The World is a bold project started in 2006 2005 set out to artificially create a set of islands shaped as Planet Earth. These islands, likely to be encrusted with platinum and children-mined diamonds, are to be located off the shore of Dubai India within the Arabian Gulf Persian Gulf. It has elaborate plans to possess it’s own transportation system, commercial shopping centers and marinas. Islands are available to private investors for insane amounts of money, probably a total of which is enough to solve world hunger 30 times over. Investors are already jumping on this ‘prime’ real-estate, with the most recent sale being as high as $28 million to a Chinese Businessman. Tip:If any of you millionaire readers want to buy into this, you better hurry, because ‘The World’ has already been 90% reclaimed.

birds eye view of The Word in April 2007

If that weren’t enough, ‘The World’ tenants have the ability to Terraform their islands into the desired size, perfectly fulfilling their desires and needs. (image below)

An excerpt from the TheWorld.ae:

An array of island parcels means an array of possibilities. Engineered to be flexible and designed to be unforgettable – a blank canvas in the azure waters of the Arabian Gulf. An incomparable destination, The World is a collection of private islands that form a singular expression of exclusivity. Located off the coast of Dubai’s most desirable address, and created by Nakheel, Dubai’s premier developer, The World is quickly evolving into a one-of-a-kind destination and investment opportunity.

One of the The World’s Principles is ‘exclusivity’. This really ticks me off, hence my satirical approach to this editorial: Due to the increasing power and limited numbers of the Wealthy Class, it is hard for these powerful individuals to feel as though they are ’special’ or ‘unique’. Because now that everyone in the ‘elite family’ own a Yacht, Ferrari, Game Room, Mansion and the Genomes to Several Endangered Species, these people’s ego has finally surpassed their rate of consumption to a point where nothing is good enough. A manifestation of uncertainty is created within those who have relied on money, power and material goods for happiness their entire lives. The void within them has not been filled, and probably won’t be until they press the red button and kill us all. As an attempt to salvage and further fuel their incredibly superficial self-worth, they must obtain their own private island. A perfect example of the diminishing morality of Planet Earths most rich and powerful people.

Am I supposed to feel sorry for them or something?

So my question is, what happens when the water level rises a couple feet or a wave comes? Insurance scam?

There couldn’t be any better of a metaphor to correctly frame the premise of ‘The World’ other than quicksand

thanks Laurie =)

On the heels of Russia’s claiming the North Pole a few months back, many others nations are rushing to stake a claim to millions of miles of seabed under the new UN Law of the Sea Convention:

The 21st century land rush is likely to be the last big shift in land ownership in centuries and reflects the necessity to claim new seams of the Earth’s resources. In total, as much as 2.7m square miles - an area similar in size to Australia - is believed to be at stake.

As usual, it’s about oil:

Britain is preparing territorial claims on tens of thousands of square miles of the Atlantic Ocean floor around the Falklands, Ascension Island and Rockall in the hope of annexing potentially lucrative gas, mineral and oil fields

And, uh, oil:

With a high degree of likelihood, Russia will be able to increase its continental shelf by 1.2 million square kilometers [460,000 square miles] with potential hydrocarbon reserves of not less than 9,000 to 10,000 billion tonnes of conventional fuel beyond the 200-mile [322 kilometer] economic zone in the Arctic Ocean

Has begun in Peru:

Hundreds of people in Peru have needed treatment after an object from space - said to be a meteorite - plummeted to Earth in a remote area, officials say. They say the object left a deep crater after crashing down over the weekend near the town of Carancas in the Andes.

Then again, maybe not.

Perspective… Ever wondered what the hell were doing alive on this planet? You won’t find the answer in the bible or on television.

Synthesis Editorial Director Daniel Taylor is out on the road as part of the Tooth and Nail Acoustic Tour, and will be blogging about his travels

OK: Heading north out of Dallas we made good time to Oklahoma, where every small town advertised itself as the “Hometown of So-and-So.” We stopped for gas in the “Hometown of NFL Hall of Famer Troy Aikman,” a forlorn, forgotten slab of a town. The woman at the counter wore her Indian grimace solemnly, an ancient look. I wanted to know her entire life: to what tribe did she belong? From what untold suffering was she descended? Her stern countenance inferred a million spectacular secrets of the earth, all there for the taking. Of course I didn’t ask. No one ever asks. We impose unquestioning privacy on one another and live out our sad secret lives of quiet desperation, hurrying ourselves stealthily to our hopeful graves. I bought a bottle of Evian and got back on the road.

MO: Joplin, Missouri is the type of town you never hear about unless you have to go there, and there’s really no reason you’d ever have to go there. Nevertheless, some hundred thousand or so people ARE there, living a peculiar form of sub-urban anonymity. It’s as if 70 separate small towns grew into each other over time, sprawling outward instead of upward until there was no other choice but to unite under a common flag, combining their dismal aspects into one grand, shared sorrow. The main drag conducted us into the crumbling epicenter of town where we played wiffle ball in front of a moldy Laundromat. The locals were unimpressed but we didn’t care. The girls there were ugly anyway.

IA: The next day we were back in Des Moines, passing the same cornfields we had passed three weeks earlier on our way East to Indiana. Or were they the same? Blowing by at 80 mph, the endless sea of sprouting ears on both sides of the highway certainly seemed like so many green sculptures, permanent an unchanged from time immemorial. But the reality was that not a one of those infinite stalks had avoided change, avoided aging, avoided inching closer to its own hopeful grave during those three weeks. A million corn tragedies and corn victories had been committed to posterity in those fields, visible if only one were to LOOK. And moreover, hadn’t I changed in the interim as well? Hadn’t everything changed? Then again, maybe nothing had changed. Maybe change was just an illusion anyway. Maybe everything, the corn, the road, the whole sickening lot of life was just an illusion. I spent some time trying to figure out which of those two possibilities I would prefer. We played that night in a heavy metal bar in Downtown Des Moines under the shadow of a few pathetic skyscrapers. Ever since Slipknot everything in Des Moines is metal, metal, metal, or at least that’s what some kid told me. Jack Kerouac once wrote that the “prettiest girls in the world live in Des Moines” but I didn’t really see any evidence of that. Maybe all that metal drove them out. Who knows.

MN: Minneapolis is by far the grandest city middle America has to offer, and as far as my particular criteria are concerned, a more pleasant metropolis could scarcely be found on either coast for that matter. We arrived at sunrise, and while the others slept I took it upon myself to make an exhaustive survey of the urban center. Office workers ducked out of their glimmering high rises for their morning smokes in seemingly ridiculous droves. I ate a tremendous breakfast of waffles and eggs at the Marquette Hotel and blew a whole week’s food money. Everywhere I looked were the beatest of characters: bike messengers in vintage dresses and black leggings, Midwest hip-hop kids bopping along to their personal boombips, and best of all, countless Muslim women, of what looked to be a North African persuasion, bedecked in full burkhas and luscious lipstick. They scurried along and clicked their tongues to each other in hushed tones, veiling their words as they did their faces. Later at the Mall of America, trying on some jeans in the H&M dressing room, I encountered a group of these women, holding vigil outside a stall while one of their ranks tried on her own selections. Perhaps confused as to the unisex nature of the facility, the occupant emerged free of not just her headdress, but the better half of her clothing. I stared, slack jawed at this uncovered jewel of the Nile as her friends tittered nervously. She met my gaze and flashed a cat eyed smile. I smiled back and that was that. The jeans didn’t really fit but I bought them anyway. I hurried back out to dig Minneapolis while I had the chance.

Every day the world groaned to turn and we were making our appalling studies of the night

Synthesis photographer Hali McGrath made the long haul out to East Rutherford, NJ, for the last show of the 24-hour Live Earth concert series. Held on 7.7.07 in cities across the globe, Live Earth sought to raise awareness about the dangers of climate change. It also managed to bring together a lot of great acts. Here are just a sampling of Hali’s photos. Shots of Akon, Alicia Keys, Zach Braff, Smashing Pumpkins, John Mayer, The Police, Al Gore and Cameron Diaz after the jump. Look for more photos soon in an upcoming issue of Synthesis Digital. (more…)