Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Open Sensors: An Introduction

I've come to believe that one of the key areas where open science can contribute to political issues is in the area of sensor technologies and open hardware.  It's also a relatively accessible area to begin to gain practical knowledge in democratized scientific practice.  That is, a great way to get introduced to the Open Science Network and what a group like this is about.
This free workshop evening will be dedicated to learning a basic approach to creating your own sensors and the ideas that surround that.  We'll use the arduino technology to learn about the translation of real world analog information into computable digital formats.  We'll learn some code, a bit about hardware, and about the concepts that make this access possible.
This workshop will also serve as a beginner's intro to arduino technology and how to use the system.  Absolute beginners totally welcome.
1. A Laptop
2. An Arduino
3. Your Party Face
*Anyone is welcome, but to fully participate you should bring a laptop and arduino.  If you are new to arduinos, check out /  One local place to get them is here
[pics to come]

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Identity Protocols

Yami-ichi makes the move of commodifying internet art, of saying how can it be materialized and sold.  So we move from immaterial patterns (file types and codebases etc) to a material snapshot that also gains an existence as a physical product.  It's a print-on-demand world of algorithmic objects - at the hub of this is the notion of merchandise identity - the immaterial world asks "what is a thing now?" and computers respond that it is a calculation - that yes, we can produce things like we had, but if we lose one print-out it doesn't matter - what matters is the digitally encoded pattern to make more.  So we have market ephemera, but ephemera whose basic existence lies in the calculation towards reproduction (the digital file, the program/settings use to create and print, etc).

What does brand and cultural space look like in the world of the algorithmic object?  It becomes about the rules with which to make a brand - slogan, logo, company name, etc., as opposed to any manifest brand. is a website I created that serves as a kind of anonymous corporate and bureaucratic entity that is situated between the personal (in every sense including the maligned corporate-legal one) and the totally generic.  A brand that identifies so vaguely as to dissolve into the status of a template.  The site itself refreshed into a stream of new slogans and particular identities and branches off into different projects that take the personal-generic identity to become associated with different visuals (ie logos) and language (names and mottoes etc).  So it is a computational placeholder from which brand particularity can be generated and along which the complex personal-bureaucratic continuum can be explored.

To materialise this concept I decided on an idea of generic company paraphernalia.  The template again is, the xo logo, the motto Kisses and Spam, and from there proceeds through procedural substitutions.  Both the logo/motto and the material (t-shirts, mugs, mouse pads, pens, etc) are arbitrary, what is constant is the pseudo-corporate entity from which the particular products and identities are created.  Thus brand and one's being and identity (and that of an object) is determined by protocols, by a basic formula that says this is what identity is for a person/object.

The "artist statement" takes on the voice of the personal-bureaucratic entity and makes recommendations for the value of proper communication and branding - that neither the messiness of the personal nor the overwrought red tape of the bureaucratic is necessary when combined properly into the capitalizable.  It's an ecological balance of product ontologies - advice on how to streamline your subjective and objective existence into a viable entity in technocapitalist space.  The space of the computer and the space of the market - the formulas and branding skills you need to survive.

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Identity Protocols

Artists these days don't know how to express what they're doing.  They
don't know how to make it relatable to the public.  How do you expect
to be a good artist if you don't have an elevator pitch?  I'm so
embarrassed when I meet an artist that thinks they're serious and they
don't even have a slogan lol.  Who do you think you're fooling?
Anything that's worthwhile can be expressed in ten words or less.

The market brings back the possibility of clarity, honesty, of telling
things like they are - if you don't want to own it, what could it
possibly be worth?  The perfect product is invisible.  Invisible
products can be used anywhere and weigh nothing.  Ideas for the
inhuman generation that has yet to appear on camera.  That's right,
off the grid.  Untouchable and constantly revolting so whatever's in
power no one's capitulating.  In fact no one is doing anything.

Just don't do it.  Nike almost had it.  If your existence matters,
appearance is superfluous.  Picking the right brand shows that you
realize that arbitrarity - that you're in touch with it.  Words,
images, these mean nothing - so please pick the right ones.

Identity Protocols for the first London Yami-ichi

Pores and Cross-Sections

whatever remains we need to account for what's in prisms or whether (once extinguished
you absence meant so much to me (clone jeer)
the crassist sextets and spindle succeed (fissionaries)

light split - peers into the other entity which hadn't registered anything by law

nothing is in order anymore - pieces are formed by joining together, who joins and when (who doesn't)
orders that form in relation to some ideas (sound, colour, personal progression, continuity of place, event recursion, the lack of all of these ever)

inaccurate until (remember how you thought i was alive still until acquiesce

listless submiss (let me know if there's anything you can do for me)

re-establish sections in a way that isn't limited by your dry and chapped skin, after the apocalypse the unmoisturized will be the first to go

think of all the fluids that leak out of you - it's totally normal, it's just capitalism demonstrating how power works without needing any kind of text because you know what life doesn't need texts

but leakage is generally unstoppable - pick whatever categorical ontology you like I guarantee leakage

fingernail imperatives (become someone else and then we can talk)

the cripple of swallow, smoked, ineligible

things come together and some of the story gets told but a lot of it doesn't (some of this a function of whatever, other aspects a function of the particular whatevers we've been dealing with more recently than the older whatevers)

calculous - probes and insurrections

hunger is a luxury reserved for the visualized

construction is done with tools passed down from generations of aliens that left some notes but then lost them in the ocean

there's either a lot of theory or almost none in the ocean

inanimate, blurting (whose never met any resurrected

last less flight wist

Friday, May 13, 2016

Post Terrain

computation integrated through objects, pulse rules in respiratory sequence

what is this thing - what does it do (where the environment meets a remade one meets a remade one meets a remade one)

life as a minimally electric mode of being - enough to power what is slight // inapproachable // alien computer newly styled

plug-and-play biopolitics

sculptural interaction meets code glitches contructed into environments - entropic sound, limited lifespams, non-dimensional spaces

the organismal becomes an inevitable space of reckoning for the technological - bringing the technologies into evolutionary space, what happens (bio art meets the oblique)

the science behind objects - the stories behind them - how much this doesn't matter

and then things are there, present, inscrutable

gonzo biology (the controller (screen, code) has no life but its deadness is entirely unsavoury)

sustainable interactors - grassroots comrades built of free-range laboratory elements

how do computers evolve - saturate them, glitch them, see how different they are - see how our phenomenology always wants to relate them to us - everything as us in whatever theatre > evolving from the beginning

flesh has nothing to do with computation and yet it is everywhere - flesh has everything to do with computation, creates all its mathematical abstractions
the flesh of plants (computation life cycle)

the relation of science to human - to relation of a world so overcreated that we don't know what it is anymore

organism mysteries - biopunk orpheus resurrected via electricity from the relationship which was a better fiction (a place for incomprehensible gestures)

it doesn't matter that animals live in different worlds from us - look, it looks like they're sad, or happy - mythologies that rewrite others' existences (murder to restart)

colours, shapes, sounds and hands

gamifying lives, or the biogovernmentality of technics

(accompanying exhibition:

Preliminary Map for the Digestive Control Society

What Deleuze missed in his Postscript to the Control Society is the fact that everything is edible now, including and especially politics.  Control is a threat up until you can eat it, in which case it becomes subordinated as the working class - the digested proletariat.  The creates scarcity in the communities that have not been digested creating a sort of mystique around inedibility.  I have the latest Prado bag - big deal, I am inedible.

Digestive Control creates a solar-anal imperative to excessive amounts of waste production and photosynthetic absorption.  Eat as much as you can and shit as much as you can.  Thus the greatest horror for the Post-Control Society is to run out of food.  Once you have nothing left to eat, you no longer produce proletariat, and no one can do work any longer.

The world of things presents a world that Digestive Ontology fails to recognize as real.  If you are not real, you have no voice: hence the current crisis and complete absence of robot rights.  While digestive governance demands an imperative inedibility, exactly the opposite is true of the robot class - complete and utter commitment to becoming food.  What's that you say - you cannot become food if you were never alive, that death is a precondition of political rights in the world of meals - that rocks have never made a good breakfast and never deserved any rights anyway.  This is the myth of the eaten - that only I can be digested and no one else.  The truth of the matter is we need to expand our notion of what can be devoured to the mechanisms of control itself.  I can eat the government - repeat after me.

Navigational Edibility is the act of discovering what space looks like after the digestive apocalypse.  No more terrain, sorry.  Just theatrical scenes of what you used to call friends and now society calls food.  This is your interface to the matrix.  Eat it.  Or don't!  Where to put your hands, where to rest your head, what is home when the apparatus you were programmed in never functions in the earth's atmosphere.

This is Post Terrain, navigational methodologies for a technological civilization made up entirely of food.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015


across the edges of the magnification board, the spry and restrained of extension prefaced the following with antinomy:

the report detailed the probable occurrence of epaxial shinbones in the overseer of belief - recrimination was believed to follow

how could the formulations of debt be reascribed to liquids, at what point were the rector's metaphors entirely involved in entanglement

the rector is constructed as follows:

1. 2 cowbells
2. cyclic affordance followed by brine
3. the elimination of inflexibility
4. break
5. time to call your family
6. landless

electra:  when first signing up for the program, i realized that my spherical shape would be a detriment to progress.  but i have tradition on my side.  and i've been on tv.

the rector replied that as such, she qualified.  her grades were good, and she came highly recommended.

- although what was said in the navigation of the event, in the unattended fricasses of enforcement - no one was present in the front office, it was filled with the invention of space

as electra has shown, rectors are only successfully produced in the right conditions, which in turn depend on the weather, which is dependent on the zodiac (or season and location).  her work on this issue has become indispensable for identifying the locations of overeducation.

the overseer of belief, sycamore shamhat, had argued the previous day for an ontology without limbs.  her opponents were the gnostics and the boat-builders.  the boat-builders argued the puns made possible the creation of wood people, while the gnostics refused to argue, saying that what they believed had to be achieved through either orgasm or excruciating pain.  truth did not matter to them except as a subspecies of screaming.  they were shamhat's most difficult opponents, since they did not bring up an argument and instead resorted to what she called sensationalism.  a veritable point, she conceded, but what if the limbless have no sensations at all.  she later collaborated with the boat-builders to form a lignine ontology of spherical wood people (a clearly dismaying result for the extant tree population).

electra first met shamhat while crossing the river styx on her way to buy some carrots.  shamhat was out for a swim and was astonished to see a greek tragic heroine crossing the river of hatred - what are the chances, she thought.

- i'm a big fan of your work

- thank you

- do you have facebook?

- well yeah, but i hardly ever use it.  i really don't understand people who use it - what a waste of time!

- i use it a lot.  i've found it to be a very useful social networking tool.

- omg r u serious?  that's ridiculous.

- why?

- i bet you're one of those people who pokes all the time.

shamhat was silent, but you could tell, she probably was.  from that day forward they were mortal enemies, one arguing that social networking was a useful tool, the other that it was for morons.  shamhat swam off, her heart crushed that her childhood heroine didn't believe in the utility of web 2.0, and electra arrived at the underworld a few minutes later.

- i can't believe this!  screamed the rector.  - how could we allow the boat-builders to escape?  who will build the boats now?

- perhaps, replied his vizier, we can contract the work out to an independent agency.

- you don't understand, replied the rector, those were my boat-builders.

- i know they were, i'm just sayin.

- well i'm just sayin - they were my boat-builders.

- i know they were, you already said that

- well it didn't seem like you were listening

- well i was, i just didn't say anything.

- whatever.

the rector looked downcast and, grasping his sceptre, began chewing on the end of it.

- what are you doing?

- fuck off

meanwhile, the boat-builders were running away.  there comes a time when you've had enough of boats.  after miles and miles of running, they came across shamhat, who was sopping wet.

- why are you all wet?

- went for a swim

- where?

- styx

- what?  styx?  you went for a swim in the underworld?

- it's not the underworld.  it's *between* earth and the underworld.

the boat-builders weren't expecting that reply.  they didn't know what to say.

- look, i'm gonna go

- yeah.  yeah!  nice seeing you - i mean, talking to you, i mean - well you know what i mean

- nope

in the front office (still empty), dust began to gather on its top.  particles, navigations, inattentions.  the enforcement of dilapidation.  what did it say now to be absent, to collect an existence under the auspices of silica?  to make in this, the final invention, a moment of the impersonal - clusters and inhibitions of lava and loam.

across the way, a mountain - speechless and germinates, its precedent capacities of clamour, buoyancy.  the faces slanted, sediments and some marks documenting shipwrecks.  glancing of light on parts blocked or not, and the river full of bodily extremities which the rector had pruned as part of the normalization program.

- i am code, the rector suddenly said to his vizier, having digested half of his sceptre.

- what?

- i am code.

- what do you mean, you are code?

- i just know it's true.

- ok.

epaxial shinbones, thought shamhat the overseer, still sopping from her swim.  what could it mean.  that the leg and the spine were no longer at odds, that peace on earth could be achieved through unprecedented mutilation.  maybe this was belief, she thought, water dripping from her face.  belief, that folds and tears in the vertebra, that chips away at the remains of what the foreigners had called your legs.  what do we call it now, she thought, without the normalization program which made for (if nothing else) a picturesque river tableau.

in the tramway, apostrophes.  in the convolution of minutes and hours if there were winding roads, cries, or the glistening of adenoids it couldn't be said.  shampoo had drastically dropped in price and this had put entire towns out of work.  pins had been ported in from the border in order to reintroduce scrutiny and agony in the academy.  the schoolmaster could not see education as a possibility without the recrimination of the prospective scholar.

- with your flesh, he said.

- what?  i thought this was learning?

the mountains, over time, collapse completely into the streams.  nothing remains of helicopters but their myths and some doctored footage.  you were told that there were wars, and death.  now you believe in sitting, and organizing your living room to match your collection of books.

- sitting and books, shamhat thought.  i've only been able to excel at travelling by water to the realm of death - original, yes, but not entirely practical.  if i were to rule the world, the entire populace would be taught to sit.  kids would grow up dreaming they'd be able to sit when they're older.  or become firemen, she thought, if there were fires we would definitely need firemen.

the rector finished the last bite of his sceptre.  he looked up at his vizier.

- what are you doing tomorrow?

- i didn't have any plans

- wanna watch a movie?

- ok but i get to pick it.  last time when you picked it was that ridiculous -

- ok ok i don't wanna hear it.  you pick.

electra was told she could not take the ferry back.

- sorry, this is river of death.

- what do you mean?

- i dunno

- what about the carrots?

as part of the normalization program, she was disassembled.  her parts were clipped into the magnification board.  the recrimination of debt, they whispered, pouring in the liquid sealing solution which gelled her parts into place.  the formulators of belief assembled the river vessel that would ship the disassembled landscape back to the mainland.  the rector could be found at any time, by locating the highest concentration of cows.

the puzzle was assembled as a hemisphere, which then over time would crumble into what closely resembled a mountain.