Burning Man burned down to ash, and the Sparkle Pony’s gone for good, and there’s not a damn dime left in BM's bank.
Black Rock City left stripped and empty, broke, too full of dull-eyed tourists who call themselves Virgins now, wandering the playa like a theme park attraction.
I used to believe in it, the magic and the madness, but year by year, the decay spread, and what’s left? No evolution, no pulse, just the ghost of what we built—radical inclusion, gifting, self-expression, communal effort, responsibility—all things once fierce, now faint echoes swallowed by dust.
I’ll miss the grip of the Playa Dust and the Moonwalkers dancing wild, even the WOOKs with their strange laughter and those godforsaken stinking PORTOS.
I healed my Playa foot and the goggles are put away. Maybe it’s time to think about Afrikaburn, see if there’s anything still burning worth a damn and be lekker!
Meanwhile, Black Rock City costs for toilets, medical resources, communications, and government fees increased from $23.3 million to $43.8 million in 2024…
