Burning Man Exhibit D

The time had come to get lost. I wasn't sure if the rumours of deaths at Burning Man were really true, but I still felt as if I was embarking on a final journey. Perhaps it was merely a symbolic one. Perhaps the well-stocked backpack was cheating, in a way. Regardless of the infinite possibilities I set off with a pirate's constitution looking for his hidden chest of treasures. The goal: find the trash fence. Lacking in romanticism, but heavy in meaning, I set off past the centre of the camp, or the Man, past the Temple, and onward, splitting the clock due north, or 12 o'clock. Actually 11:11 was the approximate destination, a venture quested only because someone told me to check it out. All I found was endless desert. Imagine absolutely nothing. A void, filled only with sand on the ground, and darkening skies above. Now, you've walked for about 1/2 hour, and still nothing. Now, you're getting it. You're completely alone. There is noone to save you, noone to talk to, noone to feed and clothe you. A subtle change occurs in one's mind and heart, and a choice is inevitably made: stay with it, or run back to safety.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI7vdGuLoo

Moments later, an oasis, of sorts. 4 table settings, replete with white linens, dusty wine glasses, and china plates, reminiscent of a dinner party gone awry in the belly of the Titanic on the bottom of the Atlantic ocean. That desolate, that isolating, yet still eerily human. A few more moments of trudging through the desert, and 4 big, comfy couches accompanied by numerous plastic palm trees, umbrellas and table, and inhabited by a sleeping couple obviously planted there to scare the shit out of me. By now, I'm wondering how people can seem so comfortable, and unassuming in such a hostile environment, and at the same time questioning my own personal boundaries. Turns out I had very little tolerance, but this realization came late, as I still had to make it somehow back to camp. My overconfidence in my natural male ability to know exactly where I'm at directionally was further tested with a sudden white-out dust storm. My sunglasses were ill-suited to the intense wind that somehow squeezed sand granules between the impossibly small, microscopic space between glass frames and face. Looking down to somehow escape the torture of glass shards on eyeballs, I try to maintain my composure, and continue on towards camp, around 7 o'clock in respect to the camp layout. The wind delays for a moment to open up a massive construction set of ladders, ropes, and poles. "Hmmm..... I don't recognize this playset, but what the hell. Oh, they have a bar too." Turns out it is the Nexus Camp, situated on the very edge of 10 o'clock. A few steps to the right, and I would have missed a 50,000 strong human outpost right out.
Instead, I'm greeted by a bartender who says I can have a drink if I tell him a joke. Forever and eternity passes, and I cautiously come up with one. A white guy comes up to a urinal, and a black guy is beside him. The white guy looks at the black guy, and notices he has 'Wendy' tattooed on his willy. "That's crazy! I have the EXACT same tattoo on MY willy. It is a reminder of the love of my life, Wendy. Is your girlfriend's name Wendy, too?" The black guy hesitates for a moment, looks over, stretches his willy out, and says "No, man. It say 'WElcome to jamaica have a Nice DaY.' That was literally the only joke I could come up with on the spot. Classy guy that Jason. Luckily the next bartender said it was opposite day, which only translated to a vodka orange juice instead of a rum and coke. Diva's Garden was the true oasis, and felt like home upon my return.