Knowing I had a 2400 mile trip home and busting with thoughts, I began writing this epic on the backs of miscellaneous paper on my lap as I drove. 56 pages later, here it is as written, completed 10 miles from home.
The older I get, the more words it takes to answer a yes and no question.
All my fingers are chapped, cracked and ache. Moving a zipper is painful and even the push buttons on the CD player hurt to push.
|I'm driving down I-80, halfway through Nevada. Sunday morning, The day before Labor Day and the day after the big burn at Burning Man 2000. Recovery is going to take a while. The body will heal-I'm only a couple hundred miles into the trip and I've already stopped to nap twice. I kept my feet greased up as much as possible and the cold weather this year meant I wore shoes more and went barefoot less. But I forgot my hands.|
|Living on the playa of Black Rock Desert for a week is an awesome experience. In the 7 days, the temperature vacillated from 110+ down to the 40's. The wind was nearly constant, and for a few days raged over 70mph with gusts even higher. The caustic sand was lifted into high and gritty blasts that ripped down the flimsy structures some called home.|
|I've been an artist all my life but have only recently titled myself as one. These days, I work for others and suffer the compromises that entails. Burning Man is a time for me to make and display my art, my way to an audience that may or may not get it, but one that rarely asks the stupid questions every artists hates: What is it? What's it for? What's it mean?|
As I drive, now in the full sun of the morning coming through the windshield, a rearvirew mirror near at hand, I notice that my hair has gone nearly white, or at least very blonde. Age has darkened my hair to a medium brown with an increasing invasion of gray. I wonder how distinct will be the color change as I resume my mushroom-like existance in front of a computer and out of the hot playa sun.
It hurts to hold the pen. I had to pause to slop some Vaseline Intensive Care lotion on the sides and tips of each digit. I'm afraid that the lotion is removing the glitter on my finger nails. I haven't seen my toes lately so I'm not sure if the glitter on them survived the long walk to the center of Black Rock City last night to witness the fiery destruction of the symbol of my home town.
I've lived in a dozen places around the world but consider BRC my newly adopted home town; My home town only exists one week a year, but I've seen it rise and fall for the past 3 years and already look forward to next year.
Notes for next year: Silk! Cloth and wind socks. Don't forget the constant wind. da Vinci Helicopter? Less fireworks, more light. Bigger truck!
Construction and Destruction.
If Burning Man is ABOUT anything, I think that is it. I saw an ultimate act of destruction when a new friend-hey there Star-tossed the contents of his sketch books and fashion portfolio onto the soon-to-be-lit pyre of his home for the week. A week is a long time to sit and think about your life and the choices you've made. Star decided to remake his life from that moment. Good luck, Star.
|I've discovered that I can press the buttons on the stereo with th tip of the little finger of my right hand. Passing through on of the 2 tunnels on my stretch of I-80. I hold my breath; an old habit.|
|I met Star though two new friends that feel like old, old acquaintances. I plan to keep in contact with Michael and Candace and see a trip top LA in my future. On several occasions, I found the massive information/stimulation overload that is BM overwhelming and their camp-the Violet Hour-was a safe haven among comrades. I miss you guys already.|
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