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Trash Culture Revue is upon us

| All about mutantspace | October 31, 2010

The day before the night of – yes, yes, yes, the Trash Culture Revue is upon us. I’m unusually calm, drinking tea and nibbling biscuits as if there’s no tomorrow. Everything is sorted, in its place – well, I think it is, it appears to be anyhow. Now it’s just a matter of being prepared to put out fires that are bound to flare up (not literally) and enjoy the cabaret, poetry, magic, music, film, sound installations and theatre that’s going to be running over the next three days and nights.

In some ways the Revue has already started, beginning last night on National radio. What a blast, a privilege, fantastic, superb, special, exciting. In a purely egocentric way it somehow compounded the value of what we’re doing, trying to achieve. It made me feel good, still does, took some of the burden off my shoulders, the weight of hopelessness that I always seem to carry with me as I stumble forwards trying, pushing, to make myself heard above the din of the cultural industry, the arts sector, the consumer ravaged arts landscape that we all work in. Being on national radio is a sign, an indication, that there are people who care, feel that what we’re doing is important, are listening and that all the hard work that those in mutantspace.com  do is not  wasted, that we’re not all screaming into a vacuum.

The arts show, Arena, on which we had a one hour live special has been the most supportive programme for mutantspace.com and the Trash Culture Revue. The producer of the show is brilliant and to see how she creates an arc, some sort of narrative out of what is essential a random collection of events by a wide and varied mix of people is really quite extraordinary. The amusing aspect of doing the live special is that it is the first time that many of the members of mutantspace.com meet each other in real space. I don’t know who they are and they have no idea of who I am nor anyone else. Up until the moment we introduce each other I am admin@mutantspace.com nothing more. I am a cipher, an email, a profile made up of bytes. It is this transference of cyber space into real space that I am most taken aback by. By the time the show is over everyone is having a laugh, nattering away and drinking pints as if they’ve known each other for years. For what brings them together is a commonality, a knowledge that they are all people who believe that collective action can and will make a difference, that through the sharing of resources we’ll all do better, all get further and most importantly that those within mutantspace.com will support them, will listen to them, will keep their back. For me that is quite profound.

So, back to my tea. If you’re reading this and are around Cork over the next three days or know people that live here, are visiting, please send them to a Trash Culture event. There is something for most people and I promise you the vibe will be great – it’s a party, a get together, a celebration of human connection and co-operation. For more info go to http://www.mutantspace.com/the-trash-culture-revue/

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Building of the local through festivity

| Life in a cultural petri dish | October 30, 2010

I’m in festival mode. I can’t help it. Our DIY Trash Culture Revue is on next week and after a meeting with Cork DJ, venue owner and all round sound bloke, Stevie G, yesterday I’m now going to help start another local – get – up – off – your – ass – and – just – do – it – because – noone – else – will event in February. Why February? Well its simple micro economics. At the end of January we start getting our credit card bills in the post and the truth of Christmas quickly dawns upon us. We realise that we’ve over spent on drink, food, presents, travel, sweets, cake, nights out, family gatherings and so on. Christmas is a splurge. A parsimonious Christmas is always a fantasy, a lost thought, amongst the baubles, tinsel and merriment of Christmas time.

So are these small festival events to be my fate? Am I to forever be local? I believe I am. Ironic really as I feel like the perpetual outsider – due to my upbringing and moving around – yet am always drawn into where I live, always want to make things better, brighter, want to get people more involved in their place. Maybe that feeling of being an outsider is why I do it. Because I understand the value and luxury of having roots in a single place, a history, a sense of flow that is unique to each and every city, town and village on the planet.

The building of the local is also integral to the way we feel, develop, learn and participate in the emotional and cultural growth of ourselves as a society, a community. It is critical that we never feel powerless, never let authority, the system convince us that there is only one path, one answer, one way of living, doing, being. We must never forget that it is in their interest to keep us ignorant of opportunity through alternative means, it is their interest to keep us close, supervised, controlled. I don’t want to live like that, do you? I’m only around a short while, we all are and we must strive to live life on our own terms. You’ve only got one go, one chance, one opportunity, so why hand that responsibility over to a state apparatus that is only interested in itself, in self preservation?

The local then is where we must start, where change starts. If we want to better ourselves and our society, our place then we must take responsibility, we must stand up and take action. For some that’s marching on the institutions of the state for me its creating new spaces in which possibility creates opportunity for things to happen.

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Feeling that festival winter blues

| Life in a cultural petri dish | October 30, 2010

I don’t know anymore. I don’t know period. Swings and roundabouts are the scourge of those of us who organise, produce, programme and sell events. You can’t relax, never can, can’t afford to, always worried, after the great summer months of work, work, work - all that now a distant memory  – that you’ll be beaten into pauperdom as the dark months of the new year draw close, looking to settle, bear in to make life difficult, another test, another effort, an endless offensive you feel you’re engaged in a perpetual war, there’s no sign of peace, it goes unabated and the more it drags on the further you fall, sucked dry, energy sapped, drink fuelled and hungover in no mans land going round and round the abysmal carnival rides, the empty showground, no one is coming, wants to see, be entertained, educated, questioned, engaged in debate, discussion on whatever, wherever, who cares, you’re all alone thinking deep, vicious thoughts, skewed, the brain pounding, dreaming nightmares of killing, hating anyone and everyone that disrupted, got in the way, made life difficult, didn’t appreciate your work, took you for granted, but it does no good especially when you have to smile and say hello, good evening, how are you, shake hands and look for money,

“Yes, there’s a cover charge”, “No, I’m not taking the piss, there’s a cover charge, you coming in?”

It’s raining, great torrents teeming out of the heavens especially for you, and you’re so tired of yourself and of people that make promises to help and pull together but don’t and all you’re left with are poor excuses to hand out like lollipops to those that you’re answerable too; the artist, the manager, the venue and all you can do is shrug and say,

“Hopefully it’ll be better next time, the weather was dreadful and we were unlucky with the night because Mr. Popular – mainstream – themanabouttown was performing and wiped us out, what can you do, everyone is broke and I did all I can”

you know the spiel, press play, the recession is hitting everyone and it’s not just a news item, blah, blah, blah, you missed the boom boy, you missed the boat, and now you’re going to sink, yes, drown, yes, along with all those that took advantage, you don’t get a golden ticket,‘ You don’t drown because you didn’t indulge’ just because you didn’t eat your cake when it was gifted to you on a plate and yes you’re on a down but that’s the game, swings and roundabouts, just don’t be fooled by truth, it doesn’t exist in a hall full of mirrors, no, believe in what’s right, what you feel, what you sense, coax your spirit, mould it into a swashbuckling derring do fighter, a lone gunman, a pale rider that rides above the plains of mere mortal circumstance, yes that’s right, take the high road you might as well if you’re going to die, fall from a height and fly the flag the whole way down, down, down

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Conversings in Acerbica – Managing Material

| Culture and politics | October 29, 2010

{“FA.RT. -:

#1st- Embed systems

#2nd- Programs worms trojans viruses

#3rd- GUI

#4th- Discrepant data

#5th- Background processes

#6th- CPU

#7th- CGI_wait”}

AK.SS. -: (Ambrasia Kurtz.  Synthesis Sent.)

Well, #1st- from before History, there is where a longer continuum relates the first Acts that initiate Human Story, hypothesis: Won(1.) entry of er, ‘illumined ones’ and others; Too(2.) ‘er ones’ proffer illusion of illumination to delegate surrogates; Tree(3.) the ‘er’s’ appointed subsidiaries bow and scrape to and dominate the will of the ‘er ones’ upon all else. For(4.) Masked mind memory binding is imposed on all other non-delegates; Fie(5.) there is withhold of Human Story behind ranking delegates who behold and uphold Whole Story with efficacious, senior sentinel, remote view. Sticks(6.) Then,..

#2nd- professor papa…study surround of bookshelves well stocked, books well sought, contents never truly met, never really wrought; walls green, the central centrefold luminescent in Harrods-type, plumb colour, satin robe, with bough-crafted crown in rows of thorns, yet no drops of crimson are to be seen.

{“FA.RT. -: [‚Kind verlassender Lebensglaubstler!’]_stop”}*1

AK.SS. -:

Yes.  Quite.

#3rd- minor, molluscular, facial blemish erupting imperpetuitous, irregular identity wrench on, in the body-mind.*2

#4th- Aristotelian rage (fashion) continues to sweep well nigh around the world’s stage, with Plato still in prior right to determine what’s height or, what ain’t,*3 fire side shadows, projected in a cave, now is Art an imitation of Life or is Life an imitation of Art, can’t quite decide, can’t quite sort out what might be an accurate rendition of the debate that is given to play with for hours of infusional, decadent reflection, when the intrusion of a lesson on how to make hay would have been provident for the spectre of a rainy day but, lest it be forget, all poesy must be sacrificial gift to the, er, gods at the behest of the archetypal, Holographic Angels of Darkness hovering haplessly unmarked doorposts detected in their portentous fly bys at night.

{“FA.RT. -: (static)_stop”}

AK.SS. -:

#5th- impervious stubbornness postures surreptitiously smiling integrity

stuck

integrity over stubbornness transmutes tenacious to straight faced, resolute reliability

temerity

a force to be reckoned with

- helluva extreme, long term, invasive mental mechanics ongoing.

(go back to the beginning, go on, read all of the sequels sequentially, get the background, invest, a whole day, a blessed day, come what may – see note*4)

{“FA.RT. -: [’Throw back.  Back lash.’]_stop”}

AK.SS. -:

Vulnerable does register.  Determination engages reader. Now,

#6th- Zen(7.) Is it that you would say, ‘How do you take someone with you to where you go, your subterfuge. Inside you. Where you are, where you are working it out? How do we meet there? To work it out. Together.’ Is that what you would say?

{“FA.RT. -: [‘Well, what IS it all about, anyway?’]_stop”}

AK.SS. -:

Ah, #4th- again.

Inversions. Imagination Imagination. Fantasy Fancy Fantasy. Fallacious Phantom Fallacy.

{“FA.RT. -: (silence)_wait

[‘Rapport, Rapport, Rapport

why ever isn’t there any, anywhere?

Anymore?’]_stop”}

Thinking, was there ever any, she might be rounded over, leaning forward, elbow on thigh cross legged, forehead cupped in left palm; she might be head down, staring internal, absently rubbing her left forearm in circular motion with right palm; her eyes might be turned to the window, dread, drear, grey wind and rain beyond the frame of translucent condensation.

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Delicious recipes using Kohlrabi

| Recipes from a mutant kitchen | October 29, 2010

 

Kohlrabi is a delicious ingredient to have in your larder and in our culture blog this month we have some really yummy recipes for you to try out

Often overlooked and left to wither on shelves and in market stalls, the kohlrabi is in fact a delicious orb – crisp, juicy-sweet and a little spicey. Its an awkward knobbly species though and it was, on my part, overlooked for so long because of its often tired and quite alien appearance, assuming that they’d been shiped over from far and mysterious pastures.  But it is in fact of the cabbage family  and is perfectly at ease in Ireland’s damp soils. If you can catch it young and still vibrant in colour and poise. The dish that won me round was prepared by a friend – young kohtrabi, unpeeled, sliced thin and dressed with olive oil and lemon juice, served with a few whole skins on roasted almonds and sprigs of chervil.

Kohlrabi, burnt scallions, horseradish and honey
Trim a couple of inches off the top and the outside layer of the scallions. Sear them whole (and season them) with a neutral oil in a hot pan until the outside begins to blacken. Slice the kohlrabi (on a mandolin if you have one) thinly across its diameter. If it’s on the big side (tennis ball upwards) then best to give it a quick blanch and shock in icy water at this point. Toss the kohlrabi with a little salt and olive oil. Layer the slices across the plate, scatter over some chopped burnt scallions, drizzle a little honey, grate some horseradish, squeeze some lemon juice and maybe a bit more salt and olive oil.

Kohlrabi and braised mustard seeds
In some water, white wine vinegar, salt and sugar. Braise some black and yellow mustard seeds until swollen, plump and juicy. Stalks off and peel the kohlrabi. Cut it into irregular, edgy chunks and steam them until tender. Smear some crème fraiche or soured cream onto a plate and then arrange your still hot kohlrabi on top. Pop your mustard seed in a pot with some melted butter, heat and spoon over the kohlrabi.

Pouched chicken, kohlrabi, milk and walnuts
First off, the kohlrabi puree, peel it and cut into chunks. Steam or simmer in water until tender. Once drained, pop the kohlrabi in the oven, just for a minute, to dry it of excess water or the puree will be too…watery. Mash and put through a sieve, then season with salt. Best  to use a whole chicken here, even if cooking for one or two – there’ll be much fun to be had with leftovers over the days ahead. With the skin – which you’ll be pouching the chicken with but not serving it with – let it dry on a tea towel and then leave in the fridge until ready to use. Fry it in oil until golden brown, sprinkle with salt and have immediately in a sandwich with mayonnaise and pickles.

Season your chicken by rubbing salt under its skin half an hour before you’re ready to poach it. Take the legs and thighs off the main body together. Poach everything in very lightly seasoned water with half a lemon, some peppercorns and bay. Bring it to boil and keep it just below a simmer. After half an hour take out the main body and leave the legs in for another half hour. When rested take the skin off and cut down with your heaviest knife to serving sized pieces – each thigh into two, each leg into two, cut off the wings, eat the oysters and rip the breasts into four or five.  As the chicken is poaching bring some garlic cloves up to the boil in milk and simmer gently, stiring occasionally so the milk doesn’t burn, for five minutes. Drain the milk, cover again with fresh milk and repeat the process. And then once more. The astringency will have dissapeared and in its place a warm sweetness.
In a pestle and morter ideally (or a blender of some sort minus the textural and tactile joy) crush some capers and parsley and flakey salt, add the garlic, then some baked walnuts, then trickle in some olive oil. It should be a course, stiff-ish paste, then trickle in some milk as you pestle away to loosen a little.

When ready to serve heat the chicken pieces slowly back up in their by now light and fragrant poaching liquor. Pop a big spoonful of the kohlrabi puree in each eating vessel, then the chicken on top – some brown some white – with a little of its liquor, and then spoon over the walnut and milk paste. And a grind of pepper.

Kohlrabi, egg and turnip tops
Boil an egg (per person + a couple for tits up peeling) for 5 minutes and ten seconds and then shock in ice water. When cooled,  give it a little bash top and bottom and all around and peel carefully under the water (so that the water may get underneath the skin to help the process along).
Puree the kohlrabi as for the chicken above.
Take the turnip top off from the tip of the turnip. Seperate the stalk from the leaves. Cut the stalks into 2/3 inch lengths. Boil in salty water for a moment then toss in a pan with a little oil, honey and white wine vinegar. Serve the egg alongside a soon full of the kohlrabi. Ontop with the stalks and on top with the leaves. Finish with some extra virgin rapeseed oil. And eat with some bread to help clean up the mess

Image by Fiona Hallinan

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Scattered notes from a performance artist

| Art and design | October 29, 2010

I wus der…I wus

“Performance Matters” rethinking why Performance matters through the matter of Performance.”

“From The Front” went on a full scale charge into exploring more on Performance Art.
I am five years hunting this artform down, watching its behaviour, its shapes and forms, studying its environment, worrying as to its existence, trying to define, defend and even attempting to Be.

Performing Idea was an International symposium bringing together thinkers and artists in experimental forms of public exchange.  See www.thisisperformancematters.co.uk
This was inclusive with several workshops by varied artists “Creative Spaces“.
I choose Janine Antoni. I liked her ideas, “Transforming everyday activities, into ways of making art.” I had read about her and she had performed at IMMA; scrubbing the floor with her hair and hair dye. I choose to go to this experience as a sort of final farewell to the workshops. I feel there is only so much one can glean in from workshops sometimes one needs to simply go for it and produce your own work. Having said that it was excellent to bump up against and be with a milieu of varied, interesting and great human beings.

October 2nd 2010
I left our house in Dublin at 3 .30 am!

“Streets quiet, streets noisy, street kissers, street sleepers, street walkers, Clubs, taxis, lines of taxis, lines of club kissers, walkers, dancers. I slipped past you all in my blue bus”
(Excerpts from my notes on day one).

London is a huge complex warren for me. I feel like this tiny ant wandering back and forth trying to find the correct entrance, exit, bus stop, road, tube, lines, colours, people, people and some more. Fellow ants.

I arrive dead on time, well a bit tired but keen to be there, I threw myself into it.
There were seventeen of us in the workshop, an interesting mix of Performance artist, dancers, Photographers, Students of Theatre Performance, Curators of art, Choreographers.
Some, like me, were other people outside of performance art such as social workers, etc.

Continue reading »

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letterbombing.com

| Culture and politics | October 27, 2010

Letterbombing is a subversive way to deliver a message anywhere on Facebook.
How it works:
You and your friends simultaneously leave posts on someone’s Facebook wall. Once you “reserve” a block of posts, change your profile pictures to a letter, spelling out anything you want.

For more info go to letterbombing.com

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The Posthuman Dada Guide: Tzara and Lenin Play Chess

| Culture and politics | October 27, 2010

 

Magically blending sarcasm and gravity, America’s favorite surrealist poet and NPR commentator Andrei Codrescu offers an impractical handbook for practical living in our posthuman world.

Unfortunately I can’t embed the whole interview here so to see it you’ll have to click through on ‘watch full program’ button at the bottom right of the screen

Interviewee
Andrei Codrescu has been a commentator on All Things Considered since 1983. Codrescu is an homme-de-lettres whose novels, essays and poetry have been infiltrating the American psyche since he emigrated from his native Romania to Detroit in 1965. Codrescu is the author of forty books of poetry, fiction, and essays, and the founder of Exquisite Corpse. He has received a Peabody award for the PBS version of his film Road Scholar, and has reported for NPR and ABC News from Romania (1989) and Cuba (1996). His new books are The Posthuman Guide: Tzara and Lenin Play Chess (Princeton University Press, 2009) and Jealous Witness: New Poems (Coffee House Press), with a CD of Storm Songs by The New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars. Codrescu lives in New Orleans and the Ozarks.Oana Sanziana Marian

Interviewer
Oana Sanziana Marian and her mother moved to America when she was 8, one year before the Revolution, which they watched on TV. She attended Westover High School, a private all-girls’ school. She went to Yale University to study studio art, but defected to the English major, graduating in December of 2002. She spent time abroad in Romania, Ireland and Brazil, looking for the poppies of her far-off childhood, bards and Elizabeth Bishop’s dear ghost. She currently lives and works in Los Angeles, California

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Books on Magic, Memory, Forgetting and Commonwealth

| Book reviews and writers | October 27, 2010

A General Theory of Magic by Marcel Mauss 

First written by Marcel Mauss and Henri Humbert in 1902, A General Theory of Magic gained a wide new readership when republished by Mauss in 1950. As a study of magic in ‘primitive’ societies and its survival today in our thoughts and social actions, it represents what Claude Lévi-Strauss called, in an introduction to that edition, the astonishing modernity of the mind of one of the century’s greatest thinkers. The book offers a fascinating snapshot of magic throughout various cultures as well as deep sociological and religious insights still very much relevant today. At a period when art, magic and science appear to be crossing paths once again, A General Theory of Magic presents itself as a classic for our times.

First written by Marcel Mauss and Henri Humbert in 1902, ‘A General Theory of Magic’ gained a wide new readership when republished by Mauss in 1950. As a study of magic in ‘primitive’ societies and its survival today in our thoughts and social actions, it represents what Claude Livi-Strauss called, in an introduction to that edition, the astonishing modernity of the mind of one of the century’s greatest thinkers. The book offers a fascinating snapshot of magic throughout various cultures as well as deep sociological and religious insights still very much relevant today. At a period when art, magic and science appear to be crossing paths once again, ‘A General Theory of Magic’ presents itself as a classic for our times.

Marcel Mauss (1872 – 1950). French anthropologist and sociologist, author of ‘The Gift’, and, with Emile Durkheim, ‘Primitive Classification’.

‘It is enough to recall that Mauss’ influence is not limited to ethnographers, none of whom could claim to have escaped it, but extends also to linguists, psychologists, historians or religion and orientalists.’
Claude Lévi-Strauss

Commonwealth by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri

The authors argue for the idea of the ‘common’ to replace the opposition of private and public and the politics predicated on that opposition.

Commonwealth [is] the latest book by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, whose Empire and Multitude have, arguably, been the dominant works of political philosophy of the new century…[It's] the much-anticipated final volume of the Empire trilogy. Artforum 20091001 Commonwealth is a timely contribution to our understanding of contemporary capitalist relations and the potential revolutionary conditions they create.

Together Hardt and Negri’s work is considered to be responsible for a resurgence of interest in non-orthodox Marxism and its political manifestations. Commonwealth is the final part of a trilogy that began with Empire in 2000, a book that was published during the emergence of the alter-globalization movement. Multitude followed in 2004, developing the ideas that had been introduced in Empire, in particular the concept of the multitude as a new revolutionary subject. Commonwealth is a worthy addition to the trilogy, expamnding and clarifying on the understandings in the previous books, but perhaps more significantly grounding their analysis within an extended discussion of “the common.”

Commonwealth is a book that challenges presuppositions about the utility of Marx, and introduces the possibility of combining his insights with the ideas of other significant authors such as Nietzsche, Foucault, Deleuze and Guattari, who are not traditionally associated with the radical communist project. 

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Martina Stafford sings the blues

| Everything about music | October 27, 2010

Martina Stafford is a soulful bluesy singer with an unusual and powerful edgy flare. She has only been gigging for a while, yet there is something magical about her collaboration with Cork guitarist Jimmy Hoey. On meeting in the summer of 2009 they have seamlessly created a repertoire of material that is quite unique and beyond any expectation. Her influences include Tom Waits, Louis Armstrong, Portishead, Bessie Smith, and many more.
She has just finished recording a demo with fellow musicians, Jimmy Hoey on Guitar and Ari Sheehan on Double Bass which will be available at all future gigs.

Check out our Mutation radio in the sidebar to hear her

www.myspace.com/martinastafford

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Exit, Barcelona: Experiment, Invent, Transform

| Culture and politics | October 27, 2010

Exit is based in the Raval area of Barcelona, just off La Rambla. Like the other Social Centres, featured Exit is concerned with the new political and economic dynamics that characterize the contemporary city or ‘metropolis’: the new governance-exploitation of knowledge and culture, control of movement and segregation of the population, new mechanisms of exploitation (precarity, financial mechanisms). In what follows Mauro gives us an idea of the development of the project and some of their current projects, in particular the struggle around debt and house repossession.

Mick: How did Exit begin?

Mauro: The night of San Juan, June 2006. As part of a symbolic action involving the disassembling of a Migrant Detention Centre, which was part of a weekend of actions for the Second Caravan for the Freedom of Movement, 59 activists were arrested, including journalists and lawyers who were present.

As the summer passed several of those involved who were based in Barcelona decided to set up a Social Rights Office, like the ones which had already been set up in Terrassa, Malaga and Madrid.

Getting to know and learning from other social movement projects was a fundamental motor for the development of our collective. We had in mind projects like Ek Ateneu Candela, Casa de Iniciativas (Malaga) or Seco Social Centre, these are all collective autonomous initiatives that are developing new forms of organization and of political, cultural and economic participation. Some of us had been involved in those projects and what we wanted was to form part of this network of activist spaces which were characterized by a shared political language and practice and some common notions.

In the first year we were just developing the group affinity and the collective. This was a period of collective learning and growth, of caminar preguntando (walk forward questioning) through which we got to know each other and to think about the project we wanted to create. We organized various autonomous education events but in the end we decided we wanted to start a physical space form where we could develop our political project.

At the beginning of September 2007 we had the opportunity to squat space with some other collectives.
From the beginning the squat was based on new ideas, defined by a new way of managing our relationship with state institutions and other social movements. Most importantly, form the beginning we were thinking about negotiating with the city council. After 8 months, however, we were evicted.

Then we decided to rent a place, to guarantee a stable project which would allow us to dedicate all our energies to the political activities we were interested in, rather than to the defence of the space.

A lot has changed since then. Exit, in its new location on Calle Sant Marti, has become an organizational machine for the resubjectivisation and recomposition of new productive figures; students, migrants, researchers, artists, mortgage holders.

Mick: Why are you called Exit?

Mauro: Exit as a way out, as a point of escape, as a crack…The opening of a space is our way of realizing the right to escape, a rebellion against metropolitan governance which opens a breach in the centre of Barcelona and in the urban model which is imposed on us. Exit is also about the desire to EXpiriment, Invent and Transform. This where Exit becomes a positive force, making possible alternative collective understandings of Barcelona, of how to live, and demanding, through collective mobilization, the right to the city, which isn’t just about the right to what already exists but, as David Harvey says, about changing the city .

Mick: In your current space you’re renting. Was it difficult to take that decision? Doesn’t renting a social space mean a loss of autonomy?

Mauro: Over the years we, along with other Social Centres and movement projects, have developed a series of reflections about the necessity to innovate, to overcome the dialectic between disobeying and negotiating, between conflict and dialogue.

In Malaga, for example, they spent months meeting with representatives of the city council to get official recognition for the Casa Invisible. These negotiations could permit a pioneer agreement between the city council and the ‘squatted’ social centre, in which the city council would accept the autonomy and capacity of self management of the social centre.

In our case, in a city like Barcelona in which the urban model is subordinated to the economic model, we have to continue to defend public spaces for self-managed social and cultural activities. Squatting, as a model for the re-appropriation of empty spaces for use by the citizens, was always an option for us, but considering our levels of organization and strength in the context of the current difficulties of political organizing, we decided to rent.

The reality is we were in a hurry to get a space. As I said earlier, having a space was a priority, as a physical space and as a tool for political action.

Mick: How do you pay the rent?

Mauro: At the moment all the members of the collective give a monthly contribution. In the medium term we’d like to get funding to subsidize the project. We would see getting funding as another way to re-appropriate resources. This summer we’re opening a bar and café as an autonomous economic space which we hope will provide work and rent for us.

Mick: Does the Social Rights Centre have a role in Exit?

Mauro: At the moment we’re in the process of setting the Social Rights Centre up. The idea is to provide information and support in relation to housing, work and the regularization of migrants. We also want to offer a space for other forms of cooperation (for example Spanish classes and internet access) and to promote concrete mobilization for social rights (for example the demands of migrants street sellers or people with mortgages who are fucked now because of the economic crisis). A clear objective is the creation of a common space between migrants and precarious workers which we see as a new form of trade-unionism, which we call biosyndicalism, as a response to the exhaustion of the classic trade-union model based on permanent full time work.

Mick: What relation does Exit have to the economic crisis and what conflicts are emerging around that?

Mauro: The effects of the crisis are already being felt by the most precarious groups in society. Through the social centre, but especially through the Social Rights Centre, we’ve been seeing first hand the resulting precaritisation and exploitation of work/life. We also do research from the social centre to find about what’s happening.

We see this clearly in movements, such as the movement of people in danger of home repossession, which point toward new areas of conflict which have emerged as part of this crisis and which can generate a cycle of struggle for social rights, such as the right to housing.

I’d like to discuss the issue of home repossession in a bit more detail, both because I think it reflects the work we’ve been doing in the SRC and because I think this is going to become an increasingly important issue as the crisis deepens.

Generalized unemployment, especially for sectors like the construction industry, means many families aren’t able to make their mortgage payments. In the Spanish case, the situation is even worse then in, say, the US, because the banks will take your home, but your debt doesn’t end there; in effect you’ll be indebted to the bank for the rest of your life. At the beginning of the crisis, some people considered this to be just a problem of the person with the mortgage. Any kind of measure that meant public money going to those who had voluntarily bought a home with a mortgage was deeply criticized.
 
That’s why I think it’s important to emphasize that a lost home usually starts with a lost job. Many companies have fired workers because of a reduction in incomings and lack of available capital. In addition, credit is hard to come by because the markets have collapsed as result of the fall in the value of property and the related fact that people can’t afford to pay their mortgage. In other words, the mortgage crisis, the financial crisis and the broader economic crisis are interconnected.

Our strategy, in order to win over public support, is to move the responsibility from the person with the mortgage to the Banks, who are receiving billions from the state to avoid their collapse. They’ve been getting rich while the market was going well and now they have to pay the price, rather than just wiping their hands of the thousands of families left homeless and up to their necks in debt.

As result of all this and through the initiative of Exit and other collectives working on the housing issue (like V de Vivienda), a platform has emerged of those who face repossession, and there’s plenty of people getting involved.

The people who participate in this campaign are mainly migrants who’ve lost their jobs. These are people who embody the crisis which in Spain is a double crisis; the financial crisis and the crisis of a mode of accumulation based on property speculation. While both the Federal Reserve and the European Central Back have invested billions in the financial system to save it, millions of people in Europe and the US are loosing their homes. This is where the class dimension of the effects of the crisis are most visible.

We have a double demand; as workers effected by the crisis and as mortgage holders. I think this really reflects the nature of the current economic crisis. Certain sections of society who are in a position of power, and can make use of the different mechanisms of the financial system, are able to capture a socially produced excess in a new form of exploitation which is more complex than the extraction of surplus value in the work place. These mechanisms include risk as a defining element. The capacity to shift risk on to other social groups has become a mechanism for the capture of socially produced value. It’s because of these kinds of innovation at the level of mechanisms of exploitation and conflicts in relation to them that we want to develop new types of movement strategies and practices. We think Social Centres and SRCs are among these.

Web Address:

Mick O’Broin

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Poetry on Prophesy, Life and Dragons

| Short fiction and poetry | October 27, 2010

Prophesy My Ass

The last of the great oak felled, then they asked me “what next”?, “what next?” I exclaimed.“I get laid”, “drunk and then lost”, “I owe money”. “No you don’t understand” they cried, “what next for us?”. “Don’t ask me” I said, “I’m just a lumberjack”, “but you must care” cried the old man. “Care about nature”, “the forest”, “us and our future”. ”Look old man” I said, pointing at the barren forest, “I was called in to do a job ,because no one else had the balls to do this”. “Hey it ain’t easy either old man, trust me”. Then he went in to some crazy story, about some prophesy, and that I was the chosen one. That I was a saviour, “hah me a saviour that’s funny“. Then I told them “not to worry and that “people say there were plenty of forests up north”. “No” the old man cried “you must stay”, he grabbed me by the shirt and his grand daughter who I must say is a babe pulled him off. Then I got in my truck, the last thing I saw in my rear view mirror was the old man crying and his hot granddaughter comforting him. Maybe I shoulda listened, maybe I shoulda stayed, but hey, a guy has got to get paid.

Like I told the old man and his grand daughter, “there was plenty of wood up north”, so that’s where I headed, north. I’m a rare breed these day’s, many people are afraid to cut down a tree. Some even say it’s superstitious, well I say “bullshit”. I know the world’s forests are depleting, and sooner or later they’ll be gone, but as long as I can make an easy dollar, I’ll be choppin’ those mothers down.

They say that if you have at least one talent, then make some money from it. I know the world is dying, and there ain’t many species left, but hey, us humans are resilient fuckers. We’ve some how managed to get through four world wars, and an alien invasion. Those jerks thought we were a push over, but we showed them extra terrestrial freaks a thing or two .Coming down here to our planet, spreading an intergalactic message of peace and love, hippie sons of bitches. They soon learned not to mess with us. My parents were part of the resistance, they even kept one of those alien fuckers prisoner. He preached and preached, then begged. He wouldn’t touch what my folks offered him, “ungrateful bastard”. He lasted about nine months and died one day, “not so great now are ya, you space bastard!”.

Lumberjacks blood runs through my veins I remember when I got my first real axe I was just six years old, and I pleaded with my parents to get me one for my birthday. I was chopping everything up, I almost brought the house down one time. Ma was always screaming at me, and when ever a cat got himself stuck up a tree, guess who’d be there to help out? So I grew up and I travelled the globe looking for work, I suppose I shoulda listened to that old man.

“But you didn’t” said some old timer, “no he was just a crazy old codger, just like you”, I said smiling. “He’ll find himself a new saviour” I said, all sure of myself. “But what if he don’t young feller?”, hollered fat Jack Carmichael. “Well it ain’t my fault, I blame the gods if things go shit ways for him”, I said I in a low voice. “Speak up god damn it” said the old timer. Then I stood up, finished my drink and told everyone that I’d see them later. As I got to the entrance the old timer called and I turned around, then he said “if not for the old man at least for his granddaughter“. “You’ve got nothing to lose” added Fat Jack. “You’ve got nothing to lose” I thought to myself, as I drove  through the mist. Maybe I should help the old man, his granddaughter would be so grateful, that she’d fall for me. “Nah” I thought, if she were to set eyes on me she’d freak out, her grampa’s probably on his death bed asking for me. I’ve probably made the biggest mistake in my life but then again, I’ll never truly know.

Get a Life

He’s an average guy, but I’m not sure about his temperament. I know I’m in control here, but depending on his location how do I choose? Should I make him so average, that one day, after working for god only knows how long. In a useless and demeaning job, that with a quantum decision just up and leaves, just ups and leaves, no good bye or see ya later. A decision that wasn’t totally spontaneous of course, but so fucking brave, so fucking astounding, that the ones left behind are left stunned. With their mouths wide open, amazed by this act of selfishness.
 
Well they would say things about him, without him to divulge any causes or reasons. Why an average Joe with the dull suit, car, home and job would just vanish in to thin air? Hah they’re all simply fucked, fucked sideways, ass ways and ways they couldn’t even begin to imagine .Then they’ll say that he’s stupid, stupid to give up such a reputable, repetitive, repulsive career. The car, the dream, the two weeks, unpaid of course, in a sunny distant land. The health care plan with a discount of five, yes you heard five percent, after a quarter of a century, of non – stop mind numbing, laborious, unnecessary work.

But why? The whining and bitching from the machines. Why the concern or attempted concern? You folks should be happy, you should be crap happy, maybe even so fucking happy that when you smile, radiation erupts from your bowels, causing a nuclear meltdown. But why so glum chums? Do you miss your fellow drone? Is that it? I see, he’s the one who got away .Now you’re stuck in this mind boggling pulse called a reality, where left is left and you are you. Maybe if he had warned you, maybe if he had spoken with father Peter of Saint Albertus and the divine angels cathedral. You could’ve helped this poor, poor lost soul.

I understand drones, you’re just thinking about him. You’re concerned for his wellbeing, if he just told you, if you only saw the signs. You and your supreme minds couldn’t even comprehend their meaning. A chimpanzee could at least recognize their importance, and no I’m not trying to insult chimpanzee society okay, just sayin’ chimps are relevant in this matter. Even ants heard about the signs, again no offence ants, but humans believe they are above every other species on earth.

So this guy is gone, can’t tell ya where to, or even why. You might get some ideas and we can’t have any free thinkers, walking round. They might infect the herd, just think of the chaos .Business men wearing whatever they wanted, the world would probably end. Probably but highly unlikely, your manufactured globe will never stop spinning and spinning. Well the overlords don’t want this right now, they’ll just churn out more crap to keep you entertained, and distracted, without doubtful question and without reasonable thought.

Dragons Do Exist

There was an age when humans knew dragons. Both races respected one another. Then a misunderstanding was born, none knew its conception. A battle erupted, dragons were victorious. The well of animosity was over flowing by now, and humans had no other water source. The dragon elders sought an end to the insanity, but humans were deaf, retaliating at every opportunity. The dragons swore not to be revengeful, but their pacifism did not go down with the hatred that man had swallowed.

Forced back into their cavernous homes the dragons were helpless, and with new generations of people, hatred was also bred. Humans weapons advanced also ,they even discovered a substance from far east, they called it gun powder. The end of the dragon day grew even closer, man even made profit from the fallen giants. Scales were turned into armour, their flesh a delicacy  to barbaric races .

Humans were  monsters, dragons nothing but pests. The dragon elders hoped for a saviour , but their wish was never answered. Fleeing dragons were shot from the sky with powerful guns, those who stayed with the young faced a worse faith. The great dragon grave yard was pillaged, nothing was left untouched by man.

These days dragons are just a myth, no one knows of the misunderstanding or harmony between both races. Humans were so ashamed that they hid the truth amongst the history books, hoping that this bloody history would burn itself out.

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Jazz festival work

| Life in a cultural petri dish | October 26, 2010

Getting to old for being young. The Cork Jazz Festival finished last night but I finished myself off on Sunday night. And I’m still feeling it – the aches and pains and dull blueness of alcohol aftershock. I seem to end up working on nearly every festival that hits this town, in some capacity or another, whether it be programming, running workshops or food markets. What this means is that I, like many others who are busiest when everyone else is not, don’t get to see much of what’s going on, don’t get to relax, catch up with friends, family, ride on the crest of a festival buzz. In the case of the Jazz festival we run a market on the main thoroughfare in Cork City, Patricks Street. The day starts around 6.30am and finishes around 8pm. There’s work to be done in the first two hours; organising traders into spaces, making sure the electricity is safely connected, the generators are working, the gas connections are not leaking, etc and the last two hours which is generally getting traders to stop selling, traffic management and clean up. Inbetween your job is to be lifeguard (a perfect analogy thought up by a friend who was down at the market over the weekend) for the various stalls and punters wandering through the market. This rigmarole starts on a Saturday morning and tediously plods along until Sunday night by which time your not only tired of standing but you’re lips are chapped, your skin is dried up like a prune and your bowels are in turmoil because you’ve been on a diet of market food for two days. Once you’re done and all the traders have gone home all you can think of is a pint of beer. A quiet pint. Screw the Jazz, screw the festival. All is irrelevant. All that matters is a cold pint, a warm seat and a cigarette.
 
A pint after a hard weekend of festival work is truly special, deserving. Problem is that it’s never a pint. And the notion, the idea that you’re in control of your own off time, down time, relaxing time is shattered once the phone starts jumping, hopping in frantic abandonment, demanding attention. Oh, if only that beautiful illusion of quiet, bodily exhalation stimulated by alcohol and nicotine was never to pass. But you forget, everyone is out at festival time, all partying, having a good time, coming together after months apart and you’re to be there. It’s only right and proper. What a balls. You’re not even on the same wave length; you’re sober, are carrying around a tired, aching body, are stuffed with market food and smell. You go anyway. You know it’s impossible not to. There is no right to refusal. To say no is to offend, is to bring on a texting war, a multitude of phone calls and all manner of guilt trips that over a short period of time become the extent of your night. The choice is simple; you hold your ground and go on an alcohol inflamed guilt trip or you arrange a time and place to meet up that and hope that the night isn’t going to be as bad as you think it’s going to be. Then you get your pints in. And you know what, it never is. Yes both parties are in different zones but the truth is that at festival time, if you’re working, you need to make that extra effort, must try to get some flavour, a smell of the buzz, the sweat of the energy that makes a town go mental for a few days a year. And you don’t even have to be into jazz

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Collectively trashing culture

| All about mutantspace | October 20, 2010

Time is running out. Trash Culture is only two weeks away and I’m desperately worried. Worried about others, the responsibility I have placed on all those involved. The Trash Culture Revue is not structured like a festival, nor is it a venue or an event. There is no budget to spend nor people with specific skills employed to manage, market, produce, organise and so on. After all, the point of The Revue has always been to give a practical and concrete example of online co-operation in action, to prove that mutantspace.com arts resource can work in the real world. That people can make the leap from a notional act online to a physical act in a venue through the sharing and collective will of the membership. Since this action began in June 2009 mutantspace.com has produced over 60 gigs, shows, film competitions and readings and by the end of this round of trash culture we’ll have got more people involved and started two regular monthly events with our Mutant Cabaret and Coffee, Chocolate and Coffee gigs. So what’s to be worried about? Why am I so fearful? Well, the fact is you can never let up. After all, the objective is still way out in the distance and it’s important we don’t lose sight of it.

The Trash Culture Revue is not about putting on a couple of gigs. It’s about creating a new space, a new economy, a new means of production in which the collective will of the membership enable the individual to develop, experiment, try something new. And this is where my worries starts for ultimately we are all self – interested, it’s what drives us, leads us to create, make, produce art, ideas. With this in mind the question must then be asked; is the concept of offering everyone, within the co-operative, the opportunity to perform, read, make and play on a platform – and make a few quid – in which all production, management, marketing and administration is done for them for free the best way to promote active participation and collective economy building? I’m not sure to be honest. I rise and fall depending on my caffeine levels.

The other question that always arises is who is responsible and how much should people contribute to the revue? It is an unanswerable question. Thankfully so for an answer would lead the revue to somewhere else, a hierarchical place and the possibility of collective responsibility would become irrelevant. And that is not what it’s about. The truth is that for all my worrying there is a wonderful freedom to flirting with disaster, being on the edge of failure, out of control. I don’t know most of the people involved in the revue, I don’t know most of the people in mutantspace.com but I don’t need to for we all have something in common, we’re all willing to give our time to people we don’t know in order to help them create their own possibilities and with that sensibility running through The Trash Culture Revue we all have a blast, a party and alot of fun

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Social justice leads to a richer culture

| Life in a cultural petri dish | October 18, 2010

Last week I was emotionally decimated by greatness. It started with a TV documentary featuring John Hume  on Monday night and a factional film on Bob Geldof  and Live Aid on Wednesday night. By the closing credits of the Geldof programme I was emotionally strung out, defeated, depressed. Both men had achieved so, so much by the time they hit 40. John Hume had set up one of Irelands first Credit Unions, was a leading figure in Civil rights protests in Northern Ireland, had started a house building scheme in Derry and was a founding member of the SDLP not to mention the fact that without him peace in Northern Ireland would never have happened. Bob Geldof (and let us not forget Midge Ure) organised the Band Aid single ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas making it the biggest selling single of all time (well until 1996) and pulled off the greatest (possibly) live music event of the 20th century in order to raise funds for the famine in Ethiopia, and all in less than six months. Quite incredible not matter what you think of them personally.

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