POP: TACOMA AT BURNING MAN >>> Early this morning I sit still on a platform, facing the land â€" the mountains surrounding on all sides, the Man effigy serene kissing the still sky, native flute music at, it seems, 1,000,000 decibels reverberating through the soft breeze morning.
I sit onstage, legs dangling. Last night this platform throbbed with 300 ecstatic dancers â€" bodies writhing in joy.
A hillbilly log cabin complete with working outhouse just drives past me.
Feeling a little too warm in my shirt. It comes off NOW. Ahhhhh. Breasts bare and desert barren except for quiet morning hearted riders, mutant vehicles and an infinite number of art and sounds exhibits expansive before me.
In my world, the most magical thing about Burning Man festival is the concept that “the Playa Provides†anything one needs, when you need it. (Except wifi yesterday (hence the late posting). There is no cell reception here, even in the media center. It’s what keeps this place magical. Pray I luck out today and get this to you. I have angels everywhere. Miracles. We'll see.
Jaguar and I arrived the day before in the afternoon, welcomed by a Centar that demanded me out of the car, lifted me and then humped me. He then, in his excitement, left a little wet spot on my dress, then did the splitz on the top of my van.
Our van would not turn over at Will Call. We laughed. And prayed it would start. A very hunky handy guy offered a jump and thanks to Charger, I had me some cables ready to go.
Driving in, the car stalled, and shockingly, with multitudes of people driving by, hunky handy stopped again with his caravan of brazen beauties to jump me again (and invite for kisses).
More prayers. We pulled up to our camp Red lightning ... a sacred geometry of very large teepees.
Once again the car died.
As jag and I released this as a problem and celebrated we'd arrived, handsome Templar arrived, in full mechanic uniform and said, let me check your voltage. His van, parked perpendicular to ours contained an auto mechanic shop. He got to work on the connections, and now the van, which had no air, no vent, and no radio works! He fixed it all â€" to return better than when I'd borrowed it!
My burn is a 3rd degree one. Upon the urges of my friends, I stopped into a medical tent. And, with synchronicity being as it is, Epoxy, one of the few burners from Tacoma, stood in line behind me, giant turquoise butterfly resting on her head and a rug burn on her ass like she slid into home at Cheney Stadium.
"It’s from the slide," she explained.
"I'd like for you to be able to tell everyon at home that I, Pop, kissed you ass,†I replied. So I whipped up her skirt and planted one next to her butt burn.
She watched the gore as the doctor ripped off my bandage, parts of my skin and I sang out loud instead of screaming. The playa provides. Thank you for Epoxy, good doctors and the guy walking in front of me with three ponytails, and a chipmunk finger puppet clinging to his penis.
I love you. I love burning man.
Xooxxooxox,
Pop