Lounger in a Strange Land
My Virgin Burn

Shawn hit the brakes on the dusty brown Vanagon and we scanned the mostly empty block of Black Rock City. Desolation, with heat waves in the distance, and a baking sun overhead were the essence of that flat expanse of hard packed playa which would be our home for 9 days. The flimsiest of little flags, drooping in the heat, outlined our property, such as it was. It was a nice chunk of real estate for the 35 people of Camp RECHARGE!!! to possess, even if it didn't have plumbing or electricity or even any people ... yet.

We had arrived after an overnight stop in Reno. I was hell on Shawn's luck at the tables but we got that last minute shower! Upon arrival, I immediately stripped off my shirt and applied sun block, ready for business, but there was nothing to do until the BIG TRUCK got there with the dome and furniture and generator. I mentally went over the checklist of things I had brought to survive … appetizing food that would be easy to carry and eat in the heat (pudding, applesauce, breakfast shakes, bagels, hard boiled eggs), water (1 gallon a day for drinking, and another for washing), and, the crown jewel of my possessions, my boyfriend, Dragi’s, brand-spanking-new geodesic dome for a comfortable living space. When car-camping, do it right! For comfort I had brought an air mattress, a hammock, LOTS of blankets for the cold desert nights, candles, incense, and even my hookah. We were not going to live without ambiance!

I was a playa virgin, new to Burning Man and the veteran camp of RECHARGE!!! Our mission, as told to me, was to provide a “chill” space for playa people to be calm, take a nap, and, er, recharge. We were also sponsoring a few swing dances (with lessons!) for those who couldn't find something more interesting to do in the desert. At some point during the week, however, I began to suspect a hidden meaning in our name. Upon investigation, I found that to “charge” means to be trippin'. I am only guessing here, but I think there might have been some “re-charging” going on somewhere near … but I was too slow to catch them at it.

Day by day, the empty space around us changed. Our space filled rapidly with three domes, fifteen tents, a kitchen truck, a veritable bike garden, sloping tarps, a bamboo cabana, and too many guy lines and rebar stakes to count. The neighborhood continually became a new place and it had to be rediscovered daily. New people had moved in, new structures were being built and new art and theme camps were setting up shop, all to be explored by me!

Mornings were for sleeping - despite the megaphone and mouth of Jonathon, our self-appointed Systems Leader. Staying up late was required - as RECHARGE!!! was deep in the city section termed "large scale sound art". The deep bass of techno and tribal mixed with nearby strains of Arabic and reggae were always with us - but most insistently and deafeningly at night. So, most of the sleeping hours were just before and just after dawn. After waking up horny (I am sure it was the music!), some time was spent washing. One morning I gave myself a head to toe bucket bath and even shaved my legs ... AH! The height of luxury! It was time to move on and get dressed. As an exhibitionist, I was careful to conduct most of my morning routine with the door to my dome wide open, making sure I was standing in full view of the road. It was truly amazing and satisfying to be a naked object of interest but not one of shock value. My nudity really only got a reaction from the people who had just arrived that day. They were still adjusting to their (and others’) freedoms and were instantly forgiven. Of course, some friends were slightly disconcerted when it was time for hugging hello or goodbye, but they got over it. Nakedness wasn’t necessarily common, but neither was it rare. It was just a costume option.

Burning Man is a showplace for costumes. If you are one of those people who buys random stuff at garage sales thinking you will use it in a costume and never do (because it just seems too outlandish!) this is the place for you. I had packed my costumes a week before, but in a bit of last minute packing I stumbled upon a pile of scarves ... you know, semi-transparent and just long enough to wrap around the waist? I threw them in thinking I would not be bold enough to wear them as a skirt. I was wrong. As a daytime costume they were perfect. Perfectly scanty!

Other people were naked, or nearly so, but most male daytime costumes tended toward sarongs, bare chests, or loose dresses, wrap pants, or, for the uninspired, Hawaiian shirts. The truly high-spirited boys wore fur, top hats, tuxedos, and wigs! Ah, the craziness I saw! Gals favored bikini tops, net clothes with nothing underneath, furry stuff, huge sunglasses, amazing braided or dreaded hair, beads, hot pants, cowboy boots, you name it ... it was barely there.

Dressing IS participating at Burning Man. Many dress sexy as hell because this is ONE place they can without getting labeled for it. Many dressed in nightclub “hot”, what we see fairly often at home, but others, no matter what size, no matter what costumes just let it go and dressed how they wanted … for themselves, no one else. People who are being real … are naturally sexy. Sexy people everywhere! As a result, there was a certain tension in the air at all times. Yes, even before breakfast and more so at night. It was palpable, shimmering, something you could taste.

After breakfast - which was fast because it was already too warm for eating to seem even mildly interesting - you had the choice of lounging in the camp's well appointed 32' geodesic dome or hanging with the neighbors. Stuffed with couches on layers of carpet, it seemed a most welcoming place to be until you got outside and started interacting with the people. The camaraderie was instantaneous, because after all, didn't we all have something in common? Didn’t we already belong to a community of like-minded individuals? How easy it was to talk with people when you felt before you ever opened your mouth, that you already were an accepted part of their world. The singing Germans, an art car owner Hoover (he had modified his car into a giant vacuum cleaner - the "sin sucker"), the Hive next-door, the guys manning the "Stoop" bar right next to the portapotties (“Get pissed after you piss!” was their barkers call): we had great neighbors!

If you got bored chatting ... there was plenty to look at. Art was everywhere: street corners, in front of camps, painted on the nearest pair of breasts, hiding between camps, out on the open desert in the "beyond". Costumes were art. Bikes and cars and tents were art. Some of it was good. Some of it was VERY good. Some of it was humorous. People were expressing themselves politically, religiously, creatively or just obnoxiously ... and that was what this whole city was about. Radical Self Expression. Self expression? Definitely. Radical? I guess you might think so if you are from Kansas.

Conveniently, spaced randomly around the art, were really gorgeous men. I mean drop dead, tan, hunky, half-naked, yummylicous hot. I have to remember to write Burning Man Org and thank them for that little service. I am sure that required serious organization and countless volunteer hours to set up.

Around noon the heat became a bit opressive. Food sounded like an awful idea, but we knew we needed calories. We learned that this was the time to get out on the playa, preferably with a bike. It felt SO much cooler to be moving rather than zoning out under the dome where there was little air circulation. It was funny how much we wanted to zone out rather than get moving ... we were hot, laying around knowing it would feel better to get moving, but lack of sleep and sluggishness kept up right where we were until at least one of us exerted an extreme effort of will and got the rest of us moving. So we charged, like a herd of turtles, into the cityscape.

The city was planned to resemble a clock. If you picture the clock on your kitchen wall, place the Man where the hands are attached in the middle. Put the temple of honor at 12 o'clock, and center camp cafe at 6 o'clock. From center camp the city spread to the northwest around the clock to 10 o'clock and to the northeast to 2 o'clock. The main street was the Esplanade, where the largest or most visible camps were located on one side, but only playa and the Man on the other side. Concentric rings of camps extended from 2 to 10 behind the Esplanade, leaving all the space around the Man empty playa except for art installations. Also empty was everything beyond 2 and 10 o'clock ... free for the placing of art until you went so far you hit the trash fence. With 30,000 people, you couldn’t exactly be alone, but you could come close. The city, incredibly, was over 3 miles wide.

During the afternoon there were many other camps to explore and hidden art on the playa to stumble across. There were theme camps for massage, body painting, henna tattoos ... a locksmith camp (yes, we used them after locking keys in the car) ... fun interactive camps like Skee-Bowl (climb the tower, put the bowling ball on the track and LIFT and AIM that ball for the barrel named "Bliss"! Miss too badly and recite a random passage from "The Book", a 70's porn novel, to the crowd of passersby), Petty Grievance Camp (trade your grievance for a lemon, step through multiple rituals and have your lemon squeezed over the drink they made you at the end), Flight to Mars (scary funhouse with tunnels and nets and no way out!!! well, I couldn't find it for ages and ages). Most popular, if you can imagine such a thing, were the afternoon bar camps.

Pinky's Lounge was my favorite bar, by far. Pink fur covered bar and stools, a crow's nest, and a catwalk behind the bar was the setting for dancers who strutted their stuff for fun in the sun ... in outfits that left nothing to the imagination. The drinks were free ... as long as you were free with you gifts as well. Remember, the 1st rule of Burning Man is NO MONEY TRANSACTIONS (except for ice and gourmet coffee which were sold at center camp for grocery store prices). I always had a water mister handy to cool people off. This gift of coolness on a hot day worked wonders getting bigger free drinks and sighs of happiness from other patrons who wanted a wetting! Live music by Mutaytor!, the playa percussion band and fire performance troupe, were part of the entertainment for Thursday's sunset. The three mile hike to get all the way across the playa from RECHARGE camp was a small price to pay for afternoon booziness.

All activities were made even easier if you had good friends and neighbors ... friends with art cars that is! Our neighbor Hoover was one of the most generous men on the playa (I got to drive the sin sucker at one point) and he knows everyone. He introduced me to the human video game... pick up the joystick in front of the man in the frame and battle him to the death! The whole game is in your imagination while you each make sound effects and operate your joystick at each other ... utterly-fucking-hilarious. Mostly, however, Hoover cruised around in his vacuum chasing sinners and we tagged along. Four could ride on the platform on top, two more in the car ... and one lucky person ... could ride the rocking horse. This was a horse with a super-sized spring and a mysterious button by the mane. Press the button and a horn honks. But, little do the watchers know ... the horn is only a noisy disguise for the vibrator that rattles the saddle. I liked riding the horse and I liked Hoover too. And he gave yummy neck rubs. Purrrrr.

Enough. Enough with the daytime sweetness and light! Can we move on to the decadent nights? I'm really not sure you are ready for this, but you really should know.

As the sun set, we would “scream it down”, yelling while the mountain swallowed our daylight fire. Back at camp, dinner was cooking and it smelled good. Aside from dinner, being sprayed with scented misters, and incense wafting from theme camps, I don’t remember much smell on the playa. It was so dry that things didn’t really have an odor – barring, of course, the potties and an occasional sweaty AND stinky person, that is. The smell of food coupled with the fact it was cool for the first time that day, made it clear our bodies were craving some calories. The dinner team always came through with style too: chili, Indian curry, spaghetti. It was deliciously different every night.

Our hunger sated, it was time to dress for a night OUT. Out on the playa. Wearing something to accentuate the wild and uninhibited side of you was encouraged, because that is exactly who you wanted to be for the night! Fur, leather, cocktail attire, silver, cowboy hats, Mad Max, you name it, it was out there. While getting dressed the pace somehow felt rushed. Drumming was getting loud, more insistent. What were we missing?!

The Esplanade, with the onset of darkness, turned into a place unrecognizable; a place as frenzied as Bourbon Street, where the flashing of breasts was replaced with the flashing of "EL" wire (electroluminescent, or cool neon, for the uninitiated). It was stitched into clothing, wrapped around fur covered bicycles ... blinking or static and sometimes programmed into patterns. Giant party buses had begun to roll by, blaring music and packed with people. No, one more would NOT fit. Where were they going? How about a nighttime playa tour to remote art installations, bars, and dance clubs? When we saw one with space, we would climb on, and hold on! No one knew the next stop except for the driver! People seemed utterly comfortable in clothes they would never wear out at home. They were relaxed and happy and enjoying themselves. And, one thing to note … relaxed, happy, smiling, open, friendly people … are really, really sexy. I loved looking at them, their mood boosting mine even higher.

Familiar camps were alien at night, lit to the stratosphere with lasers and neon. The thump of the bass was inescapable - a deep reverberating heartbeat of the desert, felt through your heels. Fire owned the night. A giant hand (10 feet tall), reaching from the playa, shot plumes of fire from its fingertips and warmed the rapidly cooling desert by the acre. Cars with spikes and tank-like trucks of the Death Guild shot fire cannons and flamethrowers from the backs of their rigs - Mad Max style - on their way to Thunderdome where people would battle latter in the evening, flying at each other with faux-murderous intent. Performers on stilts wielded batons and slings of fire, dressed as fabled Pan, stalking an innocent in a garden of fire. A moonless week and people thronged the walkways in front of camps, threading through bikes piled on the ground. Darkpeople, our term for folks who were unlit (i.e. asking to be run over by an art car or bike), appeared in the crowd out of nowhere and disappeared just as quickly. My eyes got tired of trying to make sense of the multitude of moving lights: were they a person, a bike, a car? Was that a deliberate design or random? My head swam from the sheer amount of input around me.

People everywhere were tripping on acid and 'shrooms and ecstasy, perhaps some on all three. They moved to the bass and looked at the lights and touched themselves, taking the massive, hi-tech yet primitive, crazy event and becoming caught up in it, exploring it. Just like those of us who were straight, I think, but more honest in their expressions. Happiness wonder and awe filled me, and I saw that reflected in so many eyes. It was a different world; hard to comprehend, but amazing.

Because of the drugs, many of the camps supplied a visual experience for their patrons. Sunglasses Camp handed out prism-making glasses and pointed you toward a tunnel of lights. Dancing and bobbing my head, I entered and was glad I wasn’t charging (see, its fun to use new vocabulary!) … it was fun enough straight. Elsewhere, a pillar of light seemed innocuous, until I turned my head quickly. What was that shape that appeared? One night it was the Mona Lisa. Another night it was a mushroom. This of course caused the equally amusing phenomenon of an ever shifting group of people standing in front of the pillar, all smiling and wagging their heads back and forth. Next door, a wall of digitized color cascaded through programmed fractal patterns. On the playa, an art car blinked its giant blue eyes.

Rave camps playing techno music held an equal draw to the crowds as the fire and lightshow. HUGE dance parties were supported with gigantic sound systems and amazing decorations. The jungle rave at Xara had live grass for sitting and glow in the dark flowers scattered in the canopy, trees you could crawl inside, and a dance floor open to the night sky. Directly across the playa was a 32' dome covered in white with a projection system on the inside throwing merging fractals up on the skin. The dance was outside and the dome merely the largest of the decorations. Incredible.

Not being much of a raver and not being a huge fan of the blinkie lights, I tended to be attracted to the fire and the drums at night ... but the energy of the whole was undeniable and more intense than anything I had ever felt before. The drum circle (of hundreds) pounded a driving slightly discordant beat into the night. Coupled with the techno beats cascading over each other, the baseline was wild and indestructible.

Madness? Chaos? Yes, but not entire. You could step back and see it was a carnival of a new kind. One where you could walk right up and shake the trapeze artist’s hand (yes, we had those too) but also one in which you were part of the show.

The sound of 30,000 people partying together was an amazing overlay to the underlying beat. Can you imagine that sound? Even when it was only 5-10 thousand earlier in the week it was loud. I KNEW that the Esplanade was a succession of dance parties, that the music I could hear was a blend of techno and drums, that the people were having fun en masse ... BUT ... listening to it from my tent, I could have sworn I was on the fringes of some gigantic and crazed pagan ritual complete with possessed dancers, screaming and gyrating, inevitably enacting some horrid sacrifice at the end.

Which, I suppose was true to an *extent*, but certainly not how I was picturing the madness. When I got up to make that inevitable trek to the potties, I walked naked among groups of revelers with happy, not horrific, smiles on their faces. The dance music sorted itself out into its different parts. There was no violence anywhere, no sacrifice, yet ... for the moment, it was about life ... a life of live and let live. We were deliberately saving the sacrifice for later.

That driving rhythm made a spectacular backdrop for sex. Sex was practically tangible at night. Everyone was decked out – strangers in unlikely outfits in a place where conversations are easy, skin is acceptable, and everything is anonymous. The normal social hierarchy had broken down. The most outrageous attracted the initial attention: flamboyant artists, daring fire-dancers, clever costumers. But, when it came down to it, everyone was talking to everyone else. No one cared (or could tell) who had a trust fund on the playa. People were looking for excitement, adventure, connections. And they were there to be had. I hadn’t found any adventure in the four days before my boyfriend arrived (and wasn’t particularly sorry about it either), but once he got there my motor definitely turned over! Boys were everywhere and yummy as hell. I flirted with many, kissed several, and jumped on a few. Many people described the vibe at Burning Man to be more sensual than sexual, and I agree. But when I felt sensual … sex followed.

The party continued until dawn and beyond every day. I have never seen so many impaired people having so much fun with so few dire consequences. Don't get me wrong. It IS a dangerous place ... all that sun, fire, and darkness! And the most dangerous of all, freedom! We are so conditioned with warning signs in the regular world, we don’t even listen to our common sense. It is easy to be stupid on the playa and stupid can equal dead. Given that there is so much to see, it is almost a bother to watch where you are going. Once I adjusted to the hazards around me, it didn’t amaze me at all why people came from all over the WORLD to be in the midst of this stimulating heart-stopping head-pounding freedom. THIS is the radical self expression that IS the event.

As the week wore on towards Saturday, expectations mounted. Whether you see the burning of the Man as spectacle, sacrifice, or cleansing ritual ... you know he will burn Saturday night. Looking at him across the playa, doomed and standing there, inanimate and uncaring and *heaped* with the burdens of a different "meaning" for each individual at the festival, he was magnificent ... especially at dusk. The neon would begin to glow against the darkening violet sky and he would even become, even more so, the major directional beacon of the playa. The religious overtones could get a bit overbearing to me sometimes, but he did become a comforting presence. It was natural to look to him for guidance on the expanse of overly-lit sensory-overload-inducing playa at night.

As the expectation mounted, so did the numbers of weekend revelers on the playa. Some were just burners who couldn't get more time off, but most were the folks who heard what a great party it was (free beer! w/ $300 ticket purchase, what a deal!) and that there were naked chicks running around (not at night! too cold!). They have been dubbed "yahoos" and tend to drink beer and just watch everything, thinking it is all just too weird to participate in (but not too weird to watch (so hungrily too)). Perhaps they will be converted ;) but until they are they definitely change the "feel" of the event. I guess we must let them live their lives too, but it doesn’t prevent them from being annoying.

The burn WAS amazing. Fire performances of hundreds cavorting between us and the Man - twirling fire in SO many ways! Flaming hats and skirts. Twirlers on stilts, or burly men swinging huge BALLS of fire, holding on with both hands. The dancers became fewer and fewer, until there were none ... and then between the fireworks, the fire started under the Man. It was a really, really, big hot fire ... and beautiful and meaningful to most gathered there. After the Man and most of the structure under him fell into the flames, people started running around the base, getting as close as possible to the heat. It wasn't mayhem and most of us just quietly circled counterclockwise and watched the burn get smaller. Watching the watchers was fun as well. People had pulled out all the stops on their costumes for this night. There were giant puppet dinosaur skeletons stalking the crowd. Art cars were blinking everywhere. Everyone was in the middle of the playa. There was no more direction from the Man. Which way was the Esplanade if all the light was in the middle? Happy confusion reigned until dawn.

The next morning ... half the city was gone. The yahoos were gone and the rest of us had big stuff to un-build. Camps started to come apart. Disassembly had begun: domes, kitchens, showers ... though the tents we left up for the final night.

On Sunday night the Temple of Honor burned, along with a lot of the other art on the playa. The temple was supposed to be a tribute to all those who were no longer with us ... a burn to the dead. And the art going up in flames, to me at least, proved that the art is merely (!) the imperfect expression of ideas ... even if the art is destroyed, the ideas are there, no more or no less of substance than they were before.

Ah. Monday morning. I was ready to leave ... but it was hard as well. I was not ready to have to wear a shirt again. I wasn’t ready to leave the many budding friendships I had made on the playa, both in my camp and in others, and now we are scattered ... trying to connect in a different world with different rules. Not to mention, now that I am back, the energy in the everyday world seems so flat. There is no driving beat, except what we find in ourselves, and sometimes that can feel pretty damn faint.

I do think we could bring more of the playa back with us … but it would be work. I try the little things: smile more, talk to random people, attempt a connection, but people LOOK AT ME WEIRD. Building a community within a pre-existing society is harder than building one from scratch. And we all work so hard already. Perhaps a week of crazy paradise is enough to fill a void which seems to disappear in the desert. But how hard would it be, really, to own a chunk of San Francisco? I can imagine the “Burner” Castro. Can you? Well, maybe except for affording it! Perhaps we should build it in the East Bay.

Oh, where? Oh, where is that techno beat?
Its time for bed,
and I can hardly sleep
without it pounding, in my head.

Spinning Fire - the First Time

Last night I did my first spin with FIRE. I lit the damned poi up and tried not to hit myself with them ... and was mostly successful.

Ohhhhh, I was nervous. Another gal went first ... Jennifer ... and the whole time I was being her safety, my heart was beating faster and faster, knowing I would have to go next. There was no backing out this time.

I have been attempting to try fire for weeks - ever since I got my poi. The advice from some was to NOT try fire until you were really good and not going to hit yourself. The advice from others was to just do it, right from the beginning, doing simple moves and getting used to the heat and the noise of the flames.

You know me. I like to just jump right into things, so I opted to listen to the advice that said light em' up cowgirl! The hard part was actually doing it. Don't get me wrong. The
opportunity is out there. There are practice burns in the city a few times a week and events here and there, but my life just kept getting in the way.

Last week I wanted to go to a Thursday practice but had to work too late. A sunday burn with folks fell through. Then this week the Saturday party i went to, which was supposed to have spinners turned out to be a dud in that respect. I did get to spin some pretty light sticks, though. Whee!

Finally, last night, I walked into the twilit park with my (too big) burn box containing all the wrong stuff (no lighter?!) and saw the blurred circles of someone spinning glowsticks. Blue and green were swirling everywhere! At least one of the folks had shown up for the 1st ever Lake Merritt burn!

Yay! It was on! I wanted to warm up and tried spinning a bit, but was so nervous in front of Jennifer, who actually looked like she knew what she was doing, that I cut it a little short. I said I was ready to learn how to be a safety so she could burn (and I could put her out if necessary). The basics covered - she soaked her wicks in kerosene, spun off the excess, and I lit her up.

She was fairly comfortable with the fire. She said she had done it a half dozen times or so. Though she claimed she was a beginner, her spin was very impressive to me. It lasted longer than I expected too, probably seven minutes. She was tired at the end and my stomach was churning with anticipation. Where on earth was i going to come up with enough stuff to fill 7 minutes?? I had only been spinning for two weeks and only knew three moves or so! And, the confidence I had in pulling off two of them, while having flaming balls hanging from my chains, was small indeed.

But, it was still my turn. I had to go.

I soaked and went to spin off the excess. Apparently the last thing anyone needs is flaming blobs of kerosene flying off the poi while they are spinning around and about tender bits of flesh. To prevent this, I spun very fast to let centrifugal force work its magic and I could feel a cool mist of fuel land on my back and shoulders. When I stopped feeling it, I figured I was ready to go but I was still nervous and told Jennifer so. She said "no worries" and assured me that anytime I wanted to stop we could kill the flames with her safety cloth. Well, okay then, no more excuses ... haven't I said that already? I swear I was continually trying to talk myself into this.

Ignition. We had flame. My poi were lit. I swung them forward and back, keeping the flames from burning straight up my chains to my hands. As I gently swung them the noise of the flame would get louder. At this point another spinner shows up. I say "hi". She says "hi". And I welcome her to Lake Merritt and my virgin burn. I thought, well now that I have an audience perhaps I should do something more impressive than rocking the damned things back and forth. So I worked up the nerve to actually spin them in a *gasp* circle along my sides. that seemed to go fairly well except that the noise increased with the speed. Fuck, it was loud. The poi roared past my ears and I felt the warmth of the flame on my cheeks.

I trembled a bit and my heart raced. I kept thinking about doing something else .. trying to come up with the courage to do something else. So, just to do *something*, I stopped them and spun them backwards. You have to understand that my embarassment was mounting. I was doing THE simplest of motions, which anyone could do the instant they pick up a set of poi. Yet, I couldn't seem to remember how to do any of the fun stuff I had been working on for weeks. And, people were watching. People who were much much better than I. And I stood there and couldn't seem to come up with the balls to actually try a move, ANY move ...

... but then I did. I worked out the entrance into the weave, a simple but visually impressive move that surrounded me in fire. It was working! I relaxed a little and tried to concentrate on my form, which was crap because I was so stiff and scared. Unfortunately, relaxing didn't really help me much at this point. I still had an audience and I was still trying basic stuff. Oh well. So I tried MORE basic stuff, some turns and reels. The poi kept getting slightly out of control and i would contort to stay away from the flames, regroup and start over.

When I practice I don't even notice a bop in the leg or the poi coming too close to my face or body. But, when they are on fire ... I noticed! It freaked me out. So there were lots of aborted attempts of moves that weren't quite working, but I was spinning! I was even starting to ignore the two gals watching me, when my flames dimmed to blue.

Of course by this time, my flames were small, which was perfect timing for me to try some of my *even* less, shall we say, perfected moves? We all thought it amusing how much braver we were when the flames died down a bit! The flames dimmed until one went out completely. I did some one handed stuff for a while, until the other got small enough to spin out.

Whew! On the one hand, I knew I had sucked balls, but on the other hand didn't really care to hold myself too responsible. It was very cool and I couldn't wait for my next turn. Ahhhhh! Adrenaline!

I introduced myself to Lorien, the gal that had come up while I was spinning, and she got ready to spin. This gal rocked my world. She *danced* with her fire and it was beautiful.
mesmerizing. *sigh* Thats exactly what i wanted to do, someday.

I watched the others and spun again two more times myself. Lorien’s friend Alice showed up a little later, after Jennifer had gone home, and had a few spins too.

My second time was much better and I tried all the moves I knew and the third burn I even tried a hotter fuel. I hit myself with the flaming poi several times and only got a smudge of black out of the bargain. My fear lessened. Progress was made. However, all my weaknesses were now so glaring. I had a lot to work on to improve. Lorien also showed me a move that I am determined to learn this week. So, at the end, I am charged
up and can't wait to get better! Practice. Practice. Practice.

Cheers all!
Burn it!
Kristie

dammit. i know these are old, but some of the readers are new. i would love some feedback.