I participated in some incredible, seriously non-OSHA approved forklift ballet today. In the image above, Johnny and I are running forklifts in synch to lift the Big Arm up off the flatbed, then Dan drove the flatbed out from under the machine, and we set it down simultaneously. We did this several times today with a couple of machines — in one instance with the Pitching Machine in the dark at ten tonight; it was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. Album begins here; two new videos here, more after the jump.
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It was one of those amazing zenlike days of working with people I’ve done this with for ten years — unspoken communication, lots of family-like affection; doing dangerous things with a very small crew. It was also one of those days that made me think about life, but working at SRL does that to me. At one point I was almost seriously injured, but saved by being inside the forklift. I walked over to the forklift to contemplate the next move, then got in to contemplate more. A gust of wind caught six 12 x 10 pieces of aluminum bolted to steel frames and rained them down on the forklift. From my perspective, I simply heard a loud noise and was suddenly surrounded by silver. The guys just looked over in shock for a minute, then came over to get the metal off; I couldn’t move until it was off the top of the forklift.
When we got the machines to the site, I had one of those fucked up male-female minutes, as always happens to me when I do on-site SRL stuff with guys unfamiliar with the gender neutrality we pride ourselves on at SRL. Dan told me to go get the second forklift so I went over with the keys; I had a moment of confusion with its tricky ignition and right then, this newish kinda hippie guy helping out on the show said (all nice and sweet like I was fragile) “Hey, I’ll deal with all this forklift stuff if you want to go back and help the guys.” I just looked at him and said, no, I’m driving the forklift. And I did — and I executed the amazing simultaneous ballet lift in the picture at the start of this post, among other sweet forklift-fu moves. Johnny and I hardly spoke when we did it, just watched each other. Then we (the loading crew of five: Dan, Johnny, Courtney, Jonathan and me), quietly left the site and went back to SRL and to work loading more machines. When we pulled in I told Bob what that guy said to me and how he said it, and Bob just replied “Fucking Burningman!” I cracked up laughing.
I picked up Jonathan at 8am this morning and left the shop a little after 10pm tonight, a very long day indeed. The five of us hardly ate all day. At one point around 8pm after getting the Shockwave Cannon on the flatbed, I had to lie down on the flatbed itself. I took this pic of what I saw; the sky at dusk. I reminded me of the last time I was on my back looking up at the sky — I was held aloft in a warm lake on a hot summer day a little over a week ago, hundreds of miles from home, on my back, with my lover’s arms holding me up. It was perfect; it was where I wanted to die, in a strange way — not to be too melodramatic, but I felt like nothing could go wrong in that place, in the water, in that moment. I felt okay.
I feel okay at SRL, too — it’s the familiarity with the machines, and tools and very much the people too (even when they suck, or the tools break, or the machines almost kill me). I don’t know what makes us all do it, though I think about that question a lot. We all come from so many places to work really hard and get hurt and do it all for nothing except that we love it, we seem to need it. SRL members have day jobs working on particle accelerators, in Hollywood, are hackers, are blacksmiths, are teachers, work for corporations like Yahoo, in the medical tooling industry, work with cadaveric research, and some are even sex writers (!). We come from so many places but all meet in one center.
Something about this work makes me feel like I’m home. But it also reduces me to my most vulnerable essence, even though I’m being all tough and fearless. It’s the paradox of all things worth having, I guess.
Tomorrow I’m not working through the night because my femme lover is in town for a minute; this is rare because we never see each other. I doubt we’ll have time to do more than kiss. I’m afraid to take my clothes off for her right now anyway. I’m bruised in amazing ways from today; I just took a hot shower and scrubbed the grease off and marveled at the bruises, their placement and sizes, and that I didn’t even notice them happening. I’m bug bitten to hell and back. And my sunburns are epic; let’s just say it’ll be a while until I take off my top for a photo session. I have no fucking idea who in their right mind would find me sexy right now. I don’t feel it; I just feel like the tiniest bit of me is writ big across the whole outside of me; damaged, moving ever forward, flawed and strangely happy. My topography is new and unkown to even me, and it’s not pretty, nor is it a pastiche of some image you see here. To traverse this is to be understood.
I mean — while pummeling myself with the work and dedication a day like today took, I lost so much sense of ego that not only did I bang myself up in unattractive ways, all dorkiness was revealed (as happened with others) and I had no fear of busting out a little dance for silly songs like “I like big bolts and I cannot lie!” Anyway, I’m home alone with a beer and too much energy after today. Thanks to all who have sent me emails saying you enjoy the SRL posts; I always wonder about keeping a balance between machines and sex here. Personally, I need both. And sometimes, a little more.
