| In the News
Gray-B-Gon
By Larry Breed
The water situation was growing desperate at the Beacon camp, that Wednesday in 2005. Fresh water had been plentiful on Monday, and now every available container was filled with graywater, with more, always more, on the way. Graywater is runoff from kitchens, showers, and sinks (but not toilets). It's a major aggravation at Burning Man because it's highly unsanitary (bleach helps) and because there is no easy disposal method. The rules -- and courtesy and common sense -- prohibit dumping graywater on the Playa: participants must cart it out, pay the porta-potty company (one of the few examples of real-world commerce at Black Rock City) to suck it up, or do something truly creative to make it disappear.
It's no surprise that some Burners were already intrigued with the problem, and had created solutions ranging from super-sophisticated to super-simple. At the high end were complete water purification systems. BRCMUD camp's "Freshmakkur" filtered, flocculated, and purified, and watered a domeful of plants with the result. In another camp of sanitation experts, yesterday's shower became this morning's coffee.
Further down the scale are evapotrons -- contraptions of many sorts that encourage graywater to disinfect, dry up and depart. The most basic of these are evaporation ponds of black plastic sheet laid over a rim of two-by-fours; often stinky (insufficient bleach) real-estate hogs, slow and then slower as they cloud up with playa dust.
More fun to watch, and more effective, are evapotrons that blend utility with kinetic art. In the Alternative Energy Zone , Kevin Wells' machine pumps graywater up to cascade down the sides of a cylinder of metal screen. In 2005, two other designs debuted in the AEZ. Jeff Barlow's Evap-o-Wheel used a solar-powered motor to rotate a PVC towel rack, to dip and dry fabric panels. Separately, Ember, a Beacon co-founder, brought the first of his wind-powered evapotrons: above a pond, a bike wheel with fan blades on its spokes spins in the wind; a drive belt of nylon stockings rotates a drum made of fabric stretched between two more bike wheels; the drum, semi-immersed in a pond, lifts and exposes a sheet of water to the bone-dry Playa air. Because there's never a crosswind on the Playa, the fan's orientation never needs to change. Playa dust doesn't faze it; each trip down into the water washes dust from the fabric, and the dust eventually settles to the bottom of the pond.
This unlikely device worked remarkably well, chewing up 10 gallons a day. Ember moved it to the Beacon camp Thursday morning, where it started in on the stored graywater. Container after container was emptied into the pond, along with each day's production of new graywater. By Sunday the pond was dry, its bottom covered with delicate mudcrack patterns of playa dust.
Over five years of tinkering, Ember's evapotron has evolved -- the fan's aloft, to catch more wind, the drum fabric is an ultra-fine plastic mesh, and the pond has a "deep end" to collect the last dregs of water. It's time, he says, to start building lots of them. The construction is greatly simplified, there's a construction guide online, and the device finally has a name: the Gray-B-Gon. The guide can be found at tinyurl.com/gray-b-gon. In a recent workshop, Burners built four new Gray-B-Gons in about half a day. Three of those will be on display, and at work, at the Beacon camp at 5:30 and Evolution, in the AEZ, and at the Earth Guardians pavilion. Many more workshops are in the offing for 2010.
Evilution
By Rick-Boy
These events take place sometime soon somewhere near.
Jules McCready sat in the court docket. He was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? He was on trial for his life. John Hobbins the prosecutor approached.
“Dr. McCready you are charged with enslavement.”
“So the judge has told me.”
“A charge punishable by death.”
“So you have mentioned.”
“You have taken organs from living people, without their permission. There also is even evidence that you have killed people and taken their organs.”
“None of this is true. It’s a misunderstanding, not that you would care.”
“Oh, indeed I do care Dr. McCready,” he said smirking as he swept his arm toward the jury.
“We all care. It’s you and your ilk of body snatchers that wantonly carved up poor unsuspecting and unknowing people for their organs that don’t care. Isn’t it?”
“No and if you’ve been listening to me you’d know it wasn’t true.”
What happens next? You’ll have to read the Black Rock Beacon in Black Rock City 2009 to find out.
--------------------------
Evilution, epilogue. Previous chapters viewable in the Black Rock Beacon from Black Rock City 2009.
By Rick-Boy
The trial of Jules McCready took a sudden and surprising turn yesterday when the defendant had a seizure on the witness stand. Taken together with the testimony at the trial, it seemed likely that the defendant was not Dr. McCready, but an artificial humanoid constructed -- perhaps legally -- from basic elements.
Before his collapse, the defendant had claimed he had created something at his laboratory west of town that resembled human beings. Authorities theorize that he was able to create a near-copy of himself, which he allowed to be arrested and stand trial in his stead. The ruse might have worked until the creature began to malfunction, collapsing on the witness stand.
.
Sheriff Jeffery H. Stoner along with ATF, FBI, and FDA officials searched the ranch where they found what appeared to be another McCready sequestered in a hidden room in the cellar.
“You’ve finally got me,” he said as he was apprehended, according to law enforcement officers on the scene. The second. McCready hung himself that in night in his jail cell. An autopsy is pending to determine if he is the real McCready. The first McCready has refused or been unable to speak since his courtroom breakdown.
----
Dr. Thomas Bolton put his copy of The Tahitian Times down in his lap and took a sip of his cocktail as he watched his wife emerge from the pool, grab a towel and begin to dry off.
“Honey, don’t forget we’ve got the Smith’s cocktail party tonight at 5. I’m going in to freshen up. Maybe, you can join me?” she said with a sexy tilt of her eyebrow.
He watched her walk away. She was stunningly beautiful. Long legs, shapely body. She looked great in that white bikini.
The man in the chaise lounge next to him, Paul DeGeorio, his new pal asked, “Hey Tom, how did you ever land a babe like that? She must be 20 years younger than you.”
“Oh, she’s younger than that. How did I land her? I didn’t; I made her,” he chortled.
Paul looked at the man once called Jules and realized he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. He turned his glance toward the woman in the white bikini as she entered the double glass doors to the main hallway of the Hotel Imperial – Tahiti.
“And she’s smart as a whip,” said Paul. “Did you steal her away from an Ivy League dorm?”
Jules McCready took another sip of his drink. He smiled. He liked his new name. The South Sea islands weren’t a bad place to “retire.” There weren’t many annoying bureaucrats to ask questions about his new “resort” and his products -- products like his new “wife.” She was part of the Stephanie Stepford Line. He chuckled at his cleverness. Not even his wife -- who thought she was his widow?-- recognized the copy hanging in the jail cell. She identified the body as his. The old bag was always nagging, telling him what he was doing was immoral and unethical. Well, so what? He was now officially dead to the world. He liked Sherrie his new “wife.” She was a nice product, really nice.
“Honey?” asked his new wife.
“Yes dear?
”
“I want you to build me a mate.”
“What?”
“Honey, I love you to pieces and you know I’ll give you anything you want, but really darling I need more than that. After all you did build me to have an enormous sex drive and it’s just unfair to be so… so constrained. Don’t you think Darling?”
“Poppy cock. I won’t do it and that’s that,” said McCready.
Sherrie grabbed Jules by the throat and lifted him off the bed. She held him at arms length near the ceiling and looked into his eyes as he gasped for breath, “of course you will darling, you have no choice. You’re only human.”
She gently put him down on the bed and walked to the bathroom, “I’m going to shower. Let’s review the design in the morning.”
Playa Future Past, Part IV
By Dust Bunny
“You are going to be okay.
Can you tell us what happened?”
Where am I?
“You are in the Med. tent, sector nine. Try not to move”
Did I die?
“We thought we lost you!”
Who are these people?
“
John Doe is conscious now Doctor.”
Doctor?
“
Has he said anything yet?”
“
No, not a word”
A thin line of light seeps into my lower vision. I realize my eyes are closed eye lashes stuck together
“
That was a terrible fall you must have taken!”
Who is she talking to? What fall? Where exactly am I?
“
Welcome back, Blue eyes!”
Back? Where did I go? I try to move and pain shoots through my entire body. I try to scream out but I have no voice. My mouth is dry and sticky like my eyes.
“Blue eyes, we need you to keep your eyes open. You must stay awake. If you shut your eyes you may die.”
What? Die? What is she talking about? Something wet passes over my lips and touches the tip of my tongue. My mouth is so dry. My tongue is stiff it is so dry. My throat is raw from screaming. My throat is on fire as I breathe in and out through my mouth.
“Water!” The sound of my voice is strange, hoarse. My lips, tongue and jaw do not move at all. A red sticky haze fills my blurred vision. A woman is standing over me with a small wet rag wiping my mouth
“You are very dehydrated, we have you hooked up to an IV, there is a serious cut over your eyes. You were bleeding when they brought you in. What is your name?”
“
Dragon”
“Ok Dragon, but we will need your real name.”
“
I must get back,” “Must fight the Dragon!”
“Well Mr. Dragon, you are going NOwhere until we get you rehydrated and those lacerations stitched up!”
Playa Future Past, Part III
By Dust Bunny
“Seven Tango Niner…. Szzzttttzzztt Seven Tango Niner come in Seven Tango….
“ Fucken radio….
“Seven Tango Niner come in”
“Ya what do you want”
Link to story
Burned Out
By Lexi Feinberg
Burning Man may only happen for one week every year, but many Burners spend the other 51 weeks fantasizing about it. It's the Holy Grail that helps them tolerate tedious corporate jobs and the monotony of the default world. But for various reasons in this year of recession, some won't be joining the festivities on the Playa. "
Link to story
'Altered State' to New York State
By Mitch
"Altered State," the sculpture that made its debut at Black Rock City 2008, has a new home: it is going to a new art complex in Wappingers Falls, N.Y.
Link to story
Playa Future Past, Part II
By Dust Bunny
They have stopped.
I don’t know why but they have stopped.
The consistent pounding throbbing pulsating din that goes on and on and on.
Sweet Jesus (pronounced “Ha SOOS!”) Look at that!
Link to story
Playa Future Past, Part I
With Black Rock City looming in our future, the Black Rock Beacon presents a weekly column that looks at life on the Playa, to whet the appetite of returning citizens and wisen up the newbies.
By Dust Bunny
On the Playa there is nothing.. not a bug, not a plant, not a drop of water.
What we have plenty of is grime, dirt, dust, Playa graduals, dirt, and more dust. You will notice that the wind blows from the Southwest, the Southeast, Northeast and from the Northwest. Often it blows from all directions at once.
Link to story
Frogs and Forth
By Deb Prothero
Most Burners don't have the fortune of visiting Frog Pond nor the potential misfortune of traveling the Jungo Road. But as America celebrated Independence Day this year, about 100 Burners observed the Fourth of Juplaya in the steamy environs of the hot springs near the mysterious desert thoroughfare not far from Black Rock City.
Link to story
Critical Massive PDF Editions 2009
Number 1
Number 2
Archive of Previous Stories Evolution at the 4th of Juplya at Frog Pond 2009
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