Robert del Naja

Everyone more or less Internet-literate saw this coming. Search engines and social networks messing with the users’ privacy, governments believing that it’s OK to wiretap the Internet, censor it or even block it altogether, big content lobbying for draconian copyright laws and believing that it can take entire sites down just because they use innovation to cut into their massive superprofits. The Internet hesitated for a while, believing that it could still come to terms with the armies of bureaucrats, lawyers and content producers, but in a while it became clear that all they are trying to do is to piggyback on the technological revolution, contributing as little as they can while trying to squeeze as much out of it as possible.

That’s why a massive trend shift towards a fully distributed Internet is all but unexpected. Users want to be in control of their info, thoughts, services and communications, and to decide  for themselves about what tools they’re going to use and how to use them. All of this points to the plummeting level of regular users’ trust in any central authority, be it their government or their email provider.

Okay, so let’s consider that there’s this critical mass of people who stand for a total decentralization of the Internet. They come up with an idea that nobody in particular should be in charge of it. Instead, they have conceived the ‘Net as an egalitarian construct where every user will have the same rights and possibilities, that is where all users will be peers. This approach became known as peer-to-peer networking, or P2P.

The conceptual foundation being laid, we approach the technical side of this question — and that’s where it becomes very complicated. Technically, the ‘Net is like a Matryoshka doll, with a multitude of technologies simultaneously working within each other. While some of these are free and common and can be easily used by anyone to create their own networks, some services like DNS are centralized and controlled by a single authority. Besides, most higher-level services such as email, social networks and search are offered by centralized providers. And finally and most significantly, all parts of the Internet infrastructure are operated by private companies and lie under the jurisdictions of the respective nation-states, making the able to control or cut access to the Internet at any time.

Thus, a move towards a truly peer-centric Internet would require “liberation” of the technologies and services that are not controllable by the user, a truly difficult task, as we have just seen. But as history shows, nothing can stifle progress and innovation, especially when they are supported by enough people.

Although this process  isn’t even nearing its completion as of today, there are already some great developments to be noted.

First of all, let’s say a word about the grandfather of all P2P technologies — BitTorrent. Powering such sites as Suprnova and The Pirate Bay, this protocol has basically started a serious war for free and uncontrollable file sharing and first brought up the whole distributed web discussion.

When the news broke about the looming new legislation allowing US authorities unilaterally (!!!) shut down many global domain names, the community started working on a distributed Domain Name System (DNS) alternative. The resulting project is called dot-P2P, and although it’s far from completion, it already looks very promising.

Search is one of the most used Internet services. Until recently, it’s been almost monopolized by a couple of centralized providers. Although all of them claim to have strict privacy policies and make their best efforts to ensure a great user experience, some users keep doubting about the safety of letting someone collect so much data about them. Besides, all corporations are legally obliged to respond to law enforcement requests.  YaCy, a fully distributed search system, aims to solve at least some of these problems.

Nowadays, most regular users rely heavily on social networking and microblogging services for personal news and communications. Although some well-known SN sites are said to have greatly contributed to establishing democracy and even triggered a bunch of national revolutions, let’s face the fact that most of them are highly controlled and moderated. While there are many projects aiming to create alternative social networking services, the one that deserves the most attention is *Diaspora. While still at Alpha stage at the moment, it’s already very functional, and most importantly, 100% community maintained.

Yet another interesting development in this direction is a distributed file system called Tahoe-LAFS (Least Authority File System) which allows to create a resilient storage system for any kind of content, making the data available even if some of the servers go down. This could be used by services facing constant takedown threats from public and private parties alike.

The world’s banking and currency systems enjoy less and less trust by the year. In addition to this, such measures as transfer charges, duties and taxes hinder the free movement of funds across the globe. Users who don’t trust any particular bank or currency may use a P2P payment system like Bitcoin. Yet again, this software is available as a proof of concept, and it’s by no means ready for day-to-day use, so we wouldn’t recommend to converting all your money to BitCoins just yet. Remember that what we’re talking about here is trends.

Talking about P2P, we just couldn’t avoid saying a few words about such networks as Tor, I2P and Freenet. These are the so-called anonymity networks, meaning that they either conceal your outgoing IP address, provide untrackable sites within the network and more. However, before you decide to jump head first into these networks, beware of their limitations and vulnerabilities.

As we have said, the Internet is actually a set of interlocked technologies, each of which is vital to its operation. However, one of the most important things is the underlying infrastructure. Recent events show that certain authorities believe they have the power to cut off the entire Internet once they feel it’s going out of their control – for instance, governments would disable Internet access to whole countries. Then, none of the described services would work, no matter how sophisticated they were.

One of the possible ways to counter such “global cutoff” policy is a wireless mesh network, which are able to literally heal themselves after the failure of even the most crucial of their nodes. In such a network, even one participant with Internet access (in another country, for instance) is able to share it with everyone else. Wireless networks are more secure because it’s much harder to physically destroy their infrastructure or eavesdrop on them, but they still remain vulnerable to radio jamming attacks.

All of these services and technologies have the potential to enhance a regular user’s privacy, security and freedom on the web. They help users work without relying on any specific service or authority and less sensitive to their accidental downtime or arbitrary limitations. The distributed web will surely help overcome web censorship and persecution of those who dare to voice their opinion.  It will allow its users to return to the Web’s founding values like equality, freedom of speech and absence of regulation.

We do understand that most of these technologies are currently nothing more than proof of concept, and that it would take years for them to reach the robustness and accessibility required for everyday use by anyone except a narrow circle of geeks. Let’s just hope that the weather changes fast enough.

Tennessee Williams

By batteries of baseball bats

Walk empty streets on an October night

Their names don’t matter anymore

But neither does yours, buddy.

It’s about time to act on those words, don’t you think?

Music: Fever Ray – Keep the Streets Empty

В 2004 году группа выпустила альбом Legion of Boom, и практически затихла – за 5 лет они записали только пластинку ремиксов (2005) и саундтрек к фильму “Лондон“ (2006).

За это время многое успело измениться, и начинало казаться, что звук группы уже то и дело устаревает и она готовится к заслуженному отдыху среди других основателей брейк-бита и электроники. Но фанаты группы, в том числе и ваш покорный слуга, не давали надежде умирать – и, как выяснилось, не зря.

В 2009 году, The Crystal Method записала свой четвертый студийный альбом – Divided by Night. Что же приготовили нам в нем пионеры электронной музыки?

С первых минут альбома становится ясно, что хотя это все те же старые добрые “кристалы”, звучание дуэта кардинально изменилось. С одной стороны кажется, что музыка стала более клубной, прямолинейной и простой, и что мейнстрим наконец-то поглотил эту когда-то оригинальную группу. Однако вдумчивое прослушивание открывает настоящее настроение этой пластинки – за глянцевым клубным фасадом скрывается широкая гамма эмоций, рефлексии, иронии и даже тоски.

Безусловно, под эту музыку можно танцевать – но она явно создавалась не только для этого. Можно предположить, что авторы попытались заложить в альбом те настроения и чувства, которые скрываются за кулисами ночной жизни. Ночь собирает людей вместе – но в то же время и разделяет их.

Трек за треком все больше дают понять, что “кристалы”, безусловно, вырасли, превратившись из экспериментаторов в состоявшихся музыкантов. И фанатам, которые колбасились под их композиции 10 лет назад, сейчас будет приятно вспомнить этот звук и эту эпоху, которые повзрослели вместе с ними.

Альбом вышел 2 года назад, поэтому надеюсь, что многие уже успели с ним познакомиться. Если же нет, рекомендую его к прослушиванию – при чем как тем, кто давно знаком с творчеством “кристалов”, так и тем, кто слышит о них впервые.

When the sun set he crouched by the path and cooked a small supper and listened to the first crack while he put the food in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It had been a day not unlike thirty others, with many neat holes dug in the dawn hours, seeds dropped in, and water brought from the bright canals. Now, with an iron weariness in his slight body, he lay and watched the sky color from one darkness to another.

His name was Benjamin Driscoll, and he was thirty-one years old. And the thing that he wanted was Mars grown green and tall with trees and foliage, producing air, more air, growing larger with each season; trees to cool the towns in the boiling summer, trees to hold back the winter winds. There were so many things a tree could do: add color, provide shade, drop fruit, or become a children’s playground, a whole sky universe to climb and hang from; an architecture of food and pleasure, that was a tree. But most of all the trees would distil an icy air for the lungs, and a gentle rustling for the ear when you lay nights in your snowy bed and were gentled to sleep by the sound.

He lay listening to the dark earth gather itself, waiting for the sun, for the rains that hadn’t come yet. His ear to the ground, he could hear the feet of the years ahead moving at a distance, and he imagined the seeds he had placed today sprouting up with green and taking hold on the sky, pushing out branch after branch, until Mars was an afternoon forest, Mars was a shining orchard.

In the early morning, with the small sun lifting faintly among the folded hills, he would be up and finished with a smoky breakfast in a few minutes and, treading out the fire ashes, be on his way with knapsacks, testing, digging, placing seed or sprout, tamping lightly, watering, going on, whistling, looking at the clear sky brightening towards a warm noon.

“You need the air,” he told his night fire. The fire was a ruddy, lively companion that snapped back at you, that slept close by with drowsy pink eyes warm through the chilly night. “We all need the air. It’s a thin air here on Mars. You get tired so soon. It’s like living in the Andes, in South America, high. You inhale and don’t get anything. It doesn’t satisfy.”

He felt his rib-case. In thirty days, how it had grown. To take in more air, they would all have to build their lungs. Or plant more trees.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said. The fire popped. “In school they told a story about Johnny Appleseed walking across America planting apple trees. Well, I’m doing more. I’m planting oaks, elms, and maples, every kind of tree, aspens and deodars and chestnuts. Instead of making just fruit for the stomach, I’m making air for the lungs. When those trees grow up some year, think of the oxygen they’ll make!”

He remembered his arrival on Mars. Like a thousand others, he had gazed out upon a still morning and thought, How do I fit here? What will I do? Is there a job for me?

Then he had fainted.

Someone pushed a vial of ammonia to his nose and, coughing, he came round.

“You’ll be all right, ” said the doctor.

“What happened?”

“The air’s pretty thin. Some can’t take it. I think you’ll have to go back to Earth.”

“No!” He sat up, and almost immediately felt his eyes darken and Mars revolve twice around under him. His nostrils dilated and he forced his lungs to drink in deep nothingnesses. “I’ll be all right. I’ve got to stay here!”

They let him lie gasping in horrid fish-like motions. And he thought, Air, air, air. They’re sending me back because of air. And he turned his head to look across the Martian fields and hills. He brought them to focus, and the first thing he noticed was that there were no trees, no trees at all, as far as you could look in any direction. The land was down upon itself, a land of black loam, but nothing on it, not even grass. Air, he thought, the thin stuff whistling in his nostrils. Air, air. And on top of hills, or in their shadows, or even by little creeks, not a tree and not single green blade of grass. Of course! He felt the answer came not from his mind, but his lungs and his throat. And the thought was like a sudden gust of pure oxygen, raising him up. Trees and grass. He looked down at his hands and turned them over. He would plant trees and grass. That would be his job, to fight against the very thing that might prevent his staying here. He would have a private horticultural war with Mars. There lay the old soil, and the plants of it so ancient they had worn themselves out. But what if new forms were introduced? Earth trees, great mimosas and weeping willows and magnolias and magnificent eucalyptus. What then? There was no guessing what mineral wealth hid in the soil, untapped because the old ferns, flowers, bushes, and trees had tired themselves to death.

“Let me up!” he shouted. “I’ve got to see the Co-ordinator!”

He and the Co-ordinator had talked an entire morning about things that grew and were green. It would be months, if not years, before organized planting began. So far, frosted food was brought from Earth in flying icicles; a few community gardens were greening up in hydroponic plants.

“Meanwhile,” said the Co-ordinator, “It’s your job. We’ll get what seed we can for you, a little equipment. Space on the rockets is mighty precious now. I’m afraid, since these first towns are mining communities, there won’t be much sympathy for your tree-planting –”
“But you’ll let me do it?”

They let him do it. Provided with a single motorcycle, its bin full of rich seeds and sprouts, he had parked his vehicle in the valley wilderness and struck out on foot over the land.

That had been thirty days ago, and he had never glanced back. For looking back would have been sickening to the heart. The weather was excessively dry; it was doubtful if any seeds has sprouted yet. Perhaps his entire campaign, his four eyes only ahead of him, going on down this wide, shallow valley under the sun, away from First Town, waiting for the rains to come.

Clouds were gathering over the dry montains now as he drew his blanket over his shoulders. Mars was a place as unpredictable as time. He felt the baked hills simmering down into frosty night, and he thought of the rich, inky soil, a soil so black and shiny it almost crawled and stirred in your fist, a rank soil from which might sprout gigantic beanstalks from wich, with bone-shaking concussion, might drop screaming giants.

The fire fluttered into sleepy ash. The air tremored to the distant roll of a cart-wheel. Thunder. A sudden odour of water. Tonight, he thought, and put his hand out to feel for rain. Tonight.

He awoke to a tap on his brow.

Water ran down his nose into his lips. Another drop hit his eye, blurring it. Another splashed his chin.
The rain.

Raw, gentle, and easy, it mizzled out of the night air, a special elixir, tasting of spells and stars and air, carrying a peppery dust in it, and moving like a rare light sherry on his tongue.

Rain.

He sat up. He let the blanket fall and his blue denim shirt spot, while the rain took on more solid drops. The fire looked as though an invisible animal were dancing on it, crushing it, until it was angry smoke. The rain fell. The great black lid of sky crackled glaze, and rushed down. He saw ten billion rain crystals, hesitating long enough to he photographed by the electrical display. Then darkness and water.

He was drenched to the skin, but he held his face up and let the water hit his eyelids, laughing. He clapped his hands together and stepped up and walked around his little camp, and it was one o’clock in the morning.

It rained steadily for two hours and then stopped. The stars came out, freshly washed and clearer than ever.

Changing into dry clothes from his cellophane pack, Mr. Benjamin Driscoll lay down and went happily to sleep.

The sun rose slowly among the hills. It broke out upon the land quietly and wakened Mr. Driscoll where he lay.

He waited a moment before arising. He had worked and waited a long hot month, and now, standing up, he turned at last and faced the direction from which he had come.

It was a green morning.

As far as he could see, the trees were standing up against the sky. Not one tree, not two, not a dozen, but the thousands he had planted in seed and sprout. And not little trees, no, not saplings, not little tender shoots, but great trees, huge trees, trees as tall as ten men, green and green and huge and round and full, trees shimmering their metallic leaves, trees whispering, trees in a line over hills, lemon-trees, redwoods and mimosas and oaks and elms and aspens, cherry, maple, ash, apple, orange, eucalyptus, stung by a tumultuous rain, nourished by alien and magical soil and, even as he watched, throwing out new branches, popping open new buds.
“Impossible!” cried Mr. Benjamin Driscoll.

But the valley and the morning were green.

And the air!

All about, like a moving current, a montain river, came the new air, the oxygen blowing from the green trees. You could see it shimmer high in crystal billows. Oxygen, fresh, pure, green, cold oxygen turning the valley into a river delta. In a moment the town doors would flip wide, people would run through the new miracle of oxygen, sniffing, gusting in lungfuls of it, cheeks pinking with it, noses frozen with it, lungs revivified, hearts leaping, and worn bodies lifted into a dance.

Mr. Benjamin Driscoll took one long deep drink of green water air and fainted.

Before he woke again five thousand new trees had climbed up into the yellow sun.

But after all is said and done, it’s worth looking back to see how it all started. Before becoming one of the world’s most acclaimed writers, Rowling lost her job, her family and was living off state-provided welfare benefits. To most, this would seem a hopeless position to be in. Yet instead of giving up or trying to piece everything back together, Rowling found that after losing everything, she finally had the chance to pursue the work of her life. Here is how she described it:

Failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy to finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one area where I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter, and a big idea. And so rock bottom became a solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

J. K. Rowling, Harvard commencement address, 2008.

 This, for the thousandth time, proves the idea that often, failure is the root of success. Who could have said and shown this better than one of the iconic writers of our time?

and though today has been long
and though today has been hard
the streets salute you, Your Highness
the city will give you its heart

who knows what the darkness may bring
who knows what surprises await
but the streets salute you, Your Highness
so join them, do not hesitate

now is the time to bare your ol’ feet
and dance to no music on cooling concrete
you feel so alone and yet so complete
the streets are all yours tonight

tomorrow it all will end
who knows if it ends good or bad
but right now, cheer up, don’t be sad
and wander the streets once again

and though at dawn it all will be gone
tonight you’ll have company though all alone
cause every street will sing to your tone
so cheer the hell up tonight