The Mutaytor - 4/29/06 - Xara

a deep beat rings out rhythmic over fields, bounces off jagged mountain tops. the sun sets crisp behind fast moving clouds and roo drills burnt metal into the stage. i wander into wildflowers, pin wheels and the low eaves of trees. toil turns into a jam session. i jump on a drum kit and play along with the dj. mutaytor camp is a safe place to be. i hover there often.. the wind calls me down twisting paths… i always return… paintings on easels are encircled… flutes now and tibetan flags, pirate mugs and homemade ice cream. decorated camps, playa coats, poi in nature. car ports and ez-ups. the descending sun turns mountains like sorbee candies and a chill breeze is a sign of weather to come. russell is lost in a book, hiding under his hood. wheelbarrows are tent transport. i am intrigued by men in high heels. i hug people every five feet… i love everyone here… tony and i take a walk with our cameras. we call ourselves ‘moment hunters’… there and there and there… every beautiful person that comes into our path is our new day. instinctively we get different angles and depths. instantly it gets cold. heavier velvet is required. sleepy mutaynts after toiling sit around an unlit fire… sleep is planned but not acted upon… night comes now…