tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75525690075121249632024-03-05T22:26:41.712+01:00NOOSPHEREWe met on the ICQ. Part of the conversations between Noosphere and me you'll find down to the right. This blog must be read FROM BOTTOM TO TOP, in order to catch the story. Enjoy it. I did.Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-54334641420421342342018-03-06T14:17:00.001+01:002018-03-06T14:27:37.299+01:00BURNING MAN, A COOL FESTIVAL 2001<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is probably the most freak-out thing I ever did in my life, I visited this amazing festival 17 years ago. Read the story here, and start from the bottom. Happy travel! Enjoy life!</span>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-79027540118673576172011-09-07T06:46:00.000+02:002011-09-07T06:46:02.593+02:00PICTURES FROM BURNING MAN 2011<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Here are some pictures from this year's celebration. It looks rather <a href="http://www.ibtimes.com/articles/208659/20110905/burning-man-2011-photos.htm"><i>amazing</i></a>. Burning Man had 50 000 participants this year, and it was the 25.th time the festival was arranged. I'd love to go back. Some time.</span>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-40376790266123311992011-03-19T09:04:00.004+01:002011-07-04T20:54:56.205+02:00NINE-9 YEARS LATER<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Here's a really nice <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pt3XCFMPCK8&feature=player_embedded#at=123"><i>video</i></a> that I found on youtube from Burning Man taken 2010, nine years after our visit. The photographer/editor is called Jordan Romney. He did a good job.<br />
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It gives a nice feeling and reminds me a lot of the time I spent there in 2001. Enjoy it! I did.</div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-43005719199041434412008-10-12T12:08:00.022+02:002011-09-07T06:46:44.958+02:00SEVEN AGES SINCE 2001<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Seven ages of man</i> was the theme of the Burning Man festival 2001, taken from Shakespeare's text on development of mankind. We went there, my <i>Noosphere-friend</i> Thom and I, and saw all the seven stages as art installations in the desert. We experienced a lot of things, fell a little bit in love and had a lot of fun that you can read about in this blog underneath.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXtTWE1HKp1IDZsu1pg4zPtXOviULT3efoDLuvXfVNenpncorh3r67XtS56amSCybo0YnFmDV9d7bLiwSpVNP9GOCLf2SFgFxbd2XvEtsi_oBgPKtvqc3XIWPueFwErwXR2xiMQK8DcvA/s1600-h/P9010219.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256215436954768802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXtTWE1HKp1IDZsu1pg4zPtXOviULT3efoDLuvXfVNenpncorh3r67XtS56amSCybo0YnFmDV9d7bLiwSpVNP9GOCLf2SFgFxbd2XvEtsi_oBgPKtvqc3XIWPueFwErwXR2xiMQK8DcvA/s400/P9010219.JPG" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">We returned to LA after the night of the burn. We woke up in his beautiful <i>Sierra Madre </i>village outside Los Angeles by a phone call in the morning on September 11. It sounded as if the whole world was on fire.<br />
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Everything changed within a few seconds. For some days it felt like it really was a <i>War on America</i>, like the headlines on the news kept repeating and repeating, 24 hours a day.<br />
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That episode turned our trip to Nevada into some kind of <i>strange</i> story. An <i>out-of-the-world</i> experience. It also changed our relationship. The whole world was changing, and a new dawn of something very different was rising before our eyes.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
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There are books written about 9/11. I will not comment any on that here, but it took me 12 days to get a flight ticket and to be able to return back to Europe from the chaotic madness in the US.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Now, seven years later, - and maybe </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">seven ages </i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">later, <i>Mother Earth</i> faces a new world </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">financial and political</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> crisis, but the globe still turns.</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">LOOKING BACK, I AM THINKING:</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I wonder what will <i>happen</i> to our world? I wonder what will happen to the festival </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Burning Man</i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">? And what will happen to our wonderful earth when the ice in the Arctic melts down, our climate changes and the world's economy is collapsing? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I have no answers, and feel that I can do so little. Just watch and think and wonder...and write about it. I can join <i>Earth Hour</i> and change my eating habbits, every day to come. And a few more things, but do they <i>really count</i>? I wonder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But I will always remember our wonderful trip to Black Rock City in the Nevada desert, way back in 2001.</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It was the nicest <i>trip of my life</i>. And I still remember every bit of it like <i>the dream</i> that it was, and will always be.</div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-66283591829118567502008-10-12T11:51:00.011+02:002010-05-05T15:36:54.081+02:00The night of the burn, 2001<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQzaI9ZmkdLYTPnYNzbDoXqzofywilSNk1wmIzJOALqh54IwGc8Iy0apwizGuQ4f1eUuhS1KKQGjObM1PZipKdKsovgFprHJDEo3tjXiCemvlf5G48E-Q27m2_7_6abQscFzuzCKg9rLk/s1600-h/P9010194.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256203237067178466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQzaI9ZmkdLYTPnYNzbDoXqzofywilSNk1wmIzJOALqh54IwGc8Iy0apwizGuQ4f1eUuhS1KKQGjObM1PZipKdKsovgFprHJDEo3tjXiCemvlf5G48E-Q27m2_7_6abQscFzuzCKg9rLk/s400/P9010194.JPG" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
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<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Then came the night of the burn.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">As I write this blog, seven years later, it still seems like a weird and strange experience.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Something 'out of this world'.</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">And very soon, it became even more strange.</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4G6cOAfjCjKIaA08oPmibMaoXM29-QteK8Mcw2_yOrpJNqeMC3E7yujBAW0lxCihECwCXFofSQYFDdkqdFmMJY-2Vthvg4EFWekAyMDhHUmPRjZkPguDk_4PcYsR1nL-lr2b1KZdUI2U/s1600-h/P9010199.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256204342959896194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ4G6cOAfjCjKIaA08oPmibMaoXM29-QteK8Mcw2_yOrpJNqeMC3E7yujBAW0lxCihECwCXFofSQYFDdkqdFmMJY-2Vthvg4EFWekAyMDhHUmPRjZkPguDk_4PcYsR1nL-lr2b1KZdUI2U/s400/P9010199.JPG" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-85297709807033792732008-02-16T22:55:00.017+01:002008-02-17T11:31:53.861+01:00The clean environment<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlB3B56XPtMnvjdBeGwnLZ2uAhUak2raDIozipDcsrXuxNn5m3hrSCsTK7xy9QERsYzR55arsCGCelKBM-f1GvpdphUp7IQpwnbpuJAz5-_4s9fPH_hEUpCvA1lk1liywcYyCSMDVHo6s9/s1600-h/NEVADA+Maskert+Sylvi1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167706176751912754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlB3B56XPtMnvjdBeGwnLZ2uAhUak2raDIozipDcsrXuxNn5m3hrSCsTK7xy9QERsYzR55arsCGCelKBM-f1GvpdphUp7IQpwnbpuJAz5-_4s9fPH_hEUpCvA1lk1liywcYyCSMDVHo6s9/s200/NEVADA+Maskert+Sylvi1.jpg" border="0" /></a>Burning Man and Black Rock City are special events in all kinds of ways. Every year, tens of thousands of participants gather to create this huge Black Rock City in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada, dedicated to self-expression, self-reliance, and art as the center of community.<br /><div></div><div>They leave one week later, having left no trace. In the 10 Principles of Burning Man they put it like this:</div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Our community respects the environment. We are committed to leaving no physical trace of our activities whenever we gather. We clean up after ourselves and endeavour, whenever possible, to leave such places in a better state than when we found them.</span></em> </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0I_CNNNIiJLmygGnUg1auALvdIKCXo2pgT9Uc-okUL6qtFziaQoS_CwaDfBvEmPsxvGAzfozn6gLKg6QTPKvgQSGA22y5UEnPXamLf2coCN25fXAJpZ5OQVY9Aw5GWAdxmz3I7RXoRjgw/s1600-h/P9020226.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167712773821679442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0I_CNNNIiJLmygGnUg1auALvdIKCXo2pgT9Uc-okUL6qtFziaQoS_CwaDfBvEmPsxvGAzfozn6gLKg6QTPKvgQSGA22y5UEnPXamLf2coCN25fXAJpZ5OQVY9Aw5GWAdxmz3I7RXoRjgw/s200/P9020226.JPG" border="0" /></a>We brought with us everything we needed for the stay when we came, food, vine, water, and a place to sleep. We brought all our garbage out of the desert when we left. When we stayed in Black Rock city, we carried with us small metal boxes in our pockets to use as ashtrays, as we did not want to leave the ash or filters from the sigarettes. Maybe it sounds silly. But nothing was thrown on the ground.</div><br /><div></div><div>The playa was really looking great, there was <em>not </em>much paper or other left-overs seen on the ground anywhere. The toilets were clean. I have never seen a festival like this one, and I was truly amazed.</div><br /><div><span style="color:#6666cc;"><em>What about our world? Should we start treating the rest of the planet the same careful way?</em></span></div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-55686543989728394092008-02-16T15:13:00.021+01:002008-02-18T08:25:22.368+01:00The PassageI'll take you back to the Café tent, to that day when I was resting alone, waiting for Thom, who was standing in a cue in order to buy us some chai. As I told you before, a Cuban businessman and his young male secretary sat down and asked for company. After the presentation where I told them that Thom and I met on the web, he asked me very frankly the one and only question he found interesting:<br /><br />- How did he make <em>the passage</em>?<br />- Which passage, I asked, rather surpriced.<br />- The passage from the airport to the bed, said he.<br /><br />Well, how do one treat men like that? I have no idea, but I found it rather amusing that he was so outspoken. I like to tease, so I asked Mr. Cuba with my biggest smile:<br /><br />- Well, my friend, since you tell me you have a Swedish wife (which I truly doubted), why are you so sure we did it in <em>bed</em>?<br />- Oh, you Scandinavians are so sofisticated, he quickly replied.<br />- But how did he do it? Did he <em>talk</em> you into sex? Did he wait untill the evening came or did he throw himself onto you in the same moment you came home to his place? What was he like? And how was this important <em>passage</em> like? Pleasent? Funny? Elegant?<br /><br />Looking at the definition of the word, I find out that <em>passage</em> has many different meanings:<br /><br /><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">pas·sage<br /><br />a way of exit or entrance : a road, path, channel, or course by which something passes<br />a corridor or lobby giving access to the different rooms or parts of a building or apartment<br /><br />the action or process of passing from one place, condition, or stage to another<br />a right, liberty, or permission to pass<br /><br />something that takes place between two persons mutually<br /></span></em><br />I still found the situaton rather amusing.<br /><br />- Why is this <em>passage</em> so interesting to you, and what makes you think I will tell you anything about our relationship?<br />- For a <em>man</em> it is important to know how <em>other men</em> are dealing with this very important knowledge of life, he said. And he looked very honest and right forward at me, as if he was asking for a recipe of some kind.<br /><br />I laughed.<br /><br />- First of all, Thom is a real gentleman, I said, - unlike a lot of other men I have met.<br />- Yes?<br />- We are friends. He did not do anything at all.<br /><br />At that very moment Thom came back and my Cuban friend and his young companion turned to him and said hallo. A few polite questions followed:<br /><br />- Was it true that we met on the Internet? Did Thom like this festival? etc.<br /><br />Thom answered in a short manner, and the two men rose up in order to leave. Mr. Cuba smiled and grabbed Thom's hand to say goodbye:<br /><br />- <em>You have found yourself a blond and beautiful companion</em>, - <em>but she is much to intelligent for me. Good luck!</em><br /><br />They left and Thom sat down. We had some of the nice hot chai, richly flavoured with sugar and milk.<br /><br />- He wanted to know how you managed <em>the passage</em> from the airport to the bed, I told him with a smile.<br />- And did you tell him? Thom said.<br />- No, I never got that far, I replied.<br /><br />We both started laughing out loud.<br /><br />- Would you have told him about any interesting <em>passage</em> if I did not turn up here right now?<br /><br />Thom was smiling as he asked.<br /><br />- I don't think so. I don't think I would tell that kind of story to anybody. Exept maybe one day if I write a novel about us, I said with a smile.<br /><br />When we later talked about Mr. Cuba, whom we never met again, Thom said he thought they were out to offer us money in order to watch us having sex.<br /><br />- What makes you think <em>that</em>, I asked.<br />- He looked like such a guy. What else would a man like him want to be here for? He obviously found you blond, sexy and attractive, but was scared by your intelligent answers and the fact that he never got any insight about that dammed <em>passage</em> he wanted you to tell him about<em>...</em><br /><br />- What makes men think about <em>sex</em> all the time, I asked politely.<br />- I don't really know, Thom said with a smile. - Maybe because it is so fuckin' good?Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-3451144588375188692008-02-16T12:49:00.019+01:002008-02-16T22:21:21.523+01:00The Swinging Neighbourhood<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAR5SBfViTrlO4YjAScRsiGsbIil3j9c5SO0Ba1uPOlnrF10ocm1ZHUFHzFo0Gfwy2QxbWghBbgJMhoo6VY8NstCSpYBD3o6WAQkc4o10V8dYy7FBwkKhPiMczWTQ9lu0XCDGAYGnFao0r/s1600-h/P8300065.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167564009039447778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAR5SBfViTrlO4YjAScRsiGsbIil3j9c5SO0Ba1uPOlnrF10ocm1ZHUFHzFo0Gfwy2QxbWghBbgJMhoo6VY8NstCSpYBD3o6WAQkc4o10V8dYy7FBwkKhPiMczWTQ9lu0XCDGAYGnFao0r/s200/P8300065.JPG" border="0" /></a>Our next door-neighbours in the camping ground were a couple from Sacramento. After our arrival we had a meal at their place and some nice talking about Burning Man. They were there for the 5.th year in order to have some fun, as they said. I remember her comment as she saw the viking silver <em>rune</em> around my neck. - This is a real <em>pagan</em> festival, she said, and I had to look up the word in my dictionary.<br /><br />Pagan is <em>hedning</em> in Norwegian, and something not very Christian, I understood. The rune I carried was the <em>Algiz</em> rune, and I had given Thom the <em>Anzus</em> rune as a gift and a protection for this journey.<br /><br /><span style="color:#6666cc;"><em>Anzus is revealing message or insight, communication. Signals, inspiration, enthusiasm, speech, true vision, power of words and naming. Blessings, the taking of advice. Good health, harmony, truth, wisdom. Odin who gave name to this rune, is a mighty, but duplicitous god. He always has his own agenda.</em><br /></span><br />If you want to learn more about runes, <a href="http://www.sunnyway.com/runes/meanings.html">here</a> is a link for you. And if you want a free <a href="http://www.facade.com/runes/"><em>rune reading</em> </a>you are welcome. I have always enjoyed things like theese, the <em>I Ching</em>, the <em>Tarot</em> cards and the <em>runes</em>, even if I am not a true believer.<br /><br /><div>Let's call our neighbours Bob and Anna. They were nice people in their 50'ies, and not really the kind of folks I had expected to find in a festival like this. We said goodbye after a couple of hours and went for a walk to look at the camp. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJ7ec_mUXYhzzGVaGaqGFDm2VBz1XhEl2cCVZkJMWTybORgTxMPV_UR8VmiS2-I6RcceV93FtgPqQhE4Rq-Ii8aGKfcbAJMcWCdw2w54LJP6QEI9B8pFK9KAmm8RsmOuthStOZrxhKO-1/s1600-h/P9010117.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167561724116846274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJ7ec_mUXYhzzGVaGaqGFDm2VBz1XhEl2cCVZkJMWTybORgTxMPV_UR8VmiS2-I6RcceV93FtgPqQhE4Rq-Ii8aGKfcbAJMcWCdw2w54LJP6QEI9B8pFK9KAmm8RsmOuthStOZrxhKO-1/s200/P9010117.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRejG1HuTwgCjfUKOtzS8IftClujGi7Rl93ufT7e3QFP8hgXnZ149a2ch0Bg2xZmlw-WFL8e-U2W5vm2m4RgXVXlU6LUrQ0O0iE4lweTmlK2JR5WMIlwIX7NZROGXAqbKBoRu08ABieue0/s1600-h/P9010111.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167564335456962290" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRejG1HuTwgCjfUKOtzS8IftClujGi7Rl93ufT7e3QFP8hgXnZ149a2ch0Bg2xZmlw-WFL8e-U2W5vm2m4RgXVXlU6LUrQ0O0iE4lweTmlK2JR5WMIlwIX7NZROGXAqbKBoRu08ABieue0/s200/P9010111.JPG" border="0" /></a>Back in our van, the same evening, Thom asked me if I had recognized the question in the air, that afternoon. I had not.<br /></div><div>- I think they asked us if we wanted to <em>change partners</em>, Thom said. </div><div>- Are you kidding, I said, - I never heard that. </div><div>- They come from Sacramento, from a really swinging neighbourhood, he replied. </div><div></div><div>Swinging neighbourhood is something I vaguely remember from reading <em>Couples</em> of John Updike sometimes in my youth. This is what Wikipedia says about the book: </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color:#6666cc;"><em>Couples is a 1968 novel by </em><em>John Updike </em><em>which focuses on a promiscuous circle of married friends in the fictional </em><em>Boston</em><em> suburb of Tarbox. Much of the novel concerns the efforts of its characters to balance the pressures of </em><em>Protestant</em><em> sexual mores against increasingly flexible American attitudes toward sex in the 1960s. The book suggests that this relaxation may have been driven by the development of </em><em>birth control</em><em> and the opportunity to enjoy what one character refers to as "the post-pill paradise." </em><br /></span></div><div><span style="color:#6666cc;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color:#6666cc;"><em>Its publication created a mild scandal and elicited a cover story in </em><em>TIME</em><em> magazine.</em> </span></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1TnLDcvnUxJeu2GBYRFxGe6HWepPc12x0YVQx9EcIWViz0nQXyC8j22gDOImd8rqB7MiV75GujFJ_cB5srJZL4SQ3d6J-hwYNaXhVqal51aeljDnS4yUKskKkOY463tSIK-d_peal_8K/s1600-h/P9010109-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167559318935160482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1TnLDcvnUxJeu2GBYRFxGe6HWepPc12x0YVQx9EcIWViz0nQXyC8j22gDOImd8rqB7MiV75GujFJ_cB5srJZL4SQ3d6J-hwYNaXhVqal51aeljDnS4yUKskKkOY463tSIK-d_peal_8K/s200/P9010109-1.JPG" border="0" /></a>Well, then, I was not really flattered. And my answer would in any case be <em>no</em>. I had not gone to Nevada with a totally stranger to change him into something even more strange. C'm on! But we had a great laugh about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I simply loved it. Staying in the van with an open door, looking at the camp out there, seeing all the people, beeing there with a great guy like Thom with whom I could talk about everything. And most of all: </div><div><br /></div><div>Beeing far away from the rest of the world, my sons, my work, the silly Norwegian newpapers, everything. I loved that he had invited me to come over and I loved being there. It all felt like a hot and exciting paradise. I was looking forward to <em>the night of the burn</em>. I did not want to go home. I never wanted this fairytail to end. Never ever. </div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-28163672435196549792007-11-04T07:42:00.000+01:002007-11-04T08:10:18.873+01:00The Mausoleum<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmslaqBqyO5s6bx6JA1bBphQjI0jRRc5h_X5lTP0NcA2fATLLM3uNtK2a742obBcjC660dnsNoCMChyplwQyYAND3bq3Ofn3YO_CiU7q1J_qFsCo9Vxt8d0kqfhKeUsWQzhDUO4f7u5ve/s1600-h/P90202401.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128876213718101138" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmslaqBqyO5s6bx6JA1bBphQjI0jRRc5h_X5lTP0NcA2fATLLM3uNtK2a742obBcjC660dnsNoCMChyplwQyYAND3bq3Ofn3YO_CiU7q1J_qFsCo9Vxt8d0kqfhKeUsWQzhDUO4f7u5ve/s200/P90202401.JPG" border="0" /></a>My absolute favorite. A huge building at the end of the line. A place for remembering someone you loved and lost. Or to think about your own death, how fragile we are, how little time there is. My very beloved brother had died that same summer, and I was carrying my own sorrow because of that. One young man sat inside the Mausoleum playing classical guitar, some people cried openly and a lot of the visitors had put up small pieces of paper with names and few words about their loss. The place was covered in dust and sand, making the atmosphere almost magic. Silence everywhere, but at the same time <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg29npmA7CPp0qlb5jSwGHTDyYdpnu9pylAUcJpNmQqyRe8orZyqCJQBeppmBbXGq7CCLgNYBrWb74yl3Yb7YlFaX67wxjfc77DYVNBeWvTi-CgRleasX_1m2PDPhgUuOgZlthCMj6hbuP/s1600-h/P9020244.JPG"></a>we could hear all the noices and sounds from the camp around us. </div><div> </div><div>So here was this castle in the desert, making me think of the fact that people everywhere, - at all times, have put up places in order to remember those who were here before us. A strong experience in my life. Something I will never forget.</div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-44449232991618391382007-11-03T14:47:00.011+01:002008-02-17T11:17:34.066+01:00Till human voices wake us, and we drownWe were sitting in the van that afternoon waiting for the heat to reduce. The door was open, we had a couple of chairs outside but the heat out there was too much for a Norwegian coming from the Arctic region of the world. We were waiting for sunset.<br /><div></div><br /><div>So we just relaxed in the comfortable seats in the small <em>livingroom </em>of our van, a livingroom that in few seconds turned into a spaceful place to sleep when needed. I had my glass of wine. Thom was reading a book. We had been eating a well prepared avocado with sourcream and scrimps, mixed with some blue cheese - and some wholegrain bread brought all the way from the huge health food store in LA. </div><br /><div>I knew that my companion on this trip had been working as an actor in several plays, but I had never heard him read anything loud. Not untill now, when he lifted his eyes from the book and asked if I wanted him to read for me. </div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">LET US GO then, you and I,</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">When the evening is spread out against the sky</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Like a patient etherised upon a table;</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">The muttering retreats</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Streets that follow like a tedious argument</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Of insidious intent</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">To lead you to an overwhelming question …</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Let us go and make our visit.</span></em></div><br /><div>The begining of T. S. Elliots first big poem, <em>The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock</em>. This is a difficult text, some say; <em>As it shows us only surface thought and images, it is considered difficult to interpret exactly what is going on in the poem.</em> </div><br /><div>So I just sat there, listening to Thom's voice. </div><br /><div>On the surface, Prufrock relays the thoughts of a sexually frustrated middle-aged man who wants to say something but is afraid to do so, and ultimately does not. Prufrock is full of self-doubts, with a pessimistic outlook on his future, as well as the future of society and the world.</div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0c59ZJhyphenhyphenhqdx713FNBVxvEGh6uLhXF98jaLndRqO88Sq4OGs4mXlcFKFTlcQtJtEDGoUkvN94_Zl6E9KQa8opkNaTfB1-z5Xr5-Not7Zqe10D0kSxIyTrMiL7umepROWYklrrY8RurQI/s1600-h/P9010106.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167884976240445282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0c59ZJhyphenhyphenhqdx713FNBVxvEGh6uLhXF98jaLndRqO88Sq4OGs4mXlcFKFTlcQtJtEDGoUkvN94_Zl6E9KQa8opkNaTfB1-z5Xr5-Not7Zqe10D0kSxIyTrMiL7umepROWYklrrY8RurQI/s200/P9010106.JPG" border="0" /></a>By these words, Thom was coming out of the <em>Noosphere</em>, and became a person of flesh and blood. Maybe he was seeing himself as a picture of this middle-aged man, and Prufrock's many frustrations? He had gone through a heavy heartbreaking affair before we meet and had assured me from the beginning that this was not a romantic trip. I think that this Burning Man-journey was the opposite of some <em>new romantic wave</em>. It was a way of breaking out of the middle-aged frustration over not having done what he really wanted to in his life.<br /><div></div><br /><div>I was not his new love, I was a hard-headed Scandinavian woman who had been <em>out on a winter night -</em> as we say it back home - many times before. I was an easy travelling companion, he knew I would not freak out over the Burning Man-experience. He knew I would leave and hike back to LA if times got tough, and he knew we shared some real-life-experiences on broken hearts and broken illusions.</div><br /><div>And me? </div><br /><div>I was breaking out of my every-day-life as well, crossing the Big Ocean in order to experience something completely different. I admit that my expectations of a love affair were bigger than his. To say something else would be a lie, and I seldom lie. So he knew, and made the best out of it. </div><br /><div>But all these things taken into consideration, I still think that Thom - my former Noosphere friend - will always remember this afternoon in the van in the middle of the Nevada desert. </div><br /><div>Someone who wants more on T.S. Elliot and Prufrock may find it <a href="http://www.usask.ca/english/prufrock/prustart.htm">here</a>. To me, there are parts of this poem that will always connect me to the <em>Burning Noosphere experience</em>, although the title of the poem is misleading since it is neither a love poem nor a <em>song</em> in the classical sense.</div><div>But the end of it is lovely: </div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">I grow old . . . I grow old . . .</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled (- which was very modern at that time -)</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Shall I part my hair behind? ( - which was a Bohemian fashion, and a brave thing to do - )</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Do I dare to eat a peach?</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">I do not think that they will sing to me (- oh, no?)</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;"></span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">I have seen them riding seaward on the waves.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Combing the white hair of the waves blown back.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">When the wind blows the water white and black.</span></em></div><br /><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">We have lingered in the chambers of the sea.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#6666cc;">Till human voices wake us, and we drown.</span></em></div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-72297496561131434272007-11-03T14:47:00.002+01:002007-11-03T18:47:48.461+01:00The Chapel<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Vg72bF3oGZN4QLkl226ZZ9AkRC-Ot_mYPc8Q_Zvge2sBqeNCrtGeKorfnrdpJZ601XvU-XtVzyDDlfU27nWiXBrSkDWQgiHx4-4F3PIb0JSW6D153j06iZaAB0rkInoO-zlyviTv8ju8/s1600-h/Chapelnight.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128671318008278146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Vg72bF3oGZN4QLkl226ZZ9AkRC-Ot_mYPc8Q_Zvge2sBqeNCrtGeKorfnrdpJZ601XvU-XtVzyDDlfU27nWiXBrSkDWQgiHx4-4F3PIb0JSW6D153j06iZaAB0rkInoO-zlyviTv8ju8/s200/Chapelnight.jpg" border="0" /></a>None of us cared particularely about the cradle or the children's playground. We had both passed these periods of our lives long ago. But The Chapel, representing love and relationship was attractive. And it was such a beautiful building, both day and night. We went there, and became part of a small, short ceremony where Noosphere and IceQueen (our nicknames or avatars) were tied together in a Burning Man promise about <em>to have and to hold</em> - etc. Rather cute, but not meant for an everlasting anything - if you ask me about it from a more distant point of view.Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-79498826416713635282007-11-03T12:56:00.001+01:002010-05-05T15:41:24.013+02:00The Van<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32k7-6oZcs2S9F0x_M4ZsdvYXiVeI1_TUH5RMssRUtY2vSe2BaPee1pK-ENlGKRW4CWJ9-MNyoUZPba5s3gZM1ISueevbdW2N4G1Q9sQDXd3H1HhklSImmv-DLuN7X294M6Iq31HUGks1/s1600-h/P8300069.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="249" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128587347102674018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32k7-6oZcs2S9F0x_M4ZsdvYXiVeI1_TUH5RMssRUtY2vSe2BaPee1pK-ENlGKRW4CWJ9-MNyoUZPba5s3gZM1ISueevbdW2N4G1Q9sQDXd3H1HhklSImmv-DLuN7X294M6Iq31HUGks1/s400/P8300069.JPG" style="float: right; height: 127px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 204px;" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg66yDVoZ4HXLNJGHmnJ1NurW2mVpLpnWRBKJ5N1BgI5-kmlD6zpIQQrLgDjaB6WNnubbRlARHIsmiHA38woNvIgSefB7kJ-R-6Fveplu6QrhfpNf0EKceDTgQd9YzumDou1OcRNum169/s1600-h/P8300070.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="273" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128582257566428194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg66yDVoZ4HXLNJGHmnJ1NurW2mVpLpnWRBKJ5N1BgI5-kmlD6zpIQQrLgDjaB6WNnubbRlARHIsmiHA38woNvIgSefB7kJ-R-6Fveplu6QrhfpNf0EKceDTgQd9YzumDou1OcRNum169/s400/P8300070.JPG" style="float: left; height: 130px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 190px;" width="400" /></a><br />
<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU09c8lVHSNvJoRBEsooVIi2wwSCKAzWaGErWRK74LqAT5CF1kDAD-4WYfvW-DEbKJg6QLrRsrSR8FB93tfnnXKeDorF5yz0kpqubNsqnQe_Qw3y8nIL2zP6O5yENQanvWDr8tpgysaMrX/s1600-h/P8300021.JPG"></a><br />
Our van was just fantastic. It had a small kitchen and a lot of room in order to sit and eat, read og sleep.<br />
<div><div></div></div></div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-24476545244330407892007-11-03T11:12:00.000+01:002007-11-03T12:32:05.115+01:00The Café<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUp2_ptDQiNavoHYM7zcNvdmwUfLRGgCrOSQuOnIuNRafsm0nPQBU2Yoe1myAGFbS8RvOMksLxyet4bwSAv_bHnRss5stK-rqx5cNAH-Qc3O0AFpQCUaML4mMYIgd0CX-s0Lx8aGacKG-R/s1600-h/P9010163.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128558811339959250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 221px" height="236" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUp2_ptDQiNavoHYM7zcNvdmwUfLRGgCrOSQuOnIuNRafsm0nPQBU2Yoe1myAGFbS8RvOMksLxyet4bwSAv_bHnRss5stK-rqx5cNAH-Qc3O0AFpQCUaML4mMYIgd0CX-s0Lx8aGacKG-R/s320/P9010163.JPG" width="145" border="0" /></a> The desert was dusty and hot. It was approx 40 degrees C, and sand everywhere, and the van often felt very varm and sticky. So the enormous tent on the Playa, the only café in the area, was an exellent place for resting, coffee and hot chai. Noosphere had a digital camera, and we used it a lot, trying to capture some of the athmosphere.<br /><br />We could sit there for hours, and there would always be someone dancing, chanting, playing some instrument, reading loud or drumming. Day and night, - was an ever ongoing performance. Here was also an exellent opportunity to get to know other people visiting Burning Man, and sharing thoughts and experiences about this project. At one point I was resting alone, waiting for Noosphere who was standing in a cue in order to buy some chai, when a rich Cuban businessman and his young male secretary sat down and asked for company.<br />- Was I Swedish? And what did I do here?<br />- Norwegian, neighbour country of Sweden, travelling with a guy, I replied.<br />- Who was he, my husband?<br />- No, someone I met on the Internet.<br /><br />I think my Cuban friend got rather shocked.<br /><br />- You Skandinavians, he said, - are crazy. My wife is Swedish.<br />- Well, then you surely know all about that. So where is she?<br />- Travelling somewhere in Sweden.<br />- Sure. And what are <em>you</em> doing here, then? I asked.<br />- Just looking around, he said when Noosphere suddenly turned up with two cups of chai and was introduced to my new friends. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyY2r73FCczMLl7sLv5AqR8-TChY_zeFIbThiQYAoTpT_vGiWChyY76KhBXzQcDBDCH8hJH7JTV1UArhF1pWTQOSVd51c0PTl7hx-8P_nV03U_v9ZY7cpOQ7LuUMaCDtU2hK3NtZvSeJR3/s1600-h/P9010154.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128564970323061778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 121px" height="155" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyY2r73FCczMLl7sLv5AqR8-TChY_zeFIbThiQYAoTpT_vGiWChyY76KhBXzQcDBDCH8hJH7JTV1UArhF1pWTQOSVd51c0PTl7hx-8P_nV03U_v9ZY7cpOQ7LuUMaCDtU2hK3NtZvSeJR3/s320/P9010154.JPG" width="214" border="0" /></a><br />The rest of that conversation was rather interesting. As I told you readers of my blog once before: This might turn into a big novel! (And I'll come back to this story later!<br />I promise.)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyY2r73FCczMLl7sLv5AqR8-TChY_zeFIbThiQYAoTpT_vGiWChyY76KhBXzQcDBDCH8hJH7JTV1UArhF1pWTQOSVd51c0PTl7hx-8P_nV03U_v9ZY7cpOQ7LuUMaCDtU2hK3NtZvSeJR3/s1600-h/P9010154.JPG"></a><br />Some people even used the tent to have a nap during daytime, because the activities at night were cooler and the show never ended. There was an ongoing party for five days. At least! And some got really exhausted, no wonder!Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-75607741850938297552007-11-02T16:22:00.001+01:002008-02-17T08:15:17.400+01:00Black Rock City, The Playa<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmZ3sdCh4Dr9UoNGagXzKLnwtqoz8FfFmPs8uWFnTmZPv4AHH9tWM_7281c_To_YVq5kKRCIEcacanApEwMgu7OuGBmDYtQJa__grN5y6NDqM3550mVZfPkSdDv1QLzfIPGRnJ69sZaUQ/s1600-h/P8310081.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128268063528856482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 236px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 172px" height="153" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmZ3sdCh4Dr9UoNGagXzKLnwtqoz8FfFmPs8uWFnTmZPv4AHH9tWM_7281c_To_YVq5kKRCIEcacanApEwMgu7OuGBmDYtQJa__grN5y6NDqM3550mVZfPkSdDv1QLzfIPGRnJ69sZaUQ/s320/P8310081.JPG" width="216" border="0" /></a>I think this must be one of the world's most spectacular festivals. We settled our van next to a couple fra Sacramento who was here for the fifth time, obviously looking for a renewal of their every-day-life. I remember the wife in her 50-ties looked at me and said: <em>Remember! This is a real pagan festival</em>. Yeah, I guess it is. It is probably good that something like this free playground exists in a somewhat conservative, religious country like the States - and I guess the"lawless" state of Nevada is the genuin right place to put a festival like Burning Man. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6D04wmSWYTeenzIAMPOiAf_Ye9myl6bHiZA_AT52Z6DblOJO2tjimItMP_57dxFBsBbCGpRjOcC3qpTyPltTow8kAEll_lhDKYJHEi56AGHq_Ck_5XcOrvJxEp1eVts1_N6r5hoMfn30D/s1600-h/P8310087.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128275163109796786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 149px" height="168" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6D04wmSWYTeenzIAMPOiAf_Ye9myl6bHiZA_AT52Z6DblOJO2tjimItMP_57dxFBsBbCGpRjOcC3qpTyPltTow8kAEll_lhDKYJHEi56AGHq_Ck_5XcOrvJxEp1eVts1_N6r5hoMfn30D/s320/P8310087.JPG" width="251" border="0" /></a>We shared some meals with our neighbours, and that was nice, but the rest of the time we strolled along the playa, listening to conserts, looking at the installations, and looking at people, most of all. Some of the spectacular things were the people walking around in the nude, only covered in complete body colours like silver, red og green. Kind of fun, and there were places that offered to bodypaint you completely, if you felt like it. We didn't.<br /><br />If you want to read more about 'our' year on the playa, please look at <a href="http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/2001/01_theme.html">http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/2001/01_theme.html</a>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-79580574951853241812007-10-28T13:42:00.000+01:002007-11-04T07:42:06.326+01:00Arriving in Black Rock City<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTKcmnvCRwr13twQAMPIGv8WkRn4XudaCWJ9NMZne5ktkLbB_-zzYPVITr7LcVWKK_mpypZFYf7K7QqPzZEY_hoblQ2UXPqWrBI9UL5zEbKAWiJARVqriRwtngmSkqIj1uprUAK0JThJM/s1600-h/P8300026.JPG"></a>Going there was such a trip. Arriving was fascinating. I just loved it. It was a real camp in the desert of Nevada, and it seemed all well organised and friendly. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoXhmMZb6n5ELBoiAokPpfj2ksc80UO_i5b7BJw2JaBxV-wp5PtR6hxIOkqy8tiiNjWBXjDWIn4LR0fdhGm4JIJxEOcK9AFc1c6v-uhbmGDW0qU9szuizY0UKGOUYwWrtL413Y1XBfEC7/s1600-h/P8300027.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126371384496106194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="149" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoXhmMZb6n5ELBoiAokPpfj2ksc80UO_i5b7BJw2JaBxV-wp5PtR6hxIOkqy8tiiNjWBXjDWIn4LR0fdhGm4JIJxEOcK9AFc1c6v-uhbmGDW0qU9szuizY0UKGOUYwWrtL413Y1XBfEC7/s320/P8300027.JPG" width="236" border="0" /></a>We brought with us everything needed for five days stay in the desert, - food and water, all well planned before we left LA. One of the rules in the Black Rock city is that you cannot buy or sell anything there, except for tea and coffee in the huge tent in the city center. The first thing we did was to park the car and go looking for the Burning Man platform in the center of the playa. The man was tall, built of wood and visible from distance, even if it was a small sandstorm blowing and rather dusty in the air. We had to wear a dust <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAVkAY5UwrGRAevXLwvvrlsJVSUjYPGximtd65LA7lHJU4FPXY34z53ezibJ86lvpugkLw3eoRsIx8zJYgg2IsiIO_d4ekBp32xc-lVYXfxWwkJ6erzx417uxQz-aE6Rr38B8O_b9IZ0j/s1600-h/P8300039.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126500731731192690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 149px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 231px" height="273" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAVkAY5UwrGRAevXLwvvrlsJVSUjYPGximtd65LA7lHJU4FPXY34z53ezibJ86lvpugkLw3eoRsIx8zJYgg2IsiIO_d4ekBp32xc-lVYXfxWwkJ6erzx417uxQz-aE6Rr38B8O_b9IZ0j/s320/P8300039.JPG" width="189" border="0" /></a>mask, tight sun glasses and tie some cloth around our heads to avoid sun and sand. We looked like real desert beduins, but it was needed. I was amazed to see how well organized the place was, and I liked the consept: You should not throw anything on the ground, but take care of your litter and make the place look like untouched when the festival is over. Great idea! This year's theme was the <em>Seven Ages of Man</em>, and the desert was full of art installations focusing on this theme. Later I will put out more pictures from the installations, some of them were enormous - and I kept thinking: How did they manage to take all this stuff into the desert? And how much time did they use to organize this camp? They said we were around 25 000 people camping in Black Rock city, and the art installations were focusing on the 7 ages of human life: The Cradle, The Play Station, The Chapel, The Coliseum, The Temple of Wisdom, The Maze and The Mausoleum. All taken from William Shakespeares text, <em>As <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEimgAav7UlakKnCSPvFDMH0PTMt9WlDDJ-x6YjW7EvHucE_eb54Pl7_fNl6fMq9DmCot9FSzEZZyAHw-VIlgvM1hCUuH6dosVCenV0tiubiDBQWJmU_IGeitp2O1FQB4o9d3YoSfscaMt/s1600-h/NEVADA+Maskert+Sylvi1.jpg"></a>You Like It:</em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWqwMhKly33Db_sGS1k0_RjeDCMS5p4kKrDe3EKEVWo1vIwKmPCZHS-xzfrD2yTq_-WUQFg71MB1Bt-qfVDI70ap2dZ7T3GA6MpU89-qICxq0mpBbmWNCquOKDzliDXocMMKkVXzHk5KB/s1600-h/Seven+ages+of+Man+Nevada+2001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126494989359917874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 198px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 172px" height="264" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWqwMhKly33Db_sGS1k0_RjeDCMS5p4kKrDe3EKEVWo1vIwKmPCZHS-xzfrD2yTq_-WUQFg71MB1Bt-qfVDI70ap2dZ7T3GA6MpU89-qICxq0mpBbmWNCquOKDzliDXocMMKkVXzHk5KB/s320/Seven+ages+of+Man+Nevada+2001.JPG" width="251" border="0" /></a><br /><br />All the world's a stage,<br /><div>And all the men and women merely players,</div><br /><div>They have their exits and entrances,</div><div>And one man in his time plays many parts,</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div>His acts being seven ages. </div><div></div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-21273147921338287262007-10-21T12:10:00.002+02:002008-02-17T08:23:00.793+01:00An interesting vibe here over the wireWe started to write to each other. Not only about music or litterature, but about our lives.<br /><br />I learned that it was possible to laugh and cry in front of my computer, just because of the messages he sent to me. We kept on talking for a long time before things evolved into <em>serious</em> business. There is a timegap of 9 hrs between us, Norway and west coast US, so it was not always easy to be <em>online</em> at the same time.<br /><br />We talked in the morning before I went to work, that is late night LA, - and then in my afternoon hours when the morning sun rises over California. Sometimes we talked around 3 at night, at my place, when he came back from work.<br /><br />- You have an interesting vibe here on the wire, he said one day.<br />Oh yes. I felt that interesting vibe, too.<br /><br /><br />Not long after this talk, we decided to meet in real life. But it took a few months before we managed to find out where and how. When Noosphere suggested some kind of art festival somewhere in the Nevada desert, I accepted immediately. But I had no idea about where we were going. No idea at all.Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-77536537609656312102007-10-21T11:42:00.004+02:002008-02-17T08:40:37.951+01:00Twenty Love Poems and a Song of DespairWe both loved the Chilean writer Pablo Neruda. I had been singing <em>Canto General</em> with my choir in my younger days, he read the poems.<br /><br />Here is a taste from <em>Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.</em><br /><br /><span style="color:#6666cc;">Full woman, flesh-apple, hot moon,<br />thick smell of seaweed,<br />mud and light in masquerade,<br />what secret clarity opens through your columns?<br /><br />What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?<br />Oh, love is a journey with water and stars,<br />with drowning air and storms of flour;<br />love is a clash of lightnings,<br />two bodies subdued by one honey.<br /><br />Kiss by kiss I travel your little infinity,<br />your borders, your rivers, your tiny villages;<br />and a genital fire - transformed, delicious-<br />slips through the narrow roadways of blood till it pours itself,<br />quick, like a night carnation, till it is:<br />and is nothing, in shadow, and flimmer of light.<br /><br />-Pablo Neruda </span><br /><span style="color:#6666cc;"><br /></span><br />Enjoy, my rare jewel of the Wire....Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-45241963348480749762007-10-21T11:21:00.000+02:002007-10-28T22:38:50.445+01:00Noosphere meaning -The LA guy had <em>Noosphere</em> as his nickname. I had to find out what it meant, and I think we have to sort that out, before I start my long journey.<br /><br />The name Teilhard de Chardin soon appeared, connected to the name of the <em>noosphere</em>. And one of his statemnets were that " - each one of us is perforce linked by all the material organic and psychic strands of his being to all that surrounds him". Interesting, isn't it?<br /><br />'Somewhere under all the commercial frenzy, in small rooms above garages, and bedroom corner offices, and laptops on airplanes, a new sphere is being created, a shared sphere of thought and creation and mind, and not just as abstract theory, not at the bandwidth of the printing press, but an instantly accessible, ever-present sphere of meme and dialectic. <br />Teilhard de Chardin called this the Noosphere, and he would be pleased at our Net, I think.' Noosphere wrote this to me on the 7. of February, 2001.<br /><br />In Wikipedia it says: The noosphere can be seen as the <em>sphere of human thought</em> being derived from the Greek νους - meaning "<a title="Mind" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mind">mind</a>" in the style of <em>atmosphere</em> and <em>biosphere</em>.<br /><br />And more: The word is also sometimes used to refer to a transhuman "<a title="Higher consciousness" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Higher_consciousness">consciousness</a>" emerging from the interactions of human minds. This is the view proposed by the theologian Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, who added that the noosphere is evolving towards an ever greater integration.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Source: </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noosphere"><span style="font-size:85%;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noosphere</span></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Wanna read more? </span><a href="http://www.december.com/cmc/mag/1997/mar/cunning.html"><span style="font-size:85%;">http://www.december.com/cmc/mag/1997/mar/cunning.html</span></a>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-60327078855149855272007-10-21T11:10:00.015+02:002008-02-16T22:22:03.002+01:00Writing without seeingWe were writing to each other without ever having seen each other. It took quite some time before we exchanged pictures. That was not really important for any of us. But we soon saw some common interests in litterature and music which made it very easy to talk.<br /><br />We exchanged some of the things that we had read, things that felt important in our lives. Like learning to know the Mexican poet <em>Octavio Paz</em>:<br /><br /><span style="color:#6666cc;">CARTA DE CREENCIA<br />CANTATA<br /><br />Between night and day<br />Is an unclear area.<br />It is not light, not shadow:<br />It is time.<br /><br />An hour, a pause of insecurity,<br />A darkening page,<br />A page where I slowly<br />Write these words.<br />Evening<br /><br />A fire eating itself.<br />Day turns and looses its leaves.<br />A dark flood removing<br />the borders of all things.<br />Strong and soft<br /><br />It tears away everything leading to an unknown place.<br />Reality flows away.<br />And I write:<br />I talk to myself<br />- I talk to you.<br /></span><span style="color:#ff6600;"><br /></span>CARTA DE CREENCIA<br />CANTANTA<br />Entre la noche y el día<br />hay un territorio indeciso.<br />No es luz ni sombra:<br />es tiempo.<br /><br />Hora, pausa precaria,<br />página que se obscurece,<br />página en la que escribo,<br />despacio, estas palabras.<br />La tarde<br /><br />es una brasa que se consume.<br />El día gira y se deshoja.<br />Lima los confines de las cosas<br />un río obscuro.<br />Terco y suave<br /><br />las arrastra, no sé adónde.<br />La realidad se aleja.<br />Yo escribo:<br />hablo conmigo<br />- hablo contigo.<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octavio_Paz">Octavio Paz</a><br />My inner three<br />Àrbol adrentro (1976-1988)Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-60515221631194809482007-10-14T00:05:00.000+02:002007-10-21T11:20:49.589+02:00A long way to go<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHH8QtQBQs9W55RkxSmhYlXei4-HC6m1kItwQBQaiXnK94DPHv9Y_5CyjEhc2smz_EjwfI0n3dZnKDgr9JcV5orBgd8LR_rw695_o7mx3QenstAf2vqYvOhPdlkU4M3v0X1OsMKVuN2rI/s1600-h/P9050202.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120946179918126482" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHH8QtQBQs9W55RkxSmhYlXei4-HC6m1kItwQBQaiXnK94DPHv9Y_5CyjEhc2smz_EjwfI0n3dZnKDgr9JcV5orBgd8LR_rw695_o7mx3QenstAf2vqYvOhPdlkU4M3v0X1OsMKVuN2rI/s320/P9050202.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The year was 2001. It was a long journey to go by van all the way from LA to Nevada, where the Burning Man Festival is held in the beginnning of September every year. This is a very special event! My journey was even longer: I came all the way from Northern Norway in order to go there...Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-49917936417686029732007-10-14T00:03:00.001+02:002007-10-21T11:10:01.332+02:00Ice hotelI sat writing late one night, when a message from the ICQ dropped down in front of me, asking for an ice hotel somewhere near to my place, which is Tromsø, Northern Norway. I checked the sender, a guy from somewhere near Pasadena, LA.<br /><br />Who is this, I thought. - An American who does not know how to use a search engine?Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7552569007512124963.post-74124036585110140552007-10-13T03:29:00.000+02:002007-10-28T20:05:34.459+01:00Noosphere<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafE-C-yxNZim1dPl9EcI-S7kM5QHZIqISj2qErRWuAx_mpGVLw-O12lYb9U4tUC_cz7BB5zjagsEvVuY-UtvAXB7RDWHD-x23xL5UlsrT_n4oZxac4z54Mj_oLJUZ7YYzVZpQAAcrRQRV/s1600-h/V%C3%85R+OG+SOMMER+2007+197.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120628721705409890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafE-C-yxNZim1dPl9EcI-S7kM5QHZIqISj2qErRWuAx_mpGVLw-O12lYb9U4tUC_cz7BB5zjagsEvVuY-UtvAXB7RDWHD-x23xL5UlsrT_n4oZxac4z54Mj_oLJUZ7YYzVZpQAAcrRQRV/s320/V%C3%85R+OG+SOMMER+2007+197.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div>This will, in due time, become a novel about a noosphere man who took me to a nowhere land called Black Rock City, way back in that very special year of 2001. </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div>We met on the web. We talked. </div><div> </div><div>And we met in real life nine months later and drove through California and Nevada on our way to Burning Man, a huge festival in the desert. But the journey took us much further than that. As a matter of fact, it has not ended yet...</div>Sylvi Inez Liljegrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04221236657532185604noreply@blogger.com1