Ah, Good Times, Good Prose

Just flitting around on the World Wide Web today, peering down on YOUR rooftops from Google Earth (fucking amazing!) and working the research angle when I had to pop into Jigglebox.com for a quick info visit. Pulled up one of the five or six chapters from 2003 of an intended novella on Burning Man, one that never got finished due to my grief over friend Luciano's suicide, read this and had a good laugh. (Kudos to Tommy and Flash for keeping the dream alive. I dropped the ball.)

 

"Back in the Chevy, spare tire installed, the shredded tire and heavily-torqued tailpipe perched atop the roof like some kinda Bumfuck, Arkansas junkyard art, Tom and I crack another coupla Hamm's and toast to our relatively dogma-free minds. "Jesus, did you hear that Big Brother shit? That guy's messed up. What the hell is Larry feeding those dogs?" I don't know which of us said what, but that's the gist of our dialogue. And having said that, let me add that we know perfectly well that Larry Harvey isn't the one disseminating this kind of twisted propaganda to burning volunteers.

No. It takes squinty-eyed, paranoid, highly-caffeinated & oftentimes mean-spirited Napoleonic management types to run a monster endeavor such as Burning Man has become. If left to the synaptically-scrambled organizational skills and propane blast attention spans of the kind of hardcore radical self-expressionists that are rumored to have started this gig, Burning Man would have burned out a long time ago."

If interested in reading the whole bit, here's the link: http://www.jigglebox.com/rants03summer.html This bit came from the one called "Once We Were Pirates." 

Back to work on the next leg of the tale of the journey which is mine and mine alone. All the best, RSM