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 ...
