the choke of dust, the head held against the wind. the insides of your elbows and the corners of your eyes. in your socks at night. the grainy feeling of a couch that's filled with it - dust dust dust.
what does it feel like when the city spans in every direction, when literally every opportunity awaits. so much noise and stimulus and energy. every energy. the bodies thrumming with it, pedaling aimlessly, waiting to be captured or caught. looking for the fastest brightest thing, refusing to shut the eyes. being in black rock city feels like never wanting to go to sleep. the relationship between size and time is completely fucked - everything evaporates except exactly what's in front of you and whatever might come next.
the nighttime. my first LSD trip, cast powerfully against the neon. a sea of it. melted, liquid, zany - narrowing and expanding, standing at the edge of things and looking out. our lives are spent chasing fancies, the zooming of ships across a desert floor. we literally have no idea where we're going or why - our jobs make just as little sense as this, a bizarre and frantic carnival of light. i'm unable to move even, trapped beneath the sluicing of a chandelier. what are all these people doing here? what the fuck are we all doing here?
people love it when you roil. when you act totally yourself. when you approach them unequivocally and ask them their names, hold out your hand, your heart, your mouth. climb on top of things. if it swings, swing on it - throw yourself into the ground even. chase chase chase and they will chase after you. they will take off their underwear on stage and toss them down. they will ask if they can suck your dick. watch the sunrise with them, let them warm their hands from you. from your other. hold them closely, closer than you'd hold your own brother or sister - a city where everyone knows they'll never see eachother again. fuck your cell phone number i don't want your cell phone number i want these five seconds right now take me back to your tent your yurt your whatever.
the molly helps. burning man feels like a jaw that's been grinding for hours on end - you can barely eat fruit snacks it hurts so bad.
you've never known a hump day until you've lived through this. a fever-pitch upshift with an empty tank of gas. if you're doing it right then you're reduced just to this: food water dancing, drugs sleep booze, the next thing, the next thing. i've never been so content. i've never smiled more. and yet, you can feel it collapsing on itself days before the first fire.
a city built from nothing. every color stretched tight against aluminum struts. mounds of pillows. smeared paint. what does it feel like to be in a city where everyone wants to spend time with you. where there's nowhere to go and enough time to look. where everything is touched by hands and made by hands and held up by hands just right so it can catch the sun. a fucking church on wheels. a himalayan bell tent. a little old man with a tail of balloons.
when the first flames licked his legs, i literally could not stop crying. i was so overcome. what madness is this, how could i have been invited here, what fortune, what beauty. was this the greatest spectacle in human history? did i just live through it? i felt like an insane person, jumping up and down and up and down, literally unable to contain myself. bawling through my grit teeth, smiling in every direction, exultant. i earnestly, honestly, wished for death in that moment. gagging with gratitude, i wished i would choke.
there's literally nothing on this earth like it.
if you have the means and you do not go then you have wasted your life.
atm1
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