It’s impossible to describe. I’ve tried, but don’t know if it worked because I can’t compare the listeners’ understanding to my experience. My experience, the one time, is nearly impossible to remember. A haze of all-night raves, great objects embedded in the desert floor, flames in the sky, thirty-foot smoke rings, trust and friendliness from everyone, free drinks, sexy outfits, weird creative outfits, cock rings and clean-shaven cunnies, brightly painted bodies, brightly illuminated costumes, messages written to family members on a temple made of recycled material, weeping as they flamed and smoked to the heavens, countless personalized bicycles, barbecues and homemade firepits, playing with a mound of Legos on a dusty Persian carpet, long quiet conversations, stars above, wind-borne dust, parachute acrobats, fire dancers, stilt walkers, gymnasts, singers, dancers, roller-blading on a rough plywood platform, riding around in a motorized double-decker barroom, a camp shower that provides little privacy and fifteen seconds of cold water per button-push, and of course the porta-potties running out of toilet paper with four days to go. I mean, none of that tells you a damn thing.
But it’s that time again and I am having a hard time focusing on work. This year will be different than last. Wife and I will try a different sort of participatory dynamic. What the hell that means I don’t know. More participation, less awe-struck observation, less time together thus more freedom to follow our individual muses, like that. But it’s still a weird year. So many people aren’t going, or can’t make up their minds. Many, many cannot afford it. Jobs and incomes lost. Entrepreneurial types finding business is down and they can’t afford to shut their doors for a week. A weird vibe darkens the idea for some who found last year too big, the city too much a victim of its own success. Yet every year is different, they say, and for me personally, there is no apprehension. Once I feel I have time to really prepare -- next week? -- somehow it will come together, as it will come together for thousands of others equally disoriented, and magic will once again rise out of the bare dry earth.
You really have to ignore what people say about self-important latter-day hippies
and just go.
It’s impossible to describe. I’ve tried, but don’t know if it worked because I can’t compare the listeners’ understanding to my experience. My experience, the one time, is nearly impossible to remember. A haze of all-night raves, great objects embedded in the desert floor, flames in the sky, thirty-foot smoke rings, trust and friendliness from everyone, free drinks, sexy outfits, weird creative outfits, cock rings and clean-shaven cunnies, brightly painted bodies, brightly illuminated costumes, messages written to family members on a temple made of recycled material, weeping as they flamed and smoked to the heavens, countless personalized bicycles, barbecues and homemade firepits, playing with a mound of Legos on a dusty Persian carpet, long quiet conversations, stars above, wind-borne dust, parachute acrobats, fire dancers, stilt walkers, gymnasts, singers, dancers, roller-blading on a rough plywood platform, riding around in a motorized double-decker barroom, a camp shower that provides little privacy and fifteen seconds of cold water per button-push, and of course the porta-potties running out of toilet paper with four days to go. I mean, none of that tells you a damn thing.
But it’s that time again and I am having a hard time focusing on work. This year will be different than last. Wife and I will try a different sort of participatory dynamic. What the hell that means I don’t know. More participation, less awe-struck observation, less time together thus more freedom to follow our individual muses, like that. But it’s still a weird year. So many people aren’t going, or can’t make up their minds. Many, many cannot afford it. Jobs and incomes lost. Entrepreneurial types finding business is down and they can’t afford to shut their doors for a week. A weird vibe darkens the idea for some who found last year too big, the city too much a victim of its own success. Yet every year is different, they say, and for me personally, there is no apprehension. Once I feel I have time to really prepare -- next week? -- somehow it will come together, as it will come together for thousands of others equally disoriented, and magic will once again rise out of the bare dry earth.
You really have to ignore what people say about self-important latter-day hippies and just go.
1 comment:
Cunnies ;)
Sorta lovin' that.
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