Day 6

Saturday, for me, was the longest day in the desert. Largely because of the assault on my anus late Friday night into Saturday morning, but I'll get to that tomorrow. 

I saw the sun rise over the horizon, cherry-red above the pale mountains. It looked like a freshly dipped candied apple, slowly dripping thick light. Two friends and I rode across the desert to a party celebrating the sunrise at Robot Heart. As we rode, we passed dozens of onlookers, marveling at the splendor of daybreak. They sat enraptured, splayed out on the ground beside their dusty bikes with smiles plastered on their faces. Joy shined out from their eyes as brilliantly as the star they gazed upon. 

We danced and were surprised by friends who had appeared from last year's burn, dancing beside us as though none of us had ever left. Forsaken by my stomach, I left the dance party to return home, nearer to my sanctuary of blue corrugated port-a-potties. 

I stood in the street outside our camp resting against a street-sign, wearing a half undone pink rabbit onesy tied at my waist. Standing there, eating a protein-bar as though it were a chocolate covered carrot, I greeted my early morning cohorts as they wearily peddled by. "What's up Doc? Need a beer?" The women, beautiful and softened by exhaustion, would smile and stop, telling me it was too late for a drink. "Nonsense, it's early; the day's just begun." Soon my two friends arrived back from the dance party, and we discovered none of us were ready for sleep. We had a few drinks and remembered the night. I realized it was Saturday: "tonight The Man burns."

Though we resisted mightily, soon, sleep took us. I woke in the blistering midday heat, a thin film of sweat and filth blanketing my skin. I felt like I had tossed and turned on top of a bed of used condoms. I spent most of the day at the camp, trying to conserve my energy for the burning of The Man. I spoke to an Australian girl named Kaitlin for the majority of the day. It was her first burn and she was anesthetized with ardor and danced with anticipation for the burn. We talked of love and its vicissitudes. The beauty and pain of the human experience. The occasional loss of loneliness. I showered and soon the night was upon us.

Our entire camp of crepuscular creatures walked out to The Man, some of us inevitably getting separated on the pilgrimage. Fire-spinners danced and flung flames into the curious night air. Applause and then silence. A hissing followed by a few ribbons of smoke. White sparks shot from The Man and fireworks began to plume. Like sirens they screeched and cried as they ascended, like sparkling birds of effusive light. The indistinct darkness was alight with clamor and chaos. Flames engulfed the saucer's base and the inferno culminated in an explosion that gave off a bright flash, dark smoke and a wave of heat. The flames rolled over one another orgiastically, seeming to spawn more flames.

We retreated to our mini art car - our mobile sound-system that had been dragged out onto the playa somewhere between 3:30 and the charred remnants of The Man.

Myself and two K's, beside a fire-breathing octopus, watched a church burn to the ground.

The remainder of our time was spent dancing in swirling sandstorms, the beats breathing life into the dead of night. We danced until our legs refused to move, drained of all their might. 

I dragged my body like an iron coffin back to camp and sighed to crawl inside before the morning sun met my eyes.