about America. Later, it even turned out that Kiku was to hang out with them too, and Max - who was tripping on mushrooms already - joined me to shoot the shit at their camp and have a few beers. Then we all rode bikes out to the desert.

It wasn't long until we got separated. One by one, we danced here and danced there. After the grueling dust-storm I was happy to see that people were ready to go out on Monday night, and already the art cars were bumping and the glow-stick outfits were bouncing. We drank at the tiki bar, and I played with a flame thrower, and we parked our bikes and walked to the Man in the middle. I was competing with Dave, last Ozzie left, for Kiku's attention, and felt a bit low self-esteemed for it. More alpha male than me, but I persevered and eventually he got too drunk and shifted his attention to Jeanie. Then they got lost and it was just me and Kiku. I put my arm around her and walked through the cold, and danced to 80s music, and late into the morning we went back to her camp. We talked for awhile. She confessed she was 38 and had an ex-husband. She certainly had a young soul though. Her tent was knocked over from the storm, but we sat in the sand and I leaned in and kissed her for a moment. She pulled me away and it turned out she had a boyfriend. Which she never mentioned before. But then she said we could kiss anyways. She said I was a good kisser.

It escalated and escalated. As often happens with me, girls don't want to have sex right away but they're willing to do everything up to that point. Kissing deeply, she led my hand into her breasts and I licked her nipples and I got so fucking hard and then she put her hands down my pants and I reciprocated and she had to keep assuring me that there would be no sex but she played with my balls and I stuck my two fingers deep in and searched for the clitoris with my thumb and there was moaning and eventually I stained her see-through dress. What a successful night. I couldn't believe this already occurred on my first day. It was exactly what I needed. I felt like a real human being. She invited me to her tent, and said again, "no sex," but I was already gotten off and just wanted to sleep alone in my own tent. It's difficult for me to sleep with someone else next to me, especially someone I don't know well, so I went back alone. I didn't even deal with my dusty sleeping bag, instead I slept in the desert cold at our camp's chill space on a couch.

The week continued with many more experiences. I shot my load the first day, figuratively and literally, but the there were still many sexual and spiritual and drug-induced experiences to make for a highly noveltous week. With my campmates I mostly turned away from getting smoked up, but there was so much pot and I do admit to several occasions of wandering confused. (But, as said, when high it's impossible to talk to girls and this was my central goal all along; so I didn't really enjoy all the free weed.) When I'm high I basically just feel stupid, and its kind of cool in that everything is extra weird, but overall this experience is not my preference. An interesting observation in sobriety experiments: I find that when I am the only sober one among stoners I am naturally drifted into the alpha male position of the group. Everyone suddenly is willing to listen to me and let me take charge. Not a bad ability. Lesson: just say no.

Art and art and art, wandering and wandering and wandering. So much to see and so much to neural-network. I saw giant robot hands. An art car dragon that really did breathe fire. I missed out on the Babylon truck thing that everyone liked so much. The toilet voting machine - 'New World Puppet 1 & 2 brought to you by Bold Lie' - was hilariously poignant. I had a conversation to a brilliant military guy who held a sign that said 'talk to me about being a conscientious objector.' I went to the Costco Soulmate Trading Outlet with a slightly annoying campmate, and filled out a form to meet my soulmate, and while the girl they connected me with I didn't hit it off with I had a great conversation there with a beautiful black girl Joyce who was a genetic computer modeler. I made out with a random girl at the Smoochdome. I went to a costume exchange and was given a free plaid dress that just happened to go with my plaid hat. I brought other dresses, but that one was my only drag day for the week. I lost my cool sunglasses. I was repeatedly complimented on my Willy Wonka goggles. I saw a tent with a Fnord license plate and talked to those guys about "Hail Eris" and such. The giant Hummer in the middle of the desert was amazing. Naked hugs on occasion. Fuzzy-legged girls. And I had quite the beard by the end of the week.

The best time was discovering the refreshing punk rock bar, shoddily built like a punk house squat and it felt just like home. I met a comic nerd there dressed like Captain America and talked to him for hours about the Bruedabaker run. Gave him my ol' minicomic - because punk and comics is what it's all about ultimately. Dancing all night long at the loudest raves you'll ever hear. The big Root Society dome at 10:00 - where I saw some live pornography in an out-of-control fuck scene right in the middle of it. And the outdoor Opulent Temple on the opposite side at 2:00 was an even better rave. Asking people for mushrooms every night, to no avail, and not for me but for my friend. Still guilty for my lack of hookup, but she did eventually get her own. Constantly riding around, committing to experiencing everything I could. Hippie scene in the daytime at spiritual classes, and luckily I brought a watch this year and circled events from the booklet. And at night Burning Man is for the dance party ravers. I did all I could. I went everywhere I could. I helped whoever I could. I exchanged memes. I was intent on experiencing everything at once.

I barely ate, and barely slept, and woke up strangely forgetting where I was. Powered only by alcohol and an empty stomach, coupled by riding my bike constantly, I think I lost a bit of weight.

And I didn't write at all. I didn't take any pictures. (Friends didn't bring a camera either.) I lived in the moment the entire time, like I never had before, and it turned out to be sufficient to make a narrative art out of it after the fact.

Still, in many ways this Burn wasn't as good as last year's. It seemed more watered down. There were far more Rangers and cops - being that last year Paul Addis famously burnt down the man prematurely. Less sexually charged: there were no kissing booths this year. I missed that. I didn't stumble upon any orgy scenes. At least, I didn't stumble upon any straight orgies that is, but back at Comfort & Joy in the fairyland village area there was quite a surreal show to peak in. There seemed to be less art cars to hitchhike on this year, less fun to walk around alone at night on the playa.

But all in all, this was a better Burn because of me and my attitude. I allowed myself to fall in. I embraced the culture around me, to the fullest degree I could, and did my best to let go of the nonsense illusion of the "real world." Fuck the real world. This is more interesting. Novelty is all that matters. I don't think there's anywhere else I could experience more Tao. I fell in love a dozen times. I became part of something bigger. For a short while, I felt like I existed.

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Tuesday through Friday gave us four days in a row of beautiful perfect weather. Hot and heavy and cloudless in the sky, and cool midnights, and shivering cold by dawn.

So, after getting the inevitable dust storm out of the way on the first day, I was ready to explore. First I had to sweat the dust from me at the Project Steambath I discovered last year. Nudity on the playa betrays an interesting double-standard. There are plenty of creepy middle-aged guys who you don't really want to see naked, and I didn't want to be the nudist exhibitionist sort among them. But there are certain socially acceptable times, and I thought nothing of waiting in line outdoors in front of the sauna and getting a nice tan on my ass. Even tans are nice.

Many girls are topless (and rarely there are full nude girls, and it's a special treat when you can see ass; forgive my shallowness, but it's the truth), and you get numb to that pretty soon. Breasts don't have to be overtly sexual, it's just a relaxed state. I'm all for topless equality, it shouldn't be such a big deal. Its not like I went out of my way to see the Critical Tits parade (or the Critical Dicks one).

The steambath feels great once you sweat out all the toxins and step out into the cold, and finally feel clean. It doesn't take long to get dirty again though. And there's the Human Carcass wash, in which you wash others and others wash you, but state your "boundaries" first though.

Mandatory nakedness out of the way, by Tuesday night I was to hang out with the Australians again, at the Duck Bar at 9:00 and E where their DJ friend was playing awesome cuts. Kiku didn't come, but the hot Ozzie tall girl told me to make out with her male friend while drunkenly dancing, and I did and they took a picture. "But balance it out with a girl makeout," I said, and she made out with me quite a bit while drunkenly dancing and there's pictures of that too. (I counted afterwards, and I kissed four girls and one guy for the week. 80% straight ratio I can deal with.) There was a dirty slip n slide inwhich I dared another girl to jump on nude with me, and it was a bad idea as I was thoroughly muddied up afterwards in the dry night. Ha, fun times.

There was one day at the steambath where I got to talking to a tattooed girl named Rachel. It turned out she was an erotic masseuse, studying Tantra and "genital/anal manipulation massage." She told me to meet her at her camp later for a gift. And to bring plastic gloves for a prostate massage. I indeed met her there, and sat on the yoga mat and listened to her instructions. "It's not about judgment, it's not about whether you get hard or not. It's just about enjoying the moment." She hugged me and touched me all over until the nervousness went down. I closed my eyes and she directed my breathing. "Breathe slowly. In through your nose. Vibrate your vocal chords and breathe out through your mouth. Repeat four times." Then, "now breathe fast four times!" This pattern, as the oils rubbed all over my body, and fingers danced around my groin. My heartbeat slowed as I grew comfortable, and then my heartbeat went fast as my muscles clenched and Kundalini energy shot out, and I made a mess. It wasn't just another orgasm though, it was a Tantric meditation that buzzed through my whole body. For hours afterwards I felt like I was high, with a big smile on my face and unable to process conversation. I floated across the desert, in a fuzzy landscape, vaguely evolved for it. Again, this was no mere handjob prostitutional massage, this was somehow an important neurological exercise. I still feel grateful for it. What a gift I was given. And all free. I wonder how much she charges on her day job?

Ultimately, I was to experience no intercourse at Burning Man. That's okay, I'm totally grateful, and it's probably not the best avenue for girls. Example: Ryan cut his arm and went to the medical tent, and later told me that half the people there were girls with dusty vag problems. So the two hand jobs in the week and lots of making out, I'll happily take it! Sexuality is a very important part of the human experience. I've been away from touch sensations long enough. Shame and nervousness need to be de-conditioned, and we all deserve as many pleasurable experiences as possible. The weird awkwardness the world pushes on us isn't right. The more fun the better. I deserve it. You deserve it. Let's live life already.

That same day I saw Daniel Pinchbeck at the Entheon site. He cut his hair short. It was a decent alarmist-type speech, though I am not without my disagreements. We all know that the world is going to hell in a handbasket, but in particular his McKenna-esque Singularity timewave acceleration theory had a tinge of optimism to it: that apparently the way that the Agricultural Revolution to the Industrial Revolution to the Information Revolution (that we are in now) is all speeding up. And perhaps the coming Wisdom Revolution will occur so quickly that we might even make it to the 2012 due date. Still, I don't believe the present is all doom and gloom. It's just my personal intuition, but I happen to believe that the challenges modern times bring to us - environmentally and politically and everything else - it's all part of what is supposed to occur and ultimately for our own good. It is both unnatural and natural at once. While you don't necessarily need psychedelics to see this, but psychedelics can certainly bring about a deeper understanding. At least with me. Certainly in Pinchbeck's experience. Anyways, I'm just uncomfortable with the whole 'humans are a virus' meme that is so prevalent in this culture. We are part of nature, we're doing everything right, we just don't know it yet.

In an amazing synchronicity I just happened upon Entheon while exploring, and didn't even know Pinchbeck was there. They did have an ayahuasca keg event listed, but that was just a joke. And on the way I bumped into this girl Schlig who I met her two other times before - and I assure you it is extremely rare to bump into anyone by accident at Burning Man. Like, there were many people I knew from LA at the Burn and I didn't bump into any one of them. It was so great to see Schlig, this a cute girl who was willing to talk to me and then gave me her camp address. I didn't realize she was so concerned with the psychonaut scene until I saw here there. This is a girl I must keep in touch with, I thought, and further exchanged contact information. And I was to see her again later, on the last day, as we finally had time to get to know each other and talk about movies and Oklahoma and drugs and aliens and all those cool topics. I'm rather fond of her, and I suspect she enjoyed my company as well. Yet another girl to fall in love with. We walked the playa on the last day, and we hugged, and I only pecked her on the lips. I regret not going in further for making out, thinking back I'm sure she would have been into it, but it was the last day and I was so distracted with campmates pushing me to help pack. Ah well, perhaps another time with this girl ...

The middle of the week was beautiful, but another record-breaking dust-storm was destined for Saturday. The day of the Man to be burnt. Another eight hours of whiteout, right after I was bathed and got all dirty again. I got lost at center camp, and couldn't see five feet in front of me. There was nothing to do but sleep in my uncomfortable tent, or find a chill space somewhere else to take advantage of. I looked for friend's camps and was stuck with Jeanie waiting it out for a bit, and then I watched a fashion show (one that stood out: a girl in a burqa stepped on stage and then revealed her tits and a dildo underneath to the audience's surprise), and then took a nap on the couch at Space Virgins. For the most part, the day sucked. That night, although, was probably the most amazing night of my life.

The sandstorms have a tendency to go away once it gets dark. It can be windy, but without the heat the dust won't rise to overwhelm the air. The Man was to burn late, but finally it was time to go out and see something! I lost track of my campmates but I wanted to have a companion to hang out with. So I went to Kiku and Jeanie's tent again to see if they were there. Honestly, Kiku didn't seem to want to hang out with me lately but whatever. I joined Jeanie, platonically, and we rode out to the deep playa. An army of art cars and overlapping musics joined us. I parked my bike in front of the Joyism car as a landmark, and this proved to be a bad idea as six hours later I ended up losing my bike. I found it the next day, in the light, in a particularly special Burning Man miracle, but it was a long walk home in the meantime.

While at a bar on an art car I got to talking to a guy, and I spontaneously asked him if he could get me any acid. "Yeah, just ask my friend there!" he said. I got to talking to his friend, and he wanted to trade, and all I had was my minicomic and a promise that if he travels to Orange County I could get him a killer mushroom source. That was worth one hit apparently. It was the first time I'd ever done acid. (I don't think the time I tried it when I was 16 was the real thing. This was entirely something else.)

He ripped a little square from a brown and yellow blot thing, and I put it on my tongue. I lost Jeanie in the crowd, and 45 minutes late the fireworks started. I heard the firedancers were pissed off though; they didn't get to do their act because of the storm-induced scheduling complicatons. And slowly, the world started getting weird. The Man burnt up and I stepped into the giant crowds for a closer look. When the structure fell down the crowds started running closer, past the firefighters, and circled the scene. Slowly the char got smaller and smaller and only the committed stayed around, dancing naked in tribal fashion. It was the culmination of the week, and in the microcosm of my existence while the brain danced to lysergic acids, it seemed the culmination of my entire life.

Is Burning Man the best place to trip out on drugs? Most people seem to agree. All day long I overhear people talking about mushrooms and acid and Ecstasy. I guess E makes sense, but I had an uncomfortable time last year on psilocybin. And as said, I don't even like pot. Yet the majority of the population seems to adore being drugged out in the sensory overload of glowstick nightlife, and good for them, but I can't really relate.

I almost always have bad trips. It comes so naturally to me. Perhaps I shouldn't be allowed to do drugs, I don't have the psychological capabilities to deal with what goes on in my mind. It's too much a barrage of self-conscious self-loathing. I feel like an awkward child, and want to die. There are no regrets, mind you, and I always learn something important about myself. But the honest fact remains: it's very difficult for me. It's educational, but it's not fun. Luckily though, I couldn't have asked for a more supportive environment.

I talked to a girl tripping on mushrooms, a McKenna researcher named "Particle," and we smiled and hugged. She told me to do what I want to do and it's always the right thing. There was lots of nudity about, but I stayed in my shorts, afraid of being too weird. The night was cold but the fire warmed me. I fell in love with one beautiful girl in particular, a blonde Cali named Kayla with Sanskrit tattoos, someone I saw at the human carcass wash, someone so gorgeously out of my league, and yet she remembered me. I was worried about coming across as a leering creep, but this amazing Goddess hugged me tight. I was surrounded by love. I was so lucky. If a loser like me can be loved, then anything is possible.

And gay guys hit on me, and I appreciated the attention but didn't follow them to their camp. I stayed alone in front of the burning pile for hours and hours. I closed my eyes and watched the music dance to RGB pixels behind my eyes. I stared at the sand and watched the shadows bend. I contemplated metaprogramming, and the wires in my brain criss-crossing into more productive routes, and realized that I can do anything if only I'd allow myself to. It was only one hit of LSD, and if I took two or more perhaps I wouldn't be able to converse be cognitive. It was surely confusing, and surely a major introspective trip, and I'm glad I wasn't too far out there. The fire charred me and I couldn't feel it, but I lost one of my socks, which was worse than losing both socks. I was destined to walk the 4 miles home, cold and shivering. Surrounded by love and beauty and confusion and hallucinogenic scenery, I finally been through a minor religious experience.

But the most amazing thing I saw was the stars. All this crazy overwhelming shit surrounding me at every angle, yet I only needed to look up to see the brilliant artwork of God. I've done so much entheogen research in this past year, ayahuasca and DMT and Salvia Divinorum and a fourth of psyilocybin mushrooms, and yet still I must say that the most vivid hallucinations I've ever experienced were looking up at the stars at Burning Man. It's the desert, middle of nowhere, and you can see the Milky Way details that are usually obfuscated by uncaring citylights. Oh, how the stars danced. I saw infinite UFOs. I saw the constellations connect the dots (just like I'd only read about before). I could stare all night with my back to the sand and my naked toes shivering, even as passers-by asked me if I was all right, and there was nothing more fascinating then the bubble of starlight up in the sky.

It was the culmination of so much. How perfect to have this experience right as the Man went down. Still, the question always remains after a psychedelic trip: what do I do now? Should I "tune in and drop out?" (Currently reading Leary's book by the way, Chaos and Cyberculture.) Should I incorporate the experience into art? Is it possible that my brain will evolve for it? Or is it just good clean fun and nothing else? More questions: is spirituality objectively real, or is it just bullshit? I have certainly met my fair share of spiritual poseurs, but a few here and there seem to know what they're talking about. Obviously, I need to stock up some more acid experiences and figure this out, obviously I'm nowhere near any kind of truth, but I suspect that I'm going in the right general direction ...

And on the way back, stopping from fire to fire to fire on the cold walk to my tent, I talked to a guy who said he could get me a job in China. Fuck, I have nothing else going on, perhaps I should move there. I listened to the Hare Krishnas sing at Entheon - a place specifically set up to help people on bad trips. I half-slept at Center Camp watching a folk musician. Finally at home camp and tired as hell, I laid down at my tent on the sand and looked at the stars for hours more before falling asleep by dawn. The next day it was time to pack up. I thought we were going to leave after the Temple burning, but everyone was so tired and ready to go. I wasn't ready to go, I wanted to stay here forever. But sadly, all things must end. I wandered a bit more, found Schlig and hung out with her and grew a bit closer. With her help, I found my lost bike. I kissed her gently. We parted ways. I helped pack with the others. I broke down my tent last - which was broken after its second year and was ready to be thrown away. We said goodbyes and hugged our new friends. We existed at one mile-per-hour, and drove the slow drive back.

On the way out, I saw some hitchhikers and felt an enormous sense of jealousy. To be able to live life by your wits, and just mooch off the people around you, and separate yourself from the nonsense of the real world. Man, that's living. Most people at Burning Man aren't really purist hippies though, most of them are thirty-something professionals with the money to afford the trip and the art. Which is fine, and those that work hard deserve to play hard, but still I find myself so envious of those that can completely separate themselves from the illusionary world and just live life for the moment. I wish I was deeper in this culture. I was far more 'in there' than the previous year, but I wish I was a veteran counter-culturalist who has nothing to do with paychecks and rent. Why can't I just be a poet philosopher, and have friends that agree, and have never known anything else?

I can't complain though. I got to experience an alien culture. I've been all over the world, from Asia to Europe to the Middle East, and Burning Man is the most alien culture I've ever been to. (Although, Tijuana - also nearby - is a close second to Black Rock City.) I hope I can take D.I.Y. art ethos back with me. I hope I can take the social deconditioning, and the feelings of connectivity and community, and the knowledge that I can easily be loved if only I allow others in ... I hope I can take all this and incorporate it in my life back home. So what is the point of Burning Man? Is it about art? Is it about partying? Is it just sold-out nonsense? Or is it the most important thing going on in the world?

Fourteen hours later, back home, I slept uncomfortably and I've become completely lethargic. All I want to do is eat and lie down. But I have to get ready to move. I have to get ready to change my life. There are casualties to deal with. It turned out my iPod broke. I have bruises all over. All my shit is covered with dust, even after I did my laundry. I really really need to clean my room. Still in MOOP mode, I feel guilty for flicking cigarette butts. I decided not to wash my hair since I've gotten back, let myself grow into dyed red dreadlocks. I love the cartoony-anime look of malleable playa hair, and I might as well keep it for my future America travels. Fuck, I still have to plan this month-long trek. I'm still far from a productive member of society, and can only look forward to my travels through Texas and New Orleans, until I get to Cincinnati with no money and only my unique brain to keep me going. I trust it shall be noveltous. I trust I'll get by. And I'll have to incorporate yon Burner ethos all the while ...