Yo! It's that time of year again, and I'm about to leave for TTITD (That Thing In The Desert), AKA Burning Man. In celebration of this epic event, I have written an epic poem about evolution which I will read at a couple of events on the Playa. For those not attending this event, below is a copy. If you're coming to Burning Man this year come and visit me and we can chat.

THE LIFE FORCE
     by Scot Bastian © 2015
     Camp Althing in Hushville at 5:15 and E.

I sit under the palm trees, breathing in the trade winds, as the cirrus clouds sweep by calling, calling, ever so quietly: come. Bring your dreams to the ocean, my friend. Come to the sea. My eyes open and the sun is falling and the fish jump to escape the sea lions and the sea lions flee the sharks. Come, come to me. Poseidon, my father, you are so deep. So blue. So kind. So limitless. With the foam hissing on the shore and the waves rising and falling. I ask why?
Never mind the why, just tell me when.

Such are my dreams. 

It is hard to imagine time.
From molten marble, to pale blue dot
the rumbling Earth awakens from its fiery past. It is also hard to imagine liquid rock.
To parse time into increments does it a disservice, for each moment is infinitely divisible.
Four and a half billion years.

Did I begin with a bang?
The crack of a lightning bolt
     striking a pond of dark ooze?
Or did I begin with a bubble
     clinging to the edge of a volcanic vent?
Perhaps I started elsewhere
     arriving on an ancient meteor originating from another planet.

I guess I’ll never know,
    but I wonder.

Molecules break apart, then recombine. 
Rare events that seem to defy entropy.
But the sun can reverse entropic chaos.
Patterns are formed. Order from disorder. Repeating units. Molecular arrays.
My life force traverses through millennia.
Adapting.
Becoming.

Then the sun goes and the sky blackens and my eyes close. I dream of mermaids and mermen skipping through the surf. Playing games of tag and singing songs. Joyous chortling and catching breaths. The sea never stops, you know, mermen and mermaids never die. They never stop cavorting through the waves. They also never eat, living in a continuous state of delight, giggling and guffawing forever. A mad loop of laughter and frantic swimming. Their favorite game is tag, but everyone wants to be “it.” They so love to chase. They never tire. They never cease.

Such are my dreams.

And here I swim at the edge of the sea
Not quite a land dweller, yet not a typical fish.
I am a mudskipper.

When the tide is low there are many things to see.
The bones of my mind are exposed.
I wish to crawl freely onto the land, but I am attached.
It will take many years until I can emerge freely.

Then she arises as Botticelli’s Venus from the clam shell. I, waiting like a child. Wanting. Wanting it so. And she smiles. Botticelli’s Venus, da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, and the countless Virgin Marys all bear the same smile. It is the smile of Earth-mother ever expecting. Let me lie in your arms Goddess-of-all. Gaia. Demeter. Diana, Goddess of the Moon. Can I just curl up in your arms? Can I be your child and feel the warmth of your breast. Caress me, not like a God, but hold me like a mother. Come Mother, and find me. And she does.

Such are my dreams.

In the tide pool, the sea stars have nowhere to go, nor do they want to. But I gulp spoons of warm sunshine, and gaze longingly at the shore. I break the surface with a rapid exhalation of breath. I crawl from my saltwater birthplace, carrying the salt within my veins. I cannot escape the sea—I carry it with me. I am newly-born. Emergent! I am cold mother. I walk the sand on the beach. Am I the child of the fish or the cousin of the mudskipper? The frog prince. My ventral sacs swell as I push out air. It is not a croak, it is a song. Others respond and we multiply. My skin hardens, as I breathe more freely. I walk slowly munching on the jungle. Now, so tall I can reach the canopy. Roaring with the gods! But, like the gods, I am arrogant, and thus fade. Fade away. Raging fires always blow out. Embers burn slowly, red hot, but inconspicuous, I live in the shadows of giants. Did my ancestors nibble on the eggs of the terrible lizards, contributing to their demise?

When I first escaped the ocean did I know that some my descendants would crawl back?

Are the dinosaurs the ghosts of birds? When the mighty fall I take wing. Soaring in the atmosphere, I look down not at the smallness of all things, but at the largeness of the expanse. The wind rushes through me. I am drawn again to the seashore. I light upon the cliff face and stuff bits of crab into my nestlings mouths. They are such beggars. They rustle their wings, nearly casting each other off the cliff side. I turn a gaze at the sea. The waves crash, exploding on the cliff.

My nose wiggles and my tail grows. I learn to scurry and then to run, launching onto my rear haunches I lean forward the wind whistling and then roaring through my hair. I plop down and survey the scene. Cycads and lichens abound. I gaze at the curl of the horizon and want more.

When the tide is low there are many things to see. When spirits are low and exposed, like driftwood washing onto the beach, my smooth, white, desires bake in the sun. The gulls call and drop from the sky, poking around, seeking bits of rotting fish and beached crabs. The air is rank and heavy, like a salty barnyard with fish-soaked silage. Stones and sand are interspersed with bits of glass rendered smooth by the waves grinding in the tumble of churning sand. The horizon curves into infinity, stretching in all directions. But I look to the sea. The sun shines, but it has no carefully circumscribed edge. I close my eyes again.

Such are my dreams.

My parents sort, and pair off, performing the love dance and the gene shuffle.
And I am conceived.
I dig into the wall of mother’s uterus, a spelunker in the primordial cave.
I dig deeper, releasing enzymes that allow me to burrow and implant.
Can I want, or do I only exist?
Can a fetus ask a question?
And now, I am man.
But what is man?
How far back do I go?
I am the sum of all my ancestors.
I am not the endpoint.
The journey is not over.
The life force continues to transform and grow.
How long will the journey last?
How can I know?
Perhaps, I will reach for the stars…Such are my dreams.

This is likely my last blog entry before I take my annual journey into Black Rock Desert for the amazing festival known as Burning Man. I wrote an article that I submitted to the Black Rock Beacon, one of the more popular publications on the Playa. Below is the article submitted, but I have no way of knowing whether it will be accepted or modified.

A TRIBUTE TO MARTHA: THE LAST PASSENGER PIGEON

            By Scot Bastian

Lost in the turbulence of history, overshadowed by the beginning of the “Great War” known as World War I, was a momentous event in the chronicles of ecology: the extinction of the last known passenger pigeon, The last known individual of her kind, named Martha, died in the Cincinnati Zoo 100 years ago on September 1st 1914, exactly 100 years ago on the last day of this year’s Burning Man.
    Passenger Pigeons were a force majeure in the Eastern landscape. Once numbering in the billions, they were quite possibly the most numerous bird species in the world. When Europeans arrived in North America, population estimates ranged from 3 to 5 billion, approximately 25 to 40% of the total North American birds. They traveled in huge flocks, one of which was described as a mile wide and three hundred miles long, and taking 13 hours to pass overhead. The flocks were so dense in number that they were said to eclipse the sun. Passenger pigeons were named for the French word passenger, which translates as “passing by.” They were half again as large as their cousin the mourning dove, and resembled its Western relative, the band-tailed pigeon. The range of the passenger pigeon extended north into Canada and west to Eastern Texas and Eastern Montana. When these immense flocks roosted hundreds of millions of birds would leave a swath of destruction, scouring the landscape for food, and crushing trees with their collective weight. The largest recorded nesting colony was 850 square miles. In spite of their enormous numbers they are gone. Gone forever. Why did they disappear? The basic problem was that they were delicious. The young birds, called squabs, were particularly prized. Their undoing was the density of their flocks and their propensity for colony breeding. The density of the nesting communities made them easy prey—a discharge from a double-barreled shotgun blast could kill dozens of birds. They were collected by the thousands using nets.
    The last confirmed wild passenger pigeon was observed in Indiana in 1902. Martha, was named after the First Lady, Martha Washington. After the death of her cage companions (including George) a reward was offered for finding a potential mate—but none was ever found. Martha, the last of her kind, an endling, died of natural causes at the probable age of 29 years. Her remains are on display at the Smithsonian Museum.
    Other than the fortuitous date marking the centenary since the extinction of passenger pigeons, what does this have to do with Burning Man? I think that Burners have a special appreciation for the transience of all things. Our “roost” on the Playa can be compared to the crowded passenger pigeons that are now gone. Many do not realize that, for most species, extinction is the norm. Nearly 99% of all the species that ever lived are believed to be extinct. Humans are the most prolific primates on the planet, but as evidenced by the passing of the passenger pigeon and the dinosaurs, being multitudinous provides no guarantee for survival. Burners, like passenger pigeons, live a bold, noisy existence, thriving in groups, and like Martha and her kin, Burning Man will vanish without a trace. Let’s hope the same fate doesn’t await the human race. 


More information is available about Passenger pigeons and Martha from Wikipedia, and from Project Passenger Pigeon.  There is an excellent new monograph about the species A Feathered River Across the Sky, by Joel Greenberg.

A couple of vids for your enjoyment.

"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. Pave paradise, and put up a parking lot" Joni Mitchell.

A few days ago I blogged about a couple of wonderful Burning Man projects. Burning Man is so full of wonders that I decided to highlight a couple more.
    Peter Hudson and the crew of Hudzo Design have been big contributors to the Playa over the past few years.  They create interactive, large-scale, three dimensional, stroboscopic zoetropes. Yikes, what is that? Here is a link to a nice interview with Peter Hudson where he defines a zoetrope as "a device that produces the illusion of motion from a rapid succession of static pictures." In Peter's projects, instead of pictures, he uses rotating consecutive sculptures creating the illusion of continuous movement by flashing a stroboscope, giving the eerie appearance of a 3D film. All of the zoetropes from Hudzo that I have seen are run by collaborative human power, such as, by pulling ropes, pumping levers, or banging on drums, which particularly for Burners, is satisfying self-empowerment (We like to play, especially together.). If this description is a little unclear, check out the videos below and this should give you a better idea. Hudzo Design has brought several different zoetropes to Burning Man called "Deeper," "Tantalus," "Charon," "Sisyphish," and "Homouroboros." Most of his creations are inspired by mythology. It is fascinating to me that these creations can actually tell a tale albeit a very short (several second) "story."
    Peter, is nothing if not ambitious, and he has announced a new project entitled "Eternal Return." Although the exact details of the project are secret, some clues can be found on his webpage, "The concept of the eternal return is touched upon in virtually all cultural and religious narratives. The concept can be found in Ancient Egyptian, Mayan and Aztec beliefs, in East Indian, and ancient Greek philosophy, as well as the 19th century deliberations of Friedrich Nietzsche. In Tibetan Buddhism, the concept is explored in Samsara, cyclic existence represented by the Bhavacakra symbol, the “wheel of life” depicted on the walls of temples and monasteries."          Wow!  I'm certainly excited to see how he can convey all of these concepts in one project. I'm also happy that this will be a departure from past, darker, themes: "Eternal Return will celebrate the joy and ecstasy of life, not just repeated, but begun anew." If you want more details, or at least clues, regarding Eternal Return, or, if you would like to help support this kind of art, check out this link.
    So, from the bottom of my fluttering (defibrillating?), stroboscopic, heart, thank you Peter for sharing your gifts with us, and may you have many (maybe even "eternal") returns to Burning Man. Below are links to videos of "Homobouros," (the monkey zoetrope) (left) and, my personal favorite, "Charon," by day (center) and night (right).

Two other breath-taking displays at Burning Man were "Truth is Beauty," which is similar to the equally impressive "Bliss Dance" from three years ago. I'm certainly not alone in my selection of these works as a Burning Man favorites.  I know that I'm going to be accused of hyperbole when I say that I believe that both "Bliss Dance" and "Truth is Beauty" are every bit as affecting as Michelangelo's sculpture of "David."  Okay, I admit that I've only seen pictures of the "David" sculpture, so I might feel differently if I ever get to Italy, but time will tell if the modern works have the same enduring quality as the classical piece. Neither Truth is Beauty, nor Bliss Dance are constructed of marble, but, using smaller bronze models, the full-sized statues are constructed from steel rod and tubing, LED lights, and a skin of stainless steel mesh. One can't help but be impressed that "Truth is Beauty," which is 55 feet tall, was designed to stand on tip-toe and still withstood the windy, dusty desert environment. I didn't see it during the most severe wind storms on the Playa, but I saw nary a shimmer from the moderate winds that I observed. Very stable construction. The effect is stunning. 
    Truth is Beauty and Bliss Dance were created by Marco Cochrane, as part of the "Bliss Project" They are the first two of three large sculptures using Deja Solis as a model. The third project, called "R-evolution" is planned. The stated intent of these creations is to, "be a catalyst for social change; to de-objectify women and inspire men and women to take action to end violence against women, thus allowing both women and men to live fully and thrive." The Bliss Project is sponsored by Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts organization. Donations are tax deductible. Please visit this link if you would like to support this project. Below, I have selected three videos that highlight these projects, none of which are really satisfying compared to the real thing. On the left is an interview with Cochrane where he talks a little bit about the technology.  In the middle is an aerial video of Truth is Beauty from this year. On the right is a time lapse video of some of the color changes that Bliss Dance goes through.

Whew! I'm back from Burning Man. I've been back for over a week and I'm still overwhelmed. What a great year! The quality of the art and eye-popping technology leaves the default world in it's dust. Today I'm going to focus on two standout projects among the many that I witnessed on the Playa.
    By far my favorite art car "el Pulpo Mecanico" or, the steampunk octopus, as it is lovingly known at Burning Man. This large, fire-belching, eye-popping, other-wordly wonder was created by Duane Flatmo with a lot of help from his friends, who hail from Arcata, California. I'm not the only one who loves El Pulpo, it has even generated worshipers. According to the Facebook site, The Church of th El Pulpo Mecanico,

"WE FOLLOW EL PULPO MECANICO. THERE IS NO OTHER. JOIN US OR PERISH IN HIS OCTOPEDAL FIRE."
(And, yes, it is in all caps; so you better obey.)

Here is the description of the project from the official website: "The "El Pulpo" is a combination of art and technology melded together. We built this knowing that it would be fun to watch as the giant cam spun up through the center moving the tentacles and eyes in and out while fire spewed from the tentacles and head. No hydraulics or computers were used in this contraption. We built the sculpture primarily out of recycled and used junk found at our local scrap yard."
    I strongly recommend you visit the website which has the details of the conception and construction of this magnificent work of art. There were rumors that this is the last appearance for this work at Burning Man. And it looks like, since there is a remodel in the works, the rumors might be true. A short video of the remodel is linked on the right below. I don't know if they can top what they've already done, but I'm definitely excited to see what they come up with next year.

Meanwhile, enjoy some lovely spirit animals, the tapeworm, the vampire bat (My spirit animal.), and the tongue-eating louse.  And....

...how 'bout a "Spoonful," from Howlin' Wolf?