The Tuesday night Temple Burn was noticeably sparsely attended, but doubtless many hearts were there in spirit [“jest put yer hands right up on yer TeeVees, folks…”] as it’s super easy to fill out that BM online form and submit remembrances digitally…anyway, up it went [I didn’t wait].

Wednesday morning after one last look at Discretion Webcam before it went dark all was quiet, relatively. Something burners will never ever experience is the silence of a Great Basin Desert, nor will that part of the playa be quiet for many weeks to come…but relative to the hubbub of BRC this little mess will be, yeh, quiet. BMIR, ever more interesting in the aftermath than the cam, went off the air soon after as well but I do hope the guy who lost his memory found his

white van, the one with the keys and his wallet in it, and wonder if that lady that forgot to bring the adapter for her Tesla, probably on the assumption there would be plenty of free  superchargers available on playa – and with Elon gone as soon as the airport opened up having nowhere to turn – got that sorted.  Naturally every EV leaving BRC will have to be diesel powered, but I’m sure someone’s soliciting funds to offset THAT carbon footprint as well even if they can’t control what the AP, unPrincipled, chooses to show. So now it’s done…except for the opinionatings, and moop ‘n’ poop both on the Black Rock and…elsewhere* as playa mud

hardens to a bricklike consistency [making it difficult to extract all those lost shoes, vape pens and carpets]**. The New Yorker even checked in with an article, maybe not as well written as most of their pieces but illuminating for insights as to how burnies amuse themselves onsite. The Principle of Radical Banality definitely looms large in the mind of an outsider reading about it yet again but, hey, they be finished if not done so off we went, up hill and down

into another eventful [at least for L.] day, as I set up the semi-annual Trigger firing and then,

warming trending, dinner on the porch.  Friday, pushing a tiny bit beyond Fossil Hill

Hill in the morning, Sumi looking uneasy as she slid into further Bad Habits [uncontrollable car-chasery], but after failing to get Trigger running [almost – postponed pending starter fluid in

Pueblo] and yet another FEDEX fuckup [while reading “The Slip” two huge boxes addressed to someone else on a completely different county road were dumped outside but not a sign of our anticipated dogfood] we walked around the block and into another quiet evening…

no moop ‘n’ poop [three weeks to go, there] to deal with here, just corn and Linda’s tilapia for dinner.  Saturday the Inkies and I continued with our fitness program, making it as far

as the gully that precedes the traverse to the Steps on the trail to the Lone Pine, the descent

definitely adversely affecting Feet; well into our third month now and just way behind…

*I guess according to some Principle or other that would make our structures and sculptures down the meadow technically moop, but we’re not ready, just yet, to leave leaving no trace…

…and then again we aren’t living in a National Conservation Area, either.

**Whoever sank that Prius probably believed having chosen the $1400 all wheel drive option magically rendered it a four wheel drive vehicle which could just tool into the mud with impunity. Pathetic, but, basking in the Principle of Radical Cluelessness, understandable, although anyone else, even in a JLTV with swamp meats, would definitely hesitate before plowing onto wet playa.  Apparently they weren’t alone in sinking although with the right hardware balls would definitely get you through [or out] the door…and piss off the rest of them.