The Burning Man Experience, Page 2 The Burning Man Experience, Page 2
The time was 6 pm and sunset was scheduled to take the stage soon. Spotting the Sharkbait campsite, we staked out a space nearby, and constructed a circle of vehicles not unlike the wagon circles of days past. Little did we know then that the Sharkbait camp had a tendency for catapaulting fruits and vegetables at their neighbors. As those with tents began to erect them, I converted into "cook's helper" mode and helped Doc begin dinner preparations. Allen had brought a dinner bell which we tested out (successfully) and our posse wolfed down a meal which was most likely better than any we had eaten in the last month. With the sun setting, Allen erected his flag atop the RV as a marker for those meeting up with us and people began their wanderings and investigations of the "town."
![[Man right perez]](../images/Man_right_perez.jpg)
The center of the Burning Man town consisted of a few stages, a number of marketplaces (including such wonders as the Margarita Bar), a bulletin board, a radio station tower, and of course, the requisite privvies. To ease moving around the entire site, the town center was encircled by Black Rock Blvd., a makeshift street, which meant that there was an open space for vehicles to move around without barreling through someone's tent just to get to the other side of town. Further out was the temporary suburbia, where everyone began setting up their camping sites. There were different thematic neighborhoods, ranging from "White Trash Camp" to the Grateful Dead inspired "Shakedown St. Camp" and the Dorothy Parker-esque "Algonquin Round Table."
Once outside of the center of town, there's nothing stopping you from driving just about anywhere. Happily, this didn't seem to cause any problems. (I didn't see anyone driving through people's tents, or driving through people.) Reports from some of the posse showed Doc declaring "Well, Friday night I got wasted," and Laura recalling the simple pleasure of the Tiki Bar's margaritas (where you could bring whatever ingredients you could muster up and turn them in for valuable cash prizes... I mean drinks).
There was a high level of alcohol intake thus far, however it is important to note that the environment was not where that was necessarily expected or "required." To the contrary, I ended up drinking much less than I probably would have, had I been at home over Labor Day weekend. Those that were sucking drinks down had the advantage of it being out in the middle of NOWHERE with nearly 4,000 others letting go of their usual inhibitions. For some, that meant downing a few more beers than normal, for others it meant taking the chance to experiment with those drugs their friends had been raving about for a while, and others still might prefer a bit of yoga and tarot readings. This environment, where the most dangerous disaster might be stumbling into an unmarked tent-pole (rather than wandering 5 steps into a busy street and getting knocked into the next town), certainly makes this a fine setting to release and do a bit of experimentation.
![[Eye smoke perez]](../images/sm-Eye_smoke_perez.gif)
Sitting about in the Mer-camp, you could hear the sounds of activity filter by, smell the combination of burning sulpher and cooking food, and feel the night tug at you in your chair. Having no defense from that fate, I set off into the dark unknown to the background music of a band blaring into the playa, unsure of whether I would be able to find my way back. It should be noted that this particular band in the background was comprised of a bass player, guitarist and drummer who seemed to have hands made of steel. Their sound, oft referred to as "the wanking of the bass" kept up such a furious pace for so long that there were suspicions of electronic looping. I had visions of a bass player who had flayed all of the flesh from his hand and was using just the bone.
The Burning Man, glimmering in blue neon, loomed in the distance. It symbolized the reason for my presence. I didn't expect it to be adorned with glowing blue neon. When I was a child, I had a toy chest made of wicker. If it had glowed blue neon, I think I would be psychologically damaged today. The thought of 4,500 psychologically damaged people in the middle of a desert was not a calming one. I approached to get a closer look. There was a small group of people gathered around the base of the man, glowing blue. In fact, most everything in the vicinity was glowing blue, which must have made the pictures they were taking look a bit eerie. Not that a picture of oneself with a 4-story blue neon man behind you isn't eerie enough in itself, and certainly more so that a wicker toy chest. I'm sure glad they opted for a man instead of a toy chest.
The unknown tugged at me again. I swatted at its hand, but couldn't make contact. It was like trying to swat that annoying fly at a picnic. I set back off into the dark, chasing after the unknown fly. That's when I came across them. Them. The last camp before the desolate half mile stretch to the remote "Rave Camp," a tightly gathered circle of RVs drew me in with the hynotizing multicolored blinking lights hovering 30 feet above them. "Them" were Weird Blinking Lights (WBL). Not quite a band, not quite an art organization, this San Francisco group of musicians, computer geeks, and inventors were scuttling about in the final preparations of their latest creation. I was greeted by a goggle-headed form, self-identified as "Caliban", and quickly ushered in for a tour. Entering the "inner circle" of RVs I discovered an enourmous orange parachute spanning the entire area. Formless bodies scurried around atop the RVs, performing secret work and perhaps even secret handshakes. Caliban, who in mild-mannered Clark Kent-form works as Production Manager at the Web-Creation company Organic Online, explained their plan: to lash the parachute to the RVs, then inflate a few weather balloons in the center to lift it up into a protective chill tent where playa travelers could stop by for a cool relaxing room and enjoy the ambient electronic music of WBL. He invited me to help out, though I wondered if I did, if I'd end up with goggles on my head. Caliban waved to a body atop an RV who, goggled, scurried down and joined us. Extrapolating about the specifics of the lashing of this and the raising of that, "Tapeworm," who normally spends his days molding plastic bugs and giant peaches for Skellington Studios, while looking like candidate for an alien research mission at night. He kept extrapolating on the lashing. I smiled a lot. We were joined by other goggled fellows, and for reasons I haven't fully figured out even now, I ended up spending the next three hours assisting in the rather intracate working of the WBL camp. Also joining WBL were people from Apple, Hyperreal, Club.Net, and Cyborgasm, and they all seemed to be wondering why I hadn't any goggles on too. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. More happily, nothing went in either (like, for example, a small plastic bug or giant peach).
![[Drum tin perez]](../images/Drum_tin_perez.jpg)
Finally, the lashing of the parachute was complete. Even the folks bouncing gently on a trampoline came over to check out the WBL version of a pagan ceremony, "the inflating of the balloons." The balloons inflated majestically, raised the parachute a few feet, and then stopped. In the confusion of discussions surrounding additional rigging and co-opting large nitrous balloons I slipped out to tend to my fatigued body, promising myself to return the next day to see the final results.
I successfully guided myself back to the Mer-camp by the now-familiar neon glow of the Burning Man, set up my bedding, and, huddled comfortably inside my sleeping bag, stared up into the wide expanse of stars. They seemed brighter than I'd ever noticed before. The music echoing across the playa from the Rave Camp, now in full swing, drifted lightly by. Well, as lightly as Rave music can drift. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I saw a quickly moving light in the sky. Was it just a shooting star? It seemed to be moving towards the WBL camp. It didn't seem out of place at all. I would have wondered what the coming day was to bring, if I had been conscious...
TO BE CONTINUED...
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