Today marks the start of my vacation. I have two and a half glorious weeks off, to do with what I please. I need to tie up the last of the loose ends for Burning Man; back waxings ball trimmings and the like. It will be a shame if I cannot go. I'll have decided by tomorrow evening, so stay tuned for an update.
Last night I tried, briefly, to sleep on a pair of dog beds in preparation for the playa. I stacked two of them on top of one another in an attempt to double the comfort, but within minutes I realized that not even a dog dosed with ketamine could sniff out sleep on the damned thing. After lying on it for fifteen minutes I got up and got into my bed, where I looked online at the absurd world of luxury air mattresses. I hadn't realized there existed air mattresses surpassing $2000. Yay capitalism! I'll need to find a cheaper alternative today, at a sporting goods store or Target. Yay capitalism.
I talked with The Profuser last night. He told me that he'd secured a cornucopia of contraband, the most saturnalia of paraphernalia; pills, fungus and lysergide. He is hellbent on losing his mind, and he will, when the diamond-accented angel in the sky flaps her wings and causes the desert dusts to storm. I will be there with him though, to keep him safe, or at least try. It's going to be a dry burn for me, friends - like two fourteen-year-olds hopped up on hormones trying to figure out how their bodies work, without the sense to take their clothes off first. Fact or friction?
Looks like I can't get Burning Man off my mind. I tried.
Wild whorses couldn't drag me away.
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