Why it Burns

Pt 1


For several years now, my older brother has been prodding me to come to his neck of the woods to try out a festival called burning man. John has played as important a role in my life as any one person has. He pulled me out of the ditch when I was really down in it, and even before that he had been busy flying me all over the country, wherever he happened to be working at the time, to see different time zones, and experience different climates and cultures, and he's just awesome and I just can't even say enough about how much I love him and look up to him. James Brown said "damn right I'm somebody" and if I am somebody, then John is the reason for that, and that is a debt that I will never be able to repay. That said, I don't know why it took three years for him to convince me that heading out into the Nevada desert, onto some barren assed government land that we blindsided the Indians with, for four days with 50,000 mostly naked crazy people, was a good idea. Used to I would have just gotten on the nearest plane and went. But when I said yes and he sent me a ticket this year, I was scared. I like to think I’m as tough as the next guy. I’ve been down more than a few dark roads in my life, and come out the other side. Bones Heal and chicks dig scars right? But I’m domesticated now. Situated in a zombie proof loft, upstairs in the city with two mortgages, and three dogs, and a wife who I adore, and I’m out of shape all of a sudden and almost 35 years old. He’s 47 though. Successful with four kids, a big house , and nice cars. Fuck it. I said Fuck it. But I didn’t mean it.

Pt. 2.

The Playa. Pronounced Pli-ya. That’s what they call it out there. The Playa. I talked a friend of mine into going. A tall lanky red head, Irish as a fucking pint glass, and so skinny he looks like he couldn’t survive a hacky sack being thrown hard at him. He’s a meaner-than -cat-shit lawyer though, a former soccer star, and one of the only single friends I have left. He was certainly the only one willing to fly across the country and get into this mess with me. He’s been doing that Rosetta Stone thing you see on late night TV, trying to learn Spanish, and every time someone mentions the Playa he tells me that means “ the beach” in Spanish. “La Playa means the beach in Spanish”. My head pressed against the window, I don’t give a fuck. We’re in a loaded down Ford F -350 packed to the gills with ice, beer, and enough North Face flair to choke a fucking mountain. John’s friends, Ted and Dennis, are in another F350 loaded down just like it, behind us. We finally round the right curve, after hours of driving through nothing, and I see it sitting out there in the middle, Burning Man. The Playa. It’s cracked white dirt as far as you can see, forever. And then beyond that there are illusions of things you might see and waves of heat rising up into the sky and tens of thousands of cars parked perfectly in a half circle. I don’t know if we have enough to survive. Not for four days. This is not the fucking beach, in any fucking language. I mean maybe a million years ago something swam down here in this flat spot in the mountains, but now I could only imagine a couple of scorpions living out here. Hopefully in some aquarium in some poor ass Indian trailer somewhere, because I wouldn’t wish this land even on a scorpion. The Beach. If this is the beach then I’m a fucking rainbow. This was dirt and heat as dry as a fucking dinosaur turd. I needed a hat, I needed a fucking turban, Maybe I could sleep in the truck. Jesus. This is something Evil Kneivel would’ve want to race across in some stupid speed feat. Only he’d hit a sandstorm and die an early death out here. We turned onto the beach and formed a line at the gate with a hundred other cars, some of them covered in fur and welded and glued together look like rabbits. I thought needlessly about Bear Grylls.

A Sign reads in the middle of the nothing desert reads.
If You…
We pass it by then another reads;
Believe In…
Another;
Creation..
Then another;
Then You Are Stupid…


Nano Bites ….
Will Take over ….
The world….
Bill Gates Said that.

There ….
Is ….
No Such …
Thing ….
As Jesus….

I’m From Vienna, Georgia where People put hands in the dirt and pray. People put their hands in the dirt and pray for rain, pray for crops to grow, for cancer to go away, for people to just stop dying, they pray to Jesus just for any sort of pain to subside. Now, I realize this isn’t unique to Vienna, but these signs lined the road going into the Playa, and I couldn’t stop thinking about my hometown. Trying to explain this to a bunch of folks in Vienna was going to be like trying to explain what Saturn is like to a blind coyote on the wing of an airplane. People weren’t going to think of me the same after this. I wasn’t going to think of me the same. When I’d tried to tell mother about the art of burning man, I imagine she saw scenes of Macrame, and Pottery set up there by little people on the roadside. It was nothing like that. It looked like Tina Turner exploded out here. And I’m not just talking about the Mad Max Beyond the Thunderdome kind of Tina Turner.. I’m Talking about the ike hit me but I’m still the baddest black bitch alive and I make music and dance and I’m fucking sixty Tina Turner. I could see people in the distance walking about. Some of them looked ten feet tall out there walking on some sort of robot feet covered with fur. I couldn’t really tell. But the tires kept rolling forward and the desert kept on opening up. A never ending expanse, that calls itself a radical experiment in self reliance based on art in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. Today this was the third biggest city in the state. 50,000 people were in there, doing God Knows what. Who were all these people and could I kill them all if necessary? Was I still fast enough? When we got to the gate a naked sixty something year old man, covered with a gentle grain of hair all over his body, like a sweet little gorilla, came up to our window. He politely searched our truck for contraband(though half-heartedly) and asked if we’d been to the Playa before. When I said no, he said “Well we’ve got to get you out here in the dirt.”
Bill and I got out of the Truck. The man gave me a full frontal hug, the first time a full on ass naked penis has ever touched my body, I’m pretty sure, and he brought over a naked lady who did the same. Not the first time for that one, but still kind of odd. “We’re going to need you to lay down in the dirt, and pretend you’re making a snow angel.” Fuck it. I did it. Bill did it. Then they gave us a hammer and we hit a gong to let the masses know that two Burning Man Virgins had entered the playa. We’d crossed the into the zone. Into the Dust. Then things got weird.