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ruthless compassion
Last year at Burning Man, I didn't exactly feel like a tourist, but I didn't really feel like a resident until the week was nearly over. In fact, I can put my finger on the moment my heart opened up to BRC as a location of a sense of home, and it was Saturday night, before the man burned, when moominmolly and I were standing on the corner of 2:00 and Esplanade, waiting for our group to gather, and watching people from all over the city streaming across the dark plain, lit up with EL wire and glowsticks and holiday lights and every crazy outfit and art car and strange creature all coming through the darkness, ringed behind by the fantastical lights of the city, which itself looks like a dream. It was like being in a video game, or post-apocalyptic Brigadoon, or a science fiction fantasy place, or ... anywhere but somewhere real. And it was full of people, most of whom would no doubt annoy the fuck out of me but who, in that moment, embodied the bittersweet understanding that this place that doesn't exist is nevertheless one of my heart's homes.

Wherein I ramble.Collapse )
 
 
I'm feeling: tiredtired