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August 21, 2003 To Build The Orgasmatron I'm sitting in an old barn/warehouse kinda structure on Flash's 120-acre ranch in prime California Gold Rush country in a room that reminds me of The Matrix. Remember that room they all downloaded into to go see the Oracle, how the camera honed in on the room's old rotary phone and then panned the room as the good guys appeared one by one to that adrenaline-rush surf punk beat? Yeah, that room. In the past 24 hours I've been basking in the fun loving arms of Flash & Family here on the ranch. Sweet Toni supplying the Orgasmatron team with quesadillas. Dana, the creative leader of the team building the alter that will be installed beneath the temple that supports the Man. And Flash! What can I say about Flash that could possibly begin to describe this larger-than-life father figure for such a vast family of Burning Man friends over the years. Flash Father Time. Satan Flash from Hellco in 1996. Raspy voiced wild-white haired Father Flash whose name is known second perhaps only to founder Larry Harvey in the Burning Man phenomenon. I love this guy. I love these people. They, and the wider family of Art Car Artists from whence they sprang, these are my family. Not blood but sometimes better. And so and thus.. Just had my first lesson in welding from brother Tom, cut and drilled a whole lotta steel, and helped fabricate The Orgasmatron from scrap pile beginnings to finished product. This Burning Man-bound rolling teepee shaped chamber commissioned by a woman artist from Switzerland will be wheeled around the playa equipped with an array of vibrating dildos to provide women a comfy, secluded place to get off. But like everything created for the Burning Man festival, The Orgasmatron will be interactive, providing something both for the participant and the crowd. As such, a microphone installed inside the curtained chamber will broadcast each lucky lady's moment of bliss for the entertainment of all in earshot. A helluva nice idea, doncha think? And to think, someday I can tell my grandchildren that I learned to weld on The Orgasmatron. In other news, we're off to the Black Rock Desert today. So soon in fact that I am risking missing the caravan by typing this, but what the hell. Since this is my last chance to rant for you before the Burn, I thought I'd better do it now. My last rant ended somewhat short of the payoff, short of the wild night on the playa some two weeks ago. Suffice to say I got to Gerlach, Nevada that Saturday. I arrived at Mama Lola's just in time to catch Derrick & company on their final run out to the hidden location of the whale and pirate ship. Had not just a little fun driving the Chevy out on the open playa where one drives not on roads but in vectors, that is to say in any frikken direction you like since there's nothing to hit for 400 square miles. Tommy and Jules were happy to see me, and I them, and on went the final piece of the whale, the fluke or horizontal tale. Then away we went, a gigantor white whale and a Spanish galleon, sailing the desert seas in search of the plunder of a fat, five-star meal far across the ocean of white earth and star-tickled sky. And one other location that we never found, the Island of Muses where allegedly awaited a bevy of hotties to greet the hungry seemen.. er, seamen. The party aboard the whale and ship went all night long and included orator Hal's live reading of Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner to a show of slides of old woodcut images of men battling the sea, the slideshow played against the backdrop of one of La Contessa's (the ship) billowing white sails. Stunning. I only wish that Coleridge wasn't so frikken verbose. I'm glad he never finished The Jabberwocky. The Rime went on a bit long for 4 a.m. after many, many beers. The dawn of the coming day was rough. We piloted the whale far out across the desert in search of base camp with only vague directions. After nearly a half an hour at 40 miles an hour, I began to realize how very vast was our dry lake bed ocean. And I got the fear bad as I realized we were very likely totally lost. A giant white whale the size of two city buses end to end and her some 40 weary passengers lost on a blank page the size of Rhode Island. Scary. Of course, we made it back. Sleep in Sunday's blazing sun was far from fun. Then it was back to Berkeley where I spent the week transcribing Harrod Blank's new movie. In three days I transcribed every word of a documentary film where everyone is talking all the time and sometimes quite fast. It came to over 40 pages, single spaced. Had a fun run around with Rebecca and her stunning black road beauty, the Carthedral. Ran out along a long stretch of the Sacramento River to her mom's where we, both of us without any real place to call home lately, showered and rested in the plush surrounds of mom's house. That evening, we sat in a crook of the river and marveled at the thought of it's 1000 miles of deltas and how cool it would be to buy a shell of a houseboat, art it out and live on the water so close to all the Bay Area has to offer. Next day I helped Tommy pack up Jules' house for a move to Santa Cruz and, a day of that finished, it was into the Chevy and off to Flash's ranch in Placerville, near Lake Tahoe. Now we're up to date and I'm OUTA HERE! Off to my seventh Burning Man since 1995. It sure has changed, but despite its growth and the infiltration of the cops and a few other downers, it is still the greatest gathering of free and creative minds on Earth, that is as far as I know. There is nothing like it in this country, that's for damn sure. Nothing so big with no trace of our so-called "commercialism culture." Nowadays they call themselves "Burners," those in the trendy know of things. I say "they" because despite going since 1995, I don't identify with the label. Burner. Okay, whatever. Every good, original thing gets branded or blanded in time. Burners we be then. I'll be back to rant again around September 5. Adios. -RSM the Duke of Burning Orgasms
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