"Beyond Belief." Such was the theme for the Burn this year.
Now, I find every year at Black Rock City to be "beyond belief." Consider for a moment 30,000 people planting their collective asses in the most inhospitable, poisonous natural terrain in North America for a week, in the name of "radical self expression." This I can barely wrap my tiny, lemur-sized, persimmon-flavored brain around, even after four years' participation. Spending $100,000-150,000 on a theme camp or dance club that will be torn down 5 days later, as a gift to total strangers? Completely beyond belief. Then there's things like "Monster-roki," where you can only sing "graaaaa" to popular music; the Contessa, a galleon built on the bed of a bus; volunteering for Black Rock's own MK Ultra experiements; the blue grass raves with MC Pretty Mouth, Asscar Racing and The Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping - all beyond belief.
Everything that's committed to the dead salten canvass of the Playa - whether high-brow art or low-brow carnal passionate expression - is an attempt to delineate meaning in a harsh and square-headed existence. That is, everyone who participates in the fecund stew that is Burning Man is trying to establish individual intention that is beyond the commonly held beliefs of society, if not most religions.
So, when the Burning Man organization announced that the theme for this year would be "Beyond Belief," I wondered why it wasn't simply "Burning Man." Astonishingly redundant on the surface, it only became more so the deeper one dug. The various tracts issued by the organization and the house organ (fnar) The Black Rock Gazette hinted that this was all about finding the "experience" beyond belief systems - a sort of Platonic espitomology. Oh, well, that's all fine and good - but where's the fun in it? I mean, come on now. "Truth" is supposed to be this ineffable thing that's beyond description. So, we're supposed to create art that's about a truth that can't be described by art? huh?
Well, natch, most participants interpreted this as "religion." Everything became a temple of this and and a synogogue of that. And, as campmate and Meat Goddess Suzanne says, much spiritual posturing was to be had.
Nonetheless, we at the boar-headed society formerly called Dead Media Cargo Cult, Meat Camp and Tengu Teahaus ponied up with the Liminal Lounge, an area of transitive states. And two-fisted, deep-dish, twin-barrelled, knock-em-down-pick-em-up-and-knock-em-back-down-again fun it was. Which it always is. I mean, themes suck. But the Burn is about fire, and it cuts beyond horse shit.
So, here are a few images of my experiences on the Playa,on four tiny pages. For a definitive guide to the Liminal Lounge, you should definitely check out Morgan's beautiful photos. And if it's art you're looking for, our campmates Richard and Farai knock my stinky socks off with their astonishingly beautiful work.
wack-a-ding-hoy, - jack