by The Red Wizard
Such a warm love when the sun sets. It falls behind the mountain and the city echoes. The werewolves of the BRC are beginning to Awake. Such brilliant wonder as the city turns on.
I remember some art was burning on the open playa as it got dark, so I jumped on the back of my truck, to be joined by 2 fellow adventurers. Talks of what Burning Man is becoming was amongst that interval. “The future is in the regionals,” was said. I said we are all responsible and cannot let the BRC fall to the wayside. But there is much more to that conversation. Not important to the night ahead.
The magic beckoned us…
I turned on my el-wire to illuminate Shimmy, my metallic purple bike with a brilliant baby blue glow. The energy of camp surging and searing with vibrance. Our outfits are on. The true Burners emerging. No more persona’s of the default world. Only us. Elevating our existence. Grabbing on to this transcendence of humanity.
The entire view of the universe expressing its self through the halls of the Black Rock City. Every road – a canal of stardust, whisking us away – flowing forwards – always on the move.
So I’m asked by 2, “What are you doing tonight, we should go out.” Heres our unspoken plan, to live. 2 more join in. Playafied and beautified.
The journey began.
Pedals through the dust, elegantly delighted down the 3:30 o’clock. B-Line to destiny. It never gets old, finding the Esplanade brimming with such disaster, grace, beauty and lust.
But away with that poetic jargon. Fucking open PLAYA! Biking as fast as possible to the mushroom forest. Fire spits from the caps. Captivating the audience. Under my control the podium and the flame.
Little dude with green corn rows patiently awaiting my attention. I make eye contact. A box is opened. A gnome standing tall begins to smile. AHAHAHAHA! FIRE!
And then we pass through the mountain pass of the Lotus Girls. With skies of fire to welcome us. We are Home.
As we pass through one archway to the next, the visions of a hundred hollow cubes were in the distance. Our inner children in full swing, pedaling to freedom, towards the unfettered dance floor.
The cubes are flashing, the bass is deep. We are all entranced. With rapid succession the DJ pushes the playa-tech envelope. Cutting the edge like a razor. Through our veins we feel it. Energy of oneness. We dance.
The hurricane of fire, the steampunk octopus wielding its freakshow of intrinsic mastery, breezes by. Looking out further into the larvae of what words cannot explain. The eternal beauty, the universe its self, expressed through humanity. The dark and the light, nightly on the Playa.
So we are done with the cubes and off to the next phase. A wooden rocketship interpretation of sorts. The cosmos granting us this one moment to get the only photograph of the five of us at our best. The Playa pulled us forward.
The lost unicorn of legends, or more simply put. A mutant car unicorn with freaking stripper poles playing the best music in the world has ever been granted. The ecstacy of life enveloped the timelessness of this moment. We were all lifted so high.
A utopian performative.
One simply cannot understand the feeling, when the bleachers pulled around the corner. Announcing that we had all won the game show of life. The Playa bunnies holding their signs so high “MAKE OUT” and dancing. The whirlpool of our reality. Defining existence through Burning Man.
My words will never touch that night. The innate beauty, serenity, and madness. All developing further every year, till next season – the Playa come.