Graffiti the Ghost

The Temple of Fuck-all

Well, I finally did it. I finally made the decision that tortures some San Franciscans from as early as May to the end of August every year- the decision not to go to Burning Man. I struggled with this one especially hard this year. I had decided not to go- easy decision, I thought. Too much money, too much partying, too much preparation. I imagined, as many do every year, that I would take the money that I would have spent going to Burning Man and go to Costa Rica, or even Belize. (Why Belize? I know nothing about the place. Don't even know where it is. Just seems like every time someone talks about going somewhere with their Burning Man money it's always Belize. Note to self- look into Belize.)

Then Mike gave me a book to read called This is Burning Man. I asked him as he handed it to me, "this isn't going to make me want to go, is it? Cause I'm definitely not going. I'm saving my money for a trip to Belize." He replied sagely (as Michael is wont to do), "if you don't want to go, it won't change your mind."


Yeah, well, he was wrong. It did make me want to go. It reminded me that for all its faults, Black Rock City was and still is an amazing and exotic place. Sure it's full of hippies who take their parties and themselves waaaaaaay too seriously. But it was started in part by pranksters called the Cacophony Society, who did things just for the fuck of it. Just to get a rise out of people. This is the same spirit that drew me to Brass Tax many years ago. Why drag a sound system out to the middle of nowhere and dance around it all night? Just for the hell of it. Not in homage to Gaia or the spirits of sunset or anyone else- just to see if we can get away with it.


And it is possible to see some of the most amazing art installations ever built on a grand scale here. They rise out of nothing in the middle of one of the most unforgiving wastelands on earth, and then return to nothing one week later, many in a literal blaze of glory (cue Jon Bon Jovi soundtrack). And this art is interactive- it begs to be played with: jumped on, twirled around, climbed through, and groped. It's like a romper room for giant toddlers. The jungle gym of the gods. And while some of these works obviously carry deeper meaning for the artist and often for the participants (David Best's temples come to mind), some of them were built purely for the sake of seeing if it could be done. That is human play at it's finest.


Even so, the most jaded scenester in San Francisco would have to admit that Burning Man forces you to reexamine your most fundamental assumptions about life, art, survival, and what it means to live in a society, especially an American one. That doesn't mean that you will come back a different person. Sometimes these assumptions will return as soon as you shower the playa dust from your dreadlocks. But at least they were questioned. And maybe just for a split second your point of view was challenged. Hell, maybe it was the drugs. Or the dehydration. Or the exhaustion. Or all the damn boa feathers swirling around in the dust storm. But does that make it any less real? Who knows...

In any case, I'm not going. For reasons that I won't go into here I decided that the changes I need to make in my perception probably need to happen right here at home. Or in a convertible Mustang with Stefbot as we cruise down HWY 1 to Los Angeles to see our good friend Babsicali and soak up some California sun on a golden beach. Hey, maybe it ain't Belize, but it ain't bad. Not bad at all.

PS-- For those of you who are making it out to the Playa this year, here's a preview of some of the installations you'll see. May Gaia be with you.

posted by Jess @ 11:36 AM