I imagine that the reason people attend large events like warehouse parties or festivals is linked in some way to the idea of community. Particularly those events where the entertainment is a secondary concern – I buy my tickets to Meredith regardless of the line-up, and a lot of the people who showed up to the Spill Party knew few if any of the bands playing. Instead, we go to fulfil some need for a shared spirituality that might have been fulfilled in days gone by through attending your local Church, or, for a slightly different set of people, by going to the footy. For there is something inextricably desirable about the anonymity of the crowd – at least, when you feel that that crowd is representative of some Platonic conception of Yourself. Of course, there is nothing more frightening than being in a hostile crowd – but in that situation rather than anonymity you feel as if every facet of you screams out your difference, a difference that holds at least the potential of danger. But when the crowd is of You and Yours, then an entirely intoxicating sense of power is gained. And of course, that sense of power is not without its justification -if the story of Babel is meant to teach us the importance of humility, surely it also shows us just how strong we can be when we work together. And really, power is only a part of it – mostly it is just Ecstasy to find yourself with a thousand other people, singing along to the same tune. Rather than simple anonymity, the erasure of the Self is replaced with a communal Consciousness.

But the question is, can we attain this communal Consciousness through a simple transaction? To what extent am I participating in a communal event when I pay my $7 to go to a warehouse party for a few hours, before leaving and going home? A fair few things went awry that Saturday night in Brunswick, and large proportion of that was due to the fact that the night was essentially being run by 6 people. And so it goes that we pay someone to do security, run the bar, play their music, operate the sound…and you pay to get in. How much more communal (and smooth) might the night have been if a couple hundred people showed up during the week to help set up, and those same couple hundred people stayed for the party, and then later cleaned up? It’s idealistic, and hyprocritical – it’s not as if I only attend parties I help organise. But it’s a nice idea isn’t it?

I mean, what’s all the point of all this running around in circles if not to chase some tiny moment of outdated mysticism? Maybe we feel too connected already, constantly plugged in and tied down. Maybe that’s why rather than being interested in creating real communities we go to these things for a moment of true anonymity – a moment of such animalistic frenzy that we can’t even recognise ourselves anymore. So we pay our entry fee to disappear into the crowd for a few hours, before emerging in the too bright morning sun, blinking away guilty looks on our faces. And only feeling guilty because last night was like all the others.