1. Twisted But Precious: The Morning After the Sunrise Dance


    Date: 10/30/2014, Categories: Love Stories, Author: flytoomuch, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while you could miss it.” Ferris Bueller Have you ever thought of hosting a party in the middle of the desert and inviting 70,000 people? Well Larry did and John finally went. ___________________________________________ The Present- “Smelling the Roses” It was the morning after the Sunrise Dance. John’s head was pounding with the dull throbbing pain of a heavy hangover. What a spectacular fucking night. It had been years since John had felt a “morning after” head quite as painful as this one. Too many years he grinned. The dim steel-like morning sun of Nevada’s Black Rock Desert prised open his eyes like a crowbar working recalcitrant rusted lids. Slowly his senses awoke to his surroundings. It was the proverbial “morning after” and the steady sun was doing its regular morning job and waking John from his slumber. John knew the desert sun was different than any other sun. Religions and spiritual movements had originated in the blasting relentlessness of its mid-day searing heat. Yet in the cool early morning the desert light had a delicate ethereal quality. This silvery morning light had an airy careless quality that was hard to describe. For mile after endless mile the new born desert sun painted the endless grey sand with a wash of orangish tangerine-gold hues mingled with highlights and bold streaks of pink and red. The sky was a tie-dye confusion of crazed colours. The Cantonese have a specific ...
    expression for this chaos of colour, but John didn’t know of any English equivalent. No solar deity could deny the painted perfection of Mother Nature herself as she unrolled a new day. John looked around dazzled and dazed by the coloured whiteness vaulting overhead. The air in the huge tent was muggy and oppressive and hung heavy. The whole thin white canopy overhead was infused by the lightshow of the morning sun reflecting off the neutral flatness of the grey sand. The colours were soft pale pastels filtered through the thin white nylon membrane of the tent. Every second the colours changed slightly and John was enthralled further as his brain cleared. The tent shroud had become a morning extravaganza of nature’s own theatre putting on a light show for the human ants beavering away below its mantle of grace. The huge tent was eerily early-morning silent except for the sound of the desert wind rubbing seductively against its thin nylon exterior shell. As his hangover gently eased its grip John realized that he was laying on a sea of mattresses laid end-to-end covering the desert floor. The mattresses had been topped with a covering of puffy white cotton to mimic a cloud. A giant bed constructed for what purpose? Where was he? John’s brain was still clogged and creaking, full of data that was yet still gibberish. Thin white nylon partitions rose six-feet high from the mattress floor constructing an internal maze. A spider web of aluminium frames held them up. This labyrinth was like ...
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