by David Gross
A Campmate, his son, and I had been out riding the city, seeing some of the sights. When we reached 2:00 we decided to go out towards some distant lights on the Playa. These lights turned out to be Club Cube (?) at which point we decided to head straight for Center Camp Cafe.
The evening was a windy one with an abundance of dust. As we traveled towards town, a large structure began to appear in the dust. At times we could see the roof, then the dust would encase whatever it was. We had to stop at one point, as the wind was just a bit too strong for the son. Eventually we came upon the Temple of Tears.
In the night with the dust we started to examine the structure, reading what others had written. Hidden in the dust, the silence, the solitude, I sat. Without any predetermined thoughts or knowledge of this structure, I sat and began to write. Thoughts of my Grandparents and friends who left this life years ago. To be honest, the ones that came to mind had not been around for many years.
Once my party all gathered and we were leaving, the campmate and I ended up sharing our individual experiences which were very much the same. In my hometown, the only thing you hear about BM is “Naked Chicks” and “Drugs.” The Temple of Tears is another thing I use to describe BM to Virgins or those who ask me about BRC.