The Astro Arcade Camp at Burning Man

Posted on September 21, 2026September 24, 2026 by Miss Conceptionaly

How an Accessibility-Focused BRC Camp Unraveled in the Dust—and How Somehow we Found the Will to Burn Anyway

By Sara Nicole Glass

In the weeks before Burning Man 2026, Astro Arcade sounded almost too good to be true.

There would be arcade games. Bumper cars. Fire performers. A circus tent. Mutant vehicles. A kitchen. Shade. Showers. Bathrooms. Water. E-bikes. RVs and Shiftpods for campers who had arranged lodging. And, perhaps most importantly, an explicit emphasis on accessibility—a camp designed to make Black Rock City more navigable for people who might otherwise struggle with its brutal physical demands.

The camp’s WhatsApp group radiated enthusiasm.

“Let’s make some beautiful, ridiculous, accessible, unforgettable Burning Man magic together!” organizer David Harris wrote on Aug. 8, describing Astro Arcade as more than “arcade games, bumper cars, fire performances, carnival madness, and ridiculous amounts of fun.”

People joined from across the United States and overseas. Some were veteran Burners. Many were not.

One camper announced it would be his first Burning Man. Another had dreamed about attending for years. Judy, who identified herself as deaf, explained that she relied on lip-reading. Juan said inclusion was what had drawn him to Astro Arcade in the first place.

For people with disabilities or mobility limitations, the accessibility piece wasn’t decorative branding. It affected whether Burning Man was realistically possible.

And that is part of what makes what happened next so troubling.

By the end of the Burn, members of Astro Arcade would be openly using the word “scammed,” disputing payments with their banks, requesting refunds, collecting evidence, and eventually submitting a consolidated complaint to Burning Man’s Placement and Camp Support teams.

But that’s only half of this story.

Because Astro Arcade was also my tenth Burning Man.

And somehow, buried underneath the missing accommodations, broken promises, whiteouts, rain, collapsing air mattresses, busted e-bikes, and my increasingly elaborate attempts to find somewhere habitable to sleep, I still found Burning Man.

Maybe that’s the strangest part of all.

The Promise

Astro Arcade attracted an eclectic group.

There were musicians, DJs, fire performers, aerialists, builders, educators, international travelers, and veteran Burners. There were mutant vehicles, including Simon the Turtle and Fuzzy Bunny. The whole thing sounded like an accessible carnival in the desert.

I joined as MissConception: DJ, MC, poet, fire dancer, professional hula-hooper, and longtime Burner. Burning Man 2026 would be my tenth Big Burn. I was also involved with another playa camp, Pandora’s Bike and Fix-It Shop, but a dear friend had connected me with Astro Arcade.

The concept seemed almost tailor-made for me: circus arts, performance, interactive play, and accessibility. When my friend Frank told me about it, Frank is one of the smartest people I know, and I immediately trusted my friend’s judgment. I didn’t think twice about trying something new.

And unlike many people in Astro Arcade, I was not a Burning Man virgin. I had nine Big Burns behind me, along with regionals, years of Burner community, and enough connections scattered across Black Rock City that I knew if something went sideways, I could probably figure it out. That difference would turn out to matter.

I don’t believe I was personally targeted in the same way some newer campers appear to have been. In fact, looking back at who paid substantial sums and who was apparently allowed into the camp for little or nothing, I began to wonder whether experienced Burners like me—and my friend Frank—were useful to the operation precisely because we lent it credibility and possessed the knowledge and social networks necessary to keep the camp functioning when things fell apart.

I can’t prove that was intentional. But it is difficult not to notice the pattern. Astro Arcade needed veteran Burners. Because when the infrastructure failed, somebody was going to have to know what to do.

Days Before the Burn, Everything Changed

On Aug. 27, as campers were already traveling toward Nevada, Frank Cohen posted a sobering update. He said he had spoken with Harris, who was experiencing serious complications from chemotherapy and checking himself into a hospital. Harris would not be coming to Burning Man.

This wasn’t exactly news to me. I had spoken with Harris numerous times while preparing grocery lists and discussing logistics. I was supposed to support camp leadership and talked with him at length, and he said he wasn’t planning to be there but was still just helping to support on the ground where he was as he was healing from his cancer. Apparently not everyone knew he wasn’t coming.

“The reality is that his illness and treatment have had a major impact on camp preparation,” Frank wrote. “A number of important things came together very late, and some things simply haven’t come together yet.”

Then came the clarification: “We are NOT a plug-and-play camp. We are arriving at a camp that needs to be built by the people who are camping in it, and have food that needs to be cooked by the people eating it. Here are the shifts to sign up!” Campers were also warned that things might be “incomplete, confusing, missing, or not where we expected them to be.” (Sounded like typical Burning Man to me…)

There was enormous sympathy for Harris. Cancer is bigger than Burning Man. Nobody begrudged a seriously ill man for going to the hospital instead of the Black Rock Desert. So we rallied. People offered tents. Rides. Labor. Supplies. Expertise. The Burn was coming whether Astro Arcade was ready or not.

I Arrived. My Camp Did (& Didn’t.)

We hit the gate line around 10 PM Saturday night of build week, and the line didn’t take too long. Two guys in an RV had given me and this sweet lady a ride from the Bay Area. Sidenote: When we got to the gate, the RV guys looked at me and said, “What’s a SAP?” (which is an early entrance pass you need if you want to enter before Sunday…. I thought they knew! They did not). I quickly sent some messages on the limited similar, and BAM, had two more SAPS land in my lap, just as we approached the ticket takers… only to find that when they scanned them, they said, “It appears these same SAPS were scanned 12 minutes ago already”.

“Um, what?” BlinkBlink. They let us through anyways, saying we looked like good people and it could have just been a computer glitch. “HAVE FUN!” (Maybe those SAPS should have been an omen?)

When we finally rolled into my Astro Arcade Camp at 9&B location around midnight, my challenges became much less theoretical and a bit more obvious. There was a camp, with resources, and I was supposed to have a tent and cot, but the organization of it all was two sheets to the wind. There was essentially nothing waiting for me. No comfortable little desert oasis. No organized accommodation ready to receive me. No air mattress. My RV friends wearily unloaded ALL of my stuff and said, “If you need to come camp with us, you can.” Though I had faith that this was my circus camp, and everyone was still trying to get it together like you do at Burning Man. There were some comforting burner bodies around to ask, and somehow, a Shiftpod materialized. This is Burning Man, after all. Things appear.

Things also disappear. Entire living rooms materialize in the desert. People you’ve never met give you exactly the thing you desperately need and then vanish back into the dust. So: great. I had a Shiftpod. Now I just needed something to sleep on which I was told was being brought, no problem.

I started asking around, and eventually some guy brought me an air mattress. Not a camp air mattress. His personal air mattress. He gave it to me. “Enjoy.”

This is the other side of the Astro Arcade story. At nearly every point where the infrastructure failed, an actual human being stepped forward. I inflated the mattress, collapsed onto it and thought: Okay. We’re good.

About an hour later, I woke up considerably closer to the playa.

The mattress was very, very deflated. Of course it was.

The next morning arrived early because sleeping on the ground tends to make sunrise surprisingly punctual. I wandered over to a friend’s camp at Spankys trying to figure out my next move. And sitting there was a brand-new air mattress. Nobody was using it. Of course there was. I could have it. Problem solved. Again.

That became the rhythm of my Burn. Something goes wrong. Improvise. Something else goes wrong. Ask somebody. Walk somewhere. Find a friend. Find a stranger. Acquire an improbable object. Give blessed strangers a gift, just because you never know when you’re going to need your street cred again. Continue Burning.

Meanwhile, the Basics Were Falling Apart

Other campers were dealing with much more consequential problems. On Aug. 28, the group learned that some delivered RVs had arrived without water and would require additional paid fills. Campers began asking whether they needed to source emergency tents and shade structures themselves.

The group started taking inventory. Where was the water? Where were the showers? What was in the kitchen (thank god, we had a kitchen, with refrigerators and freezers!) Where were the bathrooms? (There was one porta-potty, but it was already full and deemed out of service because the credit card associated with paying for pumping had declined) Where was the shade? Who had paid for an RV? Who had paid for a Shiftpod? How many people were still arriving? Did we have disabled campers depending on these services?

By that evening, people already on playa warned incoming campers that things were “not going as planned” and advised them to be “fairly self-reliant.” They reported that the camp had one generator when two were expected, while sewer and water remained unresolved. This wasn’t about missing carnival decorations anymore. People were trying to determine whether everyone had shelter.

Someone chimed in on the WhatsApp group: “Hey, if you’re coming out and you were promised an RV or a shift pod, know that you might have been scammed. Bring your own shelter, food, and water.”

Harris disputed parts of that characterization, saying four people had been promised Shiftpods and maintaining that food and water had been brought in. When campers immediately asked about water, portable toilets, showers, the kitchen, and shade, Harris replied that someone had gone to fill the tanks, the shower equipment was still in Empire, and the shade tent had been built. That exchange captures the central contradiction of Astro Arcade. From outside Black Rock City, things were repeatedly described as present, coming, being delivered or being handled. On playa, we were standing in the dust trying to find them.

Enter the British Wedding Couple

Then came Tuesday. Tuesday was a whiteout.

Not a cute little dust storm where you pull up your bandana and take a dramatic selfie. An all-day, everything-is-dust, horizon-is-gone, where-the-hell-is-my-camp whiteout.

And into this arrived a couple from London. They were supposed to get married on Thursday. They had come all the way to Burning Man for this, and according to what they told me, they had paid several thousand dollars for a package that was supposed to include accommodations, e-bikes, and food.

What did they have with them? An air mattress and a tiny tent. They were understandably frustrated. I looked at my extra-large kush Shiftpod (which I had paid nothing for). Then I looked at them. I knew tons of people across Black Rock City. Surely, somewhere in this ridiculous temporary metropolis of 70,000-plus resourceful weirdos, there was another tent where I could rest my buns.

So I went on a mission. And I found one. It was an orange, dome-like tent, and I decided that would become my new home to house all of my camping treasures!

This meant setting it up, and then moving all of my belongings out of the Shiftpod into said snackshack. Now, if you know me, you know I do not take glamping lightly. I certainly do not pack light. I don’t go to Burning Man with two tank tops, cargo shorts and a toothbrush. There are costumes, boots, coats, hats, lights, hula hoops, fire spinning toys, DJ gear, first aid kit, face paint… There are things whose purpose I may not discover I need until 4:47 in the morning…..

So there I was, in an all-day whiteout, schlepping my entire desert boudoir from one structure to another. But I did it. I found the couple and told them: “Take my Shiftpod. Enjoy your wedding.” ::Fuck your Burn:: I mean, is it even a burn if it’s not fucked in one way or another? (At one point the couple even suggested that perhaps we could share the shiny shiftpod. HA. I politely declined.) Trust me: you do not want me rummaging around in my closet at five in the morning trying to find matching arm warmers because Bender is playing sunrise at the trash fence and I’m not missing it.

They needed their space. I needed mine. Perfect solution. Or so I thought.

The Shiftpod Takes Flight

The next time I checked on them, they hadn’t moved into the Shiftpod. Instead, they had left Burning Man.

And they hadn’t told anybody. Well, apparently they messaged the Whatsapp group, but our promised WIFI wasn’t up and working yet (imagine that?) The Shiftpod, meanwhile, was no longer filled with the tremendous quantity of my possessions that had previously been anchoring it to the Earth. We had weighted it with some items, but apparently not well enough. The wind caught it. Several of the main poles broke. And just like that, a beautiful, functional Shiftpod—one of the camp’s most precious commodities—was unusable. This would have merely been sad and ridiculous except that my replacement tent had developed its own problem.

Dust. So much dust. It was not sealed well enough for the conditions we were experiencing. By the second night of relentless whiteout conditions, I was lying inside thinking that if I kept breathing this much playa dust while I slept, I might actually die in my orange dome.

That’s when my friends arrived to rescue me. They had decided I was moving to their camp a block away. And yes, one block at Burning Man sounds close. During a whiteout, carrying someone’s Burning Man bedroom, it is a heroic expedition. But by then I had another idea. Instead of moving everything again, why not take the cover from the now-destroyed Shiftpod and wrap it around my orange dome?

We did. And it worked. My weird little orange dust sieve became a reasonably protected desert palace. Habitable! Victory! The playa rides on, even when you’re ready to get off the ride.

And by Wednesday, I was absolutely ready to get off.

“Please, Take Me With You.”

When I finally saw the message from the British couple come through on the WhatsApp saying they were leaving because the accommodations were not what they had expected, I immediately messaged them: “Please, take me with you.” But I was too late. They were already gone.

Fine. Who else was driving out? How do I get the hell out of here? I started plotting my escape.

And then it rained. Of course. Now nobody was going anywhere.

The playa turns to a thick, sticky mud when wet, and vehicle traffic becomes impossible or severely restricted. So there I was. I had wanted out. Burning Man said no.

And I am kinda glad it did. I mean, I worked so hard; we all worked so hard to get there… might as well enjoy it a little, eh?

Radical Self-Reliance Is Not a Refund Policy

Burning Man has always demanded self-reliance. Bring what you need to survive. Help yourself. Help your neighbor. Expect the unexpected. It’s all happening.

But there is a crucial difference between radical self-reliance and paying someone thousands of dollars for accommodations and accessibility services that don’t appear. That distinction was particularly troubling because Astro Arcade had specifically presented itself as accessibility-focused. One camper later documented payments totaling at least $1,350 and said he had been promised an e-bike because an injured heel made walking difficult. Without the expected mobility assistance, he said, he was largely confined to what he could reach on foot.

Foreign travelers faced another vulnerability. If you’ve flown internationally to Reno with the understanding that your shelter, food, and transportation have been arranged, “just bring your own tent” isn’t a small adjustment. Neither is it a small adjustment for someone with a mobility disability who was counting on an e-bike. Veteran Burners can MacGyver almost anything. First-timers don’t yet know what they don’t know. And that is why I came away with the suspicion that inexperienced Burners, foreigners, and people who needed accessibility support were particularly vulnerable in this situation.

Why I Think Burners Like Me Were Instrumental into playing into the Scheme

I didn’t personally lose thousands of dollars to Astro Arcade. That fact is important. I don’t want to tell someone else’s victim story as though it happened to me. My experience was different. I had something perhaps more valuable than a prepaid package: ten Burns’ worth of social capital.

I knew people. I knew camps. I knew how Black Rock City works. I knew that when an air mattress failed, you walked somewhere else and asked. When a tent didn’t work, you found another tent. When someone else needed your shelter more than you did, you gave it to them and figured yourself out afterward.

I knew the difference between this is Burning Man difficult and something is seriously wrong here. That is why I suspect veteran Burners like me and Frank served an important function, whether knowingly or not. We made the thing survivable. We helped make it look like a functioning camp. (And I HAVE to give a HUGE shoutout to Charlene and the other folks who came together and worked their asses off to build, maintain, and strike our camp, for real! It would never have been the splendid shit show it was if it were not for you)

We figured it out. We had food. We had water. We (sortof) had a shower. We were at Burning Man! Whew.

I cannot establish from the conversations and messages exactly how much money Harris or affiliated entities ultimately collected, and claims circulating among campers that the amount may have approached $200,000 would need financial records before being presented as fact. What can be documented is that multiple campers reported paying substantial amounts for services, lodging, meals, or mobility assistance they said were missing or inadequately delivered.

Meanwhile, somehow, the camp kept functioning. Because we kept it functioning. One big happy, dysfunctional family. (Ironically, ‘Dysfunction’ was the name of my friend’s mega camp down the street that helped me get through the burn and helped me save my tent from the dust. I also need to thank Pandora’s Bikes, Wally’s World, and Spanky’s for contributing in one way or another to making the burn habitable for me. And of course all of the genuinely wonderful burners at the Astro Arcade… THEY are the true survivors.

The Camp That Campers Built

Astro Arcade didn’t completely collapse. Instead, something pretty predictble happened. The campers became the camp. People cooked. People shared food. People found water. People fixed things and coordinated. We all took care of each other and shared information. We tried to make sure nobody was stranded.

Charlene McGinnis emerged as one of the people repeatedly praised afterward for holding the operation together. Charlene “ran the fucking camp and worked her ass off,” a sentiment other campers echoed.

There were also Rangers at our camp repeatedly dealing with issues. One camp leader later said he had been visiting Rangers so frequently that, by the end of the week, they were joking about the length of Astro Arcade’s file.

One campery had an art car had had done a lot to bring in the infrastructure of the camp, later disclosed that Harris had paid him $5,000 as an art grant for the art car and another $5,000 for camp layout, flagging, and on-site coordination. He said he had worked on fuel, power, vendors, water fills, pump-outs, food delivery, and tent installation.

Again, there isn’t one simple story here. Some promised resources did arrive. Some people worked extraordinarily hard. Some people were paid. Some people got to come for free. Most paid a lot of money. Some campers had fantastic experiences. Others were miserable. Somehow all of those realities occupied the same dusty patch of Nevada.

The World’s Most Annoying E-Bike

So I managed to score one of the e-bikes, thanks to Frank, who drove them in and set one aside for me… except mine was unusually tiny! Small wheels and deep playa dust are not a match made in heaven. I wiped out several times over the course of the first few days, and then the normal bicycle functionality broke. I still had electric power, but pedaling gave me no propulsion. So as long as the battery had juice, I had transportation. When the battery died, I had a very expensive, very tiny object to push around.

And naturally, nobody could find chargers for all these bikes at camp. We were essentially sharing one charger. So if you couldn’t locate the charger when your battery needed it, congratulations: You no longer had wheels.

For somebody accustomed to bouncing from Center Camp to the trash fence to an art car to a friend’s camp to a performance and back again, this was devastating to my preferred level of chaos. Talk about cramping my style. Par for the course of the weekend…And Then Burning Man Became Burning Man Again

The rain eventually stopped. The playa dried.

THEN the desert gave us two of the most gorgeous days and nights you could ever hope to see.

Suddenly I wasn’t trying to escape anymore. I was at Burning Man. I was aware of how priviledged I am and decided to make the most of it.

I climbed the enormous, surreal Jack in the Beanstalk: Above and Below treehouse-like artwork, inspired by the artist’s little girl.

I swung on the swings. (Not the upside-down swing…I did that another year.)

I rode every art car I could catch. RedHotBev remains one of my favorites. They always seem to have the best breaks!

I took my grief to the Temple.

I performed poetry at Center Camp. I made two of my three scheduled performances. (Sorry, Friday.)

I returned to one of my favorite traditions: performing at Hair of the Dog, mixing smoothies and beats and raps on their stage.

I talked to strangers. I reunited with old friends. I danced. I wandered.

And I spent a lot of time alone. That’s an important part of Burning Man, too.

Sometimes you need to explore Black Rock City by yourself. Sometimes you need nobody else’s agenda. You ride until something catches your eye. You stop. You climb something. You talk to a stranger for an hour. You cry somewhere unexpected. You watch the horizon change. You follow music you can’t identify.

And somewhere in all of that, you get right with yourself.

One friend put it better than I could: “I thought we were coming out here just to party,” they confessed. “And if you had told me I was coming out to the desert to unpack my deep-seated trauma, defrag and reset my chi, I definitely would not have come. But I’m so glad I did!”

That might be Burning Man’s most honest marketing slogan.

From Decompression to Documentation

Once we left Black Rock City, the atmosphere in Astro Arcade’s WhatsApp group got even weirder.

The introductions and emojis became evidence. Who paid what? To whom? For what? What was promised? What actually arrived? Who had receipts? Who had screenshots? Who paid separately for meals? Who paid for accommodations? Who paid for bikes? Who wanted a refund?

One person reported paying Harris $1,100 through Zelle. She contacted Schwab and explained that she had authorized the payment but believed much of what she purchased had not been provided. The bank investigated but, she later reported, was unable to recover the money.

Other campers disputed payments as well. But one of the smartest things the group did was resist the temptation to turn outrage immediately into a verdict.

“No need to agree on whether this was a scam, mismanagement, etc.,” a camper wrote while organizing a tracker. “For now we’re just documenting facts independently.”

Radio Silence

By mid-September, campers said Harris had become difficult or impossible to reach. He had gone completely radio silent. The group began trying to reconstruct the organizational structure itself. What exactly was Astro Arcade? What was Dawn Collective? Who worked for whom? Who had been paid? Who was volunteering? Who controlled the money? Where had the camp fees gone? What happened to the e-bikes?

Why had people apparently received different versions of the same story?

The joyful pre-Burn chat had transformed into an informal investigation.

Case #00455922

Eventually, campers brought the documentation to Burning Man.

On Sept. 17, a consolidated report was submitted to Burning Man Placement and Camp Support. Case #00455922, concerning AAA Astro Accessible Arcade / Dawn Collective.

Campers were encouraged to submit their own firsthand accounts documenting what they paid, what they were promised, what they actually received, and whatever records, screenshots and photographs supported their accounts.

And that is where the factual investigation stands. Was Astro Arcade an intentional scheme? Was it a legitimate camp catastrophically mismanaged amid its organizer’s reported medical crisis? Did it begin as one and become the other? Those are questions that require evidence beyond one WhatsApp thread.

But I know what I saw. I saw people arrive expecting shelter that wasn’t there. I saw campers trying to locate basic infrastructure. I saw people who had paid for accessibility support struggle without it. I saw experienced Burners turn themselves inside out trying to fill holes they had not created. I saw an orange tent become a dust-proof palace through the creative application of a dead Shiftpod’s skin.

And I saw a group of people somehow build a community inside a camp that was coming apart.

The Burn Inside the Burn

That’s the part I keep returning to.

Astro Arcade failed to become the camp many people believed they were joining. But in responding to that failure, the people inside it accidentally created something much closer to what Burning Man is supposed to be.

We participated. We improvised. We gave away what we could and fed one another. We solved problems. We got angry. We laughed. We wanted to leave, then we were prevented from leaving. And thank God for that.

Because if I had gotten the ride I was desperately searching for on Wednesday, my Burning Man story would have ended with a broken bike, a destroyed Shiftpod, an orange tent full of dust, and me fleeing Black Rock City feeling completely defeated.

Instead, I stayed. And the weather cleared.

And I climbed things. And I danced. And I performed poetry. And I rode art cars through the night. And I took what hurt to the Temple. And I found old friends and made new ones.

And I remembered why I had come back to this impossible place for the tenth time.

There is a temptation after a terrible experience to let the terrible part consume the entire story. Burning Man doesn’t work that way. Almost nothing out there is entirely terrible or entirely beautiful. Sometimes the best night of your life happens in the middle of one of the worst weeks you’ve had in years. Sometimes a camp fails you while the people inside it save you.

Sometimes the thing you desperately want is to leave—and the rain traps you there long enough to realize you weren’t finished yet. And sometimes radical self-reliance means realizing that the desert palace you thought would be waiting for you isn’t there.

Sometimes, you have to get back on your ridiculous little half-working e-bike, and you go find the party. Because the playa rides on, even when you’re ready to get off the ride.

Astro Arcade was supposed to be a circus. In the end, it certainly was.

Just not the circus any of us thought we were joining.

Somehow, despite everything, we still got to go to Burning Man.

It kicks my ass every year. That’s what it’s supposed to do!

-MissConniption

Click here to check out the video recap!

Art, Evolution, Hip Hop, Music Festivals, Religion, Sacred Space

Meeting Ringo Starr: My Jew-Ish Journey

Posted on February 26, 2025 by Miss Conceptionaly

“We are in the business of relationships” Rabbi Paul Steinberg from Congregation Kol Shofar always told me. And he’s not wrong. “I’ve been doing this my whole life,” I thought! It all comes down to who you know… truly.

Last week at my teen youth program when we were discussing famous Jewish and people of color, the students asked me who the most famous person I ever met was. Was it the time I (think) I almost dated Max Greenfield from The New Girl? No…That may or may not have been a catfish. Was it the time I had lunch in New York with the legendary talk show host Phil Donahue? Nope. (He was super cranky! But at least he paid.)

It was most definitely the time that I was fortunate enough to meet the iconic Beatle, Ringo Starr in Chicago in 2003.

We were celebrating my father Norman’s 47th birthday with my stepmother Adina (who I introduced to my dad after my parents divorced) and my brothers Adam and Netanel. Now nobody loves The Beatles more than Norman! His new wife, Adina (I call her my other mother), has a brother who is a Rabbi in Israel and happened to be friends with Ringo’s manager who was also an Orthodox Jew. (Ari and the manager were friends in high school at a yeshiva.) Adina reached out to the manager who said yes, we could meet Ringo before the concert, during the VIP meet-n-greet. Adina asked him if there was anything that we could do to repay him, and he said “It would be great if you could bring me a kosher sandwich. I only eat Kosher food”. So we went to Ken’s Kosher Deli in Chicago. We were trying at the same time to surprise my father by meeting Ringo, so we had to hide the sandwich on the way to the concert and smuggle it into the show! Quite fun for a 17-year-old. Norm sensed that there was a surprise in store, and he wrongly guessed that my grandparents were going to be meeting us there for the concert. Little did he know that it was actually Ringo who we were there to see.

We were the last people in line with the radio ticket winners for the special meet-n-greet and we got to shake Ringo’s hand and take this photo with him. Ringo didn’t say much, he mumbled something about the song The Beatles sing about Kansas City, and we asked him if he was going to play it, to which he replied “Maybe.” (He didn’t).

But it didn’t matter. We met RINGO STARR! Thanks to a sandwich, and an old friend from college type of connection.

It wasn’t until many years later, reflecting on this event, coupled with so many other rich experiences that have happened to me over the years, that I fully realized the value of investing in relationships. You never know what you invest in in the present and how it might later impact your future… what kind of job opportunities might raise your resume to the top of the stack because of who you kept up with from college, or who on your social media friend’s list might see a post of yours and offer up some brilliant information or resource, all because you thought to ask, and they cared enough to stay in touch and nurture that relationship.

Many years later, I was working on my 3rd hip-hop album and I wanted to write a hip-hop song that my dad, one of my favorite people in the world, could relate to. I wanted to show him how the beauty of poetry and words could be so powerful, and I thought about how much my father loves The Beatles. So I went and compiled all of The Beatles song titles I could find in a list and started editing them into a story. What fell out was, to this date, probably the most proud piece of work I have ever channeled as an artist. I called it, “Let It Beatles”, and it’s a story composed almost entirely of Beatles song titles:

These things happened in my life because of the meaningful relationships I have chosen to invest in. During the decade I previously worked at my current place of employment as a Communications Associate, I strived to form and maintain these kinds of relationships with our staff and community. I stepped in as needed, covering youth group programs and social justice initiatives that were not specifically part of my job, but needed to get done nonetheless. Last year, when I was looking at returning to Kansas City from San Francisco, I like to believe that it was many of these previous relationships that helped me secure this director position in my current role.

Who knows who I might meet next!?

Check out “Let It Beatles” the poetic Tribute by Sara Nicole Glass Listen to the song here: http://bit.ly/LetItBeatles202

All of these stories are true, and I have been so blessed by so many incredible relationships. (Now if somebody could let John Mayor know that there is a nice Jewish Girl in Kansas City who is still single and looking, that would be great, thanks 😉

Oh so sincerely,
MissConception

Art, Burn, Evolution, HappeningsEvents, Music Festivals

Eventation Invocation

Posted on June 24, 2023 by Miss Conceptionaly

Why do I work in events?

My first event I ever planned was my Bat Mitzvah. Perhaps I should backtrack a bit. See I was raised in a gift shop at 95th and Nall in Overland Park, Kansas, named “Carol’s Cards and Gifts”, which my grandparents owned, and that was my daycare jumping-off point from day one – It was obvious. I was born and bread to be an event planner and comunity builder. Grandma Carol taught me how to set, size, style, and sell, and wrap gifts for the customers, amongst other things… she molded me. Eventually, she helped me plan my Bat Mitzvah party at age 13, and oh what a mitzvah it was! I went with a music theme of course, with CD/s as the invitation and music note balloons, at the downtown Windsteads 50’s diner we picked the theme and ran with it, and HELLLLLLL YEAH. That was a lot of fun. Then what?

The second event I took on was a few years later, my sophomore year of high school in my Jewish youth group when I was president of my Shoshana BBG Chapter and we had a mission to throw our annual sweetheart dance. Nobody else wanted to take the lead, so I became president and planned the dance with earnest. “I know how to throw a party, that’s easy” I thought. I deemed it: “Oooh baby, do you know what that’s worth? Oooh heaven is a place on earth!”. Invitations were ordered, the scene was set, got the venue, the menu, the DJ, and bam, did we have a ball that fall!

In 2004, I graduated high school and had my family drop me off at a music festival after my KU Orientation wrapped up, because I had bought a ticket since a band I loved (OAR- Of A Revolution) was on the lineup. I knew I was supposed to be there. I didn’t exactly know what a music festival was at the time, but my parents realized quite quickly that they were essentially dropping their young daughter off at Woodstock and she might not ever fully come back. (Thanks, Mom!) Wakarusa (named after a river in Kansas that translates to ‘ass-deep’) certainly changed my life, or opened it right up at least, and I made a commitment that I’d go to every Wakarusa every year, and eventually, be a part of it, which I did. I worked my way up at that festival, the second year hanging fliers to promote, then running their street team, moving on as an artist check-in agent, emceeing a side stage, performing a music set, and eventually running the whole fire dancing performance artist program in my last years. Ass-deep we were in that magic for 13 years. It was a calling. And I lived for it. Long live Wakarusa. Thank you for shaping me.

Now, it was at the 2nd Wakarusa where I had a VERY profound LSD trip, where this New Orleans band Galactic essentially ‘told me’ telepathically that I needed to become a rapper. “WHAT!? What did that even mean?” I questioned my reality as I freestyled in my head to their music and the whole tent would pop off … then drop off when I stopped until I freaked out and decided I was not prepared to control this whole shit-show when I needed to slow my roll and go sit and my tent and have a good long think. I woke up after that weekend even more enthused and decided to start taking this ‘shit’ seriously because music and hip-hop were not just a game or something to be taken lightly. Rather, it was a way of life, and so it was to be my lot that I had to learn how to own, on my own. What business did a white Jewish girl from Kansas have in the rap game anywho? I was about to find out and determined to prove ‘em all wrong. Or at least prove it to myself. My tongue was a gift. Mastering the craft of an emcee and poet was not to be never an easy path, but I was born for controversy, so I embraced it. MissConception never did things the easy way, hence the name. I am both sides of the coin. My mission was to defy stereotypes.

Moving through college, I ended up hosting a series of poetry slurrrrs (I refused to call it a SLAM because art should not be monetized or made into a competition; I preferred to slur my words) at the Jazzhaus of Lawrence, Kansas whilst getting a journalism degree in strategic communications from KU, nonetheless. I took poetry courses to avoid British Literature finals, which led me to quite a platform of cacophonous collaboration! I loved hosting poetry night on the 1st Wednesday of the month where we would feature various poets, artists, musicians, and whatnot sometimes back-lined by a bass player or drummer or DJ. Monday was jam night and musicians would regularly ask me to come up and ‘read a poem, we don’t care what you say, just spray some words, say something’ which it really pushed my creative edge. “You, want to hear my voice?” I thought. This voice, that I was told since a little girl to “be quiet, to hush, shhhhhhh, you’re too loud”, I heard reverberating in my subconscious. But yes, these people wanted to know what I had to say! So I said some things. And I thank you Jazzhaus to this day for popping that wordsmith cherry of mine. Because it turns out, I had a lot on my mind.

Towards the end of my Lawrence stint, in 2007, I had just graduated and I remember getting a call from my friend who was dating the writer Daniel Pinchbeck at the time, asking if I knew of a venue and could put together a showcase on psychedelics and the 2012 paradigm shift movement that was happening…. I did, and we did so. It was fucking BRILLIANT! And edgy! Talks of using psychedelics to coerce paradigm shifts of great magnitude filled the air and though my parents were pretty confused at this point, it all made sense to me. We were aligned and set to thrive on this new knowledge quest. I threw together the lineup, the music, the speakers, the vendors, and the ambiance at the newly opened Pachamamas establishment with the help of a dear friend, John Gallup Circada Rhythm, and we made some serious magic manifest. On events, I was hooked!

I must mention, it was during these years that another friend kept putting a hula hoop in my hand insisting that I MUST learn dem tricks and that hula hooping was the future! I resisted endlessly because I thought the hoopers just looked slooppy and silly, but a few more trips down some seriously syndicating rabbit holes and I too became one with the hoop. I resisted for so long, until it finally unlocked something in me I never knew possible. Funnily enough, it took learning how to hula hoop which eventually gave me enough courage to become an emcee and step up believing in myself on the mic. If I could look stupid spinning hoops around doing nothing, surely I could unleash what I was born to do: SING.

Moving back to Kansas City in 2008 attempting to hold down a “real job” on the side I started a little local poetry open mic night called Poetic Underground at the Uptown Arts Bar. Each Wednesday would be a different host to share the burden of hosting and we all took turns making sure the good spoken word art form had room to grow. After dark, I would attend these super beatnik midnight poetry candlelight readings occasionally that felt like you were in a dream and the collective consciousness of creativity was purveying alive and kicking.

It was 2011 when I get a nod from my friends everybody’s favorite hippie store It’s a Beautiful Day, who said their guy John Bukaty was looking for performance artists for a new festival called Kanrocksas. “How many people can you bring, Sara?” We brought 60 dancers, painters, movers, shakers, and performance artists, and the Vibe Tribe of Kansas City was born!

Then, in 2012, our dreams and prayers came true, when we were so heavily focused on asking the universe for a space to commune to call our own, and a bus to travel around, and BOTH of those things were gifted to us, for FREE! You cannot imagine the responsibility that comes with managing even FREE hippie events. It was our golden hour…. and in hindsight, we could have done so much more. But for one year the VibeTribeKC thrived at 5504 Troost Street, KCMO, where we hosted almost entirely free yoga and dance classes, performance arts and musical/theatrical events, and then some. Drag queens on stilts spinning ribbons? You got it. We had it. It was a vibe. But you had to be there. And it definitely wasn’t sustainable.

I was asked to produce not one, but two Fringe Festival Shows, with encouragement, thank you Cheryl Kimmi, and the KC Fringe team. I put together a full stage show and even opened for the Flaming Lips once outside of Lawrence’s downtown theater, which was an epic notch on my belt! My DJ Q used to spin beats on stilts with two tables stacked on top of each other, just to pack a punch. Two rules of show business I’ve always said: 1. Shock Value. 2. Always leave them wanting more. We owned that shit.

I quit my job twice to go to Burning Man, first in 2013, and then again in 2015 when I assured the synagogue I worked for that “I’m not coming back!” and finally meant it. I landed at a nudist resort and lived in a yurt selling high-end granola on the side to make ends meet, no joke. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…. Throwing events at the Lupin Lodge outside on those magical grounds has truly been one of the highlights of my life, and for that community, I am so grateful.

The bay has embraced me so, and while nothing tugs at the hearts strings quite like home, I am so grateful for all of the confidence and permission California granted me. Coming from the Midwest, I felt like everything I did was a little too loud. In California, all I hear is “Turn it up”. People are hungry for more innovation and ingenuity than ever before. California is definitely pushing the envelope.

Now you wouldn’t think it, but it took a global health pandemic to turn this rockstar extravert into an extremely particular introvert. My patience has dwindled over the years. I don’t have time for much bullshit anymore. I like to get right down to brass tax if I’m going to cross a bridge or dedicate any of my rare free time to something. I currently work as the Event Rentals Manager at the JCCSF and am loving the vibe here, being able to use this wealth of event knowledge I have accumulated over the years to try and help sort out people’s needs and wants for event space in the bay area. It is truly an honor to serve the various communities I get to interact with, from the Jewish folks to the Drag Queens, there is a space for you, and we’re inclusive OKAY! How can you not be?

Volunteering on the Burning Man Community Events Team has been a wonderful honor, helping procure Decompression, Precompresion, Burnal Equinox, and more. Bringing people together in the name of art and creativity is definitely my passion. Nothing pleases me more than getting everybody I love together in one room and watching them fall madly in love with each other. Magic in event work is found in synergy, and I am so blessed to be surrounded by so many talented and dedicated individuals who come together to create new experiences that keep our hearts and minds active and fresh.

So what’s next? Well, if you’re planning an event and want to take it to the next level, give me a call. We’re just getting started!

And then some,

MissConnection

Evolution, Music Festivals, Poetry, Sacred Space

Protected: Poking the Bear

Posted on June 29, 2021July 9, 2021 by Miss Conceptionaly

Burn, Health, Music Festivals, Sacred Space, social justice

The Immediacy of 12 Steps

Posted on June 26, 2020June 30, 2020 by Miss Conceptionaly

We’ve arrived. It’s 2020 and we are literally all fucking our own burns (a common phrase burners use in snarky satire, though it’s generally more of a term of endearment.) But here we are, 2020, “The Multiverse” is here, and all of our burns are fucked. For a good reason, too. Everything extracurricular SHOULD be on hold while the world (achem, excuse me, AMERICA) get’s it’s act together. It’s embarrassing we’ve let it get on this far out of hand, this toxic hold that congress has held over it’s citizens. It’s the perfect storm of a revolution. Almost as if someone or something was behind it all?

It’s honestly everything we could have ever dreamed about as far as apocalyptic criteria goes. We are smack dab in the middle of a shit-show reality fan-fare fuck fest of egos. If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention. And if you’re an artist, you’re trying to figure out how the fuck we are supposed to make any light of this all? Are we allowed to make light? Is light needed? Or maybe, we need to sit with the darkness for a while?

By now, we’ve probably all found our “safe spaces”… whatever “that” means for you. You’ve found your own weird coping mechanisms, what works & what doesn’t. You’ve learned what you can live with, and what’s a deal breaker (some are learning faster than others). Maybe it’s your mate, your best friend, or your mother that, has been your lifeline. Maybe it’s your theme camp of best friends group chat on Facebook that is keeping your chin up during the epic flood (I hear Elon is building an ark that doubles as a submarine). “Just keep treading water”

Or maybe, it’s good humor keeping you sane during this “what’s supposed to just be a phase” flu season of pandemic greatness. Maybe it’s your dog, or your job keeping you alive? Maybe it’s alcohol and Instagram that passes your time and offers you a sense of temporarily relief from the ratchet outside. Some of you are kayaking; nature is how you escape. Others are wallowing in shame and self-defeat, knowing better, but searching for a deeper rock bottom. It’s the “I really should recycle this jar, but I just can’t even give a fuck right now” general consensus that’s gnawing at our insides. Pick your poison; you’re not alone.

Usually, it’s some fantastic cocktail combo of heaven and hell that’s just tasty enough to continue to sip, nay, savor, to make it all palatable. Still the side effects cannot be ignored forever. The iceberg is dead ahead. We can’t keep eating bullshit for dinner any more. We are all thirsty for security, and at the same time justice; hungry for truth, or something remotely palatable to feel worthy of our own existence. We all want the truth, but at what expense?

So, are you leaning into your vices, or standing up to them?

I would bet that we all are leaning HARD into our coping mechanisms right about now. Whether that’s battling work, the deer in your garden, or depression. We are all out here trying to find something to live for, let alone something to die for. And to do this, we heave learned to turn to the gurus that have come before us, as we look for answers. What the FUCK are we supposed to be doing on this rock? “What can we do to help the world be a better place?” When I ask myself that question, I keep getting led back to the same thing. It starts with you. It all starts with you.

We are supposed to be doing?… The answer: ourselves. Ding Ding DING! Taking care of OURSELVES is our first priority, let alone governing our networks; it’s a full time job. If you take care of yourself properly, then the “governing of our neighborhoods” tends to shake out in the logistics, which you can observe with the study case of Black Rock City. A place where everyone takes care of themselves, while also having communal and civic responsibility to take care of others to fall back on.

Ahh, Burners, not only did we draw the map, get the permit, and bring the dance party; we also have a handbook. We have written the playbook: The Ten Principles – a brief but detailed guide to taking care of YOUR shit.

Let’s review the stuff.

1. Decomodification – No more cultural exploitation of stuff
2. Immediacy – Live in the NOW stuff
3. Participation – Take part in the stuff that interests you
4. Self Reliance – Take care of your own stuff
5. Self Expression – Strut your stuff
6. Leave No Trace – Leave no stuff behind
7. Civic Responsibility – Get involved with law and order stuff
8. Gifting – Give stuff away when you can
9. Communal Effort – Help out with stuff
10. Radical Inclusion – Anyone can participate in this stuff
11. Consent – ALWAYS with this stuff
12. Take it Outside – spread this stuff around – just DO SOMETHING!

Some principles are easier to learn and interpret and we can innately attribute value to it such as: Gifting – the art of giving freely with nothing in return. Who would have thought there was value in giving something away? That’s an easy one to start with if you’re looking for a way to bring a bit of the burner spirit into your life. What can you afford to give away? Challenge: Give something away that is unexpected, and see what happens. (Don’t forget to pay attention to the ripples, or not.)

Let’s take the principle of: Inclusion – we all know how it feels to notice someone on the outskirts and bring them into community. We know how it felt to be left out and lost; alone. Let’s challenge each there to look around and pay attention to what needs it. I invite you to consider: “When was the last time you did something inclusive, or forced yourself to participate in something that made you uncomfortable?” Here we are, feeling uncomfortable about being uncomfortable again. SIT WITH IT. Ask it questions. Work through it. When we continue to ignore what so obviously needs attention, it gets worse. That’s Karma.

Self-expression and self-reliance are obvious principles in concept, but not easy, and sometimes scary to embody. There is times to explore the inner soul workings of expression and of preparedness in life, which can take years to skim.

We may never master them completely, but the more I look at the principles and try to tackle them personally, the more I realize just how much work there is to do if you just look around your neighborhood. Before you look outside, start inside, and some of us, some of us need a program.

So, What step are you on? Let’s work ‘em. Together if you like?

So pick one… Have you mastered your leaving no trace habits (always a daily practice)? When I ask myself “am I truly acting upon my civic responsibility?” the answer is generally “well you can always do more”. And God forbid we look at immediacy these days it’s practically slapping us in the face constantly. I can’t look away. Do I have enough money and food to eat today? Do I have a roof over my head? “Yes”. Ok. That is more than sufficient and I should be grateful for another day. Coming from someone who has been a life-long habitual planner and slave to calendars and lists, it is foreign territory to not have a schedule to worry about as a crutch for my insatiable need to be productive. To do MORE. Communal effort calls… and while it’s sometimes difficult to interpret what it’s saying, and it’s calling your name right now to get out into the street and DO something that makes the world, ever-so-slightly a better place. Please. “We need all hands on deck for setting up camp. This means you.”

People are jumping in with unexpected skills. This is where creativity and out of the box thinking is a welcome sport. On the decomodification front, a phenomenon is happening in the most obscure ways all over the interwebs. Leave it to the alt TikTok kids to start creating accounts like “OfficialPurell” and “BurgerKingMerchandize” to fuck with the system and take the power back from advertisers trying to capitalize on the creativity of our youth. “Shame on you for thinking you can dupe us for so long” Commodification: the world we live in depends on it. But it doesn’t have to rule our every decision. If you are commodifying, because let’s face it, we’re all capitalists like it or not, then take a look at where you are spending your money. Are we investing in a better world? Trash is a serious matter in this reality, and you better be able to pack out your own.

“You vote with your wallet. Your dollar bill is your ballot ” – Wookie Foot

Thinking and acting local with intention and mindful environmental responsibility has never been more front and center. The time to take a stand for justice and equality has never been more available. It’s almost as if… as if the 2012 Mayan prophecies are all coming to fruition, slowly and painfully. Let that sink in as we switch gears into: The Multiverse and take everything we have learned from Black Rock City and apply it for real; as needed.

It couldn’t get any clearer. Burning Man’s Caveat put out a great article (Burning Man Culture in the Time of the Plague) about the Multi-verse that we have literally manifested for ourselves and that we are now currently building. REAL TIME. Taking the burn “out into the world” without a playa to even look forward to, kind of puts a whole new spin on the realities of this life that we spend so much energy building for ourselves. What if the default would could be different? What’s if there isn’t this make believe alternative reality, but instead, that world is the default?

Right now, I am so fortune that my life is literally turned into a theme camp. My car has become a stage. My clothes are my costumed representation of justice and freedom. The food I eat represents what I want to put into my body… and, yes, I really need to work on my civic responsibility, so that I can assure that everyone in my neighborhood and in this country has the right to a quality life, just as I have.

We owe it to all of those who have died in the face of privileged injustice. We owe it to our ancestors, to put this world back together again, properly.

“We are going to need a bigger temple”
Burning Man Podcast: https://burningman.org/live/

A friend of mine shared this graphic novel of the death rate of the highest causes of death since January, and it is truley alarming:

https://public.flourish.studio/resources/embed.js

This is only another reminder of the seriousness of the state of the world it is that we live… this multiverse is complex, and there are many unknown territories to explore, channels to swim, and battlegrounds to cross before we can celebrate our pilgrimage again as burners. Until then, we must yes, bring our burner flare out into the world, but continue to do so with the love and tact and compassion and this revolution needs right now. Our attention to detail. Our humor. Our work ethic. Our kindness and generosity. Those qualities are needed now more than ever. We are all rangers, and we are all here to help. We are all comfortable with the uncomfortable, and it’s time to buckle our seatbelt.

We are not through the finish line with this Pandemic… no, we are crossing this dessert. All of us. It might take many generations, but we are not turning back to the old way of things “working” just fine. Fine is not fine at all any longer. We are not giving in to slavery and warfare and military state intimidation tactics anymore.

Maybe you’re a perfect human being body, who has already mastered all of these steps in a past life and now have one of those convenient holier-than-thou righteous badges proudly on your arm… I beg of you, to please, help teach the world these ways. We must take these principles, these concepts, and gift them freely to anyone and all who are ready leave this toxic relationship for good.

It’s a lot to pack in, and it’s the lightest I’ve ever packed for this burn, now that this burn it’s my LIFE. I never thought that I would miss the dust SO much.

I wonder, does the dust miss us when we are gone?

Love,
MissConditioning

Burn, Music Festivals

The Future Burning Bright

Posted on April 1, 2020April 17, 2020 by Miss Conceptionaly

Dear Burning Man,

  We are at a ground-breaking point in history where what we wan’t doesn’t exactly pair up with what we need. Our communities need us more than ever right now, and it is our civic responsibility to do what is right for the greater good of humanity, as burners. We have the resources, and now it is time to act. Many of us are already acting, and it’s incredible to see what the outcome of such synergy can create.

  As madly in love with the Black Rock Desert and all of it’s citizens that I am, I think it necessary for us to consider pressing pause on Black Rock City for one year. Even “IF” the “ban” is lifted next month, it is still obvious we are in crisis, and have been for years. The world needs our burner love, compassion and expertise right now more than ever, not just because of our resources and our ability to get shit done and connect the dots, but mostly to serve as a good examples of HOW to take care of people. ALL people, not just ourselves.

What’s if we took all of this energy and talent and put it into bolstering the civic common good? “If” Burning Man is cancelled and we instead use this as an opportunity to make a very large PR statement about what our values are as burners, think of the impact that could have on the world. If Burning Man could publicly encourage it’s citizens to take our resources, skills, and efforts and put it into our local communities, Burners Without Borders style, we could literally revolutionize the world.

Already theme camps have made this decision to pull out of this year’s burn based on the hit that their communities are taking. A plethora of regionals have already taken the step of canceling this year’s engagements. People in our community from across the globe are struggling financially more than ever and they need our help. Let’s support OUR people (and all people) in crisis now.

Nobody wants to go back to that desert to heal and celebrate more than this burner right now, but I know in my heart what the right thing to do is.  Black Rock City is my FAVORITE city in the world. It will always be there for us. And we will always be citizens, but now is the time to act bigger than just our Mecca. WE have to help the world HEAL, not just ourselves, but every person. That’s what radical inclusion, civic responsibility and gifting is all about, after all.

It’s time to make a statement, and a very loud one. Let’s take our money and put it where our mouth is, and show the whole world what these principles are really about.

Until we meet again, stay strong and healthy,

MissConception

EDIT: Burning Man did decide indeed not to go back to the Black Rock Desert this year. Instead of course, we are attending “The Multiverse”, and doing just what is talked about above, which is bringing BRC to the world. Thank you CEO Marion Goodell for your decision making, passion, and your message:

Burn, Evolution, Music Festivals, Sacred Space

iBurningMan

Posted on September 11, 2018September 12, 2018 by Miss Conceptionaly

The first time I rolled up to Burning Man in 2013, fresh off the festival circuit, I arrived at 6 AM, after being on the road for three days and in line for 10 hours, it got real. I jumped out of the car and the first thing I said to this stranger was: “I really like your necklace“ shyly, just trying to drum up conversation. He looked at me and said “UGH fine take it.“ And handed me the necklace, exasperated. Two strangers offered me some chocolates, I politely declined, and then promptly I hopped on my bike and rode towards “The Man” like I was supposed to. The first thing I encountered? A scene of people, full blown working out with barbells and equipment in front of these giant BELIEVE letters, as the sun was rising; I knew that this wasn’t just a party or an experience to be taken lightly. This was evolution in motion.

-Burning Man 2013: Da Vinci’s Workshop-
A group of body builders pumping iron at sunrise by this Believe sign .
Letters by by: Laura Kimpton with Jeff Schomberg

 This year, 2018, the art was unlike anything I’d ever fathomed. There was the iSheep, a roaming pack of sheep, that if you were nice to them they would let you ride them. If you didn’t ask consent, they were mean sheep, and would yell at you, so I am told. Could never find those buggers.

-iSheep by: Bardia Saeedi, DC Regional Artists-
from: Alexandria, VA

IF you were lucky enough to find “The Pole”, a random lite up pole, and you were lucky enough to know just the right way to shake your head, you would see the most incredible faces within the motion of your eyeballs. WHAT!? ETIPADO as it was called is a mysterious strobing pole. It displays images captured from an antique camera, but the secret to viewing them must be discovered.

-Said pole Installation titled ETIPADO: Extremely Tall Image Processing And Display Object-
by: Grant Patterson from: San Francisco, CA

Meanwhile, THESE poles were also amazing…and much easier to see. Made of 11,000 hanging LEDs in a volumetric field, these concentric pathways of light interpret movement and sound, mimicked shadows in a visual form throughout.

-Galactic Meadows- by Spectral Form out of SF-

I found out the rainbow runway arches were ACTUALLY demonstrating the speed of sound, and that art cars could actually hook up to the runway with a software that Robot Heart developed and play their set. Then the music that plays shows the wave frequencies that are displayed in lights down the whole the row.

Then there was the polar bear made out of white car hoods, advocating polar bear environmental safety. “Singularity” was the house, in a birdcage, in a house, inside a birdcage inside a house, and it was burned in the name of dispelling depression and honoring those that have suffered. “Let U.S Prey” was made out of pennies, nickles and dimes, 27,000 coins to be exact, or so I heard.

-Let U.S. Prey by: Mr and Mrs Ferguson-
from: Alameda, CA

Burning Man really is like a beautiful train wreck that you can’t stop watching, even though you know it might not end well. Boop. Maybe it’s not as big of a crash as expected, but worth watching none the less. Even those overturn that have chosen not to return after burning for how ever many years, are still watching, because they know the magic of Black Rock City. This year, even Skirllex was amazing #shocking. You really never know with this place…

The drone light show coming from Amsterdam was an absolutely mind-blowing performative artwork at the interface between technology, science, and art. “Franchise Freedom” exposed the tension between individual freedom and safety in numbers, and was choreographed to music composed and played by Joep Beving. The patterned movements of the 600 drones apparently were based on the patterns of bird flights. I saw a hand beckoning the crowd to approach the Mayan Warrior. Perhaps I was just hallucinating?

Burning Man 2018 Studio Drift’s Amazing Luminous Drone Swarm & Mayan Warrior Dutch composer Joep Beving from ruprecht studios on Vimeo.

At sunrise on Tuesday morning, some circus friends I know presented a performance art piece called: “Straight No Chaser – The Great Straight Escape” … An escape artist was hanging upside down from a hot air balloon near the temple, and she did it!

-Strait No Chaser : The Great Strait Escape by: LadyBEAST and GatorDox-
from: Oakland, CA

This ridiculous city has taught me more about freedom, and about who I never would’ve thought I would become, over the past four years. I’ve showered with total strangers in a completely non-sexualize way and felt so empowered afterwards #carcuswash. I’ve eaten ribs and salmon a top of a giant glowing pirate ship at five in the morning while Crystal Method the artist danced beside me. #pearlnecklace I’ve had more synchronistic and unexpected magical experiences in the middle of nowhere in one week then probably in my whole life before burning man combined. #ttitd

 
-Still trying to locate the project name-

This was a circus of light up wheels, that had traveled fixe desserts, and was destined for Black Rock City. Every night 15 volunteers committed 4+ hours of their time to walk these wheels to the larger inner playa installation and dance in loincloths for onlookers! What a spectacle! I still don’t know what to call it.

Speaking of names, one day, while hanging at my camp, the Pandora Bike and Fix it Shoppe bar, a women came up and when I asked what her name was, she said she didn’t have a playa name. My co-bartender, “Bish” said while she poured the girl a drink “Well silverbell, it’ll come when you’re ready”. The girl and I both looked at each other and I said “That’s it! That’s your name!” She said she liked it, and then I reached down and pulled off the bracelet of silver bells I had just put on minutes earlier, that I hadn’t worn in years, and promptly handed her the bracelet, deeming her Silverbell. And that’s how the they get you… before you know it, you’re covered in dust and loving it.

Oh yes, I have fallen in love with the dust… just the smell of it turns me on. This strong, smooth and sultry salt bed dust gets into everything, and yet I still can’t get enough of it. It’s in the air you breathe it’s in the food you eat and it’s definitely in the places you sleep and play and worship and dance and shit and cry and bathe… It becomes a part of you. It connects you to everything else through the vibrations that you can literally see the music waves pulsating through a dust storm. In the morning light you can see the dust kicking up off of art car wheels as they roll five miles an hour across the playa, spiraling out into fractals; it’s really a sight for sore eyes. #goggles.

This dust reminds me of sugar and every other white powder that’s worth indulging in, it serves a purpose and an important one at that. This dusty powder is a way of life; it is a medicine. And while it may not be the most logical, rational or economical “medicine” you’ve ever heard of, once you’ve tried this Kool-Aid, you’re going to want to go deeper. Down whichever rabbit hole you choose! There’s lots to explore. Even sober ones, it’s true.

This year, as I was biking Sunday pre-event, alone, across the playa under the stars, night one of my 2018 adventure, I realized that I was laughing, and crying, and singing and dancing, sweating and breathing heavy, and jumping WHILE riding my bike, all at once, and I couldn’t help but think “this is the closest to a religious experience as anyone in this day and age will ever get.” In that moment I felt invincible and ecstatic, like I hadn’t felt since I was a little girl. I felt like my true self, finally come into perfect alignment. How long can it last?

-The Alter of Intention-
by: Daniel Strickland, Vinicius Luz, M.Emoto Institute, Brazilian Burners
from: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  Two weeks later, in the throughs of decompression and after burn withdraw, I still think that it’s worth every bit of energy and sacrifice, though a harder pill to swallow in my grumpy state. If you’ve never gone from hell to heaven and back again in two week’s time, it’s impossible to fathom the gravity of the circumstances. If you haven’t at least considered quitting your job and going to Burning Man, than this might not be for you.

Is it worth it? Absolutely. And I’ve lost 15 pounds! Burning Man is truly the pilgrimage of many lifetimes that I waited way too long to take. Black Rock City is forever etched onto my heart and pulses through my veins, daily, calling me to return home as soon as possible. 360 days we must wait. But the burn doesn’t just stop there, you know…. #openseasame

  One of the most important facets of deeming yourself a burner is taking these principles that you operate under out into the world, pre and post burn. Otherwise, what is the point? Many of us struggle with the dreaded “exclusiveness” and “waste of resources” dilemma. Believe me, us burners are well aware of the discrepancies and issues within our community that are all over the news. “With all that money spend on a 747 we could have fed hundreds of starving children”, is an absolutely valid argument that many of us within and outside the organization have voiced and battled with each other concerning, but it’s really not up for ANYONE to decide whether or not something is art. The point is, we are out there, pushing the envelope in a very raw and real way. We build a community from scratch, and with that comes all kinds of pulses. The challenge with any community, and especially one of this force, is that you have the best of humanity, and also the worst of humanity, all under one roof. I do want to point out that radically inclusive doesn’t mean you have to include the rapist or the thief; but discovering who these people are is the hard part, as people are good at hiding in a crowd.

 As you’ll see within any city, you’ll find just about everything you look for. Bars, yoga studios, dance parties, parades, restaurants, balloon rides, roller skating rinks, temples, you name it, it’s at Black Rock City. Funnily enough, this year AND last year I had my megaphone stolen right out of my bag on burn night, when I wasn’t looking. It’s a small price to pay for a week of fulfilling magic, but still, it is a reality we are facing as a community. Just because you’re in an utopian society doesn’t mean you don’t still have to watch your back.

***WANTED: Silver megaphone, small frame, connected to swell rainbow water bottle inside a hemp-laced carrying case. REWARD IF FOUND***

One night an obviously disheveled woman came in to my camp. She asked if she could buy a drink which we explained to her there was no money used at Burning Man once you arrive. I asked her how she got there and she explained that her boyfriend had brought her she never heard of Burning Man she had never heard of the 10 principles and she wasn’t sure where she was going to sleep that night as her boyfriend had kicked her out and left her. She disappeared before I could get a ranger, after she realized she was most certainly out of her element. It was a tragic story and situation that really hurt my heart. But that’s what happens, you get all walks of life.

  Every year the playa energy changes, physically, emotionally, spirituality, and weather wise of course. This year, the pulse was running hot, in my opinion. The virgin burners were prepared, the veterans seemed patient, lines were shorter than ever, and the flow was smooth, mostly until Wednesday night. I could feel a very direct shift in attitude once the city went from the week long committed artists and city builders to the weekend warriors who just show up to party. It’s an interesting observation to attend to.   

Still, it’s important to recognize that what you chose to pay attention to is what you will find at the burn. If you want to stay cranky at entitled assholes all week long, than that’s what you’ll see. I choose to focus on the art, music and friendships that we built. The best part about Black Rock City is the intensity of which things happen. Time speeds up. Emotions are heightened. Strength gets stronger. Weaknesses become glaringly obvious. Anything you haven’t dealt with in your immediate force field will rear it’s little head and say “you better check this right now or we’re gonna ruin your burn”. Happens every year, even to the best of us. The burn you want and the burn you need are never the same thing. Usually they balance each other out.

 They say “the playa provides” bla bla bla… I say, YOU provide, for yourself and for your community. Almost every time I indeed needed something, it was right there, all I had to do was voice my desire aloud. I came as self prepared as possible, and then went out of my way to help others because that’s what you do with communal effort and civic responsibility. It’s a team effort, when it comes to building a city, running it, and then also tearing it down, it requires everyones help. If you don’t give, you won’t get. Everything is temporary here, and that’s part of the magic.

-Galaxia Temple 2018-
By the incredible Temple Crew

  Speaking of magic, or the unexplainable, the Temple comes to mind. Never before in my four years of Burning have I felt a connection to the temple. I would go, stop in, look around and leave feeling sad for others and underwhelmed for myself. I didn’t get it. But everything changed this year.

This year I took my broken ass heart to the temple and gave it away… by that I mean, I took a paper flower for every man who has broken my heart and released it into the spiral abyss of flame. Apparently I wasn’t the only one on this train of though, as the temple was FILLED with wedding dresses, old letters from ex lovers and notes to abusive partners saying “we will no longer stand for this treatment”. “Fuck your narcissism” and “Fuck cancer” It was so powerful, you could feel the thickness of tension, and when it burned on Sunday night, I could also feel the release. The vortex was undeniable, and some of us swore that Larry was even there, in the dust. Check out this video of the dirt devil tornado that surprised us all towards the end of the temple burn. I learned that at Burning Man people call these tornados “ancestors”.

Now I’d like to remind those who don’t know that the “theme” of “burning man” this year was iRobot, which didn’t please my tastebuds at all, initially. In response I chose to moonlight as Dorothy the Burning Man iRobot, who was created thanks to the Radicals Brining Back Ritual campaign, and she was sent to Burning Man to protest robots. Sponsored by the Anti Bot Coalition, the ABC didn’t end up having to protest in the end, when it seemed to be that the humans were a bigger part of the problem than the bots, however I felt like my mission was a valid one. “Who are these robots, and why are they taking over my burn? I miss Radical Ritual…”

-Fractal the Turtle and The Nonsense Man and a Robot @ The Man 2018-

In the end, iRobot did turn out to have a very certain charm, and certainly put the tech folk to work. Thank you Silicon Valley. These are our hard earned tax dollars at work here folks.

As a lady who comes from the land of Oz, I used to think tornados were terrifying; these ones are ADORABLE. People chase them around, they carry dust and sparks and ashes with them sometimes. There truly is something for everyone at Burning Man, and these ancestors are for me. It was love at first sight.

  As in love with this aspect of the burn that I am, there are others that chose not to attend the massive fires, ever. For some, it’s too crowded. Others, too painful. And it’s my responsibly to accept that and support their decision, as much as it doesn’t make sense to me. Everyone is there for a particular reason and season… no judgement. No blame. No shame. As long as your participating best as you can, then you are welcome

I chose to spend my pre-burn doing placement for my camp (Pandora’s bike and fix it Shoppe), working for the Artery (the art placement department, where we also do artist hospitality and give art tours for the mobility challenged) as well as performing several shows too, at center camp, theme camps and beyond. Learning about the art was invaluable, and being able to share with others “oh yeah, THAT hut is called LISTEN and you can go broadcast your heart beat through the speakers” was so special. I sacrificed sleep for sunrises and moments with FAMILY that I will cherish forever. I learned SO much, and most of all what I took away from this year’s burn was that all you can do is “Let it go”. Memories can live on, but the emotion and attachment to all things material and even surreal, we must let it go. And it felt REAL damn GOOD to let shit go. I had a lot of shit. I feel 800 times lighter. I feel like myself again, and I am so grateful for all the souls I encountered that made sure to tell me that I was on track and in alignment. THANK YOU. You know who you are.   

-In Every Lifetime I Will Find You by: Michael Benisty, Love and Unity-
from: Brooklyn, NY

I learned the first year I went, in 2013, not to come to something of this magnitude with our your BEST FRIENDS around you. You’re going to want them there. And every year, I leave the burn thinking “God, I totally have to bring my mom to this.” Maybe next year ma?

Now, if you THINK You can’t make it to Burning Man, you know your options, right? First of all, set an intention to go, take off work, and TRY to get a ticket. Pay attention. See what happens. If it comes easy, then it’s a go, and if there’s resistance, LISTEN. Next year will be better anyway!

Second mission: find a regional, or start your own if you must, even if it’s in your backyard. Build something. Burn. It. Do something weird. Dress up. Go out. Start conversations. Be YOU.

Third, check out Burners Without Borders, or just start researching the burn culture in general an see where it takes you. Pick a principle and dive in unpacking it. People make all sorts of sacrifices to attend a burn. I always say “some people choose football, some people play golf, some join a gym… I choose to burn”. It’s become a way of life, like having breakfast, or playing tennis. The sacrifices I’ve made always are outweighed by the benefits. And every single day I think, “how can I turn the default world into a real life burn?” Maybe it already is… but one person can’t play THIS game. It takes a communal effort.   If the world is your burn, what’s your next move? Be bold. No apologies. Go after what you believe in. And don’t ever let anybody tell you how to live your life. Especially burners, if it doesn’t jive with your soul.

-Taken at the Morris Burner Hostle in Reno, August, 2018-

  Burning Man started as a social experiment, and continues to unfold and evolve at it’s own pace and stride. Sure, there are organizations and the organization itself, but nobody is in the captain chair saying “this is who we are booking and this is the kind of art we are going to make”. Nope. That’s up to US. And that’s where WE need to take the power and make it something we can be proud of. I’m talking about functional art. Art that serves a purpose and makes the city or world a better place. For instance, I’d like to see an art installation grant for composting and decorative bathroom for deep playa, that are burned at the end of the week (waste removed). Or maybe a water fill-up oasis in the middle of the dessert, with water goddesses reciting poetry, filling up your hearts and your drink vessels at once. I’m not sure if/when I’ll have the resources to do such activities, but it’s fun to fantasize.

(I haven’t even gotten started on the art car scene… To be continued…)

  City-wise, San Francisco and Reno are both already doing a stellar job of incorporating burner art and functions into their city, and so I challenge you to look around at your community and your city of choice. Where is the need? What are the needs? What are your resources? And how can we turn this shit up a notch. Because the dial is going to keep moving, it’s just a matter of which direction.

Buckle up buttercup.   And burn bright friends.

Check out ALL of the art at Burning Man here on the website

Until next year….  MissCompact  

-MissConcompact the Unicorn Barbie! “Put ‘er in your pocket”-

Yeah   Burning Man 2018 dang came and went.
It’s been a good run, time and play well spent
The gate was on point and the greeters greeting blow for blow
With so many more virgins there was lots of room to grow
Watching the sunrise never gets cold
with your new best friends but especially the old.
The dance floors were banging, the fires, oh so lit
“Hey can I borrow some self reliance a bit?”
I brought a band of newbies and they did just fine…
(except one of them) leaving no trace, most of the time.
We all get a bit sloppy sometimes, it’s true
but it’s our civic responsibility to take care of ALL our moop.
So I’ll look after you, you look after me, too
as this cultural utopia blooms into an interfuse
That connects us to our art, our heart, also our dark
and is there no safer way to explore this part?
Surrounded by radical self whatever you call it
making it a point to give freely, no wallet.
It’s an exchange of wonder, magical by design empowerment…
Show me your tricks and I’ll show you mine, with consent.
Whatever intention you put into the effigy or temple
let it unfold, truth be told, baby steps, keep it simple
Usually the burn you want isn’t the thing you need,
but if you pay attention to the lessons and processing
With our reflections can grow what’s been unfurled
as we take these teachings from the burn into the real world.
So thanks for playing. Better luck next year’s turn.
And if you don’t mind, would y’all quit fucking my burn?

-Burning Man 2018 iRobot pre Temple Burn #Pandora-

Music Festivals

Waka Waka Wakarusa

Posted on May 6, 2015May 7, 2015 by Miss Conceptionaly

Precursor: Accuracy of dates and information are as reliable as my memory. Please forgive any inaccurate facts, as being ass-deep into this experience for 12 years leaves some room for misconceptions.

I attended my first Wakarusa in 2004, when I was 18. My friend told me to buy a ticket that some great bands would be there. I loved OAR and they were the headlinder, so it seemed like a reasonable experience. When my parents dropped me off at my camp site, they almost didn’t let me get out of the car. After having my eyes blown open to a culture I had known very little about, I told myself I would go every year if I could afford it, and that I would never look back.

The second year, I remember spending $79 on my ticket (I got the early bird special). Wilco and Gov’t Mule were apparently a big deal? Lawrence, KS never looked so good that summer going into sophomore year of KU. Chipotle sponsored a food/music tent, and it was the greatest event known to man in my eyes. Andrew Walker wore a red speedo with Trey Anastasio’s face and I spent most mornings on a fallen tree branch that hung out over Clinton Lake, thinking to myself “why couldn’t we live like this every day? In some sort of village…. with our friends. And great music. And good food and art?” I’m an idealist, what can I say…

2006 I joined the art team. Terribly proud, we painted street signs and snarky reminders like “wear sunscreen” which hung all over the festival and promptly got stolen. Lesson: Make art that is indestructible and that won’t walk off. Meet me at the piano is a great example.

That year I slept on top of my car because there was a spider in my tent. The Flaming Lips were there, wearing orange hazmat suits and doing what appeared to be very silly, yet important work, all weekend. My friend tried to buy me a hula hoop, but I said no. Didn’t really look like my thing… I can tell you that Michael Franti changed my life, though.

The 2007 lineup was fresh. I took it upon myself to run the Wakanvas, a giant piece of plywood that was an open canvas for anybody who wanted to paint. It was a lovely experience…these people worked on it all weekend and it was incredible. I walked away for a short while on Saturday night and somebody covered the entire mural with black paint while I was out, ruining this amazing piece of art. Lesson: Don’t leave important projects unattended. Anything is possible at Wakarusa.

2008 I became an intern for Pipeline Productions, working for the Barrett brothers in Lawrence, KS. In 2009 I began working on the street team, handing out fliers in Lawrence and KC in exchange for my ticket. I was more than thrilled with this arrangement. That was the year of C-mon and Kypsi. Another story, for another time, but I think it’s safe to say that weekend still may have been the best weekend of my life, to this day.

Then the next year, everything changed. The arrangements in Lawrence became heated. From what I understand, the police situation was getting a little outrageous, and the festival itself was damaging the National Park land of Clinton Lake. The festival made a decision to move the event to Mulberry Mountain, outside of Fayettville, Arkansas, however at first, nobody trusted it. In reality the magic was never lost. The festival’s original name stemmed from the Wakarusa river in Kansas, from a native word literally meaning “ass-deep”. Mulberry Mountain and the wacky nature of Wakarusa itself, never ceased to fulfill that title.

2010, The Black Crows headlined, and I’ve never seen a show like that again. STS9 was a staple at this point. G Love. Galactic. Yonder Mountain. EOTO. JJ Gray. Everybody that was anybody was there. I was thankful to be there, in Arkansas, the year I FINALLY learned how to hula hoop… and I wanted MORE.

Wakarusa allowed me bring a small team of fire spinners to help with the crowd entertainment. We called ourselves, the Vibe Tribe. Cicada Rhythms hosted a spoken word intermission featuring MissConception and Nightlife Jones. It was a good year for artists. That year Widespread Panic took the lead with Umphrey’s McGee, and Wookiefoot came on the scene. Spoonfed Tribe met The Heavy Pets, and it was all smooth on the Waka front.

2011, the vibe came on strong, with Thievery Corporation and Mumford and Sons to name a few. I worked the artist check-in that year, and while it felt like one small step for my kind, it was a tough position because I missed all the action! I wanted to be out in the thick of it. Not just experiencing the festival, but participating in it. Creating it. This experience gave me a huge appreciation for the people who run and work this festival, all of the volunteers and Pipeline Staff, who work endless to create this experience for us. THANK YOU WAKARUSA for doing it right.

2012 Pipeline brought Primus and Girl Talk…. OMG! What more do you need? I upped my game by bringing a team of 30 people and we created an artistic village, with light up jelly fish puppets, workshops and costumes galore. MissConception and the VibeTribe even had a set that year at the Satellite stage. Maybe a highlight of my performance career. The year there were storms. It was hard, on everyone. But NOBODY was prepared for 2013.

“Muckarusa” was a very real experience. Humbling. If you’ve never tromped around in nine inches of mud for four days, you really haven’t lived on the edge. It doesn’t matter who was playing, half of it was cancelled. I really only remember Snoop Lion bombing. Nobody had fun. Everybody was miserable. Nobody ever wanted to go back again. Ever. It was a low moment for the Waka crew. But it only made us stronger.

I went back. Those of us, who died hard the year before, we STILL went back. I went back namely because of the shrine that was built for Toby Keith out of the broken tents and chairs when all of the shows were cancelled during the mud storms. I went back because of the moment we were under Yosh’s geo dome and the tarp ripped off by the rain and we all scattered like ants for safety. I went back because, how could it get ANY MORE insane, right? I went back because that is the exact kind of wacky-waka spirit that was there since the beginning, and I couldn’t not see how it was all going to go down.

The only thing that could have saved 2014 was the String Cheese Incident… and by golly they did. By the grace of the Gods and the String Cheese Incident, Wakarusa prevailed… It was the Greatest Show on Earth. It was everything you would want in a festival and more. It was home, again. Bassnector, Wookiefoot, the Flaming Lips, Infected Mushroom, Edward Sharpe, John Butler, Claude Von Stroke, Nahko. That 1 Guy. It was BIG. We were larger than life.

Proudly, as this year’s the 2015 Live Art Coordinator for the Wakarusa Music Festival, it is with my whole heart that I jump into this experience year after year…. knowing that there is no greater place on earth for my soul, than ass-deep amongst my best friends rockin’ out to Slightly Stoopid, spinning fire beneath those mountain stars – it’s EXACTLY where I need to be June 4-7th. You buy the ticket, you take the ride, and you never know what you’re going to find…. but I find comfort in knowing that at Wakarusa, it’s going to be something interesting that leaves me begging for more. Wakarusa. “Where music meets mother nature”. This year it is with deep gratitude that we bring to you not only more live painters and interactive art, with an emphasis on participation and circus entertainment, installations and also with a focus on leaving no trace. You can attend a solar workshops. Reusable and functional art are the goal.

I look forward to making it to Mulberry Mountain every year, and for many years to come. Thank you Wakarusa community for sticking it out and making this so all so magical! Until next year, you have my heart, Wakarusa. You always will.

Love,

MissConception