Serpent mother and the ever present dust
My position on the Waffle: It was art not an exercise in efficiency, environmental compensation has been made and the only gripe I have is about the disposal of internal waste. So you create a colossal structure and provide some major tune action and funky lightshow, burners are bound to be attracted to it like moths to a flame. People will boogie, people will become thirsty and people will thus need to drink. What goes in must come out. So despite their plans including shipping the ashes back to Belgium, they do not cover the provision of portapotties.
So it is Tuesday night, I have been a good burner and ensuring correct intake of liquids and now I really, really need to pee. So I search the perimeter and scan the horizon to no avail, don’t get me started about why they don't light those things up. There’s only one option left aside from pissing myself, which is not a great idea as I have a short in my el-wire trousers that is already. This delivers a shock to my left buttock everytime I jiggle and I don’t want to make it any worse. Approaching this in a very thorough manner, I select location away from everyone, check no one is around and start the process, using a intricate weaving patterns to ensure no specific area gets more than is absolutely necessary.
Where the fuck did that spotlight come from! Why the fuck is it centred solely on my groin? Admittedly I was a smidge spangled and giggling as I waved my thang around, but that ceased abruptly as I was asked what I thought I was doing? Now that should have been self evident, especially as the water is still flowing and your torch is quite finely illuminating the fountain of Dougal. I try to keep my answers succinct and clear. Threats are made about $150 fines for pissing on the playa, ID is asked for and general abuse is given. ID? Look at me, I am wearing flashing disco pants and a wooly jacket called Isaac, do I look like a candidate for carrying ID. This did not go down well, more threats, more abuse. Eventually I fish out an invite for the Burning Sporran Ceilidh and hand it to the officer as proof of my existence. Guess how this went down? With a "Get the Fuck out of here, don't do it again or your fucked!" I was sent on my way. I did look out for that particular officer at the Ceilidh it must be said, but alas he must have been too busy illuminating more crotches of the unsuspecting.
This is not a get out of jail free card
Apart from Officer Crotch Watcher, I am never happier than when I am meeting new people and this year I met so many new faces and got to touch base with so many old friends that even I was sated; perhaps not satisfied but sated. This year was truly a game of social pinball on a magnificent scale.
Social Pinball Explained: This is the term I use for my antics whenever there are more than 10 people in a room that I know or want to talk to. Basically I careen about the place flitting form one group to the other interacting with each group until distracted or called to the next group or individual. Such frantic flitting is driven because I only have a limited time in which to see everyone, make new friends and still squeeze in some random adventures. Burning Man is manic, Decompression is worse. But I love it and wouldn't change it for the world, although I do realise it can be annoying as fuck to some people. Sorry, it’s just me doing what makes me happy.
Such social pinballing was demonstrated best one night (no I can’t be more specific) as I left the hostel with Muffin, Turtle, Jamie, Flip, Pepper, Paula, Ryan, Amanda (probably some others but I was flying that night, sorry if I missed you out). We headed out towards the man (escorting a slightly tipsy Amanda) and it became clear that such a large group was an unwieldy beast to handle. Still we make the Man intact, I get distracted by various groups of people and the opportunity to chug from a dangerous looking petrol canister. Somehow we maintained cohesion to the Serpent Mother, whereby we meet other hostellites, Euroburner Michelle who helped build it (hats off) and of course more clichéd random encounters.
It was at this point cohesion slipped (never tell people you will catch the up) and I found myself with Roey heading back to Apokiliptika for supplies. Decided I would just chill at camp, man the bar and stay out of mischief. That lasted a good……hhhmmmm…..3-4 minutes. Maria, Irish, Heaven & Hell, Lev, Kate and Porcelain started to coagulate into an expedition force with the serious intent to commit some Grade A dance manoeuvres. Suited up, stocked up and up for it, we departed camp with a spring in our step and boogie in our hearts. Heaven & Hell mauling Kate in her mutant bunny outfit, was topping the playa moment charts but got pipped to the post by what became one of my favourite moments.
Motely crew
Set the scene, big dance tent, with some sofas on the outside, DJ booth in one corner and a massive fluffy rotating disk bang in the centre of the dance floor. Inspirational idea and a very good way of sorting out the wasted out from the merely excitable. Both run towards it but only the excitable have enough co-ordination to make it on and stay on. So I mount the disk with less grace than I had pictured in my head and grip tightly on as some goon sees exactly how fast he can make us go. G-force rising, Cheshire cat sized grin planted across my mug I risk a look around and only find the bloody Munchkin Army surrounding me. We share a moment of realisation and all start screaming, foolishly attempt to hug each other and promptly lose traction. Flying into a disjointed heap we giggle and scream and revel in a classically random playa moment.
Returning from a much needed toilet stop I discover that I have somehow managed to lose ANOTHER group, what a complete plum. So slightly high and getting higher all the time I decide this is no time to get all anxious and downcast by another acute case of the loners. Mentally gripping my happy underpants by the waistband and pulling them up into a wedgie of joy, I head down the esplanade open, engaging and deciding this was the perfect opportunity to trust that the playa would provide.
Who is leading who astray?
Was I let down? Was I buggery! I rolled back to Kamp a complete bitch of synchronicity to find a full battalion of Euroburners drinking the bar dry who just happened to pop by. So on my third round of social pinball I am well aware of how lucky I have been. Normally to lose not one but two groups would spell disaster, but not apparently at Burning Man. Although gathering what few wits remaining I had, I endeavoured not to drop the ball this time round and made it right through to sunrise a very lucky manky scotch bastard indeed.
So much is made of the whole gifting thing, whether you gift or not, arguments rage over what constitutes a good gift, how much should be spent (time, effort, cash, etc) and whom to bestow your gifts upon. My answer, gift whom and whatever takes your fancy. The only clause being that the gift comprise some sort of sacrifice/ investment of energy/ inspiration/ shit just some thought.
Example: Fluffy rainbow neon bracelets. 2006 was the year that fur would mount an attack on all those arrogant bead based gifts. Just slicing up some faux fur fabric did lack imagination, so I decided to enrich the fabric with a little heritage. Thus the fabric was dragged to a Spanish mountainside, slept with more people than me, save a few souls from hypothermia and just generally hang around looking gorgeous. Exactly how much time it would take to make the bracelets MOOP compliant I seriously underestimated and had to farm out some to unsuspecting parental units. But the effort was worth it and the ravages of the desert on them meant they looked about as ragged as we all felt when we left.
The nameless blanket lounging in the mid day heat of nowhere
This year seen three of the most special gifts I have EVER been given at BM, this should not detract from the loads of playa moment marking gifts from everyone else, but these stood out by how lucky they made me feel for having been gifted them.
1) Lazy Bill - Air conditioned RV, clean sheets, fresh pillows and four life saving hours of sleep. Burning out near the end of the week, energy bottomed out and my tent no refuge (it was in the generator ghetto and dusty as hell). Without this the remainder of my burn could totally have gone south but as it was I was able to approach the burn in style.
2) Jellyfish - The Gods Sombrero, resplendent in purple el-wire. This gift fills a gap in my life I never even knew existed until the fateful moment I laid my eyes on it; I know this because I didn’t risk it on the flight and I wake up crying in the night at the thought of another month without it. Its not just the ultimate in fashion accessories its also my very own dance partner, keeping a circular item on my lumpy shaped nonce makes the entire dance operation a site to behold.
Porcelain and the Sombrero, glad both entered into my life
3) Miss Porcelain - CHHHOOOOOOOOONNNNN! I was the lucky recipient of an MP3 player (in metallic pink no less) and it was a complete treat to be able to share someone else musical inclinations. Despite not seeing them, every time you listen to a new tune you are still sharing something with them. Some "interesting" tunes on there to be sure, broadening my musical horizons so to speak.
Apart from bringing back bags of gifting swag you will also always take back bags of something else. Dust. Loads of it. You just can’t avoid it. We talk of BM being in a desert cause its just easier than having to explain that it is actually held on an alkali salt bed (didn’t you know). What’s the difference? The DUST! Even that term doesn’t cover how insidious this floating particulate matter really is. It will cover you, your belongings, everyone you know and you will miss it once it is gone, honestly.
Can I have more please sir?
Certain measures can combat the endless struggle against the dust, they are nothing but a series of doomed battles in a war where dust will inevitably conquer. There are those whom are firm believers in the cult of the zip-lock and thus zip-lock the arse out of everything. Whilst I may not agree with that I do agree with the need for goggles and dust mask. Despite this it didn't stop me trying to cross the playa with only a bandana and a large pair of (admittedly very funky) sunglasses for protection, not the smartest move but entirely worth the experience. Roaming through a complete whiteout, nothing but the sound of rushing dust past my ears, that distinctive taste clogging my mouth, lungs filling up and wind so strong I didn't even have to peddle. My eyes couldn't deal with the lack of sensory input (especially after the glut of the past 6 days) and bending my will to the task of seeing SOMETHING, possible obstructions/ hazards I started seeing things. Stumbled into the hostel looking 20 years older but feeling 10 years younger, dust storms rule!
A strange compulsion can grip you when you see your first real dust storm or dust devil of the year. It’s not entirely uncommon to find yourself tearing into/ after them with little regard for your survival. Turtle, Muffin, Jamie and Myself tore straight through 3 streets of camps on a "as the crow fly's" course into the first big dust storm on Tuesday? Wednesday? So with nothing but fluffy bracelets for dust masks, half a small bottle of water and some industrial grade sun block we headed off after the dust devils like a bunch playa fresh virgins. Glee turned to glum as it dawned on us that we really were woefully under provisioned for such a mission and the dust storm was MILES away. Still it was fun to head out onto the playa with these guys on a sporadic whimsy, a true playa moment that couldn’t have been planned. It is important to note that when running for a dust devil do not run towards it. A common mistake. Run between 15-45 degrees (depending on wind speed) in front of it, on bike is obviously easier and the angle can be reduced.
Survival experts on patrol (Jamiemignome)
It is not just dust that you have to contend with that is out to make your pleasant festival experience that wee bit more extreme. You also need to be prepared for the temperatures. Ranging from ball shrivelling cold to grey matter melting hot, I could go on about making sure you use sun block, drink enough water and look after your friends, but all that is missing the real issue:
What to wear and when?
Day dress hinges on what activities you are planning for that day. Start of the week during set-up, mostly practical stuff that is comfy and cool. Once set-up stage is over, day costumes start creeping out, especially as you start attending more and more events. The mid day sun will batter even the most well designed costume and discomfort usually rises proportionately the more fabulous you try to look.
Oh yeah the gun makes me look soooooo macho!
The neon mummy tutu was my favourite day costume, but it came at a price of oddly shaped sunburns, losing a whole length of green fur into the cogs of my bike and not being able to take a crap; I had tied all the bandages to my party pants so could only pull them halfway down, very disconcerting. Jo and Roamer at the Tea Party looked spiffing but completely toasted, if you are going for costume over comfort remember your liquids and to stick to the shade.
Night costumes are WAY more fun, you can wear more out of the attentions of the fiendish suns rays and they can GLOW! It is way easier to be glamorous at night as any costume can be covered with a kick ass huge jacket, whipped off to boogie, and snuggled into when cold. This is why those pillars of playa daytime fashion attain such kudos.
Capturing the glow needs controlled circumstances
It may be cold but I am a creature of the night and the cold suits me waaayyyy more, plus it is the playground of the serious blinky whores and I can roam amongst my own. My own personal jacket saviour goes by the name of Isaac; he is a black and white shaggy beast who was adopted from the neglected shores of Brighton. A true dust bunny he takes everything thrown at him and comes back screaming for more, hero of more than one comedown/ hypothermia victim and the perfect accessory for any costume. Isaac is my best friend. If one is prone to crashing out in random locales after an evening of partying then please choose your wardrobe accordingly, go to your local charity shop and adopt an Isaac NOW! Costumes are for life not just for Christmas! A reward for Isaac is that he will get his own personal glow come the new year.
Problems can occur when your costume is out of sync with the temperature, being caught in day wear late at night takes a strong constitution/ strong alcohol/ some serious medication to get you through. Working on Irish's project often meant we would work through the twilight and into the night, gradually becoming more aware that without clouds to hold the heat in, it gets cold, fast! Returning to camp still in our functional form of clothing, everyone else would be glammed up like neon vampires of mars ready to take flight and it would be a mad dash to catch up. Likewise the walk of shame home in the morning, is compounded by the fact that you need to form a tramp bundle, to hold all your excess clothes, supplies, etc. Sweating excessively and looking at the sky cursing as that fiery ball bakes your once proud costume into nothing more than a wire clad dusty ball of uselessness.
The EuroRampage tramp bundle bike an excellent example of its kind
So just to recap, if you go to Burning Man you will have to fight a futile battle against the dust and you will get both fried and frozen, I know it sounds positively enticing. Why? Well we now get to the meat of it for me. Art and fire are obviously integral to the festival, but the heart of the beast is in the events that the citizens of BM host; the art and fire do provide a spectacular backdrop from them however. It's what makes the whole festival so impressive in breadth and depth of experience, also why it makes waking up in the morning and not having a scoob about what’s going to befall you that later so much fun.
Upon entry to our fair city you are given a "What, Where, When!" guide, that details what events are happening where and when, obviously. Virgins take great delight in highlighting or circling half the events in the book. Most swiftly encounter the distraction principal and learn to prioritise those events to ones they really really REALLY want to attend. Some still cling to the guide like it was some form of grubby bible and those poor souls need a magic stick, a smack about the head and taken on a serious adventure. Personally my guide remains unblemished by pen or crayon, mostly because I am too lazy but partially cause I believe in synchronicity. Any event I should be at, I will be at, lame in the extreme but it has served me well so far.
By this principal there were only 5 events that raised themselves out of the hazy mosaic of experiences this year, the most enjoyable often not listed in any guide (as it should be):
1) Brit Camps Tea Party - Hats off to the Brit camp crew for pulling off one of the most unexpected successes I have seen on the playa. The camp was positively heaving, with every corner of the camp filled with pimms drinking, tea supping and cake scoffing burners. Jaffa cakes do not present an attractive sight under such desert conditions but this did not stop the rapid demolition of plate after plate of British confectionary treats. The success even captured the Brits by surprise, the look of stunned delight as they frantically hurried from guest to guest furnishing them with such delights as an empty cardboard cup with powered milk and sugar.
2) The Burning Sporran Ceilidh - Returning to the dust year with, tammy hats, tartan curtains, beefed up sporrans and an even more impressive array of whisky and crappy Scottish tunes (the finest of "Fire in yer Kilt"). Invitations were issued, dances were practiced and a whole heap of fuck all happened in the end. A case of serious dust storm (it was on Wednesday) and a nail in the foot kind of threw a spanner in the works (my gangsta hobble was not the most conducive to flinging unsuspecting Yankees in an eightsome reel). Despite the lack of dancing there was still plenty of drinking and the surprise visit of 3 weegies (Glaswegians) asking after tins of Bru (Irn-Bru) and if we had any Buckie (Buckfast Fortified wine) was a treat. Shit happens, you can't control everything so just drink your whisky, craft kilts from dust ridden curtains and then find someone else’s party to crash.
The event of the year that was not to be
3) Fascist Fashion Parade - Apokilipitka's finest recruits and allies came together in this high parade of the very latest in militarian outfits. A tear of the finest vodka was brought to my eye as our very own came together in a splendid array of RPG's, Russian flights suits, surly abuse and oven mitt delights. The Kernul was in his element as kompare and led the crowd through the wide range of participants and even managed to keep the event together through the one man invasion of our despotic drag winner. The grand adventure truly peaked with the Admiral facing off against Kate in a battle of feminine aggression, Admiral snatched viktory and was her usual magnanimous self as she basked in the adulation from the crowd. I valiantly tried to rally support for Tankgirl from the crowd and was there any appreciation shown? Sure! She wrestled me to the ground whereby being the gentleman I obviously had to let her get the upper hand. It’s tough being a me.
The classic shotgun nut-smash manoeuvre
4) First Sunrise - The balance is always more evident at Burning Man, if you party through having a most fabulous time in the process, then you will pay for that with sleep deprivation. But it has to be done, that first sunrise on the playa is a special moment, you made it through the night in one piece, you’re surrounded by friends and that eerie calm has descended through the city piercing the frantic vibes that a couple of hours ago had you bouncing off the walls. I shared my first sunrise this year with Emily Martina, Hannah, Pilot and Nicholas, having dragged them half way across the playa to the Hostel tower, to drink single malt and enjoy the fine panoramic view. I say it’s not the number of sunrises that is important but the quality of them, this one was amongst my favourites.
We did pay for it though, sporting an impressive gansta limp myself and Martina wandered in the search of shade, rest and hopefully bacon. Passing similar nocturnal refugees a look and a nod would pass and the plodding would recommence. Passer bys looking fresh and cheerful would get a scowl and where necessary a bird flipped in their general direction. Any fucker having the cheek to do yoga was just past contempt in my frame of mind at that moment. So for the glory of an amazing evening and the gift of a beautiful sunrise the price to pay was high, but worth it, probably.
Simply a beautiful moment
5) EuroRampage - Miss Cheeky after an all night extravaganza with some of the Euro crowd ended back at Quixote's. Whereby not ready to relinquish the evening just yet assembled a crack squad of veterans (not and I repeat not, the dregs of the previous evening) with the simple intent of recruiting as many other Euroburners as they could lay their hands on and continue the festivities.
Rousing from a peaceful slumber to the screams of "DougalDutch!", crawling from my tent I find a bedraggled posse of BRC citizens demanding I join them on their brave expedition. With just enough time to grab some more string for my trousers, my orphaned bag from the night before and several gallons of water we hit the street. Also recruited at this stage were Heaven & Hell and Jellyfish whom sensibly bailed when things started to go south. Further recruiting dragged up more than our fare share of randoms, as we stumbled from camp to camp screaming "Whisky! Eurotrash!".
After 2 hours we had been whittled down to the core and things were going a tad pear shaped, the consumption of 3 litres of whisky, a half litre of mushroom tea and a paltry couple of gallons of water started to take its toll. Before it became a struggle for survival the trip peaked with our posse rolling in to the Belgium camp whilst they ate breakfast. Still screaming "WHISKY! EUROTRASH!" Much to their bemusement. At this juncture we overheard one of the Belgians enquiring if we were a performance troupe, if so they recommended getting a gypsy to add more variety.
Survivor such an ordeal brings everyone closer
A pear shaped object the adventure did become soon after, a positive struggle against the elements to get back to Quixote's in one piece, with all limbs and no more than 30% permanent brain damage. Spare clothing strapped like a tramps bundle to one of the bikes we soldiered on. Without Cheeky's and Superbugs staunch support we never would have made it, but make it we did and better burners for the experience we were. What a grand and truly spontaneous adventure it was, a truly magnificent start to burn day and an honour that they thought to include me.
Experimentation is a massive part of the whole Burning Man experience for myself, from the events that I attend, the clothes that I wear to the intoxicants that I let into my system. Given the cornucopian nature of what on the menu it boils down to how far you are willing to push your limits, test where your boundaries are. One of my big issues I realised after 2 previous years on the playa is that I feel most comfortable visiting random camps in groups, so I don't have to be the first to make that initial connection.
Building up a head of steam at the hostel
This year I vowed to head out on my tod, explore random camps and see if I could overcome this self-conscious artefact from my past. Despite being outwardly confident at meeting people there is a lot of bluff involved and I was more than a little apprehensive about pushing this boundary, so I cheated a little. Cheated may be a little harsh. Simply put I played the role of manky Scots bastard, enriching conversations with slang and colloquialisms. Also the manner in which I dressed did lend me somewhat of an advantage in initial encounters, something I usually use el-wire for. But during the hours when the fiery monster is out and about my el-wire obsession (I realise that it has indeed reached obsession status) is bugger all use.
Don’t they look impressed to see me
So dressed in neon bandages, pink tutu and the tightest party pants (I still cringe thinking of them) I ventured forth to embrace my new future. After gaining some momentum, some confidence visiting old friends and new enemies it was time to stop procrastinating. I sauntered round the back streets partaking in the hospitality of any random camps I came across that would have me and guess what? IT FUCKIN ROCKED! My confidence was up, new friends were made and I even managed to make my own way back to Kamp, admittedly looking cracked out to max. The last 3 camps were strict about my consumption of alcohol (in that I must) and this brought out my old alcoholic tendencies and general lack of self-control whenever alcohol is in the picture. Using the Dutch courage excuse just does not cut it I am afraid. Next year it is going to be a straight Dougaldutch on the prowl, no excuses.
Not a pretty sight
When it comes to experimentation with other substances I do generally have enough self-control to avoid the various pitfalls that alcohol would have me falling head first into. No confidence problems when flying, I rove the wilds of BRC bouncing from pillar to post with saucer eyes, stupid grin and welcoming chat for any unlucky soul I intercept. I certainly partook in more medicine out there than alcohol, for the simple reason it is more portable, no hangover to impact the next day and less chance of me acting like a number one prick. As a result though most of my days became split into different periods of perception depending upon what was coursing through my system at the time.
My mind seemed most vulnerable to this effect whilst under the influence of Lucy who DEFINITELY likes to frolic in the atmosphere with precious stones, but as far as fun goes there was nothing I would rather experience.
The Kernul and Jellyfish look eager to get stuck into some Herring
The night was off to a blinder, I had just been gifted the Gods sombrero, the Norwegians were in fine form for the state dinner (and obscenely tight shorts) and Club Verboten was where it was happening. Jellyfish mustered a crew to hit the 9 o'clock dance camps and we were all geared up, well nearly. Our first task was to get some pants on Porcelain who was dancing around with Isaac on in funky frilly butt knickers, but ill prepared for the ravages of the night.
Setting off across the playa a pact was made that we would maintain group cohesion regardless of distraction or excuse, for that we have Jellyfish to thank. The quantity of energy and commitment needed to maintain group integrity rises proportionately to the number of people in the group and exponentially as the state of the member’s changes. Our group was at yellow alert and rising into red, I could only see blinky’s and the distractions were coming thick and fast. Toilet breaks, Martina and Huggy Bear trying to poach us onto some art cars and dangerously fast spinning pieces of art all failed to break us.
Arriving at the hostel seen the entrance of hypnomitt-leopardprint-Jellyfish, Cavalier-Kiwi, Space-raver-puppybollocks, funky-french-resistance-Porcelain and buccaneer-Dougaldutch into a much needed happy space. Toilets were on hand, there was a plentiful sea of good good people and blissful number of distracting lights. Unfortunately this is where our company was split, despite my best intentions to escort the Jellyfish through an even of debauchery my mental state was such that there was no way I could handle that much bounce or blinky’s. Kiwi and Jellyfish headed out and left Porcelain and myself laughing and bopping around the hostel.
Soliders of fortune (Jamiemignome)
Time was still more or less linear but it just got parsed into my consciousness in clump, making the evening seem to last forever. Given the state of play that was just fiiiiinnnnneeee by me. Everything outside the shade structure was a different world entirely and could be dismissed out of hand, I logically knew there was a world of possibilities out there, but I was content to just enjoy the moment and let the city swirl around me.
Pepper, Muffin, Turtle, Helen, Carl, Beave, Dak, Josie, Nick Tuesday, Hi Dive, Tony and so many more hostelites were enough distraction and entertainment for eleven DougalDutch’s and I thoroughly enjoy their company. Whether the feeling was reciprocal is another matter. Guest visits from Lev, Heaven & Hell, Kate and BoB the tramp (BoB didn't know he was called Bob and eventually had to be escorted away in a bemused alcoholic stumble by some very serious gentlemen), ensured a supply of fresh meat.
To find such contentment was a novel experience for me. The me who must always be exploring, the me who is always launching into the next adventure, never settling on just one moment. So aside from the excellent visuals I found a rare moment to just stop and enjoy the people I love in a place I consider home. Aside from all that sentimental bollocks watching Porcelain bopping around ass to the wind and Isaac clad ensured I would remember I too could move. So I drifted from group to group and even occasionally managed a trip to the pissers. These swiftly became mini campaigns to venture out into the land of deep black and blinky bright, armed with only my few remaining wits and occasional an escort. Every time I entered the trough cubicle, the effort of focus would always trip a series of visuals that would last an indefinable amount of time. If I was still pissing when I cam round then not THAT long had passed. if I had stopped pissing then there was always the worry I may have been standing staring at the mank encrusted wall like a complete plank for SOME time.
So, this is me content, honest (Sgt Pepper)
Temperatures continued to drop as the night wore thin and there was very little protection against its chilling ravages. That was of course until I decided to build the best sofa fort in the world…ever! Survivors of the night could then huddle safe in its warm embrace and should there be an outbreak of zombies, we could hold them of until sunrise. Captain Anne Bonnie was quick to realise the merit of this plan and we were dragging sofa's, cushions and weapons into a series of impressive dust covered fortifications. Once occupied it was a case of looking out of the spy hole and hurling commands at the unsuspecting passer-by’s, "BOOZE! FAGS! CHIPS & DIP! MORE CUSHIONS! RABBITS!". My contentment was complete, the night had lasted a month, I was intact and in my fort, a man can ask for little more in life. The only blemish was that soon my mortal enemy that bastard sun would soon be making an appearance, cunt was always showing up to ruin things.
Instructions for building your very own fort follow shortly (Sgt Pepper)
Someone this year asked me "Sunset or sunrise?" innocent in its simplicity but tricky in its implications. Sunset sees the start of the night and that is when I really let loose, no longer hampered by my pale body. But when the sunsets I rarely pause to watch it go down, no time for reflection. Instead it is a dash to get work done whilst there is some light, get into costume or make it back to camp to meet people (its the only time when people without a watch can both know what time it is).
Sunrises on the other hand have to be earned, you have to make through the night and still have the balls to stay and watch, knowing it means the chance of sleep are minimal and that starts to impact on your energy levels later in the week. I vote sunrise, the quiet tension that builds as you wait for it burst over the mountains out weighs the nervous energy that builds as the sunset's and you see a night of possibilities in front of you. Damn that was a bit hippy, next thing you know I will think cous cous is an actual foodstuff, yoga is better than Xbox and a kick in the nuts is not the only way to settle a dispute. Best switch to something a little more macho and also something that bonded two camps at the polar opposites of the city together, keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer.
When things start to get light, things start to get tricky
A quick history lesson, in 2004 Jellyfish forged the time machine art car from a tractor and trailer that was available to the hostel. It was a fine vehicle and actually the device that brought jellyfish into my close circle of friends, it served the hostel well. Next year there was an overhaul of the hostel policy to concentrate mainly on international burners, Jellyfish found a new home and took the Time Trailer with him, his new home? Why Apokiliptika of course. Unwilling to surrender the time machine so easily we formed the Peacekeepers to counter the military might that was massing. The battle was intense, Apoliliptika's defacing of the UN flag and capture of the UN mobile offence unit (golf cart) did little to dampen morale. Despite being vastly out numbered and sorely under supplied retaliation was swift with the appropriation of their Apok-a-trike and machine guns defence emplacements. During combat 2 brave UN soldiers were captured and put to interrogation, it was here that the brainwashing and re-education occurred and those soldiers would then be found switching camps in 2006.
“I will not break! Wait what was the question?”
The propaganda started early, with Apokiliptika rising to hither to unseen proportions, the hostelites holed up in their forum and occasionally talked some smack. Things got really interesting on the playa however where, with swelling numbers the hostellites would descend on the Kamp under the cover of darkness. Here they would basically set about stealing anything that wasn't nailed down. The Herrings added a much-needed touch of variation and a few apokiliptikans rallied round to return fire.
Highlights:
1) Puppy Bollocks stealing Apokiliptika's art car and trailer and driving it back to the hostel. BY HIMSELF.
2) Theft of the Hostel blinky centrepiece with subterfuge from me, using THEIR tools, THEIR manpower and some use of some serious weapons of mass distraction.
3) Captain Anne Bonnie dragging the interrogation chair nearly all of the way across playa and then getting it mounted on the tower.
4) Best EVER snowball fight on the playa, if the shortest*
5) Capture of Anne Bonnie in the attempt to seal off Apokiliptika with caution tape, using said caution tape and binding her to the stripper pole front and centre of Kamp.
The irony of this moment must be savoured (BadDawg)
* So a very cracked out Dougaldutch finally builds a suitable nest to leave consciousness in and informs Nox to rally a defence in case of attack. 5 min later Nox comes tearing into my tent screaming "THERE ATTACKING!!!" I stick my befuggled head outside, survey the battlefield to promptly receive a snowball to the face. About 20: 3, the odds were against us but that counted in our favour as after the initial barrage we were the only ones with ice left.
Next year double the ice. So, gracious in defeat the whisky was wheeled out and the victors toasted at the bar.
Relaxing in victory, Admiral starts the physiological warfare campaign
It was a fine battle and being caught in-between the two camps gave me a unique perspective relations between camps and how things were developing. Next year the war needs to move away from the "What can we steal?" tactics (I admit having succumbed to the ease of this approach) and actually use some of the imagination/ creativity that we as burners always bang on about. There were tricky moments when some of the engagements crossed the line from fun into theft or infringed negatively on others art/ experience. As the war evolves so should our means of attack and defence, sword meets shield, bullet meets armour, herring meets oven mitt.
An exemplary tactic for attack was exhibited on Saturday morning. Re-entering the atmosphere around Apokiliptika from the EuroRampage launch, I discover the Kamp to be occupied by an invading force. It was M*A*S*H 4207th engaged in Operation: Fuck them up. Frog marched to the bar I was promptly relinquished into the hands of their chemical weapons division. “Fun”, interactive and brought us closer to those we once would have called enemies. Although I understand this may be slightly biased opinion as their chemical weapons really were VERY potent and entirely effective.
Has anyone spotted the problem inherent in this foot in both camp state? Unless you are part of the advanced Kloning program then there is simply not enough of you to go around, your commitment has to be split. Flitting in and out of Kamp I would interact when possible, help where needed, but seeing the effort BadDawg, BB Sue, The Kernul, Jellyfish, The Count and the others made left me with some serious guilt. Every good intention of making a sequencing el-wire banner, so I could contribute to the feel of the camp, fell apart by midweek. More effort should have been made (screw sleep), next year increased commitment (more time in Kamp), more prior planning (build stuff off playa) and quit using the international origin as a crutch.
Mean motherfuckers (Apokiliptika)
Where else but my home away from home could tear my commitment asunder. The Hostel to me will always primarily be about the people first and theme second. Those burners who camp with the hostel are its biggest resource, that’s why it works so well and will continue to endure as people come and go. Without the backbone of experienced veterans the hostel would be an different entity entirely. Hagey, Kiwi, Irish, Santa, Fish + Sunshine, X-ray and Nick Tuesday are the nuclei which holds the rest of us happy electrons in orbit. It works, simply look at the virgins from Brit camp and Camp Kiwi who committed considerably more than multiple time burners and burners older than themselves.
THIS IS WHAT THE FACE OF RESPONSIBILITY LOOKS LIKE!
Every year I have been involved with the hostel, before my very eyes it has grown, but this year was something else. The faeces really was tight, but only so much can be supported on the shoulders of so relatively few. FACT: not everyone who rocks up to the hostel pulls their weight. Now some of this is down to the high virgin ratio and can be addressed with education, however there will always be those who seek an easy life, cest la vie. It breaks my heart to see such good people taken advantage of, their BM experience hampered cause some fucktard can’t be arsed to tidy up their shit, still once I have my Karma cannon their number is up, oh yes!
Despite spending a healthy portion of time at the Hostel I still feel I did not engage with as many people as I wanted to or should have, the entire Kiwi crew, Khalil¸ Beave, Amanda, Rueben, Helen, Jamie, Flip, Pepper, Turtle, Muffin, Jo, Roamer, Nick Tuesday, Tuatha, Tony, Thundercat, Fish, Sunshine……ahhhhhhhh the fuckin list is endless. Despite knowing a lot of people, very few know me, they know of me but that is a different kettle of fish. It’s part defence mechanism about letting people close I suppose, if I keep moving then I can never be hurt as no-one can really get close enough and part lack of time. But there were those at the Hostel (and Apokiliptika, wait and Quixote’s as well) that I wished I could have spent some decent time with, ah well dry your eye’s Dougal.
Looks laid back but at a moments notice it is party central
By the end of the week all the bopping between camps, my diet of Jim Bean and blueberry nutri-grain bars and a distinct lack of sleep really started to take their toll. No longer the bright and bouncy Dougal inhabiting my skin but a degenerate Father Jack “Drink! Feck! Girls! Arse!”, a serious case of midweek burnout indeed. Rest, food and some quiet time were called for, but what with all the people and places to see, distractions to enjoy how would I fit it in. Trying to do both left me doing neither, I missed a date with PussyKat to the Regional Potluck Dinner because I couldn’t learn when enough was enough.
I remember Blessed finding me standing out front of Kamp, no shoes, string holding up my breeks, no sun tan lotion, near blind without my glasses, full gansta limp and gibbering bollocks. Seeing how I must look in her eyes it became clear that whilst I might make it to the weekend physically, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight mentally, my brain turned to Swiss cheese and flowing freely from my ears. In this state I could not offer anyone the support they deserved from me. After the Lev incident I realised that if I was worried, Heaven & Hell must be worried squared and in my current state I would be as much use to her as a one legged man in an arse kicking contest.
So I got me head down, got some kip and woke up 3 hours later refreshed and capable of more than single syllable conversations. Spoke with Heaven & Hell and was tasked with retrieving Lev’s megacone which had disappeared AGAIN! So with this noble goal in mind I set off across the playa taking in all the art that had been on my “ooohhhh MUST go see that at some point” list. With a contented gait I stumbled from one installation to the next, interacting with a clear head and a mellow demeanour. The burnout was symptomatic of more than just my time in BRC, it was my approach to life and I would have to learn to pace/ balance myself if my 30th birthday is ever to be.
Smell that electricity
With this new outlook I headed into the darkness, happy to be exploring by myself and willing to accept whatever came along. What did come along? Well only fucking Dr Megavolt, the Serpent Mother giving it big licks, an amazing ThunderDome battle, my bag strap being eaten by the war of the worlds tripod, hanging out with Robotland, Spectabillis and Dan. All this and still in bed before sunrise, not a bad turn of events. Adopting this more balanced approach meant I could face the weekend with enough energy and confidence to do it and myself justice.
TIME: At the start of the week you see time stretching out in front of you, its what you have been waiting all year for. Mid week you look back contentedly and still know you have a healthy portion to go, momentum is building. At the end of the week it’s like “will this dusty, broiling hell never end”, but in a good way. Add into this equation your mental state, which varies throughout the week depending upon your substance intake, dehydration balance, your sunstroke index (if you can see the outline of your last costume in red then you index is high) and your emotional status.
By the time Saturday hits, there is a strange dichotomy existing, you don’t have enough memories to fill a whole week so it can’t surely be Saturday already. But then it feels like you have been on this dusty salt plain your whole life and have no idea why the man is STILL there. Days flash by in brilliant nonsense filled hours, hours drag past in heat stretched lethargic minutes and well no one even bothers with seconds. Despite all the temporal shenanigans there is still a besieged logical part of your brain that has resisted assimilation telling you that these moments are finite. That part of your brain battles on and seeks to target what little sense remains and ensures you make the most of these precious times.
Burn night glamour
Burn night, is touted as the pinnacle of the event and by Saturday you have warmed up, settled in, found your feet and to quote modern yoof ,totally “up for it!” It’s like New Years Eve. Another year is dawning, this year is drawing to a close, we HAVE to go out and party, its gonna be ACE! The expectation that it should be massive often cast’s shadows over what any other night would be a good evening in its own merit. Over expectation is the killer, people always say they have no expectations, buts that’s bollocks. Maybe no conscious expectations but trust me they are lurking deep in your head waiting to trip you up. My virgin burn night was awe inspiring, but then the whole feckin festival my virgin year was awe inspiring, so burn night was just another blip on the “FUCK YEAH” scale.
A definite playa moment (Sgt Pepper)
More and more jaded veteran burners consider the Burn night an anti-climax given the influx of weekend warriors and the Disney land type orchestration of the spectacle. Whilst not as far down that road, I have come to expect nothing special from the night other than the chance to spend time with so many friends in one place. Burn night bucks the trend in that it does appear to allow groups to cohere for just that moment, so you can experience the burn in the company of friends. It was amazing to watch the burn from amongst the largest on foot expedition of hostelites ever, not having to jump from one group to the other, get horribly lost and then retreat to the Whisky and Whores bar to drown my lonely sorrows in cheap hooch and garter belts. As you drift away in smaller and smaller groups, the embers dying from the man, it is impossible to escape that another year has past, as dawn approaches it offers time for reflection.
Everyone (including me) asks, “so how WAS your burn this year?” All I could answer was that it was better than last years, but without a quantifiable reason why. It just felt better, the breadth of what I experienced probably played a role, it wasn’t all hugs and kisses, partying and debauchery, there seemed to be more depth in that there was some darkness. Everything I have written was just a fraction of what I experienced and I could write the same again and still not get close to truly understanding what happened out there this year. Returning to Fred’s house in Reno it became apparent that I wasn’t the only one who had changed, as I wandered from room to room looking to the people I now consider in some ways closer than family.
The hostel can make you look like this too
For this reason it doesn’t matter what happens with the event for me, it will always be a place where I can go and meet friends, new or old and as long as they keep going I will find an excuse to join them. I do hope it will continue to grow in positive ways and skirt the mainstream where possible, but I fear it will soon reach a critical tipping point. All that is special may still remain but it will be swamped in a sea of exploitation and diluted beyond the point where the original tenets are no longer relevant. For this reason I see the seed of rebirth in the regional scene where the numbers are small enough to have meaning, individuals can still count and previous mistakes can be avoided.
People are my primary vice and this year I got my fix from friends of old whom I only ever see in the dust, a swathe of new acquaintances that will (hopefully) one day become friends and luckily a few new close friends. I failed in a few cases to reconnect and my apologise go out to Tankgirl, Russ, Poosie Kat, Jamie, Blessed, Santa and Tuatha. You are now my primary junkie excuse to breakmy oath not to attend next year (because of financial and other commitments). Now there are more friends of mine in Black rock City than in Scotland, no shit. That’s either an amazing compliment about Burning Man or a really sad comment about state of my life here.
Burning Man will continue to play a major role in my life, if for no other reason than for as long as I decide to go I will be able to do bugger all else throughout the year. All my finances get tied up in more elaborate costumes, travel plans and major projects. In Burning Man I have found a means to explore myself, build confidence, express what creativity I have and until I find another outlet, then I will continue to find myself flying half way around the world to stand in a dusty wilderness screaming “WHISKY!” into the wind.
