Sadly, six years later still feels a lot like one year later:

bq. I can't help but think that a raw wound has a lot more use to those in power than a healed one, and while I don't believe that there's some vast conspiracy with malicious intent to keep the American people in a constant state of worry and fear, I do believe that's something the media does. I don't believe that Bush, Cheney and Co. are really evil people, but I do believe in the seductive power of subconscious desire, the human ability to rationalize. I certainly don't trust these people to do the right thing. They don't represent my interests or share my view of the world. They're not doing what I would do, and I don't believe in the end that they know better than me.

In some important ways things have changed. I certainly no longer feel like an island of rational dissent adrift in a sea of vengeful insanity -- that's one nice thing -- but the sense of utter frustration and resentment towards our political leadership and opinion-shaping elite persists.

On days when I think big and let myself remember, my gut feeling is still for ¡revolucion!. These morons and cowards -- and that includes most of the figureheads I will end up supporting politically, most likely -- have been fucking things up left and right for six years running, with no end in sight. They don't deal in honest public dialog and their perception of the challenges we face not only as a nation but as a motherfucking species is, frankly, retarded.

Logistically it would be nearly impossible, but I think sometimes we'd be better off cleaning the slate and starting something new. I don't believe a popular movement will form to do this anytime soon, but a slow downward spiral into the Red Dawn might, our Empire collapsing like a flan left too long in the cupboard.

Well, I just lost my nice five-paragraph post, so here's the short and sweet:

• I'm on the D concourse, looking to blow down to a glass house on the beach in baja for a week-long work retreat.
• Mary and Ron's wedding was teh awesome. Monkey reunion makes me promise many future portland visits. Also, camping at a wedding is a cheap way to make responsibility fun. Good idea.
• The highlight reel would include tearing my pants open on the dance floor, getting lost in the neighborhood, and cooking up some whiskey-fueled power-yenta game and convincing the beautiful young people to make out.
• That last bit I do not recall, Senator, but I've heard it from multiple parties, including a lady who I carpooled up to Portland with who had my friend's hickey as proof. So there you have it.
• I spent Sunday in recovery, visited my grandma and had a nice Thai dinner w/the moms, then a quick catnap, then the road.

More from Mexico, most likely.

UPDATE: I have arrived at the house of glass and all is well in the cosmos. Tecate tall boys and a little Cortez Sea skinny dip put everything right. Now we've got to get down to biznass.

Headed up to a wedding in Oregon that should be better than the 10-year High School reunion I skipped. I'm feeling some comedown from the high and heady days of re-entry. Life's a grind sometimes, and loneliness is such a drag.

Haven't done any Burning Man writing to my chagrin, other than an outline and two paragraphs. I feel the moments slipping away, but trying to run my whole show this week while my Baja-based cohorts weathered Hurricane Henriette left me little mojo in reserve. I'll be joining them post-wedding for a week of retreat and grand planning, which should be interesting at least. Maybe I can get'r'dun there. I'm hoping for some nice peaceful moon and ocean action at least; rapture at sea.

Weddings, man. I love the big family party aspect, and of course I love my friends being in love and tying the knot, but they cast a long shadow too. I realized the other day that virtually all my significant non-recent lovers are married or engaged to be married (or had been married and then divorced). Maybe that speaks to my good taste, and I don't bring it up in anguish over anyone who "got away." It's just a contrast.

There's no rush, but it makes me realize yet again that finding that partner-type relationship (the one I've been talking about lo these many years) is more than a matter of finding. It's also a matter of building and growing. Trite, but true.

My webserver is dying a slow and painful death after several years of neglect. I need to start fresh, and I feel like renovating around these parts anyhoo. I've been enjoying the return to more personal-type writing, and I want to take that to the next gonzo level. Escape from dirtstyle and start pushing the envelope.

So, that's my way of saying there could be some downtime in the future. Possibly while I'm retreating in Mexico.

I'll make a comeback though, with more verve and sizzle than ever. Be ready to tell all your friends, k?

I'm back in the saddle. Audentes ortuna juvat. Fortune favors the bold. That's Virgil, bitches. Old school.

I'm going to write something good and gonzo exploring the Burning Man experience this year, but that's not done yet. I will start tomorrow, as gonzo works best if it's written fresh and hot, but for now I need to wind down and get another good night's sleep.

Suffice to say, my attitude about the universe is a whole lot better now than it was two weeks ago. There were some dark moments out there -- getting in the groove was hard, frought with weakness and defeat, and exodus was fucking brutal -- but the experience was high, heady, fun and most of all enlightening and empowering. As I said, I feel spiritually cleansed. It turned me on enough to believe in the "next year" dream of really organizing a big expedition, being a camp leader. More on that later.

Getting back into civilization was a long hard run, and the Default World is unquestionably weird, but while playa eyes and a clean spirit do throw our shadows into harsher relief, it's only because they bring a lot of positive light to the situation.

Indeed, it's been nothing but aces since we made the gate. Our Pyramid Lake dirt-nap saved lives. The waitress at the Iron Skillet was a queen. I turned $1 to $40 in the penny slot. Swimming in the Trinity was divinity. Kellymundo deep-cleaned the house while we were gone. Moamar will ride again. I got my passport in the mail. The Girth's would-be lady friend called him back. With the exception of my business partners being stuck in a glass house on the beach in the middle of Huricaine Henriette, everything's coming up Cabeçon.

Just a quick note that I'm back in the default world. Spiritually cleansed and a little crispy. All is well.

More soon.

UPDATE: Scott at North Bay Auto says all Moamar needed was a tune-up. Given the experience of a sudden loss of power, I'll have to see it to believe it, but he's the man on this, and it's good fucking news to me!

Well, it's been light posting here these past few. The dog days of August are foggy in Westhaven, and the various tasks related to getting ready to leave for Burning Man have left me w/precious little time to do my creative writing exercises.

If all goes well, we'll hit the road tomorrow afternoon and get in on the midnight line. If there are snags, we may still try to make Nevada City, or we may just decide to start Monday morning. I want to be all set up be Monday night, because at 1:51 AM on Tuesday the full moon goes into eclipse.

I'm mildly perturbed that I'm not more excited about the whole event. We've got it all, of course: a huge shade structure; whiskey shotguns; bike trailers ready to blast dub reggae (or whatever); the full setup for a high quality shower structure; friends a-plenty; delectable foodstuffs; a 2000 watt generator and more. It's going to be a good little camp, and I'm definitely looking forward to getting out of America and away from my routine for a while.

Still, there's a lot of "been there done that" rattling around in my head. A disturbing trend in my life receives another datapoint. Josh Koenig needs to get out of his comfort zone.

I'm sure my sense of adventure will perk up sooner or later on this one, and in the mean time I'm having fun wrangling all the preparatory details. I plan on taking a bunch of video out there, so while I'll probably be radio-silent until early next week, I should come back loaded with the highest quality of content.

Until then, peace out.

Update: Rarrrr! Moamar blows something out ascending the first pass on the 299. The good news is we can make it home pretty easy. The bad news is my pickup is now shot and I've got to find some kind of rental solution.

They canceled the show, choked it out early really, which is why the last few felt kind of rushed. Cocksuckers. It wasn't the ratings monster that was The Sopranos, but it was doing about as well as Deadwood according to the stats, so I don't see what the problem was. It certainly didn't seem anywhere near as expensive as Rome to produce...

More stuff to plead with the suits, if you want. I honestly think given that they cut the 12-episode run to 10 that it's not coming back. Fools! Think of the cult DVD sales!

On the plus side, I was able to use it as a frame for a blog post about Ari Fleischer's return to politics ("Ari Fleischer should get back in the game"), so that's nice.

NY Times has published an editorial by seven non-commissioned officers in Iraq, which is absolutely piercing in its insight:

...it is important not to assess security from an American-centered perspective. The ability of, say, American observers to safely walk down the streets of formerly violent towns is not a resounding indicator of security. What matters is the experience of the local citizenry and the future of our counterinsurgency. When we take this view, we see that a vast majority of Iraqis feel increasingly insecure and view us as an occupation force that has failed to produce normalcy after four years and is increasingly unlikely to do so as we continue to arm each warring side.

If you've been picking up even a fraction of the current yammering going on over the value of the Surge -- which is going to get a renewal sometime after Labor Day, I'd wager -- the contrast set by this piece couldn't be more stark. Not just in terms of opinion, but in specificity and linguistic clarity as well.

In my business, we'd call the likes of Kenneth Pollack and Bill Kristol "hand wavers." Salesman, essentially, as opposed to people who can actually write code. They understand a lot of things in theory, and they have a good jive, managing to sound credible to the uninitiated. But if you pay very close attention and/or know very much about the underlying issues, you can tell when someone is speaking from a place of direct and real experience, and when someone is speaking from a place of theoretical vision. More importantly, you can tell when they're feeding you a line of BS.

This is kind of amazing and cute and terrifying all at once. I assume mr. Cobra has been de-fanged; the kid seems to love it.

And here's some amateur safari footage that'll cheer you up on any day when you feel like it's all gone wrong. Be sure to watch through to the conclusion:

Ok, one more, and not of nature. A repost of sorts, but because Fred and I watched this at Yearly Kos and I remembered how funny it was. Wahsington, Washington, six-foot-twenty / fucking killing for fun...