now it is time for the main event. drop kick your inhibitions, douse the lights and let’s boogie.the tortilla soup feels warm in my belly. the air is frigid and pitch black. as we reach the more central hubs of activity, for the upteenth time i am stoked that i am finally, finally here, after all of the bullshit and work-shit and stress-shit and prep-shit, here with my brother-in-lawlessness, embarking on another night of pure mayhem.
everywhere is vibrant excitement, full of pockets of interesting people you never see again, or you always see, like karmic bands of roving gypsies. and it seems that the whole asylum has broken into the meds cabinet.
i feel hyper-aroused and hyper-social, channeling the lesser gods of hunter s thompson and sachmo. what fun to be an adult at play, a freak partying with fellow freaks! adrift in a sea of sensation, the furious blur of activity in the foreground encapsulated by a bedouin cyberpunk carnival of light and music. huge flashing letters aptly command “disorient”, while the semaphores keep alien time at the periphery. i see a giant bowing flower, just confirming that i am indeed alice and i picked the right side of the mushroom.
drums beckon us to that most sinuous of all of the elements. it spins like medieval alchemy in the hands of the dancers of the apocalypse; it belches unexpectedly from turrets and mouths of sculpted monsters, hot and furious, or lies smoldering on the giant metal sculptures, like dying dragon teeth; or flickering comfort in a welcome outdoor hearth, the intimate faces of the huddled crowd awash in yellows and reds as we fend off a shared chill.
i am in love with fire. it has truly bewitched me.
those quiet twirling living designs from center camp have evolved into a whipping wizardry of flame, the afterburn memory trail snapping through the clear, icy air. I stand enthralled by a seething pit of fire dancers, like witnessing the missing secret chapter of dante’s desire. it is so fucking cool. i’m going to learn how to do THAT!
and before you know it, somehow those fire sketches have morphed into the awe inspiring conflagrations that mark the pinnacle of the experience. the man, our centerpiece and beacon and spiritual center, explodes in flames and fireworks, raising his arms to the heavens, surrounded by a cabal of screaming jubilation. the heat is incredible. i am flush with warmth and happiness and amazement. the man is actually burning before my eyes. and then he falls and the tribe runs rabid towards the newly collapsed effigy, forming a revolving snake, flaming embers falling like rain onto our heads. this is the balancing force to the temple burn, that other night of solemn smoke tornadoes spinning elegantly from the seemingly ancient inferno, like djinnnis bringing messages of dreamquest. no, this is palpable danger and thirst for chaos. this is pure unscripted celebration, the pinnacle of the first dangerous high you chase forevermore…
thus primed, and with dance fever screaming through our veins, we seek out the best flashes of thumpa-thumpa, for total immersion in raw sexuality, the sweat pouring off glistening flesh… everyone looks exotic, primal. i eagerly succumb to the trance, ass grinding, arms flailing, grooving through the crowds of thousands, pulsing off of the electricity of others. you break only to quench the death thirst, or the need for a quick piss or prescient snack, then back into the midst of it all, kicking it up another notch. the music guides you, baffles you, you try to anticipate it, your body anxious for the explosion, the break from the relentless build up, that repetitive aural orgasm that comes in waves for hours upon hours, like a tantric disco inferno …i never want it to end.
then the inevitable happens. after donating gallons of sweat, we run out of water, there is nothing to do but to return to camp for more. tired, we make the long trek back to our quiet neighborhood (why, oh why, didn’t we take the bikes?), our fatigue becoming more and more apparent as we hoof our way back to the haven of the feeble glow of the tent light. we eat, replenish on water and relax on our lawn chairs out under the celestial veil. dbug confesses that after several days and nights of this kind of punishment, he is spent, ready to collapse. begrudgingly, he decides to peel off for the night. i’m sorry to see him go, but cannot complain. the evening has been a blast.
however, i have no such inclination. as the prophetess said, camp is a vaccuum. it sucks you in and keeps you from going out. but i am a man possessed. i refuse to be sucked into the myth of sleep. i am ready to spend my last ounce of energy exploring more of the rabbit hole.
(that is not what i meant you dirty son of a bitch)
refreshed in a kind of shaky, adrenaline way, i take my bike and seek out the next plateau of insanity. each camp screams possibility. i let my shellshocked senses guide me to the most promising. as i approach the beckoning dome of delirium, i try to make a mental note as to where i’m stashing my mount. (i fantasize that next year i’ll rig up blinking lights triggered by remote to make the after-search easier) inside it is pulse and vibe, a different flavor in every encampment. i talk and laugh and dance my heart out, ignoring the growing aches and pains in my fried muscles. i meet meagan with the crystal ball; i beat accents and counter rhythms in a throbbing drum circle; i talk about hope for humanity with a guy whose name i promptly forget; i dance with three melanie’s at once, wearing dbug’s fuzzy green where-the-wild-things-are hat.
i burn and burn and burn and burn.
aeons later, off on the distant expanse of the vast playa, like dali figures with long shadows, members of the tribe gather in small groups to welcome the burgeoning sunrise. i spy them from my pounding perch, dancing on a small wooden stage in the latest throbbing vortex of movement. as the rays of the sun breach the cobol sky over the mountaintops, a collective yell erupts. tears of appreciation spill from my bleary eyes. for the first time in ages, i dance the sunrise in…
as the growing light of morning leads me wearily back to my dusty sleeping bag, i know without a doubt that by the end of this saga i won’t have any resources left, that every ounce of anger, of resentment, of fatigue, of sadness, every molecule of doubt and regret, every feeling of hopelessness and isolation, all of these things will have been destroyed as fuel for my week of fire, in this cycle of blazing sun and new moon i am burning white hot, leaving an ash that replenishes the playa dust that clings to me, that has become a part of me, that even now i am breathing through my skin. this place has challenged me, inspired me, exhausted me, and changed me for the better. my tribe is so much larger than i ever hoped.
sinking my head into the welcome downy suppleness of the deliciously yielding pillow, my mind bathes in the realization that i really like the me who has been revealed in this place. my heart smiles, satisfied. the siren song of nothingness calls and i step down the blurring stairway to unconsciousness in time with each boom boom boom boom……