Sailing homeward

He’s gone deep tonight – as deep as you can before the trash fence suddenly appears in your headlights.  He’s come to be alone.  He’s come to get away from the thumping techno that still echoes even out here, he’s come to get away from the green laser lights that still soar just over head.  If he turns around He’ll be able to see all of Black Rock City displayed in the distance like a mirage of heaven and hell, but he doesn’t turn around.  He looks at the stars.  Out here they fill the night sky.

It turns out he can’t get away from the music and the lasers and the city:  they follow him to the stars.  The only thing he can get away from, out here, is people.  It will have to do.  Read more »

Hello out there — if anyone is out there.

The Hun here, reporting from Reno where the ghosts and ghouls and glamorously undead have taken over the town. So far I’m safe here, barricaded in my house with eleven guns and a month’s supply of candy. But OMG! How I regret not warning you all weeks ago, when maybe we could’ve stopped this from happening. I should said something. But I kept it a secret, and now we’re all paying the price.

It may be too late for the truth to help things, but here we go. It started way back in August, when Stinger rolled into Gerlach with an angry-looking lump on her jaw.

She said it was a bee sting, and we all believed her. Maybe it really was a bee sting — but from what kind of bee? Even with medication, the lump didn’t heal. It just grew bigger, and blacker.

After a while, Stinger disappeared. We all figured she’d gone to the hospital to get that gigantic infected wound taken care of.

But then, a few days before the end of Playa Restoration, it happened. When the MOOP line showed up for work, Stinger was there. I don’t know how she got out to the desert; maybe she walked there. The lump was gangrenous and putrid, and it had eaten half her face. She didn’t seem to notice. She seemed… well, she seemed an awful lot like a zombie.

And then the worst happened: She attacked.

taking Deadpan unawares.

Read more »

No one at Monticello or BMIR slept much that night – and neither did I.  I woke up with the same question I’d asked falling asleep:  how could a small band of mercenaries kidnap the Lady Vice from the middle of Monticello?

As the WarBringer, I could travel to each side with impunity – but showing up leading hostile forces wouldn’t be cricket.  I could be a distraction, I had in the past, but what would be the plan of attack?  Should I just hand the mercenaries to BMIR and let them figure it out?

I spent the morning working at Media Mecca, trying to fit the puzzle together:  how to find her out of Monticello, unprotected.  How?

“Hey Caveat!” said Polaris.

“It’s WarBringer,” I corrected.

“Of course it is.  WarBringer.”  I could actually hear his eyes roll.  “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“She says her name’s Lady Vice.”

Well, that was easy.

Author’s Note: The following is an account of the events of The War of the Rites, an epic conflict at Burning Man 2011 between the camps of BMIR and Monticello. Read Part I here, Part II here, Part III here, and Part IV here.  Unlike previous playa stories I’ve told here, no part of the story has been fictionalized. All details are accurate to the best of my recollection. Read more »

The voice on the radio was excited — almost orgasmic.

“Okay, people, the rumor has been confirmed – Bassnector will be playing at Monticello a couple hours after Daft Punk!  That’s tonight’s party, starts right after the core burn!  This is a private affair, but the secret word to get in is ‘footbucket’!  It’s going to be an incredible party!  Tell the people in wigs that BMIR sent you!’  We’ll see you there!”

The Governor of Monticello, gave me a pained look.  “They’ve been saying that all day, haven’t they.”

“Yep.”

“We’ve got to stop them!”

“Good!  Yes!  Stop them!  The WarBringer is pleased!”

“You’re pretty much only going by ‘Wargringer’ now, aren’t you.”

“Don’t ruin this for me.”

He shrugged.  “Okay.”

“So how are you going to stop them?”

“We … we …” he paused.  “Shit.  I have no idea.”

Author’s Note: The following is an account of the events of The War of the Rites, an epic conflict at Burning Man 2011 between the camps of BMIR and Monticello. Read Part I here, Part II here, and Part III here.  Unlike previous playa stories I’ve told here, no part of the story has been fictionalized. All details are accurate to the best of my recollection. Read more »

Payback hurts ...

I dropped by BMIR in the morning.  The sight of Monticello’s flag on their transmitter had made them serious about the war now.  If nothing else, fighting would probably be easier than getting the flag down.

That was going to be tricky.

“Those fuckers!” said Christa.

I was not in a mood to be gracious.  “I warned you.”

“We’re SO going to get them back!”

“I WARNED you.  Monticello has a taste for empire, and the means to acquire it.”

“You mean an art bus?” asked Mao.

“Well, yeah.”

“We’re going to stop ‘em.”

“Still going to kidnap the Governor?”

“Oh yeah we are!”  said Christa.

“Uh huh.”  Same old song and dance.  I went on my way, disappointed.

Author’s Note: The following is an account of the events of The War of the Rites, an epic conflict at Burning Man 2011 between the camps of BMIR and Monticello. Read Part I here, and Part II here. Unlike previous playa stories I’ve told here, no part of the story has been fictionalized. All details are accurate to the best of my recollection.

When I stopped back two hours later, the Governor of Monticello was tied to a shade structure support beam … in the same rope he’d bound Ken with two nights ago. Read more »