If you haven't already, go to www.burningman.com and check it out, especially the list of theme camps. The website is a great destination just by itself. A week or so of wildness in the Nevada desert, no way to really describe it, everybody trying so hard to add energy to the scene, one giant goose to the senses. Massive ups to Larry Harvey and the cast of zillions that make this all come together.

My impressions of Burning Man 2001:

There have been a few Burner parties here in NYC where you weren’t invited if you haven’t been, and I thought that was a little silly...but now I understand that a little better. It is an artificial world, lots of normal rules aren’t in effect, a special bubble. Pretty much anything goes, almost; if you don’t like it, well then don’t look. Pure celebration, every part trying to be as alive as possible.

At the burning of The Man on Saturday night, the base lit with a pregnant glow, then all of five seconds later it was alive and so huge as to outrun the senses completely, the updrafts sucking in all of the playa air into a volcano of pure explosion. This was more than enough to utterly fry all viewers, but even more amazing were the ravishing tornadoes, spitting into being in taut instants in the sudden membranes. 16 were counted, low ropes of menace spinning like drills, furious and stomping, tight bright wires into the huge clouds of devastation and fury shipping out overhead. Two courted each other like sexy dervishes, only a couple of feet apart; every single one made me yell as loud as I could, can’t believe I could speak after. Absolutely soul-boggling. It all held together for a long while, one arm not even lighting until much of the base had burned well away. Then, all at once, total collapse, into a huge screaming landscape of livid ghosts. The crowd stormed in then; I followed, completely enraptured. I headed for the center, but the crowd churned counter-clockwise; I couldn’t move, and wanted to walk reverently or at least spastically. Knucklehead moshpit energy quickly took over the inner area, lots of heavy pushing and shoving, and I got an adrenaline rape that took a couple buggy hours to shake off. Note to self: learn not to let this happen.

The Mausoleum was a shrine to memories of friends and others lost, an incredibly ornate bit of alien lace, three stories high, nothing but pure filigree. Sunday night was so dusty and windy that you couldn’t even see the structure at first, but when it cleared enough, a brief bit of pageantry, then a few small flames began: first a lovely glow inside, then just a bit after, a huge flame blowing out the back, running almost parallel to the ground, stoked by the pounding wind. There’s no way to describe flames that massive, matter way over the legal limit...no eyelids anywhere around, just senses on wide-open.

The art cars were such a blast. Note to future: learn to weld. Nice one: the hammock car, two suspended between metal T’s mounted at each end of a golfcart, guy and babe cruising at leisure, joystick on cable on lap. My fave: a wee motorcycle towing a chain of little red wagons, shrinking from two feet or so down to maybe five inches, so minimal, so deadpan. Also Draka the dragon, a five or six car (?) chain of juggernaut, scales chopped out of 55-gal drums; I heard it was 120’ long. I didn’t get to hear the flame-organ car, but it was gorgeous, a metal beetleblob with a dense array of horns and injectors heaped on the back.

There was one guy that really made me giggle. At all hours, you could hear him emitting a guttural augh sound, just a loud dumb-as-shit exclamatory, no rhythm, just detached. I think most people wanted to strangle him, which was sooo the beauty of it. Punk is relative, even in Black Rock City. Also personified by the nutcase driving around in a car with a heavily-mutated soundsystem rapidfire screaming "blowjob" nonstop for seven days, just glorious. I also loved the megaphone guys, who drove around berating everything in sight: judgemental, negative, harsh, and hysterical.

I was expecting lots of chillout lounges, but it wasn’t that way, and I quickly got a little bored with the hustle for the few that might have worked out, but I sure had my moments. Experiments conclude that the serendipity faeries also thrive in the CD-only format: I had two sets that used only discmans (ie no pitch control or time-remaining mode), and they both went absolutely perfectly. For one of them (on one of the radio stations there), the left one would only play Track 1; for the other, maybe 3 hours, I had no headphone preview either. Thank you oh deep radiator. Played for three hours out past the Man, on the open playa, one morning not long after sunrise, what a blast, and also for 2.5 at a big killer system at Bianca’s on the far horn, really connected.

So many unsolicited smiles and greetings brought tears to my eyes, they just did (two dark figures passing on a nighttime road, both give warm greetings and continue on their way). Even the occasional crust of hillbilly partygrunt was bearable, kind of hard to keep a good head of bitterness stoked (although the nighttime sprawl of tranceheads could quickly generate a nasty baby headed for a nap). Next year I’ll know what to expect, but it’ll be different. Supposedly the weather got up close to 120 some of the days; thankfully the nights didn’t drop to the traditional 40, pretty beautiful actually.

Nice to stand on the open playa in goggles and mask, and face right into the driving duststorm. The center plane was about a full mile across. Where is my home and can an art car please appear so don’t have to walk all that way? I think I drank close to three gallons of water a day, hardly ate any food, and much to my surprise ended up smoking very little weed and only had one wee trip. The drastic conditions are intense, but they also make for a fine doorman; you don’t come to this party unless you are terribly committed. I don’t miss the lager louts and bimbos who couldn’t get past that, and the occasional moron that made it through is welcome to learn all they can.

Things to do: generate tremendous income so I can go to many many of the smaller local burns next year: boycott America, stay in The Burn. So many ideas; the challenge is now to integrate as much as possible into my life.

I gave away over a hundred mixCDs; next year I wanna take around 500, shouldn't be difficult to lose them all.

A funny haiku in the snotty daily Piss Clear called it "the Special Olympics of art", and man that’s a little close to the bone. It also wrote elsewhere about the real world as seen from the perspective of BMan: 95% of the people are spectators, and the 5% that actually make art can look forward to little more than a life of ridicule and financial instability. Word.

There’s a big water truck that drives around spraying down the roads in hopes of easing the dust a little. It also doubles as the local shower; at first I wondered why some jerk kept laying on the huge klaxon several times a day, then I realized it was like the ice cream truck, a beacon to come a runnin. The classic BMan scene: tent zipper opens and two naked bodies come tearing out to chase down the truck, giggling in the sunshine.

...an especially funny moment: behind the center camp was a small group of three portapotties. I spotted them at the same time as two other people, and we all three sort of stumbled up at the same time; all were occupied. None of us really wanted to pull rank and dive when the first one opened, rather be courteous, but all three obviously had to go pretty bad. Waiting, waiting...then exactly at the same moment, all three doors opened...

Nice to feel so validated, but a little unsettling to return to the world where the usual problems dominate. Arggh. That day that I got my crucial last-minute check and tore out in a glorious rush shopping for my supplies, I started to slip into my coming BMan head, and I was smiling and connecting with people all over hell (very rare in NYC, part of why I left), so perhaps I just need to work a little harder and try to get the transformation to take. Always waiting for somebody else to smile first, or nervous they won’t if I do; just gotta make sure to be so amused that I don’t need a thing. Guess how much magic that makes, focus, just focus.

••Something I learned since (thank you to the fool that cut me off on the sidewalk the other day, setting off an unwanted and utterly typical lingering adrenaline cascade): in yoga, gravity is our companion, the counter force that makes our bones and muscles grow; adversity and ignorance, and the pull of negativity, is the same, a perpetual gymnasium event. Instead of resenting it, pull strongly against it, luxuriate in the emotional strength and resilience it helps you develop. Since I got hold of this, my familiar crankiness is transformed into me just about jumping out of my skin with glee. Cheap thrills or what?

Fortunately, the culture is mobile (either that or deal with constant withdrawal, ache), and there are local "mini-burns", sometimes very far away, hosted by various Regionals.

2004 update: a lot of people are feeling like it didn't seem to have the old zing this year (the way the Man burned seemed a little overly telling: the conceptually-topheavy base burned off while the Man, detached overhead, remained partially unignited), but then again the reliable response to that is that the responsibility for that lies with each of us. I sure as hell had no energy to contribute this year, wanted to make no plans, have no agenda, just take it as it comes, but other than a couple of fun things, sure would have been nice if just a wee bit more had come. Monday night is usually a fun night, lots of people cleared out and the parties are filled with the happy remnants, but this year we only found one soundsystem on our side of the spread and it had about ten people dancing, ouch. Next year we'll be sure we bring more to the table, assuming the Bu**sh** League doesn't steal the election and outlaw all fun, but oh wait they're going to so never mind. Where's that pesky passport...?

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drawing: "playablossom"