by BlisteredWhippet » Wed 20 Jun 2007, 15:35:00
$this->bbcode_second_pass_quote('PenultimateManStanding', 'A')nybody but me see "blistered whippet" as a self righteous doofus? What is it with these corn-ball intellectual farts?
Thats really something coming from someone still pondering the "Con-un-dumbs" of Dan Brown's "DaVinci Code".
I admit this post was particularly rough. Its been a while since I fired up the ShitTalker 5000.
It could be distilled simply as: its not all it could be, far from what it should be, and much less interesting than other celebration/rituals.
I am friends with a couple groups of burners... they all want me to go but I am demurring. Inhaling that shit for a week would probably put me in the hospital or worse. And despite the "Green man" theme, nothing I've heard indicates a serious observance of that theme. Indeed, how could there be, in that environment?
I have witnessed the cultural pathways that led to the evolution of BM. I've always been disappointed in how dishonestly and inadequately burners and the event try to inspire a culture and feeling of the things it mimics. In the end, if its just about the meaninglessness of destruction, temporary creation, and tacked on themes, its shit. All that stuff can be found in regular day-to-day life. BM remains a refuge and vacation spot for the unimaginative.
I laugh at Burners who call it a "lifestyle". They are functionally the same as the New England Stuffinigtons who call their annual trip to a Miami beach a "lifestlye".
I think Carnival is a great contrast to such "lifestyles" in that it takes place organically, within everyday life. Mardi Gras
was New Orleans. It permeated life there year-round. After BM, all thats left is a dust bowl and some souvenir photographs. In BM, there is only a pale imitation of the vital sex cult. MG or Carnival throb with lusty energy and sexuality. I find BM's wasteland schtick and trendy yuppie constituency conventional and boring. The image of the burners sitting around, watching the spectacle of the burning man signify the disconnected, lazy, overly cerebral mode that the industrial/rave culture has been stricken with for over a decade. Some bizarre sexual palsy overcame the flower children's kids and their flower culture became sexless and dull. I think its a fundamental disconnect from some earthy, vital existence.
The raver dancefloor is a weird group ritual that seems organized around principles of personal space and asocial experience. Even the English weren't ever so stuffed-up and repressed. It might have something to do with nerdifaction- the effect of StarWars collecting, web-programming, socially retarded post adolescents finding their first tentative pathway into a larger social sphere, by means of a ladder between an internal, private arena of complete fantasy to a more semi-public fantasy arena, complete with a a safe, stoic sexuality abstracted into fetishized objects and style, a reverence for artifacts of consumer and pop culture, and a logic-circuit mediated bassline and drumbeat.
Re localized, revitalized, earthy "joie de vive" is what we
need. Barring that in a stifling mother-culture, we have to settle for playing "Wasteland" in a fucking shit-hole at a premium price. If any of the "Burners" were so creative they would have stimulated something more anarchic and revolutionary than invite-only DJ and BBQ events.
The fact is, these are the Neuvo-Bourgeois enjoying getting smashed on the deck of the Titanic. A rudderless sense of life and aesthetics.
To be frank, many of my burner friends are burn-outs. Bukowski would be proud. There is a certain Nihilism that is at least consistent with the theme of extravagant waste. So I don't think it is dishonest. I just think its tragic, embracing such a self-denying and self-damaging aesthetic. But you have to respect the will to misery by way of the pleasure principle. There is freedom in abandoning responsibility the midst of cultural and environmental degradation. In a sense they adopt and affirm the "burning man" as life metaphor. They are there celebrating a certain queer sense of their own useless, transitory value. They acknowledge a sort of quid pro quo in giving in to throwaway culture by making themselves disposable. The ultimate recyclers.