[http://syynlabs.com/]
2011-12-12
::STRANGE FRUIT::
plants are bio-machines that harvest the sun's light and converts it to alternative forms of energy.
strange fruit is a prosthetic that latches onto this cycle.
it is a low-cost, distributed system that operates on principle of massive redundancy.
'fruits' of different sizes are then used to power a variety of low-technology devices.
this project is part of the alternative futures initiative and licensed under the Creative Commons v2.0.
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| Physical Prototype #01 |
plants are bio-machines that harvest the sun's light and converts it to alternative forms of energy.
strange fruit is a prosthetic that latches onto this cycle.
it is a low-cost, distributed system that operates on principle of massive redundancy.
'fruits' of different sizes are then used to power a variety of low-technology devices.
this project is part of the alternative futures initiative and licensed under the Creative Commons v2.0.
2011-12-07
2011-12-01
Is a Brick Wall more Primitive than Hollow Wall Partitions?
A brick wall is simpler and more direct. It has a supply chain length of two: kiln, to wall. A Hollow Wall partition on the other hand, is light. But this lightness has behind it a long chain of research and production.
If we are to imagine a new world, I am one to favour the brick wall. The Partition is entangled in a supply-chain mesh. With it are a whole host of hierarchies that enable it.
If we want a new world, we need to simplify to rebuild.
A brick wall is simpler and more direct. It has a supply chain length of two: kiln, to wall. A Hollow Wall partition on the other hand, is light. But this lightness has behind it a long chain of research and production.
If we are to imagine a new world, I am one to favour the brick wall. The Partition is entangled in a supply-chain mesh. With it are a whole host of hierarchies that enable it.
If we want a new world, we need to simplify to rebuild.
2011-11-07
2011-11-05
2011-11-03
2011-11-01
2011-10-29
2011-10-09
//To Read More
The light bulb was always McLuhan’s first example when explaining what he meant by his famous mantra “the medium is the message” since it communicates no information itself but rather facilitates a range of behavioral possibilities: “The electric light is pure information,” McLuhan wrote in 1964’s Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. “It is a medium without a message…unless it is used to spell out some verbal ad or name. This fact, characteristic of all media, means that the ‘content’ of any medium is always another medium.” A medium, in other words, is always filled with (or, we might say, ‘contented with’) another medium, but it is also something distinctive itself.
http://rhizome.org/editorial/2011/oct/4/marshall-mcluhan/
The light bulb was always McLuhan’s first example when explaining what he meant by his famous mantra “the medium is the message” since it communicates no information itself but rather facilitates a range of behavioral possibilities: “The electric light is pure information,” McLuhan wrote in 1964’s Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. “It is a medium without a message…unless it is used to spell out some verbal ad or name. This fact, characteristic of all media, means that the ‘content’ of any medium is always another medium.” A medium, in other words, is always filled with (or, we might say, ‘contented with’) another medium, but it is also something distinctive itself.
http://rhizome.org/editorial/2011/oct/4/marshall-mcluhan/
2011-09-22
...putain! PUTAIN. puutaiiin,
Hello,
The Great ______ Adventure has moved to Singapore, for a temporary but indeterminate period of time. Two days after returning, I have found apprenticeship under the cutest frenchman, Yann Follan. Communication in the office is hilarious. For those who do not know french, this is a great introduction to the language. ah.... putain. "Literally, it means whore. But not so literally... it means everything else."
It is troubling that for two weeks I've barely seen the horizon. The best moments, however, are early in the mornings when the streets are empty and the sky is a dramatic texture of dappled light. First, the clouds start to glow. Soon, the sun starts to reflect off the massive buildings like prisms. When you look down at the ground, there is condensation if the night was cool and plenty of scurrying insects. But before long, the day begins and cars zoom and sounds assault and the imagination is not so free anymore.
There is alot happening in Singapore right now - new bars, buildings, people. "Same pig, different lipstick," I cynically commented to Justus. But... I am optimistically cynical.
There are great moments.The pinnacle@duxton, for example, makes my knees go knockknock. Big bridges link the massive public apartments 50 stories in the sky. They call it "sky gardens", but sticking feathers up your ass does not make you a chicken, Singapore. Entry to said gardens are $5, which is a bitch, but a bottle of wine soothes over any irritations. The edge conditions, however, are boringly safe, with railings at a setback of several meters from the true edge. I had to throw something over the railing so I had an excuse to climb over it.
There is a sheen of glamour to everything here. I suspect a dorian grey-esque type of situation going on. Just the other day, I had a nested burger: wagyu meat wrapping ribs wrapping foie gras. I must be cautious not to fall into these petty indulgences too deeply.
Architecturally, it is a material wasteland. There seems to be an unquestioned adherence to cartesian geometry and a fetishization of details here. There are interesting thoughts when it comes to urbanism, but it is an easy dream within system like ours. I am bored. I am caged. I want to run and jump. I do not feel free. So, I must create.
The Great ______ Adventure has moved to Singapore, for a temporary but indeterminate period of time. Two days after returning, I have found apprenticeship under the cutest frenchman, Yann Follan. Communication in the office is hilarious. For those who do not know french, this is a great introduction to the language. ah.... putain. "Literally, it means whore. But not so literally... it means everything else."
It is troubling that for two weeks I've barely seen the horizon. The best moments, however, are early in the mornings when the streets are empty and the sky is a dramatic texture of dappled light. First, the clouds start to glow. Soon, the sun starts to reflect off the massive buildings like prisms. When you look down at the ground, there is condensation if the night was cool and plenty of scurrying insects. But before long, the day begins and cars zoom and sounds assault and the imagination is not so free anymore.
There is alot happening in Singapore right now - new bars, buildings, people. "Same pig, different lipstick," I cynically commented to Justus. But... I am optimistically cynical.
There are great moments.The pinnacle@duxton, for example, makes my knees go knockknock. Big bridges link the massive public apartments 50 stories in the sky. They call it "sky gardens", but sticking feathers up your ass does not make you a chicken, Singapore. Entry to said gardens are $5, which is a bitch, but a bottle of wine soothes over any irritations. The edge conditions, however, are boringly safe, with railings at a setback of several meters from the true edge. I had to throw something over the railing so I had an excuse to climb over it.
There is a sheen of glamour to everything here. I suspect a dorian grey-esque type of situation going on. Just the other day, I had a nested burger: wagyu meat wrapping ribs wrapping foie gras. I must be cautious not to fall into these petty indulgences too deeply.
Architecturally, it is a material wasteland. There seems to be an unquestioned adherence to cartesian geometry and a fetishization of details here. There are interesting thoughts when it comes to urbanism, but it is an easy dream within system like ours. I am bored. I am caged. I want to run and jump. I do not feel free. So, I must create.
2011-09-02
//Epicurean Epiphanies
Last night, we had the Chefs Menu at the Tasting Kitchen. The Tasting Kitchen is a concept kitchen along Abbot Kinney in Venice, California where the menu is changed daily, and numbered accordingly. We had menu #774, which approximates to about two years of experimentation.
Roast Chicken is, in this writers opinion, the wonderbread of entrees: never offensive, but never spectacular.
The chef, Casey Lane, proved otherwise.
Serving half a roast chicken with a blackened cabbage-like vegetable. This dish was all about simple, plain ingredients transformed through immaculate technique and plated without any fancy frills. Charred bits of the vegetable added heft, and left bits of crunch and texture to play against the smooth slipperiness of the rest of the leaf. The chicken itself was from another planet. The meat was moist and had a consistent softness through its entire section, and the skin was thin and crisp but still moist - when held up by finger, it held its own structure.
The simple flavour profile let the taste of the meat take center. I really enjoyed the dignity of it, and the thought that one could, if practiced enough, access a dish like this at home too.
Other Notables:
_Dessert had an olive oil ice cream: it was full-flavoured, but without the usual heaviness of a full-cream ice cream. It was refreshing without being wimpy like sorbets. I will remember this fondly.
_Pork Rillette: I heart good rillette - smooth, chunky textures that yield ever so gently against the tongue.
*In othernews, I am currently in love with Bob Ghandi: Ratatat playing opposites off each other: low running primal beat with angel strings. It is the audio painting of a panther running through an African meadow.
 |
| The Tasting Kitchen Philosophy |
Roast Chicken is, in this writers opinion, the wonderbread of entrees: never offensive, but never spectacular.
The chef, Casey Lane, proved otherwise.
Serving half a roast chicken with a blackened cabbage-like vegetable. This dish was all about simple, plain ingredients transformed through immaculate technique and plated without any fancy frills. Charred bits of the vegetable added heft, and left bits of crunch and texture to play against the smooth slipperiness of the rest of the leaf. The chicken itself was from another planet. The meat was moist and had a consistent softness through its entire section, and the skin was thin and crisp but still moist - when held up by finger, it held its own structure.
The simple flavour profile let the taste of the meat take center. I really enjoyed the dignity of it, and the thought that one could, if practiced enough, access a dish like this at home too.
Other Notables:
_Dessert had an olive oil ice cream: it was full-flavoured, but without the usual heaviness of a full-cream ice cream. It was refreshing without being wimpy like sorbets. I will remember this fondly.
_Pork Rillette: I heart good rillette - smooth, chunky textures that yield ever so gently against the tongue.
*In othernews, I am currently in love with Bob Ghandi: Ratatat playing opposites off each other: low running primal beat with angel strings. It is the audio painting of a panther running through an African meadow.
2011-08-22
//A Map of the Saturday
What is a day but a 24 hour journey?
On some days, this journey is direct: one wakes up with a map, an agenda. From A - do laundry- to B - mail books - to C - finish ProjectC. Like in a French garden, paths are direct. Pleasure is a binary condition derived from reaching the destination: the completion of said goals. Days like show wars recognition these are enjoyably crisp and easy to grasp.
Today was not such a day.
Today was the other type of day, like a pleasant meander through an English Garden. Unlike the stricter and more formal French-garden type days, English Gardens days are looser and more open to interpretation. Value judgements arie useless on such days, and one can only capture it as a quality. The following text is a way to express the day's quality and to use it as a thinking machine.
The morning saw Mike Harrison and David Pearson drop into 631 Vernon. I never expected to see David again after San Francisco, but he has been consistently friendly whenever he drops into LA. One appreciates such gestures.
What is a day but a 24 hour journey?
 |
| French Garden: Destination as Journey |
On some days, this journey is direct: one wakes up with a map, an agenda. From A - do laundry- to B - mail books - to C - finish ProjectC. Like in a French garden, paths are direct. Pleasure is a binary condition derived from reaching the destination: the completion of said goals. Days like show wars recognition these are enjoyably crisp and easy to grasp.
Today was not such a day.
 |
| English Landscape Garden: Journey as Destination |
Today was the other type of day, like a pleasant meander through an English Garden. Unlike the stricter and more formal French-garden type days, English Gardens days are looser and more open to interpretation. Value judgements arie useless on such days, and one can only capture it as a quality. The following text is a way to express the day's quality and to use it as a thinking machine.
The morning saw Mike Harrison and David Pearson drop into 631 Vernon. I never expected to see David again after San Francisco, but he has been consistently friendly whenever he drops into LA. One appreciates such gestures.
2011-08-19
2011-08-14
To JM:
Joanna, you cheating rat. You take my bike, never return it (but constantly say you will), and now, you avoid me. What a weasel you are. This tells me you are of small spirit and poor character. I am sad and disappointed that a friend can mistreat the trust given to them. You no longer have my respect or regard in any matters. No good can come from knowing you: you add no joy or smiles but stir anger and bile.
Joanna, you cheating rat. You take my bike, never return it (but constantly say you will), and now, you avoid me. What a weasel you are. This tells me you are of small spirit and poor character. I am sad and disappointed that a friend can mistreat the trust given to them. You no longer have my respect or regard in any matters. No good can come from knowing you: you add no joy or smiles but stir anger and bile.
2011-08-10
A temporary tribe
Deeply thudding beats sonically agitate the ocean of bodies. We pulse like one muscle in spasming twitches. Shaman guides lead us through tight corridors of treble so they might deliver us to echoing caverns of deep sonic space. We raise our hands and caress the viscous, syrupy air, saturated in boysnoise.
We are all drenched in sweat and honey love and smile with toothy ecstacy grins.
The beats taste lumpy in the throat far past the end. It sits in the base of the spine.
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