The Temple of Tears
by David Gross
A Campmate, his son, and I had been out riding the city, seeing some of
the sights. When we reached 2:00 we decided to go out towards some distant
lights on the Playa. These lights turned out to be Club Cube (?) at which
point we decided to head straight for Center Camp Cafe.
The evening was a windy one with an abundance of dust. As we traveled
towards town, a large structure began to appear in the dust. At times
we could see the roof, then the dust would encase whatever it was. We
had to stop at one point, as the wind was just a bit too strong for the
son. Eventually we came upon the Temple of Tears.
In the night with the dust we started to examine the structure, reading
what others had written. Hidden in the dust, the silence, the solitude,
I sat. Without any predetermined thoughts or knowledge of this structure,
I sat and began to write. Thoughts of my Grandparents and friends who
left this life years ago. To be honest, the ones that came to mind had
not been around for many years.
Once my party all gathered and we were leaving, the campmate and I ended
up sharing our individual experiences which were very much the same. In
my hometown, the only thing you hear about BM is "Naked Chicks" and "Drugs."
The Temple of Tears is another thing I use to describe BM to Virgins or
those who ask me about BRC.
