Augustus St. George is never easy to track down, but fortunately I know all his favorite bartenders. Playing a lucky hunch, I was able to find him at the Jazz Cafe in Center Camp late the other night. I found him saying terrible things about Miles Davis to the patrons and staff in an attempt to get kicked out. He’d only tell me what happened to him after I agreed with him about Fusion Jazz. This has made my friends at BMIR very upset with me, but I think it was worth it.
See other entries in the Burning Noir series here.
Everyone who knows anything about First Camp knows that it has two levels.
Two levels. Sure. And David Best doesn’t lace the temple with Illuminati Symbols. Uh huh. Of course not.
Two levels are for chumps. The Rangers took me to the third level – an underground bunker beneath the playa built out of 100% recycled materials by a special “black ops” squadron of the DPW. I don’t know what their call sign is, but I’ve seen them at work: they can do things with rebar and plywood that prove there is no God.
The bunker goes down beneath the Black Rock Subway system and into what I’ve since learned that Burning Man calls its “War Room” – a collection of conference tables, computer monitors, and translucent naked statues representing the eternal feminine. Together it looks like a cross between the Pentagon and an art history teacher’s sex dungeon.
Big Bear, who’s responsible for connections with law enforcement, and Board member Harley DuBois were there waiting for me. (more…)