I found it odd to be in a vehicle with people casually talking about “Barlow” (John Perry) and his two naked 19-year-old nubile young things in his RV at Burning Man and about John Gilmore and Ray Kurzweil (Catherine was a research analyst for him), who they know as friends and not icons of the digerati in the way I have.

I find myself feeling a little strange again, a little fish in such a big pond. Do I have to think of this as schmoozing, as networking, as making friends? Do I want to be in this Silicon Valley network of hugely intelligent people or do I want to work in other ways, creating alternative futures in sustainable ways? Are the two things mutually exclusive? Later, I think. Later I will untangle these threads. For now, it is enough that I am heading back to my love and we have a thousand things to do before we can make it home.

It was, in other words, typical of any day after a festival has ended, anywhere in the world.

Catherine, Brad’s partner, had told me there was a chance I’d hear pigs flying overhead around 7am, shortly followed by their RV pulling up. Just in case, I was up early. As it turned out, they were waiting for another traveler and then a storm hit around 3pm.

In between trying to breathe, I kept helping with the bump-out as much as I could. Finally, around 7pm, I thought I’d give up and see if I could find them instead. Just as I did, they drove out of the blinding wind. I flagged them down and we got my stuff on board.

What followed was the worst Exodus storm in a decade, according to people I’ve spoken with. We could see about a foot in front of our faces, if that. Catherine and I were telling Brad when we could see the fences to either side and when we lost sight of them, we knew he was veering out of the lane. We couldn’t see the vehicle in front of us, that was certain.

Pure exhaustion after all that meant I slept most of the way to Reno.

We stayed in a very tacky hotel filled with slot machines on the bottom floor. I felt like I was in an episode of CSI.

One very amusing moment was when I noticed the National School Scrabble Championship on the television screens along with many sports. I wonder if people were betting on that too.

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In the middle of the roof was a wooden harp and a woman seated in front of it.

I moved to the front of the Sphinx and we started to move across the playa towards the Temple. As we got there, the music was turned off, and we stood and watched it burn brightly. A cowled man behind me with dark eyeliner spoke of his friend who’d killed himself. The Temple was entirely surrounded by people. As we waited and watched it burn, someone started a wave of noise that went around the circle like a Mexican wave, infectious. It went around six times.

I started crying, for Grandpa, for other reasons, for a teenhood that I could have had. Hands touched my shoulders.

Behind me, a voice said “To forgive is to be free.”

“To forgive is to be free.”

“To forgive is to be free.”

On the third sentence, the Temple fell.

“Third time’s the charm,” I said.

“That’s why they call me 3D,” said the cowled man.

We were asked to clear the decks so the band could play. It turned out that the beautiful man was the lead singer of a Las Vegas group called Kinetic Origins of Rhythm. He chanted the names of god in twenty languages. He sang of us all being messiahs and spoke of love. He channelled primal energies and stamped ancient rhythms for the harp to play against, eerie sounds distorted through the mixer.

He made eye contact with me and mouthed something I didn’t quite catch. He was the incarnation of masculinity and magic. I tried to tell someone this later and they asked me what I was on. When I told them I was “on” the power of the music and nothing else, I don’t think they believed me. It was true, though.

Afterwards, I spoke with him and hugged him and told him, from one messiah to another, that he had an incredibly powerful gift. A woman from Ecuador wearing an amazing feathered headdress came up to us. She had in her hands a carved Phoenix, blackened on one side. I’d heard a rumour that part of the first Man had been put inside the second. It had been shaped as a Phoenix and its single eye was green bottle glass. On its back were the signatures of all the people who’d built the second man. It said, “You thought we had a second Man in a box. We didn’t. You are all the second man.”

Apparently, it was in the Man’s head and his head didn’t burn. She saw it fall and went to pick it up from where it fell. The Phoenix is arisen once again!

The Sphinx went back to the Village and I said my farewells.

[EDIT: The story of the making of the Phoenix. The eye is melted neon from the first Man.]

It was amazing. In fact, all of the incredible steampunk themed art this year was beautiful, a haunting futurepast that I long for and mourn all at once.

I went to find Brad Templeton and check on the offer of a lift home (turns out he lives close by) as the sun faded over a hazy skyline, red cast shadows from the smoke of so many burning firepits.

The Neverwas Haul

Steampunk Treehouse

Steampunk Treehouse controls

Interior detail from the Treehouse (courtesy raindrift)

Steam-driven cart

Kinetic Steamworks steam engine (courtesy of raindrift)

Steampunk Theatre

Apocalyse Stagecoach (photos courtesy AlmostJaded)

Detail from the Stagecoach — even more fabulous images from AlmostJaded

Around 3pm, someone mentions that they think there’s a chiropractor at the HeeBee GeeBee Healers Tent. That’s only at 4.30 and Estuary, not very far at all. I hop into the wheel chair again and get myself over there.

Amazingly enough, there is, and he does some network chiropractic on my lower back and some manipulation of my thoracics and neck and I can walk again.

I can’t see a silver Sphinx anywhere. Karen doesn’t think we’ll find it. My feet are sore.

aethyrflux

doesn’t mind either way. So we find another vehicle to rest in for a while and gather ourselves. Rested, we decide to keep wandering. On my way off this truck, I am looking for a foot hold and can’t find one. Someone offers me a hand and I foolishly decide to take it rather than keep looking for the foothold. I come down too heavily on my bad leg and feel my sacrum and L5 go out of place as I land. It’s enormously painful.

Walking slowly will help but I really need a chiropractor. We move slowly towards a large art car with a glowing sign: Martini Agog. Perhaps a drink or two? Parked right next to that is the silver Sphinx bus. Whoo hoo! We climb aboard. Apparently, we were supposed to meet *next* to the bus not on it, but I didn’t know that at the time. From the open top deck of the bus, we watch the amazing fireworks show before the oil derrick burns. It’s literally the best fireworks show I think I’ve ever seen and I’m including Sydney Harbour 2000 in that. Mind you, Sydney Harbour had a couple of three dimensional shapes. Perhaps it’s on par.

Then the derrick starts to burn. I have never seen anything so enormous as this fireball. I can’t help but think about how wasteful it is. “Green” Man, huh? Buying carbon credits to offset this is all well and good but this is still hugely problematic. The travel of all the people here is too. And yet, otherwise, how would they get to make this art statement about dependence on oil? Complicated.

Apparently there are four “blevvies” in this explosion. All I can see is an amazing fire tornado at its center, spinning with a wildness of a sprite chained.

I am swept with a wave of exhaustion and tell

aethyrflux

I’m going downstairs. He joins me and we find our way past the sumptuous bar to the hidden back room, lined with deep red wallpaper and done up as a Moroccan bed chamber. There are mattresses and cushions, a round table with spaces cut into it for drinks, people draped around. There is a water feature, a little waterfall tumbling down onto some smooth rocks against one wall and a little alcove at the back with a Ganesh figure in it.

I keep snoozing. The captain of the Sphinx keeps coming in with his girlfriend all dressed in a white corset and tutu, black-framed glasses making her stern. “No sleeping!” he says. “Spankings all round if you sleep!” She administers the spankings with glee.

We eventually leave the Crude Awakening site and head, I think, back to camp, but it turns out the Sphinx plans to hang out at the Opulent Temple at 2 o’clock. I wait and wait for it to head home, since I can’t walk six whole playa blocks to 5 o’clock with my leg as it is. Luckily for me, aethyrflux works with Burners without Borders and he’s a darling. He props me up on a bean bag at a chill space and walks back to their camp at 3.30, gets me a wheel chair and then wheels me back to our camp at 5.

Needless to say, I got a few surprised looks when I got into the Village, but we sat around and talked a little longer and then I wheeled myself to the hammock again.

We tromp the distance to the Man and see the arms raise as we get closer. He’s been rebuilt in two days flat by the construction team, identical to the first version. In some ways that saddens me: it highlights exactly what it seems the “arsonist” was protesting, this cookie-cutter Man, this reproduction out-of-a-box.

It’s the usual chaos, finding a spot behind all the art cars, the chants of “sit down!” to all the people standing in front. We’ve got reasonably good line of sight. I can’t see Dave twirling somewhere in the Conclave but he’s there somewhere.

In front of us, the twirlers are transforming into a particular group: there’s a story being told. They line up one in front of the other, fire fans overlapped and then lights flame from front to back, a winged Shiva forming. There are three women and a man, with him at the very rear. Two of the women form a guard of sorts while the third dances with the man. It is intensely sexy, male and female energies swirling, she swaying and seducing, he undulating and fiery. Suddenly, other men appear armed with fire spears and shields and there is a fight, ducking and swerving. The women defend also. The play goes back and forth and of course our lovers triumph.

Fireworks begin. The twirlers disappear. The Man starts to burn, for the second time. And then there is an enormous fireball and he is engulfed in flame. He burns brightly and then eventually falls. We move in towards him. I want to circle the pyre as I did last year, but as we get closer, someone pushes a large spherical artwork into the flames and another fireball goes off and everyone is shouting “move back!” and I think, no, perhaps not now, perhaps not this year.

We walk away, towards Crude Awakening, which is due to burn in another hour or so. We have instructions to find a bus done up as a Silver Sphinx and to meet Kati, Priya, Yassi and

signifier

there.

I want to go to the swimming pool again and everyone seems keen but they are languorous in the heat and slow to stir.

I am on foot while they have bicycles. They will join us later. Karen agrees to walk her bike with me so I’ll have company (I’m more worried no one will come at all). Again, halfway there, we find a ride for me, this time because she knows friends at a Peeps Flambé camp. Apparently this is some sort of marshmallow confection shaped like a bird for Easter. It is far too sweet. The pool is delightful.

I have an appointment with

aethyrflux

for 6pm at the park to meet up for the Man. Kati has no plans, so she comes with me, and we take the makings of a picnic dinner. He has brought port. Mmm.

After dinner, back at camp, Kati is distracted by Priya and Yassi and will go out with them instead (I can understand this: I took one look into their little house and saw three glowing naked visions sitting cross-legged; I could barely tear my eyes away).