(Photo and video by Scott Beale / Laughing Squid)

The Burning Man, wooden centerpiece of the Burning Man arts and countercultural festival in Black Rock City, Nevada, burned just around 10 p.m. last night, amid cries of "Last time was better!" (It was; the Man didn't catch on fire so well.) Such fond memories of Burning Man arsonist Paul Addis's handiwork were, shortly thereafter, completely obliterated by the detonation of San Francisco artist Dan Das Mann's wooden sculpture, "Crude Awakening."

The ;piece began with the wail of an air-raid siren that announced the 1,000-foot safety perimeter was in full effect. The impromptu carnival of art cars, roaming robots, fire twirlers, and drunken frat boys came to a halt as everyone gaped at a fireworks show so spectacular ... how spectacular? The only thing this reporter can say about it is that there's certainly no carbon footprint there, oh no — Burning Man sure is sticking to its Green Man theme. Not.

The moment was capped by a refinery's worth of propane and jet fuel pumped at high pressure through
the centerpiece of the project, a nine-story-tall wooden replica of an oil derrick. The biggest mushroom cloud outside of wartime welcomed us to our newly warmed environment as the jet fuel burned with a
shriek like the world's largest police whistle. The tower took a fair time to fall, and when it finally did the Burning Man participants surrounding it did what Burning Man participants always do, which is run, mostly naked, toward the raging inferno. Survival of the fittest is a wonderful thing.

Afterwards, the chaos of having no Man in the center of the city by which to navigate led to loud, raucous, and crazed revelry in the streets. Grown men hugged each other. Impotence compensation in the form of bigger and better flamethrowers took over the darkness. Drunken frat boys became BFFs with tripping hippies. The party lasted until well after dawn, with art pieces burning here and there, the bass on the sound tents cranked all the way and thousands and thousands of citizens of Black Rock City making the desert shake with their dancing.

It was like that rave scene in The Matrix: Reloaded, only tragically real.

"So what'd you do last night?"
"I took some unknown hallucinogen from a guy I didn't know." (shakes head sadly, as if in shame)
"How was it?"
"Fucking awesome."

In the case of Lucy Hosking's Satan's Calliope, that thing is "Earplugs Schmearplugs". The Calliope is an art car with a reclining fire organ mounted on the back. Each pipe is an individual pulse jet engine, each one shoots fire, and some of them are preloaded with titanium dioxide to produce some bright white sparkage. Hosking plays it like an old-school metal vixen, fondling one of those guitar-style keyboard things . Break out the marshmallows, let's go for a ride.

On a tip from an informant close to the pair, we did some reconnaissance work out at the 2 o'clock end of the city, which is home to the high-decibel sound installations and rave camps. (Black Rock City is laid out like a clock, with loud stuff at ten and two, and quieter, more civil installations in between).

While comatose ravers and stoned hippies lay on fluffy pillows in the shade, Camp I Am, the rumored home of the Google deuce, was quietly buzzing with activity, three RVs surrounding a shaded area set up with long folding tables and chairs. There was no glitter in sight, nor was anyone in the complex wearing day-glo, so we knew this might be the place. One young man fretting over a laptop on a table mentioned he was getting screamingly fast Internet connectivity, another good indication that our trail was warming up. Must check in with one's broker and administrative minions, even on vacation, mustn't one?

The highlight of the campsite was a splendidly engineered shower setup, with opaque plastic sheet walls and a recirculating system, making that sweet, sweet desert shower last as long as you want. Correspondents who made use of the device said "ZOMG best Shower EVAR!!" and "Wow those Google guys sure know how to participate." Did they know that the nature of the recirculating system meant that they very well might be showering themselves in Larry and Sergey's sweat?

The Orb Swarm's builders are a group of San Franciscan mad scientists who sprang up as a sort of offshoot of The Flaming Lotus Girls, a fire arts group best known for their gigantic interactive fire sculptures of snakes, constellations and phoenixes. Do not let the hippie name fool you: These people are not only hardcore, they know what they are doing. The Lotus group's name comes from its first project, which was — let's guess, children! — a flaming lotus.

The new group's work is a complex robotics project with some pretty deep electronics. The orbs were designed and built by a committee loosely headed by Jonathan Foote and Michael Prados, both Flaming Lotus Girls. (Before you ask, no, you don't have to be female to be a Flaming Lotus Girl. We don't know how that works either.)

The Swarm's Orbs move with counterweights inside them, shifting their center of gravity to make them roll. Driving them is a trip. Instead of straightforward steering, the driver gently suggests where they might like the Orb to go, and then hopes for the best. This makes for a great fallback position when — oh, let's be hypothetical — a driver accidentally rams an orb into the delicate little shins of a particularly obnoxious frat boy and his Bud Light-swilling buddies. We just hate when that happens.

Anyhow, the Orbs are really good at night, and the creators have assured us that there is in no way any sort of underlying hippie spirituality associated with this art piece. Hell, they are even a little squeamish calling it an art piece, they are just a bunch of gearheads and techies who really, really like the desert.

(Moo, if you're not familiar with its work already, prints those pint-sized business cards emblazoned with Flickr photos on the back. If someone hasn't handed you one yet, you need to attend more Lunch 2.0 events.) We were going to hogtie Magdalinski and take staged photos of him naked and covered in engine grease to sate our readership's need for news, but he distracted us with a handful of shiny stickers. We're still trying though, sit tight.

Valleywag: When did you first get involved with Burning Man?

Addis: I first attended in 1996 with [a group called] Cyberbus. I went in 1996, 1997, and 1998. In 1997, I helped build The Man, and I participated in the burn as security.

Valleywag: Why did you stop going?

Addis: I started to believe that because of the way the event itself was transforming, I started to see thatBurning Man's social impact and efficacy in having a substantial role in domestic policy and personal growth was nil. Burning Man had degenerated into a postindustrial disco.

Valleywag: So why'd you go this year?

Addis: friend of mine from Los Angeles, a photographer, goaded me into going. He asked me why I wasn't going, in front of a group of friends. And I said the only reason I would go was ... "blank." The only reason I went was to keep my word to a friend of mine.

Valleywag: "Blank?" By "blank," do you mean "to burn down The Man?"

Addis: It has to be "blank," I'm on charges. You can't print that.

Valleywag: In your statement, you attributed the actions to an operative of "Black Rock Intelligence." Is this a real group? If so, how long has it existed?

Addis: Black Rock Intelligence was founded in August 1998.

Valleywag: And what's its goal?

Addis: The gross violation of individual liberties in the name of the preservation of Larry Harvey [the founder of Burning Man]. Black Rock Intelligence has believed that Larry is a danger to himself, and the danger increases the closer he gets to a microphone. We figured we could save him from a severe case of amoebic dysentery if not diarrhea of the mouth.

Valleywag: Come on.

Addis: If the torching of Burning Man was a prank, follow this through to its logical conclusion.

Valleywag: What's your plan now? Where are you headed?

Addis: I'll be back in my apartment tonight. My arraignment is on the 25th of September, at 9:30 a.m.

Valleywag: How do you intend to defend yourself?

Addis: With a lawyer.

Valleywag: Isn't it true that you're a lawyer yourself?

Addis: I am a retired intellectual property litigator and a twice-ordained minister of the Universal Life Church and the Church of the Subgenius.

Valleywag: Any words for the people at Burning Man this year?

Addis: Have a great time. I think it's an incredible opportunity for a unique experience and community bonding and to consider their emotions and the catharsis possible now. People who got their early got to see two Men burn for one low price.

Valleywag: And do they have you to thank for that?

Addis: Black Rock Intelligence takes credit for that two-for-one offer.

Hi, folks. This is the *alleged* arsonist/douchebag/attention whore himself, writing you from Fernley, NV, where I have been chilling out for a couple of days.

Having read your various comments, a few things should be addressed. First, this operation was extensively planned well in advance, and the number one thing to Black Rock Intelligence was that NO ONE be hurt. If you people actually knew us, you'd know that we have an extensive background in doing things exactly like this. In fact, we were on the ground for some thirty minutes before ascent, scoping the scene and clearing people in order to minimize any possiblity of injury to others. We were aided by several people who were recruited on the playa the night of this burn (BRI has no idea who they are, so don't bother asking).

Second, the operation was planned in conjunction with the lunar eclipse because Black Rock Intelligence knew that another event at the trash fence would draw the bulk of lunatics to it, rather than to the Man. In fact, one of our peripheral operatives aided in getting as many people to the fence event as possible to help BRI achieve its goal of zero injuries.

Third, word went out across the playa days in advance that Black Rock Intelligence was pulling this op. This word continued to go out right up to the moment that our chief operator began the arduous climb up the guide wire. As you can all see from the results, BRI performed flawlessly in this regard.

We could give a fuck less what you all think of us for doing this. Most of you are newbies who have been drawn in by the semi-religious nature of the event, or maybe just the easy drugs and easier sex. You have nothing to offer the event other than your fucking money and obedience. You spend the rest of your lives in mortal fear of everything that insurance companies tell you to fear, and pretend that you're free and clear because you spend four days at a desert bacchanal where spinelessness is not only encouraged but genetically replicated for implementation in successive generations. In short, you are the swine of which Thompson spoke. Get over yourselves.

Some of us live quite well without fear. Doing so requires the ultimate in what Burning Man used to represent: personal responsibility and individual liberty. That's all been lost in the last decade of Burning Man's history. Consider this operation a history lesson that was desperately needed.

One final note: Black Rock Intelligence has been permanently disbanded. All other operatives have made the ultimate sacrifice by swallowing their L-pills to avoid being captured alive. I am the sole surviving member of BRI and ask that you respect my mourning period for those who gave their lives so that this operation was a complete success.

Paul D. Addis
Fernley, NV

Your intrepid girl journalist will be putting on her pith helmet shortly to track these elusive creatures, their habits, their plumage, and what they do when they aren't doing what they usually do — i.e., ruling the search world from their squishy exercise-ball perches. We speculate that we will be able to spot the camp relatively easily, due to the crushed bedding and the presence of huge-ass cyborg-hippie bodyguards making sure the friendship of the playa comes close, but not too close.

1. Hippies Absolutely.
   
2. Yuppies Tragically.
   
3. Rednecks Surprisingly.
   
4. Software engineers See "Yuppies."
   
5. Retirees They already have RVs, after all.
   
6. Frat boys See "Yuppies."
   
7. Fetishists See "Software engineers."
   
8. Burners See "Frat boys."

In other news, a two-story tall pink birthday cake with flaming-candle sails just drove past, its full complement of fur- and leather-clad passengers lustily singing choruses of "What Do You Do With A Drunken Raver?" So it's not all bad.

Our day began in the usual Black Rock fashion. We awoke to the sound of Reverend David Apocalypse, a campmate, San Francisco ne'er-do-well, and former carnival freak, shouting "Fire in the Hole!" This, of course, right before his miniature black-powder cannon exploded somewhere near the breakfast table. Invigorated by morning air and adrenaline, we went on a reconnaissance stroll through town today to pick up the local flavor.

At Mad Scientist Camp, where the motto is "Better Living Through Reckless Science", we encountered the Chakratron, a giant clear polymer Buddha bedecked internally with madly oscillating sparkly lights. "Paul Addis just took the fall!" said Scott "Gaspo" Gasparian, creator of the Chakratron. "It was really the art piece burning a hole through the man with its Third Eye!"

We would have spoken further, but just then a nearly naked woman with an enormous set of clear-acrylic, green-tea-filled breasts and a fluffy marabou strapless G-string (yeah — we wondered how that works as well) gave a lap dance to an onlooker as he sucked antioxidant-rich deliciousness from her rubber nipples.

Yes, really. What's that? You're buying your ticket for next year already?

We would have commented on that, but our tirade was interrupted by a gout of flame erupting from a steam-powered runabout zipping across the dusty expanse of desert in front of us. The runabout had a tall, Victorian riverboat-style tower and gorgeously decorated wrought-iron wheels, and was powered by a serious-looking man in a pith helmet. Clearly a steampunk — a flavor of cyberpunk who embraces 19th-century cutting-edge tech, rather than the 21st-century variety.

It was at that point that the rear tire of our bicycle blew out, and we were forced to seek repair. Fear not, though. Our adventures in Wackyland will continue.

To everyone's great relief, the pavilion at the base of The Man remained unscathed after Tuesday's incident. Yeah. Right. We were real worried that the corporate green-technology advertisements at the foot of The Man might have been damaged, because you know, in this noncommercial atmosphere of free expression, it's vital that the sponsors are satisfied.

For more on the controversy behind the environmental exhibits, see Chris Taylor's article in Business 2.0, and a response from Burning Man's organizers.