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"A novel, glass-like form of carbon dioxide has been created in the laboratory by Italian scientists," New Scientist reports. "Under extreme pressures the researchers found that CO2 forms a crystalline solid, dubbed 'amorphous carbonia' (a-CO2)." This new material "could shed light on the way CO2 behaves under pressure inside planets." Instead of bedrock, for example, on these alien planets, you'd have miles and miles of transparent carbon dioxide glass spiraling downward beneath your feet, forming fissures and caves; a San Andreas fault of windowed canyons, shattering over millions of years. Glass continents. As Jules Verne once wrote: "Look down well! You must take a lesson in abysses." In this case, those abysses may well reflect you.  After being compressed under artificial, near-planetary pressures – or "400,000 to 500,000 atmospheres" – "CO2 molecules react to these conditions by forming an irregular crystalline, or amorphous, structure with oxygen molecules. The resulting material is transparent, tough, and has an atomic structure resembling that of ordinary window glass." Although amorphous carbonia "cannot [yet] exist outside of a pressure chamber," some scientists have already imagined using the material for "new, less environmentally harmful ways to dispose of CO2." This could mean, for example, creating huge transparent cubes of carbon dioxide glass; these would then store excess CO2, locking it into perfect Euclidean forms, instead of letting more gas escape into the atmosphere where it would trap solar heat. The more cars and factories are put into operation anywhere in the world, pumping out yet more carbon dioxide, the larger these cubes will get, growing, reflective, looming on the edge of the city. Peripheral, abstract geometries of the purest architectural avant-garde. Create enough and you could build whole cities with them. Or, airlifted into the desert and buried there, future caves of glass will soon form, eroding from the surface down, abraded by sand-heavy winds. Years later, you'll take walking tours of the Glass Caverns of Utah, staying in towns such as New Carbonia – even Carbonia an der Oder, or Carbonia-on-Thames – where everything is made from weird glass blocks, and windows look out upon a faceted abyss of crystalline landscapes, cubed mazes of self-generating reflections where future backpackers of the world will re-discover existentialism, writing abstract poetry in old notebooks before being driven mad. A confrontation with your double that never ends. Meanwhile, the skies have cleared of all excess carbon dioxide, and these cubes around the world continue to grow...  (With a nod, of course, to J.G. Ballard; of similar concern: BLDGBLOG's A Natural History of Mirrors).
 [Image: What is it? Who knows. Though, as Mervyn Peake describes the buildings of Gormenghast: "Standing immobile throughout the day, these vivid objects, with their fantastic shadows on the wall behind them shifting and elongating hour by hour with the sun's rotation, exuded a kind of darkness for all their color." Cantilevered structures self-supported over the void. Via Archinect].
"In 2003," Cabinet Magazine tells us, "Berlin-based sound artist Christina Kubisch began an ongoing project called 'Electrical Walks.'" For this project, Kubisch has employed "specially built headphones that receive electromagnetic signals from the environment," transforming those signals "into sound." In the process, "Kubisch maps a given territory, noting 'hot spots' (ATM machines, security systems, electronic cash registers, subway systems, etc.) where the signals are particularly strong or interesting." In other words, she performs a kind of audial psychogeography, zones of the city turned into MP3s, "very beautiful, very dense sounds... like a movie, an audio movie." The images, below, represent the sound files those sounds produced, digital noise-maps of urban space.  Whether you're listening to the mellow, down-tempo techno of this light advertisement from Japan, or the sci-fi drone of a Taiwanese subway (which Cabinet covertly, and somewhat fascistically, editorializes as a region of China) – or even the minimal, repetitive heartbeat of this security gate in Oxford, England, the mournful buzz of a Bratislava tram, which Kubisch describes as "almost like a choir," or the empty Ballardian hum of a control tower at Heathrow airport – these are the electromagnetic sounds of modern urbanism. "What I would really like to do," Kubisch says, "is to make a map of several cities and continents. In a large city, for example, where are the electromagnetic fields? Where are the security gates? You could just mark them with little dots. They even have the same sound systems all over the world. It's the globalization of sound. This is something that I think would be very interesting: to see a network of little dots showing where things are and where they are spreading. Every time I do an 'Electrical Walk,' it adds to this general map of sound that I'm collecting. It's artistic work, but it's a kind of social research, too." There are thirty tracks in all. Knock yourself out. (Related and elsewhere: we make money not art discusses Kubisch's project as well as " sound performances produced by people scanning their Oyster cards as they access London tube stations.")
In 1987, Canadian photographer Robin Collyer began documenting houses that aren't houses at all – they're architecturally-disguised electrical substations, complete with windows, blinds, and bourgeois landscaping.
"During the 1950s and 1960s," Collyer explains in a recent issue of Cabinet Magazine, "the Hydro-Electric public utilities in the metropolitan region of Toronto built structures known as 'Bungalow-Style Substations.' These stations, which have transforming and switching functions, were constructed in a manner that mimics the style and character of the different neighborhoods."
   
[Images: Robin Collyer].
Simulacra meant to reflect how it looks to be domestic and Canadian, "there are about 100 of these structures located on residential streets in the central and the suburban parts of the greater Toronto area." Pictured here are only five of them. So if you live in suburban Toronto and your neighbor's house is humming – perhaps now you know what's really going on inside.
Meanwhile, the address 555 Spadina – i.e. the third image, above – shows up in this list of 322 properties owned by the city of Toronto. If anyone out there knows something about the other 321 buildings, be in touch!
(Note: These images come courtesy of the Centre for Contemporary Canadian Art – with the exception of the first, which appeared in Cabinet Magazine).
Motorola has patented a Feng Shui detector: "The device houses a camera that checks the colour of the property, a microphone that listens for noise from nearby roads and factories and a compass to find north – a crucial factor for Feng Shui enthusiasts. It can also measure the strength of AM and FM radio signals from local radio transmitters and connect to the nearest mobile phone base station to check for indications of cellphone signal strength." Read the patent application here. Perhaps coming soon: a field unit, designed for landscapes – gardens, campsites, caverns... Attachable to airplanes, so the flight can adapt in progress to the most psychologically calming path... Or, Feng Shui for Machine Gun Nests.
What does the earth have in store for itself? The next million years, Discovery Channel News informs us, will be just like "the last million years. That means plenty of meteor impacts, supervolcanic eruptions, megaquakes and worse."  As Steven Dutch, a geologist at the University of Wisconsin, Green Bay, claims: "Events that are rare or unknown in recorded history become almost inevitable, even frequent, in the near geologic future." This means that some unbelievably exciting things will happen on an Earth that I, certainly, will not be around to see – and that, perhaps, no human at all will witness. These landscape futures include the relocation of Niagara Falls. The hard, dolomite cliffs over which the Falls currently plunge "are eroding at a rapid clip," we read. "Once worn away, the softer rock upstream will erode even faster until it encounters another layer of hard rock at Tonawanda, NY, and creates another set of falls there in about 14,000 years." Then, in California, "the temperamental San Andreas fault will set off about 7,000 earthquakes of magnitude eight in the next million years, offsetting the geography of San Francisco more than 15 miles. That will split the San Francisco Peninsula into a fork. Over the same million years the Hawaiian Islands will have moved about 60 miles northwest." This will happen at the same time that Loihi, a currently active undersea volcano, will grow into "a new island rivaling today’s Mauna Loa." Elsewhere, "the Mississippi River outlet will shift in location many times, leaving today's New Orleans far from the river, but still sinking." Potentially more interesting still, "even the stars will show obvious signs of change in as few as 10,000 years." In other words, "our solar system will have moved 7.5 light years in its orbit around the center of the Milky Way, altering the shapes of familiar constellations." This, of course, opens up the possibility of naming this future zodiac in advance – even devising moving constellations, animated images shifting as the planet moves, astral films starcasted across a million years. But it is also worth remembering that London is sinking – indeed, the whole of southeast England is sinking – roughly 8" every century. That may not sound like much, but there are 10,000 centuries in a million years; so, providing such a rate remains constant, London – amazingly, sadly, absurdly, excitingly – will be more than 6500-feet below ground, buried more than a mile in the muck and clay. The whole city will then fossilize. Elsewhere, Taiwan will continue to move toward mainland China, setting off earthquakes – and complicating any long-term hopes of political independence; the Alps will continue to rise as the Mediterranean is squeezed shut by the northern approach of Africa; and, if recent information is to be believed, most of Italy could be adrift with Saharan dunes, the equatorial deserts of the world expanding both north and south. Rome, abraded with overheated breezes, where statues of saints are reduced to sand.
 A project I've been meaning to write about ever since it won first place at RIBA's 2005 President's Medals awards is Luke Pearson's maritime exploration of "the ship as a 'dry-docked' architecture."    "The scheme is a retirement home for elderly fisherman that also houses a working men's club for members of Newcastle’s fishing community," Pearson writes. "As a reflection of the separation and torpor of this unique society, the scheme takes the notion of the ship in an architectural context, to create an ersatz environment which interacts with the city around it as if it were a dry docked vessel. The environmental technologies and the ways in which the notional ship has been translated into an architectural system are the focus of this study."   In other words, you dock the ship for so long it becomes architecture, an extension of the earth's surface into the sea. Pearson's ship/building – perhaps ship.bldg – would include a " heated superstructure" and a " microcosmic ocean upon deck" (both pictured above). Then there is Pearson's technique of " Alephographic drawing." Pearson describes this part of the project as having been "inspired by Borges"; the image, below, "sees everything revealing the technologies and notorieties that exist within the Vessel."  Now a similar such project needs to be worked out with a train, stopped for so long in the center of a city it becomes architectural, permanently anchored and settled there on tracks, perhaps with moving rooms, parts of a building detach then reattach to other buildings; then further projects with other forms of transport: helicopters, lorries, school buses, hovercraft... The future architecture of stalled vehicles. Or, to quote Thomas Pynchon, who is here referring to a missile if I remember correctly: "The moving vehicle is frozen, in space, to become architecture, and timeless. It was never launched. It will never fall." (Luke Pearson's project spotted long, long ago on Archinect; see also Student projects 4, 3, 2, and 1).
Whilst once again finding myself on the same intellectual wavelength as Pruned's Alex Trevi, who posted today about the shimmering and explosive self-resurfacing outer loops of the sun, I spent yesterday evening copying down solar-descriptive quotations from an old book by Guy Murchie, called The Music of the Spheres. Now out of print, as well as scientifically outdated, I can still hardly believe how exciting the 2-volume book – about "the material universe, from atom to quasar, simply explained" – is to read, and how interestingly poetic Murchie's take on the subject really is. His chapter 6, for instance, is an "Introduction to the Sun," our local star in which "something much more profound and basic than fire is blazing."  I get light-headed when I read that the surface of the sun "is really a thousand times more vacuous than a candle-flame on Earth, and even the concentrated moiling gases hidden a thousand miles below it are a hundred times thinner than earthly air." Indeed, some stars, such as E Aurigae I – a star so huge that it could "contain most of our solar system, including the 5.5-billion-mile circumference of Saturn's orbit" – "are sometimes described as 'red-hot vacuums' because their material, though hot, averages thousands of times thinner than earthly air and is normally invisible, so that you might fly through them for days in your insulated space ship without even realizing you were inside a star." Meanwhile, in the sun's whirling interior, "the highly compressed gassy matter is ten times as dense as steel." Then, of course, there are "magnetic hurricanes thousands of miles in diameter" – which would be a lot more exciting if those magnetic hurricanes were not "commonly known on Earth as sunspots." As the sun unceasingly explodes in arching structures of storm and prominence, "glowing veils of gaseous calcium" escape. In others words, the same mineral responsible for animal bones bursts outward from the sun in astrophysical shells that "look like gnarled trees with blazing rain pouring downward from their branches in beautiful magnetic curves that have been clocked at speeds up to 400 miles a second."  The universe is loud with intercelestial thunder; there are "vast magnetic influences" at work across all scales of matter; "ionic 'noise storms' at radio frequencies" scream ceaselessly through antenna'd headsets of home astronomers; there is even a sunspot cycle that "corresponds to a '212-day cycle noted in some studies of human pulse rates'." Incredibly, some "outlying clusters" of stars at the edge of the Milky Way "overlap each other so densely they are literally buried in light." In any case, I think every child in the world would become a scientist if they read Murchie's 2-volume book – but it's out of print. Alas. Perhaps, instead, we can all just watch this extraordinary short film, wherein sound art meets video art meets solar astronomy. [Note: All emphases added. Elsewhere: Pruned's Sunscapes (where reader comments tipped us off to the film link, supplied above). Other elsewhere: The Surface of the Sun, a website claiming that the sun is, in fact, solid – furthermore, that it contains something called " solar moss." Earlier on BLDGBLOG: Podcasting the sun].
An old issue of The Wire introduces us to a synthesizer called the ANS, built in 1950s Moscow by Eugene Murzin and "constructed around a unique and incredibly intricate photoelectronic system."
 [Image: The ANS].
The ANS functioned through an "array of tiny chisels" that engraved "lines and points on rotating black enamelled glass discs." These engravings would then "regulate the brightness of light rays" that passed "through the discs onto photoelements," like the sun streaming through carefully shaded windows. The "level of intensity" of this light then produced specific sounds. Elsewhere (scroll down in this link till you hit the COILANS review), we read about the ANS's unique compositional process: "The composer inscribes his visual 'score' onto a glass plate covered with sticky black mastic, slides it through the machine, which reads the inscribed plate and converts the etchings into sound produced by a system of 800 oscillators." It's a machine that reads windows.  [Image: A representative musical score for the ANS – but what if you fed it architectural diagrams?].
The Wire then explains that, in 2002, British band Coil visited the synthesizer in Moscow and recorded nearly 4 hours of music using the machine. Listening to what they produced, we're told, sounds "like travelling through the Oort Cloud or the Kuiper Belt – glitting slivers of distant white light and vast, nebulous spaces populated by inchoate radioactive matter." As you'll notice in these three, 3-minute samples, the effect is certainly weird – but unbelievably mesmerizing: 1, 2, and 3 (all MP3s). Light, chisels, glass plates, oscillators, enamelled surfaces, engravings on windows – with these elements it is not at all hard to imagine a kind of ANS architecture, rebuilt on the scale of a building. Windowed lobbies and escalators; sunlight; entire lift shafts full of glass discs, inscribed and black-enamelled, emitting music like light. Whole rooms of sound, angelic, the windows slightly trembling. Moving panes of glass, washed clean at the end of the day, pass slowly behind curtains, casting shadows. A symphony for glass escalators. Chamber music. Entire cities, made from nothing but windows, tuning to each other – like the sound of orchestral sunlight. (Note: The ANS was apparently used to soundtrack Andrei Tarkovsky's films Solaris and Stalker).
"Is it painted?" Park asked. "Most people don't think about pigments in paint. Most white-paint pigment now is titanium. Red is hematite. Black is often magnetite. There's chrome yellow, molybdenum orange. Metallic paints are a little more permanent. The pigments come from rocks in the ground. Dave's electrical system is copper, probably from Bingham Canyon. He couldn't turn on a light or make ice without it."
 [Image: Bingham Canyon, Utah, photographed by the Center for Land Use Interpretation].
This text is all via John McPhee: "The nails that hold the place together come from the Mesabi Range. His downspouts are covered with zinc that was probably taken out of the ground in Canada. The tungsten in his light bulbs may have been mined in Bishop, California. The chrome on his refrigerator door probably came from Rhodesia or Turkey. His television set almost certainly contains cobalt from the Congo. He uses aluminum from Jamaica, maybe Surinam; silver from Mexico or Peru; tin – it's still in tin cans – from Bolivia, Malaya, Nigeria. People seldom stop to think that all these things – planes in the air, cars on the road, Sierra Club cups – once, somewhere, were rock. Our whole economy – our way of doing things. Oh, gad! I haven't even mentioned minerals like manganese and sulphur. You won't make steel without them. You can't make paper without sulphur..."
Rearranging planets into TVs. Producing objects from geology.
 German artist Martin Kippenberger once proposed a subway system for the entire world, connecting Los Angeles to Helsinki, Tokyo to Rome, Münster to Dawson City. Greek islands, Canadian towns, Swiss lakes, pharaonic tombs – there would be entrances everywhere.  So Kippenberger actually began building these things – doors in the earth, leading nowhere – including this portable subway entrance. But then he died. The project ended.  Here are some construction specs and photo-speculative images to ponder.    So who's up for re-starting this thing? After all, an entrance was built on the roof of the World Trade Center – but, even though the towers have been destroyed, the entrance is still there, hovering invisibly above Manhattan. It leads to an unexplored subcavern deep inside Mammoth Cave – where you'll find a door to the Vatican. Which leads to the International Space Station. Which leads to the aerotropolis. Which connects onward to Cape Farewell, via the Cabinet Magazine National Library. Rumor has it, an Australian bone surgeon once uncovered another entrance in a patient's rib. Eve was an entrance. Etc.  (Thanks to Brand Avenue for pointing out Kippenberger's project to me – nearly seven months ago. And thanks to Andrew Blum for reminding me of The New Yorker cover, above, which I've been saving in a box of files since August 2002).
   [Images: An ingenious ad campaign by Y&R for preserving America's National Parks: landscapes blueprinted, seeds diagrammed, arches shock-absorbed. Here are Delicate Arch ( PDF), Yosemite Falls ( PDF), and Giant Sequoia ( PDF)]. (Thanks to Eric Jamieson for the tip!)
There was a short article in the August 2004 issue of The Wire about sound artist Mark Bain. "Equipped with seismometers," The Wire writes, Bain "can turn architectural structures into giant musical instruments and demolish buildings with sound alone." His installations have included "sensing devices, oscillators and the occasional sculptural element" – such as the "six metre high inflatable speaker" featured below.  This is the Sonusphere, formerly installed in the Edith Russ Haus, Germany. The Sonusphere musicalizes the effects of plate tectonics: "Modified seismic sensors pick up the normally unheard movements of the earth and are channeled through the entire building until reaching a 'crescendo' in Bain's sonusphere. Unique in its purpose and design, the sonusphere is essentially a wired, inflatable ball that fills the entire upper floor and takes signals generated from an acoustic network running through the entire architecture. It acts as a low frequency, 360 degree, acoustic radiator translating the sound to its curved walls as physically pulsating sound pressure." Bain's work, The Wire explains, references "the ideas of maverick engineer Nikola Tesla." Tesla's prolific output and avant-garde electrical ideas inspired Bain to develop "a system for resonating buildings that allowed him to 'play' structures. 'The multi-resonator system I designed could drive waveforms into buildings,' Bain comments, 'like giant additive synthesis where you get different beatings of frequencies and shifted harmonics. I was basically designing systems that turned a structure into a musical instrument.'" Elsewhere, we're told, "the portable earthquake machines [that Bain] showed in Holland in 2001 produced severe tremors that spread through the surrounding area. Then there was Het Paard, a large music venue in The Hague slated for demolition. The oscillators he attached to the building activated the entire structure, inflicting severe damage on parts of the walls and ceilings." Of course, Bain has been on BLDGBLOG before, where we discuss a musical composition of his made entirely from seismic data recorded during the collapse of the World Trade Center on 9/11 – the trembling of Manhattan turned into a roar of sound. (Listen to an excerpt here). (Similar ideas are taken up in this post).
 [Image: The supercomputer pictured above is the MareNostrum, "meaning 'our sea,'" New Scientist writes; "it is housed in a 1920s chapel at the Technical University of Catalonia in Barcelona, Spain, and built from commercially available parts." Photo by Simon Norfolk]."The supercomputers I'm showing here are powerful almost beyond human understanding," photographer Simon Norfolk explains, describing his extraordinary new images of supercomputers and their architectural settings. "They can map every molecule of the billions on a human DNA string; scrutinise at the atomic level the collision between two pieces of plutonium in an exploding bomb; or sketch the gravitational pull of every star in the galaxy upon every other star in the galaxy. These are not questions that humans could grapple with given plenty of time, a notebook and a sharp pencil." Norfolk has also photographed computers used for "mapping and predicting global virus outbreaks" and for "simulating automotive crash tests."  [Image: "Modeling physics inside an exploding nuclear warhead." Simon Norfolk].These computers, Norfolk continues, "are omniscient and omnipresent and these are not qualities in which we find a simulacrum of ourselves – these are qualities that describe the Divine. The problem is not that these computers might one day resemble humans; it is that they already resemble gods."    [Images: Simon Norfolk. The top image is titled "Mapping the human genome." The others are the TERA-1 and the TERA-10].In almost supernaturally sterile rooms, these angelic landscapes of silicon quietly hum their way through introspective worlds of calculation: derivatives, logorithms, advanced topologies. One could, in fact, imagine a whole new series of Duino Elegies, written by a posthumous Rainer Maria Rilke, in terrified praise of these cloistered machines – machines Rilke seems to describe preemptively in his "Seventh Elegy," where the "annihilator" meets the "Angel." Rilke writes that "the external shrinks into less and less": Where once an enduring house was,
now a cerebral structure crosses our path, completely
belonging to the realm of concepts, as though it still stood in the brain.
Our age has built itself vast reservoirs of power,
formless as the straining energy that it wrests from the earth.
Temples are no longer known. In this context, it seems almost like an act of religious sarcasm that the MareNostrum computer – pictured at the top of this post – has been housed in a chapel. (Of course, a consecrated supercomputer is certainly a stunning intellectual possibility – perhaps setting up the plot of Da Vinci Code 2, wherein future archaeologists discover that the Vatican is not a complex of buildings at all but a fully functioning Jesuit supercomputer). In any case, because all harddrives are actually geological objects – careful rearrangements of minerals under the influence of manmade magnetic fields – then these are mathematical terrains in the most exciting sense: the surface of the earth dreaming of spherical velocities inside otherwise undetectable stellar detonations.   [Images: Two close-ups of cerebral machines. Simon Norfolk]. Finally, Giordano Bruno, following Giulio Camillo, wrote extensively about the idea of a Memory Palace, or Memory Theater. As Victoria Nelson tells us, the basic idea was that an "esoterically trained memory was a godlike vessel for encapsulating the entire universe within a single human mind." This was part of what Nelson calls a Neoplatonic "quasi-religion" that "venerated memory as an organ possessing magical and world-ordering powers." Neoplatonists believed that "the whole cosmos could be 'memorized' in a much more overt imitatio dei and by this act magically incorporated into the human organism" – or, of course, into the air-cooled circuits of a supercomputer. So if I were forced to take issue with the existence of these machines, it would not be because of their use in modeling new nuclear warheads – as Norfolk makes clear they do – but in something far more secondary, even faintly absurd: what I'd call the lack of a supercomputer poetics, or a more imaginative role for these machines to play in our literary and even religious lives. Oracular, Delphic, radically non-secular: they are either all or none of the above. (With sincere thanks to Simon Norfolk, who supplied all the images that appear in this post. And don't miss BLDGBLOG's later interview with Simon Norfolk, in which he discusses his war photography in much greater detail).
 [Image: "Glowing, silvery blue clouds that have been spreading around the world and brightening mysteriously in recent years will soon be studied in unprecedented detail by a NASA spacecraft." New Scientist]. Some unrelated items of atmospheric news... First, the phenomenon of " noctilucent clouds" is under investigation. These are clouds "which glow at night, form in the upper atmosphere, at an altitude of about 80 kilometres, and their glow can be seen just after sunset or just before sunrise. 'Even though the Sun's gone down and you're in darkness, the clouds are so high up, the Sun is still illuminating them.'" However, could a city deliberately build upward curving traps of air, thermally concentrating moisture in huge, rising chimneys, giving its citizens a kind of Air TV – abstract films of silvery blue clouds coiling across the sky, mercurial and noctilucent? Gone would be Seasonal Affective Disorder; in its place you'd have this fairy tale gossamer light, glowing metallic on the edges of all things. Add to that the microscopic sounds of water crystallizing inside distant clouds – amplified throughout the canyons of the city – and you'd have a kind of climatopia. Meanwhile, "many of the skyscrapers in Shanghai could become quite dangerous" due to the high winds they're now producing. This effect is seemingly parodied in Mission Impossible III when Tom Cruise parachutes out of a Shanghai skyscraper – only to find that his chute fails to open due to the torque of neon whirlwinds lashing him about between corporate bank towers. (Yes, I've seen Mission Impossible III). In an inadvertant moment of architectural criticism, "the Shanghai municipal government identified skyscrapers as one of the biggest potential threats to the city." Ages ago, in a no doubt now embarrassing BLDGBLOG post, the idea of urban wind-guns was explored, wondering, simultaneously, what impact surburban tract housing might have on the storms that eventually blow through a city. Fences, back porches, forests cut down or left to grow: how do these affect the speed of regional wind systems?  [Image: By krisstr, from the Shanghai Flickr group]. Shanghai city authorities have more or less answered that question, suggesting that "more trees can be planted to block part of the winds," and that "the walls of the buildings should be fortified while notice signs are put up to signal potentially dangerous areas." Pockets of atmospheric turbulence within the city. (How do skyscrapers affect the flight-paths of airplanes?) Finally, air wells, tropospheric rivers, and electromagnetic weather control all meet in this surprisingly long but very interesting article. There, we discover that "huge filamentary structures" in the sky act as "preferable pathways of water vapor movement in the troposphere (the lower 10-20 km of the atmosphere) with flow rates of about 165 million kilograms of water per second. These 'atmospheric rivers' are bands from 200 to 480 miles wide and up to 4,800 miles long, between 1-2 kilometers above the earth. They transport about 70% of the fresh water from the equator to the midlatitudes, are of great importance in determining the location and amount of winter rainfall on coastlines."  [Image: The aforementioned tropospheric rivers, a kind of fluted cobwebbing of intercontinental air pressure]. The following devices – towers, air wells, etc. – were all designed to help tap into these rivers, turning the sky itself into an aquatic reservoir.   You basically build one of those things at a geo-atmospherically strategic location; you make youself a cup of tea; their height and geometry trigger downdrafts; then the internal chambers cause condensation of vapor from air. Thus, an air well. The end of drought through tropospheric riverways. Here's a diagram of one of the machines working:  The article, of course, also discusses electromagnetic weather control, such as the notorius HAARP Project, pictured here –  – but there's a (very little) bit more on that in an earlier post. (Thanks to Scott Webel for the air wells article; and to the incomparable things magazine for the link about Shanghai).
This is the final part of a two-part interview with Mike Davis, author, sociologist, and urban theorist, recorded upon the publication of his book, Planet of Slums. If you missed part one – or just plain miss it – here it is.  In this installment, Davis discusses the rise of Pentecostalism in global mega-slums; the threat of avian flu; the disease vectors of urban poverty; criminal and terrorist mini-states; the future of sovereignty; environmental footprints; William Gibson; the allure of Hollywood; and Viggo Mortensen's publishing imprint, Perceval Press. •BLDGBLOG: In an earlier, essay-length version of Planet of Slums, you write at some length about the rise of Pentecostalism as a social and organizational force in the slums – but that research is missing from the actual book, Planet of Slums. Are you distancing yourself from that research, or perhaps less interested now in its implications?Davis: Actually, several hundred pages on Pentecostalism are now being decanted in the second volume, written with Forrest Hylton, where they properly belong. But the historical significance of Pentecostalism – evangelical Christianity – is that it’s the first modern religious movement, I believe – or religious sect – which emerged out of the urban poor. Although there are many gentrified Pentecostal churches in the United States today, and even in places like Brazil, the real crucible of Pentecostalism – the spiritual experience which propels it – the whole logic of Pentecostalism – remains within the urban poor. Of course, Pentecostalism, in most places, is also, overwhelmingly, a religion of women – and in Latin America, at least, it has an actual material benefit. Women who join the church, and who can get their husbands to join with them, often see significant increases in their standard of living: the men are less likely to drink, or whore, or gamble all their money away. For someone like myself, writing from the left, it’s essential to come to grips with Pentecostalism. This is the largest self-organized movement of poor urban people in the world – at least among movements that emerged in the twentieth century. It has shown an ability to take root, dynamically, not only in Latin America but in southern and western Africa, and – to a much smaller extent – in east Asia. I think many people on the left have made the mistake of assuming that Pentecostalism is a reactionary force – and it’s not. It’s actually a hugely important phenomenon of the postmodern city, and of the culture of the urban poor in Latin American and Africa. BLDGBLOG: Outside of simply filling a void left behind by the retreat of the State, what's the actual appeal of Pentecostalism for this new generation of urban poor?Davis: Frankly, one of the great sources of Pentecostalism’s appeal is that it’s a kind of para-medicine. One of the chief factors in the life of the poor today is a constant, chronic crisis of health and medicine. This is partially a result of the World Bank’s Structural Adjustment Programs in the 1980s, which devastated public health and access to medicine in so many countries. But Pentecostalism offers faith healing, which is a major attraction – and it’s not entirely bogus. When it comes to things like addictive behavior, Pentecostalism probably has as good a track record curing alcoholism, neuroses, and obsessions as anything else. That’s a huge part of its appeal. Pentecostalism is a kind of spiritual health delivery system.  BLDGBLOG: It would seem that human overpopulation is, in and of itself, turning cities into slums. In other words, no matter what governmental steps or state-based programs are devised to address urban poverty, slums are just a by-product of overpopulation.Davis: Well, I don’t actually believe in the notion of overpopulation – particularly as it's now become clear that the most extreme projections of human population growth just aren’t coming to pass. Probably for the last ten or fifteen years, demographers have been steadily reducing their projections. The paramount question is not whether the population has grown too large, but: how do you square the circle between, on the one hand, social justice with some kind of equitable right to a decent standard of living, and, on the other, environmental sustainability? There aren’t too many people in the world – but there is, obviously, over-consumption of non-renewable resources on a planetary scale. Of course, the way to square that circle – the solution to the problem – is the city itself. Cities that are truly urban are the most environmentally efficient systems that we have ever created for living together and working with nature. The particular genius of the city is its ability to provide high standards of living through public luxury and public space, and to satisfy needs that can never be meet by the suburban private consumption model. Having said that, the problem of urbanization in the world today is that it's not urbanism in the classic sense. The real challenge is to make cities better as cities. I think Planet of Slums addresses the reality that every complaint made by sociologists in the 1950s and 60s about American suburbia is now true on an exponentially increased scale with poor cities: all the problems with sprawl, all the problems with an increasing amount of time and resources tied up in commutes to work, all the problems with environmental pollution, all the problems with the lack of traditional urban apparatuses of leisure, recreation, social services and so on. BLDGBLOG: Yet a city like Khartoum – or even Cairo – simply doesn’t have the environmental resources to support such a large human population. No matter what the government decides to do, there are simply too many people. Eventually you hit a wall. So there can't be a European-style social model, based on taxation and the supply of municipal services, if there aren’t the necessary environmental resources.Davis: Well, I’d say it the other way around, actually. If you look at a city like Los Angeles, and its extreme dependence on regional infrastructure, the question of whether certain cities become monstrously over-sized has less to do with the number of people living there, than with how they consume, whether they reuse and recycle resources, whether they share public space. So I wouldn’t say that a city like Khartoum is an impossible city; that has much more to do with the nature of private consumption. People talk about environmental footprints, but the environmental footprints of different groups who make up a population tend to differ dramatically. In California, for instance, within the right-wing of the Sierra Club, and amongst anti-immigrant groups, there’s this belief that a huge tide of immigration from Mexico is destroying the environment, and that all these immigrants are actually responsible for the congestion and the pollution – but that's absurd. Nobody has a smaller environmental footprint, or tends to use public space more intensely, than Latin American immigrants. The real problem is white guys in golf carts out on the hundred and ten golf courses in the Coachella Valley. In other words, one retired white guy my age may be using up a resource base ten, twenty, thirty times the size of a young chicana trying to raise her family in a small apartment in the city. So Malthusianism, in a crude sense, keeps reappearing in these debates, but the real question is not about panicking in the face of future population growth or immigration, but how to invest in the genius of urbanism. How to make suburbs, like those of Los Angeles, function as cities in a more classical sense. There's an absolute, essential need to preserve green areas and environmental reserves. A city can’t operate without those. Of course, the pattern everywhere in the world is for poverty – for housing and development – to spill over into crucial watersheds, to build up around reservoirs and open spaces that are essential to the metabolism of the city. Even this astonishing example in Mumbai, where people have pushed so far into the adjacent Sanjay Gandhi National Park that slum dwellers are now being eaten by leopards – or Sao Paulo, which uses astronomical amounts of water purification chemicals because it’s fighting a losing battle against the pollution of its watershed. If you allow that kind of growth, if you lose the green areas and the open spaces, if you pump out the aquifers, if you terminally pollute the rivers, then, of course, you can do fatal damage to the ecology of the city. BLDGBLOG: One of the things I found most interesting in your recent book, Monster At Our Door, is the concept of "biosecurity." Could you explain how biosecurity is, or is not, being achieved on the level of urban space and architectural design?Davis: I see the whole question of epidemic control and biosecurity being modeled after immigration control. That’s the reigning paradigm right now. Of course, it’s a totally false analogy – particularly when you deal with something like influenza, which can’t be quarantined. You can’t build walls against it. Biosecurity, in a globalized world that contains as much poverty and squalor as our urban world does, is impossible. There is no biosecurity. The continuing quest will be to achieve the biological equivalent of a gated community, with the control of movement and with regulations that just enforce all the most Orwellian tendencies – the selective creation and provision of vaccines, anti-virals, and so on. But, at the end of the day, biosecurity is an impossibility – until you address the essence of the problem: which is public health for the poor, and the ecological sustainability of the city. In Monster At Our Door, I cite what I thought was an absolutely model study, published in Science, about how breakneck urbanization in western Africa is occurring at the same time that European factory ships are coming in and scooping up all the fish protein. This has turned urban populations massively to bush meat – which was already a booming business because of construction crews logging out the last tropical forests in west Africa – and, presto: you get HIV, you get ebola, you get unknown plagues. I thought the article was an absolutely masterful description of inadvertent causal linkages, and the complex ecology – the environmental impact – that urbanization has. Likewise, with urbanization in China and southeast Asia, the industrialization of poultry seems to be one of the chief factors behind the threat of avian flu. As any epidemiologist will tell you, these are just the first, new plagues of globalization – and there will be more. The idea that you can defend against diseases by the equivalent of a gated community is ludicrous, but it’s exactly the direction in which public health policy is being directed. As we’ve seen, unless you’re prepared to shoot down all the migratory birds in the world – BLDGBLOG: Which I’m sure someone has suggested.Davis: I mean, I did a lot of calculator work on the UN data, from The Challenge of Slums, calculating urban densities and so on, and this is the Victorian world writ large. Just as the Victorian middle classes could not escape the diseases of the slums, neither will the rich, bunkered down in their country clubs or inside gated communities. The whole obsession now is that avian flu will be brought into the country by – BLDGBLOG: A Mexican!Davis: Exactly: it’ll be smuggled over the border – which is absurd. This ongoing obsession with illegal immigration has become a one-stop phantasmagoria for… everything. Of course, it goes back to primal, ancient fears: the Irish brought typhoid, the Chinese brought plague. It’s old hat. The other thing that’s happening, of course, is that bird flu is being used as a competitive strategy by large-scale, industrialized producers of livestock to force independent producers to the wall. These industrial-scale farms are claiming that only indoor, bio-secured, industrially farmed poultry is safe. This is part of a very complex process of global competition. In Monster At Our Door I cite the case of CP, in Thailand – the Tyson of SE Asia. Even as they’re being wiped-out in Thailand, unable to exploit their chickens, they’re opening new factories in Bulgaria – and profiting from the panic over chicken from Thailand. In other words, avian flu is being used to rationalize and further centralize the poultry industry – yet it appears, to a lot of people, that it’s precisely the industrialization of poultry that has not just allowed the emergence of avian flu but has actually sped up its evolution. BLDGBLOG: What would a biosecure world actually look like, on the level of architecture and urban design? How do you construct biosecurity? Do you see any evidence that the medical profession is being architecturally empowered, so to speak, influencing the design of "disease-free" public spaces?Davis: Well, sure. It’s exactly how Victorian social control over the slums was defined as a kind of hygienic project – or in the same way that urban segregation was justified in colonial cities as a problem of sanitation. Everywhere these discourses reinforce one another. What really has been lacking, however, is one big epidemic, originating in poverty, that hits the middle classes – because then you’ll see people really go berzerk. I think one of the most important facts about our world is that middle class people – above all, middle class Americans – have lived inside a historical bubble that really has no precedent in the rest of human history. For two, three, almost four, generations now, they have not personally experienced the cost of war, have not experienced epidemic disease – in other words, they have lived in an ever-increasing arc not only of personal affluence but of personal longevity and security from accidental death, war, disease, and so on. Now if that were abruptly to come to a halt – to be interrupted by a very bad event, like a pandemic, that begins killing some significant number of middle class Americans – then obviously all hell is going to break loose. The one thing I’m firmly convinced of is that the larger, affluent middle classes in this country will never surrender their lifestyle and its privileges. If suddenly faced with a threat in which they may be made homeless by disaster, or killed by plagues, I think you can expect very, very irrational reactions – which of course will inscribe themselves in a spatial order, and probably in spectacular ways. I think one thing that would emerge after an avian flu pandemic, if it does occur, will be a lot of focus on biosecurity at the level of domestic space. BLDGBLOG: Duct tape and plastic sheeting.Davis: Sure. BLDGBLOG: What has happened to the status or role of the nation-state – of sovereignty, territory, citizenship, etc.? For instance, are national governments being replaced by multinational corporations, and citizens by employees?Davis: That’s a very interesting question. Clearly, though, what’s happened with globalization has not been the transcendence of the nation-state by the corporation, or by new, higher-level entities. What we’ve seen is much more of a loss of sovereignty on some levels – and the reinforcement of sovereignty on others. Obviously, the whole process of Structural Adjustment in the 1980s meant the ceding of much local sovereignty and powers of local government to the international bodies that administer debt. The World Bank, for example, working with NGOs, creates networks that often dilute local sovereignty. A brilliant example of this problem is actually what’s happening right now in New Orleans: all the expert commissions, and the oversight boards, and the off-site authorities that are being proposed will basically destroy popular government in New Orleans, reducing the city council to a figurehead and transferring power back to the traditional elite. And that’s all in the name of fighting corruption and so on. But whether you’ll see new kinds of supra-national entities emerge depends, I think, on the country. Obviously some countries are strengthening their national positions – the state remains all important – while other countries have effectively lost all sovereignty. I mean, look at an extreme case, like Haiti. BLDGBLOG: How are these shifts being accounted for in the geopolitical and military analyses you mentioned earlier?Davis: The problem that military planners, and some geopoliticians, are talking about is actually something quite different: that’s the emergence, in hundreds of both little and major nodes across the world, of essentially autonomous slums governed by ethnic militias, gangs, transnational crime, and so on. This is something the Pentagon is obviously very interested in, and concerned about, with Mogadishu as a kind of prototype example. The ongoing crisis of the Third World city is producing almost feudalized patterns of large slum neighborhoods that are effectively terrorist or criminal mini-states – rogue micro-sovereignties. That’s the view of the Pentagon and of Pentagon planners. They also seem quite alarmed by the fact that the peri-urban slums – the slums on the edges of cities – lack clear hierarchies. Even more difficult, from a planning perspective, there’s very little available data. The slums are kind of off the radar screen. They therefore become the equivalent of rain forest, or jungle: difficult to penetrate, impossible to control. I think there are fairly smart Pentagon thinkers who don’t see this so much as a question of regions, or categories of nation-states, so much as holes, or enclaves within the system. One of the best things I ever read about this was actually William Gibson’s novel Virtual Light. Gibson proposes that, in a world where giant multinational capital is supreme, there are places that simply aren’t valuable to the world economy anymore – they don’t reproduce capital – and so those spaces are shunted aside. A completely globalized system, in Gibson's view, would leak space – it would have internal redundancies – and one of those spaces, in Virtual Light, is the Bay Bridge. But, sure, this is a serious geopolitical and military problem: if you conduct basically a triage of the world's human population – where some people are exiled from the world economy, and some spaces no longer have roles – then you’re offering up ideal opportunities for other people to step in and organize those spaces to their own ends. This is a deeper and more profound situation than any putative conflicts of civilization. It is, in a way, a very unexpected end to the 20th century. Neither classical Marxism, nor any other variety of classical social theory or neoliberal economics, ever predicted that such a large fraction of humanity would live in cities and yet basically outside all the formal institutions of the world economy. BLDGBLOG: Is there an economic solution, then?Davis: You’ll never re-conquer these parts of the city simply through surveillance, or military invasion, or policing – you have to offer the people some way to re-connect with the world economy. Until you can provide resources, or jobs, the danger is that this will worsen. People are being thrown back onto tribal and ethnic clientelism of one kind or another as a means of survival – even as a means of excluding other poor people from these already limited resources. Increasingly, new arrivals in the city – the sons and daughters of the urban poor – are being pressed by tighter housing markets, and by the inability to find cheap – certainly not free – land. Where cheap land does exist, it only exists because the land is otherwise undevelopable. It’s too dangerous. You’re just wagering on natural disaster. In fact, the end of this frontier of squattable land is one conclusion of Planet of Slums. Another conclusion is that almost all the research on informal urban economies has shown that informality is simply not generating job ladders. Sure, some micro-entrepreneurs go on to become mini-entrepreneurs – but the larger fact is you’re just subdividing poverty. You’re getting more and more people competing, trying to pursue the same survival strategies in the same place. Those are the facts that darken this book the most, I think. They’re also what darken the horizon of research on the city in general, even more than questions of sanitation and so on. What the World Bank, what the NGOs, what all the apostles of neoliberal self-help depend on is the availability of cheap, squattable land, and the existence of entrepreneurial opportunities in the informal sector. If you exhaust those two, people will be driven to the wall – and then the safety valves won’t work. Then the urban poor will run out of the resources for miracles. BLDGBLOG: I’ll wrap up with two quick questions. It's interesting that you're raising a family – even two young toddlers – in a world where, as you write, there are emerging super-plagues, earthquakes, race riots, tornadoes in Los Angeles, mega-slums, etc. Are you nervous about the future for your kids?Davis: Well, of course. I mean, people who read into my work a kind of delight in disaster and apocalypse either are reading incorrectly or I’m a bad writer – because that isn’t the intention. To be honest with you, there’s more of a yearning for these kinds of apocalypse in the literature of Pentecostalism – BLDGBLOG: Good point. Davis: – and that's apocalypse properly understood, its real, Biblical meaning. It’s precisely this idea of an unrevealed, secret history of the world that will become luminously clear in the last hour, and will rewrite history from the standpoint of the people who had previously been history’s victims. I would say that, as somebody who’s ultimately an old-fashioned socialist, or rationalist, with an almost excessive faith in science – you know, I tremble when I write this stuff. I take no joy in writing a book about car bombs, but it just struck me that here was this technology nobody had written about on its own terms, yet it had become horribly successful. It’s a lot easier for me to cope with hypochondria about avian flu – having written a book about it – than if I hadn’t written about it. Let’s put it that way. I feel the same way about the future of my children. BLDGBLOG: Finally, have you ever considered working outside the genre of critical nonfiction, and – in an almost Ridley Scott-like way – directing a film, or writing a novel?Davis: [ laughs] Well, I have in an extremely minor way: I’ve published two young adult science adventure novels – which is the name I’ve given to the genre – through Viggo Mortenson’s little press, Perceval Press. Three young kids, including my son who lives in Dublin, are the heroes. BLDGBLOG: How’d that come about?Davis: It all arose out of the fact that, in 1998, I got this MacArthur Foundation money – and I just wasted it all [ laughter]. My kids and I went to the four corners of the earth. I took my son to east Greenland, and one night – because the sun never sets, and the sled dogs howl into the wee hours – he asked me to tell him a story, and I spun it off into a novel. But that’s as far as I’ll get. I mean, living in LA as long as I have, the one thing you learn is: stay away from Hollywood. Never, ever contemplate writing a screenplay or getting involved in a movie; it’s just a graveyard of talented people. I’ve literally seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by the allure of that kind of stuff. And I’ve never had the slightest desire to do it. If I wrote fiction it would be very forgettable. BLDGBLOG: So if Ridley Scott called you in to write his next screenplay you’d have to refuse?Davis: I’ve seen people I admire greatly – hugely talented, much greater writers than I am – just crash and burn and destroy their lives: partially because they never learned the difference between good writing and Hollywood. It’s the same way with the seduction of becoming a public intellectual, having lots of fans, and reading in bookstores all the time – which I’ve learned to run away from with horror. Right now I’m trying to simplify my life by cutting out as much of that stuff as possible, because I’m having a ball with my two two-year olds, hanging out in Balboa Park everyday.  (BLDGBLOG owes an enormous thanks to Mike Davis for his time, patience, and willingness to see this discussion through to completion. All drawings used in this interview are by Leah Beeferman – who also deserves a big thanks. And if you missed part one of this interview: here it is).
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