Oh, Fog
I just remembered that I was going to put up a couple pics of the crazy fog that rolls down the hillside every afternoon. (These are from a few weeks ago.) We did have a couple of really beautiful days recently, with the fog being just a memory. But, still it's always out there. As I type this, there's a blue fog pouring down Twin Peaks -- and this is supposed to be the summer in S.F.
It doesn't mess around. The fog.
Massiv Kaka. Every day with the fog.
Happy New Year
Back! The playa was as it always is: there. The Man watched us for a week, arms rigid along his sides in anticipation of something. Maybe the fire, yeah, but maybe an Event we can't imagine. Anyway, we faced the rain, ate the dust, danced the beats, slouched useless, and had a great time. You know how it is. And if you don't, you should go. The Man burns in 362 days.
Playa dust. Hate it. Love it. Can't get rid of it.
I haven't made up my mind if he's a benevolent giant or if he's harboring some unspoken grudge against the thousands of burners in the unts-unts madness. Maybe he's thinking, When I walk, I will stomp you. Or, When I climb down I will give you a great big hug, and you will respect your fellow Man. And not stick them fucking baby wipes in the porta-pottys.
The Man Burns In [insert number here] Days
See you! I fucked off to the desert with the crew. Here's a shot from last year.
I am the God of Hellfire/And I bring you/Fire!