Consumerism robs us of our ability to define our own experience.  There is a malevolent force afoot in this world, an historical movement to transform humanity's wild-begotten beauty into a panopticon so ubiquitous that the very concept of escape becomes an archaic curiosity.

In one small corner of the World Wide Web, a host of kindreds assembled for January 31 and February 1 to pant upon their computer screens like blockbuster fanboys awaiting news of a some superhero sequel, scouring message boards for the latest intel and awaiting email confirmations that they, yes special they, had been selected by synchronicity to camp in the desert seven months hence for a fabulous, if desiccant, week of bacchanalia, abandon, and service.  Now that Burning Man's ill-conceived ticket lottery has ended and the dust storms of indignation have settled, I would like to offer my own armchair observations on how this ticketing system was doomed from its very inception, and offer a forum for how it might be improved in the future.

From the oil shocks of the 1970s to the savings & loan crisis of the 1980s, the dotcom bubble of the 1990s, and today's mortgage meltdown, systemic crises are larger, more devastating, longer lasting, and closer together, and our so-called leaders are in denial.

What would happen if we could arrange a hundred million people, at thousands of parties across the planet, dancing at the same time, to the same rhythms?  Might this trigger transcendental chaos, the unified heartbeat of the human spirit?