Matt's Missives

and another week passes, somewhat unlike the ones before. a week in the insanity of a desert beset with alkaline dust storms, hot off the ground kicking up into your eyes, nose, mouth. my mouth is raw, because despite our best precautions dust gets everywhere, especially food, and as you eat it subtly burns your mouth, so by the end of a week your tongue and cheeks feel raw from that alkaline taint. my lungs are raw, because despite the respirator i wore, it still crept in. my skin is baked a deep brown, and dried from the sun. my senses are shocked, my body recovering from dehydration, improper eating patterns, lack of sleep, exposure to extremes, some good-natured drug abuse, and all around over-stimulation.
picture 30 thousand people, mad max, salvador dali, the circus, a pagan celebration of rebirth through fire, experimental intentional communities, and giant rave, roll them into one, put them on the moon (or in this case the black rock desert), and you've got where i've been for the last week. i left the desert partly relieved, partly reluctant. i fell in love, and though we left the burning man fantasy behind, i'm not sure i left her in it, though only time will tell. she, a true desert rat, me, a child of ocean and forest and mountain. compatible, but destined? who knows. i'll save the cheesy, heartbroken poems until properly polished.
as emerson says: build create communicate destroy. to that i'll just add:
burn baby burn.

now homeward bound, to the place i love so much.