Nothing to write. I'm sitting here listening to "Sunday Morning" by The Velvet Underground, that's how idea-less I am.
Many have begun their journey to the Burning Man Festival. They will sacrifice by fire a wooden statue of a man at the climax of the jamboree. It is a thing to see. Many of my friends, those who have been attending for years, have begun to complain that the event has lost some of its initial purpose, and that many others who attend do not embody the spirit of the thing any longer. Such is life. Things do change.
Last night when I came home there was a recreational vehicle in our parking lot. People were preparing to depart, I stopped and said hello, briefly chatted with the soon to be revelers.
It is a very expensive party to attend. The cost alone can be prohibitive. Yet when you get there you will marvel at the people who have arrived. It seems inexplicable that they have somehow made it, as if they just arose from the desert dust.
I suppose there are vastly varying degrees of luxury to consider before arriving there. Some require very little.
A close friend went out to the playa last week. A carpenter, he has dedicated himself to assisting in the construction of an art project. "Desert Forest" is the theme (rendering above, images of last year's project below). As the wind blows through, people relax and enjoy the sensation of its passing, with fluctuating strips to look at and consider or enjoy, or enjoy considering. He will return with a glow about him and tales to tell. As will the others, the local SF fixtures.
It is really something, to participate that way in the purely temporary, to celebrate a thing's transience. To conduct easily what often requires great effort elsewhere. To be reminded grandly of a thing so simple.