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.