Planet: Black Rock City / NV

8.28.08
Burning Man. The desert is harsh, but pocketed with creation. Flames and lights erupt into the sky for no purpose. The people shake their bodies like they are in pain, but it appears upon further inspection that it is happiness that guides them. I do not know though.

It is not obvious what God they pray to or what leader they answer to, unless their be a god of celebration.

I have experienced much in a short time with my new body. Dust in all of my creases and coating my skin. Burns from the fiery sun high in the sky. I ate a waffle. It had maple syrup and ham and cheese. It is now all the fuel that I require. We spoke through music. People stopped, watched, and listened. Some of them shook their bodies in celebration. Some made loud sounds that I could not understand, and some of them continued traveling by, unaffected. Do they understand what we are communicating? Have we given ourselves away? Do they care?

My initial strategy of pretending to be a native human, from the star they call “seattle”, does not seem to be necessary. I tell them I am from another galaxy, and they smile. Perhaps they are as well.

Darkness approaches on this fourth rotation of their spaceship I’ve landed on. The surface transforms in the darkness. Spikes and flames of light decorate the land and blend into the sky. It reminds me of the lengthy fourney through the universe to get here. People don’t communicate anymore through words and stares. It is much more dangerous. I prefer the day. The blackness reminds me of traveling on. For this time in space, I would like to stay.

There is much to learn from this culture of peace. There appears to be no slavery, war, or subjugation. People move, express, and celebrate freely without fear of persecution. This is the natural state that I hoped to discover in response to the message of their president Eisenhauer. We must find him.

8.30.08
Last night we approached communication through a new experiment. Our calculated musical program tuned, rehearsed, and air locked. The waves that we have spent years crafting, we left them all behind, and embraced the new strange galaxy. We surrendered to its stars and lights, letting the native environment calibrate our human senses and responses. The sound trickled out at first, but the pressure soon exploded into a rocket explosion. The sound waves blasted down through the desert, and the energy was theirs. It built, it built, and built. And then it was gone.

Against the corner of cust and blackness, we explored the empty wasteland and found that it was anything but empty. To get our bearings, we located the tallest structure on the wasteland. As we got closer, the structure came alive with the movement of humans. Ascending and descending in their pods. All dressed in uniform, most in loose or no formation. The calm chaos here does not seem possible back home.

Our haggared crew ascended the stairs to the highest point of the structure. We joined the flow of energy, and I found myself wondering why all of these beings gathered here. Were they also on missions from far galaxies? Marooned from failed engines? Or traveling barterers who live off of dust, wind, and small shafts of neon light hanging from their necks and feet? They all seemed to share a common understanding and code, and yet they seemed as confused as we were. No on asked questions or stood in our way. We reached the top. Lights. The city forms a sunken halo in the desert wasteland. Flames spurt irregularly throughout the perimeter. Fuel mysteriously exists in abundance. Lasers fight something invisible in the sky. It is not clear how long this battle has been raging, or what caused it, but it continues as far as the eye can see. We still come in peace.

We descended the tower and inspected the lights. Large geometric shapes that fit simply together. Small portholes of light growing from the surface where people gather and stomp in attempts to control them. I find myself losing the calculated logic of scientific inspection in favor of flying by instinct. I don’t know what they are fighting or celebrating, but I find myself celebrating and even forgetting to ask why. Most of the lights that we tried to control did not respond. We still have much to learn about this place. NIGHT. “I am alive!” That’s what they were yelling as the wind carried dust across the surface at high speeds, forming swirls that mad eeverything else invisible. This made it easy for people to find all of the others who were also alive. Once they found eacother, they embraced and leaked liquids from their eyes. I am learning to dance. It appears to be the most used mode of mass communication without amplification. All one must do is use one’s body as a speaker. It sounds easy, but there are many different speakers. Some attach themselves to eachother. Some make their own sounds. Some do not look very appealing. And some are very magnetic. I find myselft wanting to be magnetic.

Like us, they worship fire here. The large solar object that their spaceship orbits appears to have some significance. They have learned to recreate it at their whim. Last night they created a large fire a t the center of the weasteland. It ate the monument that we had been using to orient ourselves since arrival. More screaming. More dancing. The fire aate slowly and then it ate fast. The people ran towards it., surrounding it in a ring so that it would not escape. It did not escape. But it has been showing up in smaller displays throughout the wasteland. I fear it may be a virus, perhaps we are already carrying it.