The Burning Man Festival has nothing to do with meetings or incentives although any company that used it for teambuilding or an incentive would be a really cool place to work. For one week, it is probably the most interesting place on the planet. Trying to describe it is like trying to describe orgasm. You can’t. You just have to do it. And fair warning… in trying to describe it, out of necessity, an occasional “bad” word or sexual reference, may appear in the narrative. It’s just the nature of the Beast.

If you don’t know what Burning Man is, then, as Burners would say, “Look it up. What am I, wikif**kinpedia?” Note:  of the 57,000 people who braved the elements to gather in the section of the alkaline salt flats of Nevada known as Black Rock City this year, at least one was probably dressed as, or thinks he or she really is, wickif**kinpedia.

Here are a couple of very poor attempts to describe the sense of Burning Man 2010. Taken individually, they will give you absolutely no idea what it is really like, but taken together, they will give you absolutely no idea of what it is really like.

1. A theme park designed by Walt Disney, Timothy Leary, and Mad Max
2. Mardi Gras on the Astral Plane
3. A place where you see everything you could possibly imagine and three times as many things as you could not possibly imagine
4. A place where if the aliens decided to land, no one would notice
5. A post-apocalyptic landscape, except the apocalypse was kind of nice
6. Given infinite time and space, the Castro in San Francisco on Halloween
7. A place where the Bar Scene in Star Wars would be the day-care center
8. What the Divine looks like when IT is laughing
9. The Is-Ness. The Such-Ness. The Ta-Ta-Ta.

Some observations that will in no way help you actually know what it is like…

1. All things being equal, scantily clad people are more attractive than completely naked people. There are some notable exceptions.
2. Sound system technology has improved dramatically. Giant speakers can blast all kinds of techno music at improbably high volume without distortion.
3. Multiple speakers systems can operate simultaneously and usually do.
4. There is a right way and a wrong way to sage someone or be saged.
5. The corollary to this is that… if you are going to walk in sacred space, you better walk clock-wise. Or else you will probably have ruined Burning Man.
6. Partying 24/7 is the old paradigm. Partying 25/8 is the new paradigm.
7. It can be very hot in the desert.
8. Dust storms can be very intense.
9. Neither numbers 7 nor 8 have any impact on number 6

Picture an immense salt flat with a tent/RV city that exists for one week. It has streets, neighborhoods and themed camps arranged in a giant semi-circle. In the middle of the circle is “the Playa”, a stretch of desert more than a mile across, with an enormous wooden platform supporting a statue of a man. Whatever you are picturing in your mind, double it. Whatever part of BM you are thinking about, triple that.

Like a giant outdoor museum, the Playa has scores of structures, sculptures, art pieces, interactive displays, odd undefined “things” that change, move around somehow, disappear after one day, or burn. The one thing most of them have in common is a massive sound system and really cool lighting.

This temporary city offers emergency services, a sort of police force, and an unwritten and intuitive system of rules that gets passed on to newcomers by osmosis. The consequence of violating these rules is to instantly have insults heaped upon you by complete strangers (some of whom are wearing zebra costumes).

Some camps are organized around spiritual themes and have temples, ceremonial lodges, and vegetarian meal plans. Other camps are organized around “conscious action”, or alternative energy, or an artistic, musical or scientific theme. One was organized around a series of very serious discussions about psychedelics (they also had classes in Thai massage) and this particular camp had an excellent techno party every night. A number of camps have sexual themes (think of the weirdest thing you can, and quadruple that). Many have no obvious purpose other than an opportunity to have fun, get as high as possible, and have as much sex as possible. Everything is acceptable, no judgments, do your own thing, have a good time, and as one bumper sticker reminded us…”Safety Third”.

Despite popular belief, this is not a gathering of old hippies. Less than 10% of the attendees are over 50 years old, and two thirds are under 40. It is a cross-section of humanity, with certain conservative and fundamental religious groups self-selected out of the attendee population that is impossible to stereotype. Well, they may have “out-there” in common.

Here are a few vignettes that in no way will impart a flavor of the experience.

Walking for the first time on the Playa at night you realize that this thing you have gotten yourself into is way bigger than you thought. It is quintuple of what you expected. It is massive.

“Art Cars”, lit up with neon and LEDs, seem to float in the air. What’s an art car? Picture a giant cruise ship built on the top of a school bus (you can’t see the bus) moving slowly through the night with hundreds of revelers dancing on its several “decks”. The sounds of the techno beat gain as it approaches, crescendos in front of you, and then gets fainter and fainter before disappearing into the desert night. You are entranced by a similarly giant preying mantis with billows of flame spouting from its antennae as it circles around you. And of course there are costumed dancers drinking and hollering as they wave before they too move into the dark. Watch out! A “Soul Train” (obviously a giant train blasting disco, with partiers hanging on for dear life) looms out of the darkness. I swear the engine is dancing too, rocking back and forth in time to the music, wearing a big happy face.

But these few examples are nothing. Pirate ships, space ships, a giant tape recorder, entire houses with front porches filled with musicians, dragons, Cheshire cats driven by Mad Hatters. Every so often they stop in the desert, crank up the music, people dance, get on and off, and by some mysterious command, sail off again.

The Playa is not just filled with art cars. Literally thousands of bicycles move back and forth, most of them tricked out with lights, their drivers in full costume. Thousands of pedestrians and dancers are lit up with neon glow strips. Now add into that picture a number of bicycles and pedestrians without lights (locally known as “darktards”). Now add into that the assumption that about 3 out of 5 people in every category are on hallucinogens or drunk, or more likely both. People without lights who have decided to sit or lie down on the Playa and gaze at the scene around them are known as “Speed Bumps”.

Headline in La Playa, the daily newspaper; “SLOW THE F**K DOWN.”

It didn’t have those asterisks. There’s more.

Interspersed through this craziness, it is possible to come on a scene that includes a boxing ring featuring two giant robots. Remember “Rock Em’, Sock Em’ Robots”? No? Obviously you had a deprived childhood. One red and one blue robot, controlled by two opposing players, have the task of hitting the other robot hard enough so that its head pops up. And here you are, in the desert night, watching one red and one blue robot, each about eight feet tall, duke it out. But now the opposing players are brave human souls who get inside the backs of the robots and control, in a general sense, the punch-fest. In the words of the referee, “Burning Man is a participatory event, even if it means getting hurt”.

This leads in to one of my favorite features of BM, Thunderdome, proudly displaying the sign. “Days Since Last Injury: 0”. It’s a permanent sign because they know they never have to change it. “Peace, Love, Dove” is not something you will hear at Thunderdome. “Kill the f**king bastard, you pussy,” is more likely. It looks like Mad Max’s Thunderdome but with one major difference. This is not a movie set and these are not actors. Welcome to Thunderdome.

Hundreds of chanting and bloodthirsty spectators drape the dome, big crowds push around the outside trying to see what’s inside. What do they see? Leather and fur-clad, self-styled “Dome-bitches” writhing and squirming to blaring heavy metal, big hairy men banging ceremonial staffs, and in the two swings dangling from the roof with surgical tubing and bungee cords, some guy dressed in a Tony the Tiger suit glaring at a Giant Elmo.

This is not an Ecstasy crowd. No OM chanting here. Do not be deceived by Tony and Elmo. This is a whisky-swilling who-the-f**k-are-you-looking-at mob. Those big hairy guys with the big clubs pull back the swings and when the two large fur balls collide, it’s kill or be killed. At first they are laughing, but after a moment, spurred on by the music and the blood-lusted crowd, they are trying to body slam each other into the desert dust, wrap their furry legs around each others throats, and beat each other with giant foam bats. It’s a scene. Or as the Mistress of Ceremonies jeered at one of the next would-be gladiators who attempted some fancy moves…”Hey buddy, you’re not Jackie Chan, you’re a black guy in a pink bunny suit”.

OK. Keep imaging that scene. Now the next night add in another element. Add a violent desert dust storm that limits visibility from a few feet to maybe 20 yards, so what you are seeing blinks in and out of existence. Does this slow the action down? Nope. It’s exactly the same except everyone is now wearing goggles and breathing masks. High couture for the post-apocalyptic set. The fighters don’t get to wear them. F**k’em. There Will Be Blood.

Reluctantly departing this hell-scape, I worked my way along the Esplanade and, hearing what sounded like music, ducked into a large tent. I was greeted by a really, really good techno-rock band wearing full clown suits. There was the obligatory writhing woman on stage, this one dressed in fishnet. I mean real fishnet. A fishnet. Seriously.

The crowd danced, bobbed and weaved, lost in their own worlds (but secretly checking each other out). Right in front of the stage were five or six sofas occupied by completely immobilized party-goers. Apparently this was the completely immobilized portion of their trip. Oh, I forgot to mention the trapeze artists up above the crowd. It wouldn’t have felt like a complete circus without them.

But it’s not all crazy all the time. Sort of. My friend and I were walking along the dusty side streets on a hot day looking for a “bar” we had heard about, and saw a sign that said, “Margaritas and Shade”. As you can imagine, it is hard to pass up a sign like that. We didn’t.

To our delight, we discovered a couple in front of their trailer, sitting on overstuffed chairs in the tarpaulin shade they had created. They offered us margaritas and a chance to relax and have some conversation. They were like middle-age accountants or insurance salespeople or something from Sacramento, and said they came here every year on their vacation because there were no phones, or e-mails, and they could relax. The scene was more reminiscent of a KOA campground than one of the weirdest places on the planet. With one exception; She was dressed in fishnet stockings, and a corset with Grand Canyonesque cleavage. Another margarita?

Many camps offer One-Time Events and there are hundreds throughout the week. As many variations of nudity and drinking as you can imagine, yogic, tantric and spiritual stuff, treasure hunts, hula hoop lessons, dance lessons, community sports (also involving nudity and drinking), and an endless variety of deviant sexual workshops, all of which are, more or less, tongue-in-cheek, Some literally so. Yuck.

Here are just a few of my favorite topics. You will just have to imagine what they are… Weird Swedish Food, Lucid Dreaming Kung Fu (advanced),  Barbie Death Village Pancake Porkout, and Anal Probe 7.0.

There are also some technical discussions on very cerebral topics. One of my friends attended a lecture on mathematical puzzles delivered by the Math theme camps resident PhD. To summarize, in a contest between Fibonacci numbers vs. psilocybin, psilocybin always wins.

If you haven’t already guessed, sexuality is a huge part of the event. In a way, the whole week can be likened to a group consciousness seduction and consummation. The first few days are getting acquainted days with general probing, searching and teasing as the attendees settle in, meet each other, get comfortable in their surroundings. Then the intensity of the party builds over the next few days and nights as people let loose, start partying around the clock, begin to remove pieces of clothing, go into deep trance, continue to ingest all sorts of substances, and let the Spirit move them.

The intensity finally climax’s on the final night when The Man, that giant statue that has been looking down on the insanity for the week, is set on fire. But at BM of course, it’s not that simple. 100 Art Cars circle the Neon–lit Man, their sound-systems booming every variation of rock, techno, techno-rock, techno-funk,  house, breakbeat jungle, dubstep, gay divas bluegrass, mashups, chiptunes, electro-industrial, methtronic sludge, bossa nova and Hawaiian (to name just a few). Inside the circle, are nearly every one of the 57,000 people at the Festival (excluding the ones who passed out too soon), and of these, approximately 50,000 are on some sort of drug.

First, there is a pagan procession carrying torches that circles the man, then at least 500 torch twirlers, divided into groups performing their own routines follow, accompanied by several Marching Bands. Following the torch twirling we were wowed by a completely over-the-top fireworks display that rivals anything you could see on the 4th of July over New York Harbor. Amazing.

And then… a few licks of flame around the edges of the platform, the flames spread, some huge explosions, and the entire structure burns as those watching who were non-catatonic screamed like any good pagan should. The more it burned, the stronger the Dust Storm. Dust Storm? Right on cue.. High winds with dust obscuring the details of the burn making it even weirder, if such a thing was possible. As the Man finally collapsed and the platform crumbled in one last fireball of flames and sparks against the yellow sky…well to complete the sexual metaphor…this was a group consciousness orgasm that can not be equaled in the history of group orgasms.

The crowd went wild, half of them running towards the flames, half of them running away to escape the dust and wind (or to take their partners back to their tents to complete the metaphor, so to speak). As the crowd dispersed across the Playa, I noticed one young man, motionless in a lawn chair, slumped over, head down. He was alive and OK, just experiencing a sensory overload. If he just hunkered down and closed his eyes, everyone would go away, the dust storm would stop, and he would be back in Kansas. No such luck.

Favorite overheard one-liners throughout the Festival…

1. “Is this sugar Vegan?”
2. “Yeah, he likes to always put himself in scenarios where, he like, you know, does shit.”
3. “That is a concept I have chosen to own.”

There was a lot of BS at BM too. That last one-liner could have been self-edited to be, “I believe”, but it would not have sounded nearly as important. And there were quite a few people there who believed that if enough people “chose to own a concept”, it would become true. Mistaking belief systems for wisdom is not a new human phenomenon, but as our gift to the next Burning Man community my friends and I have decided to have our own theme camp; The Moveable Theatre of Negation, featuring Dr, Yesbut’s Chamber of Counter-Examples. The sign over the entrance will read, “Abandon All Certainty, Ye Who Enter Here”. Look for it on the Playa in 2011.

It is useless to continue because there are thousands of things far weirder occurring simultaneously all day and all night. I overheard one phrase that might sum up the essence and spirit of Burning Man. If you are not familiar with the traditional Hindi/Sanskrit greeting, “Namaste’”, it can be loosely translated as “the Divine within me recognizes the Divine within you”.

The lead singer at one impromptu concert gave his Burning Man version of “Hello, Black Rock City” by greeting the crowd with…

“Namaste’, Motherf**kers!!!!!”

See you at the Burn.



For more pictures of my trip to Burning Man, please visit my Facebook page at www.Facebook.com/TheCramerCollection.