So, this week’s been interesting - crowdsourcing, defecting Tory MPs, and now … incisive and seriously lengthy political analysis of the Russian Federation? Right. Of course. What else would you be expecting?

For me, the roots of this tale go back to the summer of 2007 when, for a university course on International Political Economy, I was focusing on theories of ‘the offshore economy’ (of which, more later) and the post-Soviet transition. After some brainstorming, these two themes converged in an essay on the economic peculiarities of Russia’s Kaliningrad Oblast.

Devouring Chrystia Freeland’s Sale of the Century - a fascinating little book, which grappled with some really dry subject matter in a manner similar to that of literary non-fiction - I turned to the Republic of Ingushetia as an illustrative example; a point of contrast for my analysis of Kaliningrad’s political economy.

From the essay;

… Ingushetia was afforded ‘ofshornaya zona’ status by a presidential decree in 1994. Considering the 1990s saw $10-$20bn of capital flight per annum, ‘leaching away much-needed domestic investment and infuriating foreign aid donors’, the creation of an ‘offshore’ zone would appear to be one of the last things that the Kremlin would have wanted. From this, it is logical to assume that the Kremlin must have been convinced of the need for such a zone by someone who would have benefited. In the Russian context, this proves somewhat problematic, as the significant level of capital flight suggests that those who would have normally taken advantage of such facilities – in this case, the Russian oligarchs – were already making use of ‘offshore’ zones, external to the Russian state. We cannot even attribute such a move to the smaller, less overtly hegemonic business interests, as their enthusiasm for ‘offshore’ had, to a significant degree, been pre-empted by the existence of Russia’s institutionalised ‘grey economy’. Indeed, the fact that nobody had previously pushed for a bifurcation of sovereignty within ‘mainland’ Russia suggests that 1994 must have represented some kind of fundamental discontinuity …

Read the rest of this entry »

Continuing the political theme, ‘What do we do now?’ - Anthony Barnett’s analysis of David Davis’s resignation - was easily the best … the most important thing I’ve read this week;

David Davis’s views on the death penalty and low taxes are hardly appealing to progressives, liberals or the left; a Yorkshire constituency where Labour is third is not best situated for a showdown on the nature of the British state; coming at the summer solstice when parliament will soon take a holiday this is an awkward moment. But even if you think it has been done by the wrong man, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, you have to decide: is this in any important way your banner too, that he has raised …

If Davis wins the by-election will the Commons welcome him into its midst as the tribune of the people? You can bet your life it will not. The lunatic asylum will stereotype him as “mad”. In the bars and tea-rooms of Westminster the old corruption is already preparing its revenge on David Davis. When he rises to speak of liberty they will shout “boring” or “there he goes again”. When he poses the issues of the database state he will be greeted by groans from the payroll claque and jokes like “put him on CCTV”. The chamber will drown him out with what it believes to be the laughter of sound judgment. Or its members will crawl away with only the slightest touch of inner shame, leaving him to address empty green leather benches …

Liberty Leading the People (1830)

We can’t return to 17th-century notions of liberty as if these are unchanged by the advent of nuclear, biological and information technologies. Saying “no!” to the database state does not make the existing state work as it needs to, nor provide a secure basis for freedom and equality in an open society. The problem is that while neither parliament nor the media have debated the database state, the essential instrument for its implementation - the ID card - has become a symbol for a classic binary confrontation that could displace attention from the issue that really matters. An ID card that belongs to the citizen like a passport, for him or her to use when necessary, is one thing. What is being created in the UK is not, as the public seems to believe, this kind of ID card, but rather an electronic tag which belongs to the state, and tracks and exchanges a wide range of citizen activity kept in a single National Identity Register that can be accessed without a warrant by a growing range of public and in all likelihood private bodies …

It is heroic, even magnificent to storm the great cannon of British establishment with banners calling for a bill of rights, freedom of information and a written constitution but…. futile. For centuries the bodies of radical heroes were strewn amongst the cannonball and shot, as they died gasping for breath, crying out “Electoral reform!” or “Power to local government!”. Few recall their names, none their successes apart from the suffragettes. You do democracy if you want to, was the message. We know better, and we have the cannon.

Depressing much?

[via OurKingdom, emphasis mine]

UK Government making the most of open data and crowdsourcing*?

Now, this is what it’s all about … !

Ever been frustrated that you can’t find out something that ought to be easy to find? Ever been baffled by league tables or ‘performance indicators’? Do you think that better use of public information could improve health, education, justice or society at large?

The UK Government wants to hear your ideas for new products that could improve the way public information is communicated. The Power of Information Taskforce is running a competition on the Government’s behalf, and we have a £20,000 prize fund to develop the best ideas to the next level. You can see the type of thing we are are looking for here.

To show they are serious, the Government is making available gigabytes of new or previously invisible public information especially for people to use in this competition. Rest assured, this competition does not include personal information about people.

We’re confident that you’ll have more and better ideas than we ever will. You don’t have to have any technical knowledge, nor any money, just a good idea, and 5 minutes spare to enter the competition.

If I can find a spare couple of hours, I’ll probably give it a shot. And I’ll be watching the website with interest.

[emphasis mine, via the billblog]

- - - - -

[* Initially, I wrote this as 'crowsourcing'; something with entirely different connotations ...]

Fourteen months, a hundred blog entries. This is the hundredth - a milestone which coincided with an exciting (if turbulent) week.

Let there be cake!

Last Tuesday, I caught a coach up to London for NMK’s event on Writing for Games. After a couple of hours moping ponderously round the Tate Modern, I charted an “experimental” route over to Hoxton Square. Observation: for me, the City is highly intimidating - all neckties, pencil skirts, and people pushing newsprint. Terrifying.

The event itself was fascinating. Most of the content was already vaguely familiar, but it was nice to hear from real actual people, rather than the internet. The panel consisted of Katie Elwood (a writer working for Sony), Steve Ince (freelance writer), and Perplex City veterans Naomi Alderman and Adrian Hon. As a fairly representative sample of the field, the presenters covered a lot of ground. I was particularly interested in some of the commentary on alternate reality gaming, convergence between the different types of gaming, and - of course - the whole ‘locative‘ factor.

For a more comprehensive review of the content of the event, I’m going to point you to a post by Jo Iacovides, a PhD student with whom I had a really interesting chat after the presentations.

Arriving back at Brighton at about midnight, I promptly downloaded Adventure Game Studio, and stayed up til 4am tinkering. Inspired by Shaun’s mate Kerry Turner & her attempts to simulate the literature of the Brontë sisters, vague memories of playing Monkey Island for the first time, and Dave Gilbert of Wadjet Eye Games, I’ve resolved to spend some of my free time in July drafting an initial script for my take on the old-school adventure game. If I am going to pursue a job in games writing / interactive media, something like this could be a really good basis for some kind of portfolio, and I reckon I’ve enough contacts in art, music, and acting to come up with something pretty decent. Now, all I need is an idea - any thoughts, people of the interweb?

The other major highlight of this week was Friday, when I picked up my final degree results. Scored first class honours for my BA in International Relations and Anthropology, with ludicrously high marks for my final year International Relations coursework! And I’m still recovering from the celebrations…

Combined with Tuesday’s window into the games industry, the aftermath of results has prompted a serious consideration of Sussex’s MA in Digital Media. On paper, it looks amazing - the perfect combination of theory and practice - but I really need to do some more research into the department. And I might need to do a couple of courses in computer programming & screenwriting first, maybe this year, through the Open University.

Lots to think about - roughly a month to do so.

[Cake kindly provided by cwalker71]

Uncertainty of the Poet (1913)

I was in London yesterday, for NMK’s ‘Writing for Games‘ event - of which, more later.

I got a coach from Brighton, arriving in London just after 2pm. With a couple of hours to kill, I plotted a course to the Tate Modern. Focusing on the collection of Surrealist art, I completely lost myself in a couple of works by Giorgio de Chirico, specifically - Uncertainty of the Poet (above).

Bananas and a classical torso? Slightly peculiar juxtaposition, but I suppose that’s the point. The steam train at the top left, however, does weird things to my brain. In the gallery, I lost a couple of minutes trying to picture the scene from the perspective of a passenger on the train.

The links between modernity and mobility is a theme which appears to have been simmering away in the depths of my subconscious … bubbling up in my writing (Patterns in Traffic, Welcome to the Umweltzone), web browsing (The Problem of Cars, Intelligent Infrastructure Systems, The Strategic Steam Reserve), listening (Horror on the Orient Express), and now my choice of art.

Clearly, my brain’s trying to tell me something. But what?

The Nissan V200, as featured in Welcome to the Umweltzone;

“Yesterday, it was a hire vehicle; a bullet point on the expenses of the Brazilian account. Today, it’s utterly convinced of its role as an Interflora delivery van, bearing a cargo of vacuum-packed dwarf orchids.

I call it the lunchbox.”

Of course, the lunchbox is a little less pristine than this particular piece of concept art, and has been adapted to run on ethanol.

Now, go and watch Nissan’s video from the 2007 Tokyo Motor Show.

This is the next layer of The Terminal. Very much unfinished, but - since I need lunch - I’ll post the second half next week. And then there’s at least one more piece to come - I really like the characters, so it could easily end up being more.

Welcome to the Umweltzone | Justin Pickard

Pedal to the floor, I race through the liquid mist of post-industrial Berlin. Even in the twilight, silver and green dominate. A world of infinitely customisable architecture - modular units and wind turbines; turf and steel. This side of the wall, Berlin’s heritage was papered over and trampled underfoot. Preservation and conservation were thrown aside; surplus to the orgy of market-humping and wide-eyed commerce. Thirty years later, and this part of the capital is home to a thousand small business enterprises, buoyed by EU subsidies and staffed with caffeine-fuelled graduates of every stripe. Welcome to the Umweltzone.

The Nissan chatters away, exchanging data with Galileo and the other cars and lorries on the German A-roads. Yesterday, it was a hire vehicle; a bullet point on the expenses of the Brazilian account. Today, it’s utterly convinced of its role as an Interflora delivery van, bearing a cargo of vacuum-packed dwarf orchids.

I call it the lunchbox.

It’s monitoring traffic density, ethanol use, meteorological patterns, and the humidity of the simulated orchids. Apparently, I’m entering a pocket of unusually low pressure, part of a diffuse ribbon of bisecting the continent from Stockholm to Nice.

Luckily, the lunchbox isn’t capable of monitoring the integrity of its own information systems. Thanks to Simon, an adjusted p2p nav system is narrowing in on the physical location of our target. Now, we’re just waiting for her to make an appearance in the terminal.

“Is she there yet?” I ask, flicking my eyes to the dashboard chronometer. “It’s another hundred before the lunchbox is in range. At least.”

Allowing for speech/text conversion and a five second lag, I await his answer. My stomach is a knot of elastic bands.

“Not yet. Wish you could this place, Red; it’s bizarre.” The words belong to Simon, but the voice is provided by the vehicle. Distracted by the peculiarities of my own journey, I marvel at the temple to the railway, a great glass box which passes on my right.

Then, the voice of a woman; “What do you think?” With no obvious point of origin, the question fills me with raw panic.

“Stunning.” It takes a moment for me to realise that this response wasn’t me, but belonged to the diver. Definitely Simon; enthusiastic, with the occasional slip signalling his Mancunian origins. Which means … the woman was Rosanna; our target. Her voice sounds a little older than I’d been expecting, but – hell - at least she’s made an appearance.

Relaxing into the seat, I passively stare as the lunchbox indicates right, turning towards Alexanderplatz.

“And I’m on. You ready?” The artificial voice sounds peculiarly urgent. I have to remind myself that it’s a quirk of programming, nothing more. Outside, the square allows an unhindered glimpse of the city skyline, as punctured by the garish lights of a brutal spire; a lingering monster, born of the twentieth century. But the nav says we’re still out of range. Where is she?

“Think I can see the television tower. Give me a little longer?” I hazard, listening to the fawning and simpering of Simon and our target. She sounds younger than I’d been imagining.

Then the lunchbox is turning. A sharp lurch to the right, and the tower recedes into the ashen haze. Looking at the chronometer, I bite my lip. The elastic bands are back, and they brought friends. I can feel the droplets of sweat glistening on my forehead; should have packed the sweatband.

In the background, I’m forced to listen to Simon’s attempts at flirting. It’s excruciating. Frankly, if it wasn’t what I was paying him for, I’d probably have vomited by now.

But when the p2p nav starts blinking, my misgivings evaporate. A reverse-engineering of the girl’s connection protocol finally yields a physical location – Landsberger Allee; a converted hostel, right on top of the railway station.

“Think I’ve found the vats.”

This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.

A meme? Here? Paul makes Susan Blackmore cry - the scoundrel;

“To participate, you grab any book, go to page 123, find the fifth sentence, and blog it. Then tag five people.”

Right, I’m tackling the three books nearest to me right now.

“A political reading of Shakespeare, in other words, at least in the sense in which Derrida’s work might encourage us to think about it, has perhaps hardly begun, is still to come.”

Don’t judge me. I’m currently on page twenty-one, and the earlier sections are far less pretentious. Shame on you, Nicholas Royle! Having subconsciously channelled Orbital’s panel on all things Lovecraftian into my dissertation on eschatology, terrorism, I had a psychological need to read up on the theory underlying all the stuff on the sublime and the uncanny which I threw into that 8000 word melting pot. Ladies and Gentlemen - The Uncanny: An Introduction, by Nicholas Royale.

“Exhilarated by their easy recapture of City Hall, Chandler, Palmer, Call and company combined forces with their original ally, the Knowland dynasty of Oakland, to carry the counter-revolution statewide in 1958.

I have no idea what any of that means. Presumably, it’s about Los Angeles, as it was taken from City of Quartz, by Mike Davis. First encountered as part of a module on urban anthropology, particularly in relation to postmodernism, neoliberalism, and the appeal of gated communities. Like cyberpunk, but non-fiction. This copy was a birthday present from CS, fellow anthropology student and petite Welsh girl.

“‘Where did it come from, Brannart?’ He stretched his rubber-swathed limbs.”

The only book I own that’s been damaged by snow. The Dancers at the End of Time, by Michael Moorcock. Took it to Russia on a college trip when I was sixteen. In fact, I read a significant chunk of it in the Hotel Ukraine, while the rest of my classmates were scoring blow from hookers, breaking down doors, and guzzling neat vodka.* The perfect literary accompaniment for a very strange week of my life.

- - - - -

[ * disclaimer: the first of these examples is purely fictional, and the book - however engaging - didn't stop me from partaking in of the latter. Stalinist architecture inspires violence and alcoholism. True story. ]

From the New York Times;

Indeed, as Ms. Sherry and Mr. Clough told their tale, this reporter had to ask Ms. Sherry if she ever questioned her architect’s sanity. “Yes,” she replied cheerfully.

Architecture + Pervasive Gaming = Genius.

Smuggled into Brighton’s Sea Life Centre by JC (fellow Mandarin learner, and employee of the aquarium’s parent company), I spent a good hour of yesterday channelling the emotional state of my seven-year-old self while impersonating fish. Cuttlefish, chlorine and childhood: inextricably linked? Hmm … that sounds like the title of an academic paper;

Pickard, J. 2009. ‘Cuttlefish, chlorine and childhood: inextricably linked?’, in Critical Oceanographic Studies, Vol. 1(2), pp. 109-18.

I thought as much. Heh.

In the afternoon, I mailed a used textbook to the librarian of St Edmund Hall, the Oxford college I visited (and was thoroughly baffled by) while contemplating university choices back in 2004. One of those coincidences that makes you wonder. Dreaming spires; a library in a deconsecrated church - what’s not to like?

For me? Plenty.

With Sussex releasing final degree results on the 20th June, I’ve been slowly sinking into the quicksand of sepia nostalgia. A retrospective of the relatively recent, combined with an ever branching tree of what-ifs. Satisfied by the traditionalism and inflexibility of the Oxbridge set, and the now-uninteresting module descriptions of the immediate alternatives, I think that I’ve convinced myself Sussex was the right choice.

International Relations and Anthropology were never going to be a conscious choice; pre-ordained; the obvious combination. But it worked, and it worked well.

Happy with the recent past, and with peculiar echoes of the distant past, my thoughts have turned - once again - to the future. Since the haze of caffeine and sleep deprivation crashed into a final conclusion on May 12, with the submission of 22,000 words of academic output, this has been an all-pervading presence; the elephant in the room. Perhaps some kind of ritual caffeine offering is in order.

Meanwhile, F3 has shown me the satisfaction of the creative impulse, fanning an interest in the narrative and the technological that may otherwise have remained dormant. A positive review vanquishes insecurity; boosts self-esteem, while echoes of Gibson’s Pattern Recognition and its peers linger in my subconscious, shaping my writing.

So, whatever comes next, it needs to keep me plugged into the world of Hollis Henry and Harvey Feldspar. I want to be dealing with;

- arphids and flashmobs
- data visualisation, sousveillance, and geotagging
- locative media and alternative reality gaming
- the wifi-enabled yurts of the digital nomads
- the street as platform

I may need technical expertise; some familiarity with computer programming. But, here and now (as past meets present), the yearning is at its apogee.