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Justinian Morton

@justinianfair6

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I first attended Burning Man in 2001—this year was my 10th visit over the quarter-century since. It’s never been my Mecca, but I keep circling back, lured by limitless possibility, whimsy, and encounters with creative, open-minded people. I see friends there; I make new ones. Black Rock City, the temporary city that rises from a crusty Nevada lake bed, is catnip for an explorer.

Part of the magic, especially in the earlier, pre-Instagram, off-the-grid years, was its liminality: cut off from the outside world, you’d enter a place out of time and surrender to an unpredictable journey. There was no reliable way to coordinate with anyone. Leave camp and you might get swept into a quasi-therapy session, an airplane joy ride, an Italian banquet, a Western saloon. You might even fall in love—for three days.

Like Williamsburg, Black Rock City has gentrified. Glamping is more common: RVs, Starlink, Shiftpods. You can find matcha lattes and sourdough pizza (gifted still). Fewer pyrotechnics, more LEDs. Less edge. Cultural fixtures have come and gone—Dr. Megavolt firing electricity at someone swinging from a crane—replaced by new ones, often giant sound systems on wheels.

But the desert remains: stark, beautiful—a blank canvas that still inspires awe and introspection. The old magic is there if you open to adventure. One moment I’m seated with Kazakhs in a yurt; the next I’m dancing on a golden dragon spitting flames. My camp crews the Serpent Queen, a Victorian steamboat; we hosted a wedding in the open desert amid raging dust.

I’ve accumulated many such only-at-Burning-Man memories. I’ve heard it called the ultimate “you had to be there” experience. I’ve never tried to prove otherwise. Most years I hardly took pictures.

I once interviewed Larry Harvey, Burning Man’s founder and philosopher-chief. He told me the experience “tends to confirm a person’s sense of their own inner reality and potency of their being, and that extends to their ability to join with others in a common purpose: I Am, We Are, It Is.”

Maybe that’s what endures for me after 25 years: individual possibility, connection to others, participation in something larger.

I’ll probably be back again.

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Were getting hitched! 💍 I asked her the morning of the man burn at sunrise, and at first she was so surprised she kept saying “no! No! are you serious? No way!” And i responded with “well if thats your answer…” 🤡 I managed to turn a tiny carriage into a ring box, and she loved it. We had some of best friends there, and our favorite art cars the Front Porch and the Serpent Queen. Its been 7 years from our first meeting at that party in the desert, and they have been the best 7 years of my life… #thefrontporchartcar #theserpentqueen #burningmanengagement #burningman2026 #burningman

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Thank you to everyone who made my 45th birthday so special... from Hedwig at the Castro to pizza partying... allllllll the way through to reconnecting with an old friend at Daytime Realness... So many great memories.

Thank you for trusting me and the rest of Pigeon House to make a total scene out of a silly game with wigs in the backyard... There will be a rematch! The Wig Snatch tournament was so hilariously incredible... I love you all.

If you have pictures from the party, please share with me. Pic 1 is the only picture I took .. inside the pink tent put up by the children, oddly full of trophies, but it did make me feel like a winner.

Pic 2 John Cameron Mitchell performing with Spin the Needle at the Castro theater for the Hedwig 25th anniversary tour

Pic 3 Daytime Realness at El Rio

Pic 4 the most bodacious booty cake I've ever been blessed to receive

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I don’t really make New Year’s resolutions. Some years, I created challenge boards that had items like “see 4 plays” and “find a swimming hole to go skinnydipping”. I found those to only be partially effective.

Last year, I decided to keep a sheet that simply tracked what I was doing. I kept it open in my many, many tabs. (I bet you’re not surprised to hear: I am a person with A LOT of open tabs. I actually use 2 different browsers to separate my many tabs… it’s probably unhealthy, but I digress) Occasionally I would look at the 2025 sheet to remind myself that good things were happening or to stop and pick up a book. When I tell people that I don’t watch a lot of TV, they often ask, “what do you do then?” and clearly… I go see live performances and read. I actually consider this to be a “light year” for reading, and I blame society for that.

We’ll see what happens with 2026, but I don’t think it will be quite this busy, especially since SF Oasis is closed for most of the year… There’s some shit we gotta take care of, and some trash that’s gotta be taken out.

- 10 Trips taken
-- (does include a couple of work trips)
- 27 shows and art exhibits
-- (does not include random drag shows)
- 4 books read
-- (I also have a weekly magazine)
- 6 graphic novels
--(does not include single issue comics)
5 art projects and special projects

** Pics are from Jan - July, 2025. More in a minute.

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Fall is settling in, but part of me is still chasing summer
📍Somewhere in California (and Oregon) • Summer 2025

#oasislive25 #burningman #natureheals #summerphotodump

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📍Black Rock City, NV • Burning Man • August 2025

I never imagined I’d actually make it to Burning Man - never really had a huge draw towards this “thing in the desert”. But this year curiosity (and the Serpent Queen crew) pulled me in. And what I found was so much more than I ever expected. Yes, the art, music, and desert magic were incredible - but it was the people and community who made it unforgettable.

Thank you to this incredible crew for welcoming me with open arms and open hearts, and for being so kind and patient with my “broken wing”. They showed me what community really feels like, held me up when I was nervous about being there with a torn tendon, and reminded me that support can be found in the wildest of places.

The dust, the laughter, the music, and all the little in-betweens were such a gift. And getting to share it all with my best friend after years of hearing his stories made it even more special.

One hell of a first Burn - I’m already counting the days until the next. Until we meet again in the dust xo

#burningman2025 #serpentqueen #blackrockcity

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Black rock city is calling ☎️

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It was a beautiful brisk day for a ride! Thanks for coming out to Scootfort with us!

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He is missing
In the time of antique piles

Carpets of all shades
Instruments of all weights
Paintings of all rays
Taxidermies with all fates
Fabrics going all ways
Porcelains of all clays
A pair of patten and a pair of kerosene lights
Dating from 1850 till last night

He doesn't remember today
Any day is as old as the passed days

He is missing
In a palace older than the universe
From the spring of an oak tree to the fall of black walnuts and grapes
A meteor shower of seconds
An astroid collision of minutes
A nebula of wood, concrete, brass, bronze and pumice stones
Is haunted by infinity

He's too young
He's too ancient
He's missing in time and space
He's missed by time and space
Losing his life, more he gains

#Americanlife #vintagestyle #20thcenturyfashion #mechanic #woodcarver #carpenter #handsomeman #boiseidaho #travelfun #couchsurfing #handyman #toughguy #lightandshadow #autumnvibes🍁 #erhu #fixingcars #renovatehome #cobbler #mendshoes #trimtrees #paintingwall #jacksofalltrades #encyclopedia ##musical #lifeinamovie #poetic #lostintime

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Reluctantly, we tucked away relics of the past. Zac remained in his signature white tank and denim overalls. “I want to dress like that,” I pouted. He popped a cap onto my head and winked: “Maybe you’ll meet the hat’s owner today.”

The ultimate post-Burning Man task awaited: mountains of Black Rock–caked laundry into Justinian’s van. “Where do I sit?” I asked. Justinian shoved a pile aside. “Lift your legs! Roll in there!” Before I could blink, he swept me up in a princess carry, depositing me atop a “wedding bed” of clothes.

At Waldo Point Harbor, we looked like vagabonds, stuffing washers and munching sandwiches on wooden stumps beneath a utility pole. Zac’s formal promise to repay was silenced with a playful pinch. The pier mirrored cerulean sky; houseboats resembled the Porch art car brought to aquatic life. Vintage planes, a Triumph motorcycle, and Loyal’s basket of tart apples added to the ritual. We polished the fruit on our shirts and crunched.

The grandfathers admired teak decks, mitered railings, steam-bent hulls—craftsmanship perfected. A Great Blue Heron watched their devotion, solemn and unblinking, as we absorbed the quiet glory of labor, tradition, and the human touch. #Laundryday #postburningman #granspas #oldmanstrength #jeanslovers #coworkers #stylefashion #vintagestyle #streetphotography #loveyouall #architecturelovers #historydiscoveries #mechanicalengineering #naturalists #boatlife #antique #Smellaflower #eatapples #millvalley #portraits #charms

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At Burning Man, every night, Uncle Beast rode his throne across the “Front Porch,” ushering men and women dazzling in color and costume toward revels of drink and spectacle. I arrived—without a sleeping bag, tent, or possessions—graciously taken in by Zac. Our living room became a ceaseless micro-theater: no scripts, only flickers of improvisation, fragmented epiphanies, and half-lived stories. Performers were both actors and audience, one moment applauding, the next swept into their own emotional storm.

On my 34th birthday, I stepped into this crucible of testing and revelation. Burning Man offered me a framework—“polyamory,” “rebirth”—to name the patterns shaping my life: long attachments, entangled desires, nets of affection I never chose yet could not escape. As sunset bled into “big night,” Justinian’s harmonica twisted through the air, echoing all labyrinthine journeys of love and life.

The Front Porch’s final beam was removed; the loft reduced to memory. Exhausted, sand-saturated, we sprawled faceless, nameless across rugs and sofas. Farewells layered, some light, some permanent. Vehicles rolled out, returning the land to solitude. Burning Man is a theater of ephemeral glory, radical presence, and the raw, messy courage of simply being alive. #burningman2024 #frontporch #dusty #liveonce #firstburn #cleanupshits #amazingpeople #creativevibes #mechanicalengineering #vintagestyle #greatwest #sunriseeveryday #dance #love #couchsurfing #usaroadtrip #americanlife

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Gandpa: grandpa is getting us an ice cream.
“Tea, children?” Zac, the Patriarch, squinted at the tea tin. Calm and warm, he contrasted sharply with the restless Beast of Black Rock Desert. With a broken fridge and no fresh groceries, Reno’s lavish breakfasts felt distant. Morning light poured through redwoods, painting the room in oil-thick hues—was I in a Pasha’s bedchamber or a laborer’s humble nest?

Zac’s hummingbird-hovering lamp, the fragrant embrace of a tree, a Ford pickup charging toward the supermarket—these small rituals became our labor and joy. The Porch, squeezed between studio and bushes, awaited dismantling. Dust, sand, and heavy carpets became a trinity of penance; wheels, panels, and boards moved with delicate, gritted ballet. Exhausted, I fell into the grass, primal and spent, yet alive.

Later, vintage planes and a Bauhaus-inspired houseboat emerged, bridging craft, invention, and memory. Zac’s meticulous sewing of the Porch tarp, playful pin-up poses, and sunburned dad-bod revealed contradictions: absurd yet tender, ridiculous yet grounded.

We wandered Mill Valley, past Art Deco cinema and taco lounges, into archives of flight, carpentry, and exile. Here, craft, history, and human connection converged: the labor of living rendered sacred, humble, and profoundly alive.
#postburningman #cleanupshits #historicaltour #walkwalkwalk #millvalley #americanlife #architecturelovers #vintagestyle #september #streetphotography #jeanslovers #redneckday #thefrontporch #thedelta #laundry #sundayvibes #sanfrancisco #roadtrippin #blownaway #dusty #tarptotarp

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