Bombay Beach Biennale Year 0

by Amy Marie Slocum

You took a day trip south to the surreal and forgotten resort town Bombay Beach on the shores of the Salton Sea. You took the 101 south to the 110, headed east through the chaparral, to the rugged 111. You stopped for coffee, then burgers, and picked up a case of tinnies at a dusty gas station before arriving at the site of the Bombay Beach Biennale. You attended a lecture on why we love ruins by Professor Mark Wrathall, an opera on the beach, a drive-in movie theater, you posed behind ornate picture frames for your new profile pic, and then took a step back and admired what they were originally framing. You watched films by Maya Deren, Dziga Vertov, Stan Brakhage, Man Ray, Buñuel, Dalí, and Jans Svankmajer on old tube TVs simultaneously. You ran out of beer and were offered a bottle of champagne as you danced till dawn on the beach. You woke up with a bit of a headache, but still attended the scheduled lecture. You got back in the car, dusty, your mouth tasting like 10-day-old roadkill and took the 111, heading north, then west.