For those who aren't in the know, I'm back in NYC, if perhaps not for a long time. Life opportunities have come forth and it seems I might be headed back out west sooner rather than later. I'll keep you all abrest, rest assured, and I know this level of secrecy is unusual here at outlandishjosh.com, but it's all for good things and I don't want to jinx anything before it's solid.

Re-entry into the Brooklyn state of being is surreal. Not a lot has changed. I've managed to catch up with a few good friends, but the whole scene is largely the same as when I left. I find this kind of comforting. For now, I'm headed back to bed for more sleep. Wonderful things are happening on the horizon.

I'm rambling again. Meetings and biz. Possibly big news. You'll hear it here first.

Words are still failing; I have a book (journal) which I wrote a lot of little things in. I have some audio tape I recorded as well. I haven't reviewed anything as of yet, but i will sometime soon. Expect more complete reportage in the future. Here are my notes on the re-entry, the "decompression" as the parlance of the event would have it.

You feel a little bit like a subversive, coming back from Black Rock City; covered in dust and sun and sweat, rambling suburban California with a head full of dreams, like a free radical, a catalyst, something strong and sexy. You have a tan and are comfortable with your body. Your smile is infectious. You walk tall, high in spirit on a deep speedball of fatigue and human possibility. You are an emmisary from the future and the feeling is good.

I'm almost tempted not to tell stories; it would sound like a freak show... which it is, but that's not the point, that's not why I'll be going back. Burning Man is like anything else in life. It's what you make of it. The value is in what you take away, what sticks with you, what lands. Some people make it a lifestyle, neo-tribal hippy gypsy fasionistas in wild painted buses with stripper poles and disco balls and flaming tailpipes. People get married. All this and more I saw.

I saw. A certain level of spectatorship -- a dirty word on the playa -- is inevitable your first time. It's hard to understand how to be there, hard to believe that there's nothing stopping you from being completely honest. So you look around. You look for your people. You look for a place to fit in, somewhere where the forms are set for you.

I read some of my text at the center camp cafe; pretty well-received, but too general to really feel like a scene. The place where I was camped wasn't really my home groove. It was a journey for me to understand my own responsibility in finding my way; a lot of solo ranging and self-discovery.

Eventually it all came though and I became something of an instant veteran, looking down my nose at the clueless ugly americans, rolling my eyes at frat boys and candy ravers. Not that I intend any kind of exclusion, but by Sunday evening I think people should Get It already. Judgmental, sure, but honest.

Now that I'm decompressing, I'm much more magnanimous. On the way home, stopping off outside Reno and answering questions from locals I was positive and encouraging; so what if you need new teeth? That don't mean you spirit can't soar.

So it's a process, finding your niche in Black Rock City. I'm in progress for sure, but it's a positive thing. I'm glad I was there and I'm glad I'm back in the square world straddling the gap, fulfilling my role as a middlegrounder, taking the mojo out and sewing the seeds of new and better things.

This eagle has landed. There's more to tell than can be told, and the peaks of the experience are at the moment off the chart; beyond belief indeed. I now have 700+ emails to sort, so if you need me you'd better call or have another bottle of patience. It will take some time.

Ciao for now. I'm here for a week.

In a bright ray of hope, Tom Friedman (who I've been loathing for being a jingo bitch) is finally starting to get it, talking about the war in Iraq as The Big One. "We may fail because to win The Big One, we need an American public, and allies, ready to pay any price and bear any burden, but we have a president unable or unwilling to summon either." Maybe that's why it really wasn't a good idea in the first place, natch.

It's coming down to the wire. Here's the info for the record:

Outlanidsh Josh @ Burning Man

Camping: Chaosmosis in Wunami Village (corner of Dogma & Literal)

Performing: Center Cafe, Tuesday at 1:30 and Thursday at 1pm

Spent some good time with my pappy the other day. High-level discussion and the usual entertaining debate between me and my step-mom. A good time was had by all. I think he's leaning Dean, which really suggests that there's a chance for this thing to catch fire. He's relatively conservative compared to me. If you're more of a progressive bent, you should check this article out.

Oh, and if you're into the rah-rah-rah, load up this Dean flash animation for a hit of the old mojo.

I'm doing my level best to keep it in the power curve. Things are popping and there are too many worthwhile ways to spend time and not enough time to be spent. It's a carnival atmosphere already; mass distraction. The old desire/truth two-stroke is starting to kick in, but I'm rusty. The summer has been one marked by loss and despondency, a lot of downtime and curling up into a fetal position. Kicking the habit of melancholy is rough, but the world doesn't wait for your sorrow. Get on the bus. Rumble, young man, rumble.

Things are looking up. The rent will be paid. Women, though about them I fumble, are looking beautiful and attractive again; dazzle all around, and sometimes in inappropriate places. Sometimes it's catching the talented designer girl who works for my mom in the corner of my eye -- now there's a well-worn trope of sleeze: the lecherous boss's son -- sometimes it's bright-eyed newbies from Florida who really just want to dance, sometimes it's the nameless stranger across the street. They all move too fast for me. I'm almost there, but at the moment I lack the ease and guile one needs when approaching the unknown. I don't have a lot of confidence in my self yet, so there's little reason for anyone else to believe in me. I know this, and while it's something to overcome it's also a step up from where I was not too long ago.

In a moment of caffinated reflection, my circumstances feel like Voltron forming up; the pieces starting to come together, but not quite ready for action. I imagine the various elements scattered by the Summer of the Hassle honing in on their magnetic contact points, rotating on their bearings and sliding into their purpose-built rail guides. The rush of wind and the whine of powerful servos; ca-chunk; ca-chunk ca-chunk; the robot comes alive. Be in love with yr life.

Well, I have a ride to Black Rock City; they'll even let me take a bike. I roll from Eugene early Sunday morning with a couple 40-something theater women and a man from Venezuela. Now comes the arduous task of preparing my gear to go. My thoughts for barter items are still settling. Leading the pack:

• Preparing some "index cards of wisdom" which I can give people or do dramatic readings of (Robin's suggestion)
• Printing up some little zines of my and others quality writing to hand out, something for people to read in their downtime when the sun is too much
• Making a run at brewing up a batch of the old opium tea, which is sinfully easy to concoct, and might just be a hit. Instructions for same might be good too
• Sugar baco

If you've got other ideas, refinments to suggest, or perhaps even writing you'd like me to include in my little zine project, please contact me. I'm all ears.

The Summer of the Hassle -- now the official name -- rolls on.

I'm back up in Eugene now, the old home country, after spending a weekend off the grid in the Redwoods with Luke and Mark. It hasn't been an easy season for anyone, and while my personal fortunes seem to be making a glacial but much needed turnaround, others are feeling the heat. There are stories to tell; an all-night ride on a jam-packed greyhound on windy Hwy 101; a park ranger intent on making his authority known; a punishing hike with foolishly overpacked bags; good times around a driftwood campfire; all the personal moments you can really expect from such an excursion. It was good we made it happen.

Small triumphs abound, even as the big clouds continue rolling in off the coast. I've got a lot of work to do.

I'm camping in Northern California for the weekend, then bumping around the Euge for most of next week. Somewhere in there I'll make a trip east to see my dad and then I'll either shuffle off the Black Rock City, or back down to the Bay, depending on whether and when the logistics come together.

Last night we hit up the good old Acme again. Tall blonde bartender guessed my height, which felt a little like flirting, but not really. Nick was there and he laid out the whole story of his father's death. I had been kind of afraid of this moment, but it was actually good to get it out in the open. Luke and I are going to help him move in to his Hastings law school apartment and then catch an overnight greyhound to meet Mark up near Arcata for a little time in nature. I'll catch y'all on the flip side.