A RepRap world is possible

August 12th, 2009

How about this, the RepRap, a machine that can produce all kinds of useful household objects, and can also reproduce itself:

RepRap from Adrian Bowyer on Vimeo.

The people behind it aim to have one in every home, but just one in every community would potentially be sufficient as a seed for non-capitalist production, because:

  1. The RepRap technology can overcome the separation of producer and consumer that characterises commodity production. If people produce what they or people in their community want, then production is driven by concrete demand (use values) rather than abstract demand (exchange values).
  2. It puts the means of production back in the hands of producers. If capitalists no longer have a monopoly on the means of production, then the fundamental distinction between capitalists and workers underlying capitalist society is broken down.

Of course it’s the pattern of production that is important. If this technology can only ever produce a small range of useful items then it’s not going to make much of a difference, but if it can be replicated in many spheres of production then it will have a significant impact.

The technology also relies upon raw materials (plastic, metal), and if the production of those materials remained in capitalist hands then its socio-economic effect might also be severely compromised.

Now I wonder, what, apart from coat hooks, might you be able to produce with this machine?


how to make a really nice curry

June 9th, 2009

Yes, it’s cookery school time! What could go wrong? – You could burn the garlic, overdose on asafoetida, get bits of coriander seed stuck in your teeth, and end up chewing on a raw potato…or you might find yourself marvelling at something approaching the golden yellow, crispy, succulent, sweet fragrant dish I discovered I’d made earlier. I’m told it had a hint of currywurst, but without the wurst, and suitable for vegans. You can serve it with rice, but maybe just a bowl on the side because it really doesn’t need much. Probably feeds four.

The Materials
2 onions, chopped into eighths
10 small (but not tiny) red potatoes, peeled
the larger half of a cauliflower
1 green pepper, cut into strips
6 cloves of garlic, maybe more
light olive oil
1/2 tin of coconut milk
rice

spices
ground turmeric
ground hot paprika
ground asafoetida
black peppercorns
cardamon pods
coriander seeds
fenugreek seeds

The Method
There are four things to do here, and they all need doing at the same time, so don’t do one after the other, do them all at once – be a whirlwind of culinary activity, impress your friends, post the pictures to facebook, show the world that you have produced something. Now, back to the recipe.

  1. we’re going to par-boil the potatoes and cauliflower here, before we roast them – that way the potatoes don’t take ages to roast while everything else burns, and the delicate cauliflower gets less rough handling; give the potatoes 10 minutes, then the cauliflower 7; when they’re done, cut the potatoes into roasting-size chunks (quarters or fifths), and cut the cauliflower into florets or attractive-looking chunks
  2. meanwhile, set the oven to 220C and get the other vegetables roasting; the onions and green peppers probably need a 10-minutes headstart, then add the potatoes, then the garlic (at least 5-7 mins later), and then the cauliflower – make sure the onion is properly cooked before adding the cauliflower, as the increased bulk will reduce the cooking speed; give the vegetables a stir every 5-7 mins so everything gets a little bit of oil and radiant heat (and add more oil if necessary), but always return the dish to the oven as quick as you can so it doesn’t lose heat and momentum
  3. meanwhile again, while the vegetables are roasting, get your spices ready: toast the coriander, fenugreek, and black pepper in a dry pan on a medium-high heat till they start to release their aroma and begin to turn golden – take care not to burn them; crack open the cardamon pods and mix the seeds in a mortar with the toasted spices and grind them, then add the other spices; sprinkle the spice mix over the vegetables, stir, and return to oven – I did this after having added the cauliflower, but you could do it earlier…probably not before the potatoes are in though, because you don’t want the spices to burn
  4. meanwhile again again, cook the rice; you could use the water the potatoes and cauliflower were cooked in for extra flavour and goodness
  5. finally, when the spices and everything are in and definitely cooked, chuck in the coconut milk, stir, and give it a few more minutes; that way you get a bit of sauce to go with your crunch

The Erosion of Use Value

June 5th, 2009

I went to Kringlan today to get a wooden spoon to use for making cakes and tarts, so dessert doesn’t end up tasting of curry and garlic, and ended up with a medium-sized specimen for Kr 300 that seemed to combine in the best way available the qualities of durability, utilitarian looks, and affordability. So I’ve added that to my Consumption Fund, and because the initial outlay was so minute I didn’t even need a loan to finance the purchase. The Consumption Fund, by the way, comprises commodities that

are not consumed directly but serve as instruments of consumption. They include items as diverse as cutlery and kitchen utensils, refrigerators, television sets and washing machines, houses, and the various means of collective consumption such as parks and walkways. All such items can conveniently be grouped together under the heading of the consumption fund. [David Harvey, The Limits to Capital (London: Verso, 2006), p.229]

After all that shopping I wanted a tasty morsel to speed me on my way, so I popped into Hagkaup and bought myself a cheesy pastry type thing. I was really looking forward to my cheesy pastry, so I popped it into the top pocket of my panier bag, which I left unzipped for convenience because, after all, I wasn’t going far, and went in search of a quiet grassy spot to enjoy my lunch. Then suddenly the bike felt lighter and I had an awful premonition. I turned my head to check the pastry was still there. It can only have weighed a few grams but the bike felt lighter, and when I turned my head the pastry was gone.

I went back to search for it, in case it had landed somewhere clean, or maybe just to assess the situation and work out exactly where things had gone wrong. I found it lying on the tarmac in the middle of the entrance channel to Kringlan car park. A car drove over it, but the wheels went around it and it wasn’t squashed. Two birds hopped around, pecking at the flaky crumbs. And there I was confronted with the sudden, catastrophic erosion of use value. Something that had been useful a moment ago had, without undergoing any substantial change to its physical state, had its total utility eroded in a flash. It was like seeing a boll of ice cream that’s toppled off its cone, and I was the child that had been holding the cone.


Hardt and Negri – it’s immaterial

May 27th, 2009

I’ve just been to a lecture by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri at the University of Iceland. I was particularly interested to hear them speak as I read an article by Slavoj &#0142i&#0158ek the other day in New Left Review in which he borrows from Hardt and Negri their concern with the commons. He talks about ecology, intellectual property rights, and bio-technology as the sites of three of the main antagonisms of contemporary capitalism, and characterises these three antagonisms as issues of the commons. The enclosure and expropriation of the commons is a common thread running through the history of capitalism, linking 18th-century England and modern China, and one that is familiar and well-established, so it seems an effective way of understanding and connecting the politics of these antagonisms &#0142i&#0158ek describes. The external environment, culture, nature, and the internal environment (the body) are all common resources that are under threat of being enclosed, exploited, expropriated, and even destroyed for private gain.

For me the most interesting part of Michael Hardt’s talk was probably his distinction between material and immaterial property. I wasn’t exactly sure what was meant by immaterial property, probably because there was a TV camera about two feet away pointing right at me while he was on this topic, and this rather affected my ability to concentrate. Something to do with producing wellbeing, communication, software, knowledge, presumably organisation as well, that kind of thing. He compared this distinction to the distinction made by Marx between mobile and immobile property. Immobile property is, of course, chiefly land, while mobile property refers mainly to industrial products. Hardt proposes that the main distinction between different types of property is now that of material versus immaterial.

The distinction between immobile and mobile property corresponds to that between land and capital, and to the social distinction between the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie. These were two social classes, two ruling classes indeed, one established, the other in the making. Sometimes they worked together, at other times, as in the French Revolution, they were in opposition to each other. How do the concepts of material and immaterial property map onto our social structure, I wondered, are they supposed to correspond to different factions in the ruling class in the same way as mobile and immobile property? We often talk about the ruling class being divided between the interests of finance capital and industrial capital, and I suppose that finance probably counts as an immaterial product, but I’m not sure how the interests of the owners of call centres, educational institutions, software houses, and so on differ significantly from the owners of material industries.

But it was not so much the ruling class as the conditions of the workers that Hardt seemed to be getting excited about. In immaterial industries, he claims, workers have a greater degree of freedom or power than their counterparts in material industries, and – this is the important bit – a greater opportunity (and perhaps propensity) to embark upon a liberation struggle…this was one of the points where I lost concentration – maybe it was the camera, or maybe it was just a little bit woolly – but that’s the gist of it anyway. So the development of immaterial property (I’m not sure if material property plays much of a role other than to help define immaterial property) offers us a window of opportunity for overcoming capitalism.

Antonio Negri read his lecture in Italian with Icelandic surtitles, and I decided that, even halfway through Icelandic for foreigners level II, I’d probably understand more in Italian, so I closed my eyes and listened. I learned Italian when I was 18 and travelling in Italy for three weeks on an inter-rail pass, so, as you can imagine, I didn’t learn very much Italian. I do remember, however, being amazed at how much I could understand. Sometimes people started talking to me and I understood pretty much everything they said. I didn’t know whether it was to do with the proximity with French or Latin (I’d learnt Latin for three years at school then promptly forgotten everything except hic, haec, hoc, eram, eras, erat, and huius, huius, huius…but maybe some of it was still rattling around my subconscious), but Italian felt like it was a natural language, like it was somehow already within me, and I only had to rediscover it, like exercising some neglected muscle. So I closed my eyes tonight and thought, ‘maybe, maybe I can do it again’.

And I understood a surprising amount. I wasn’t able to follow any arguments, but I could tell most of the time what he was talking about and recognised a few phrases, like ‘production of subjectivity’ (in Italian, of course, but it only works one way so I can’t repeat the Italian). I even picked up a bit of Icelandic. Samsto&#0240a means ‘solidarity’, and sj&#0225lfsemd ‘identity’ (I think).

Oh, and I think it was organised by N&#0253hil (yes, the poetry group, but they evidently do more than just poetry).


Poetry Jam this Friday

May 20th, 2009

Summer Poetry Jam

this Friday (22 May 2009) at Café Rót on Hafnarstræti, Reykjavík

I’ll be getting there for 7pm and am on at 7.30pm, followed by Marc Vincenz, who’s developing quite a formidable collection of poems about the colour and contradictions of life in China. I’ll be doing some manager poems peppered with a few other bits and pieces.

The Jam’s downstairs at Café Rót, lots of sofas to lounge around in and about the only place you can get any darkness in Reykjavík at this time of year.

Here’s the full programme (I think it’s mainly in English, with maybe two people reading in Icelandic):

17:00-17:20 Jón Þór Sigurðsson
17:30-17:50 Daniel Norman Tumasson
18:00-18:20 TBA
18:30-18:50 Nikulas Ári Hannigan
19:00-19:20 TBA
19:30-19:50 Robin Vaughan-Williams
20:00-20:20 Marc Vincenz
20:30-20:50 Helgi Jónsson
21:00-21:20 Mark Andrew Zimmer
21:30-21:50 Magnus Ivar Markusson

22:05-22:50 Radioactive Meltdown (band)

There’s coffee and cake, but no alcohol, except in the intervals (if you cross the street).


Wind Power!

May 14th, 2009

Look at that! The turf’s been ripped up by the wind and blown across the cycle path. A micro-disaster for some poor municipal gardener. I had it blowing in my face this morning, but on the way back I was sailing uphill in top gear (except my bike doesn’t do top gear, it sort of got stuck on the middle cog, but as damned near top gear as it’ll go in it’s present, unrepaired state). If only we could harness the wind to lay the turf as well as rip it up, there’d be football fields all over the lavafields, Iceland could become the world’s first football field exporting nation, pulling itself and probably the whole world out of recession.

When I first visited Iceland in the late 1980s my friend’s father was telling me about how the sheep exacerbate erosion by leaving patches of exposed soil, which the wind then exploits…and then I wrote this poem, a kind of angry mock-protest poem:

Sheep Dig

Sheep dig holes in the grass, which the weather
rips away. We like to measure. Doing nothing,
we say the presence of sheep on the land precipitates
erosion, eats away at the livelihood of the man
who owns the sheep. Stick up signs: SHEEP
KEEP AWAY!
…And do they?
– Baaah!

(© Robin Vaughan-Williams, 2000)


Happy Summer!

April 23rd, 2009

Well, it’s the first day of summer, which means it’s raining instead of snowing, and you’re supposed to say ‘Happy Summer!’ to everyone you meet. Here’s the Vestubær Summer’s Parade, showing that the spirit of resistance lives. So here we go: Gleðilegt sumar!

First Day of Summer Parade


Poetry on the…milk carton?

April 22nd, 2009

Well, there’s no underground in Reykjavík (the tracks would probably melt), but I’ve found I can get poetry with my breakfast – it’s on the milk cartons, in fact. So I pour extra milk on my muesli now so I can go out, buy another carton, and see what the next poem is going to be. This is the 1.5% fat milk, by the way; I’ve yet to find out if you get a poetic freebie with skimmed and full-fat too.

Here’s my translation…looks like it’s by Birgir Valdimarsson, a 13-year-old, so maybe the poems are all by schoolchildren:

I am only me

I am a little star shining
on the starry sky.

I am a little flower
in the garden of the universe.

I am a little grain of sand
lying on the beach.

I am only a little human being
just a spot on the earth.

Ah yes, it’s going to be one of those metaphysical days…


Nýló, the Icelandic Sound-Poem Choir, 13 Feb 2009

February 14th, 2009

Last night was the Winter Lights Festival in Reykjavík, with the museums open till late and all kinds of things going on in cafes, galleries, libraries, and so on. I went to see the Icelandic Sound-Poem Choir in a back room of the Museum of Modern Art…or at least that’s how it was billed. I found the address, Laugavegur 26, and there was Skífan (a big music store), an optician’s, a Swedish brasserie, but no museum, until I noticed the sign ‘nýttlist safn’ (something like that anyway) pointing down a back alley. It looked more like an art college, or maybe a storage room, than an actual museum, with stuff heaped up in piles all over the place and nothing visibly on display. There did appear to be a museum shop at the entrance though, so I’m not really sure what it was.

The room was packed with people, and we were all perched on tiny folding chairs, our big winter coats rubbing against one another and holding us all securely in place, like tadpoles in a pond. It was a real choir, about twenty people, and this alone was impressive enough; how often do you come across people doing sound poetry, let alone a whole choir full of them! The first piece began with the gentle collective inhalation and exhalation of breath, building up a soothing rhythm that was reminiscent both of the body and of the sea. This then formed the backdrop to a poem read by a swarthy male poet – he could just about have been a fisherman himself (maybe I’m romanticising a bit) – who had to peer closely at his notes to remember what he was about to say. I don’t know what he was saying (my Icelandic’s not that good yet – I can just about work out what cashiers are saying when they tell me the price), but it didn’t seem to matter.

Later on the choir was joined by scratchy sounds from a double-bassist, a woman playing a theramine-like instrument that made a wailing soprano sound, two girls with bird whistles, an opera singer, and a conductor who occasionally picked up a megaphone and sounded like a German commander spitting out orders in a second world-war film. There was a lot of movement, including three performers parading about in a kind of pantomime-horse formation; but what struck me most was when the choir was split into two sets of rows stomping mechanically back and forth across the stage – it reminded me of the movement of the enemy units in 1980s computer games like Space Invaders, slowly but relentlessly making their advance.

Overall it was pretty chaotic and over-the-top in a way that definitely reminded me of the recording I have of Kurt Schwitters’s Ur Sonata. The Ur Sonata at times makes you smile because it sounds like a parody of operatic style; the Icelandic Sound-Poem Choir had me smiling because it felt – not like a parody – but like a circus: it was fun, exuberant, mad. At the same time, however, it did feel a bit artless, and the circus seems like a dead-end place to take sound poetry to me. It highlights the novelty, but next time I go to see them (and I will go) I will be looking for some subtlety too.