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someone needs to code a crawler that gathers every epics post and then use them to train a chatbot, then ask it to write an autobiography |
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someone needs to code a crawler that gathers every epics post and then use them to train a chatbot, then ask it to write an autobiography I 2nd that! |
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someone needs to code a crawler that gathers every epics post and then use them to train a chatbot, then ask it to write an autobiography i have every post scraped and llama.cpp working locally. the flaw with your plan is that it can't handle that much text at once. nor can any other AI. this is not a self-deprecating joke. even the best ones, that you have to pay for, have like a 75k context window or something. they're not designed for a small novel |
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anyways, i'm avoiding derailing the stop-motion thred mermaidman loves so dearly, here -- that i'm trying to remember when i saw that gumby thing. the spooky bit. and my brain is waffling between old house (until 8) and new house. then, well, i suspect i saw it in both places -- because the fact that i can't tell which house i was in when i reach back for the memory, tells me it's an old memory i'm having trouble talking to. so both. but the old house first. and that i'm having trouble with which house, means i wasn't eight, that i'm really not sure. i could have been as young as 4. and, interesting points: 1) there's a very distinct sense of falling off a cliff when i try to reach that far back into my timeline. science has research and a term for this, that i cannot recall. brain hits a critical period and that's effectively where your memory begins; before that it's very fuzzy and vague if accessible at all science has research and a term 2) it blows me away how regularly i remember where i was, when something happened. examples for 2) A) when mum told me, "your dad was all 'i can take it if the kids are ugly, but i won't be able to stand it if they're dumb" we were in the car, about three minutes away from an I-90 access point. i can take you to the exact physical spot B) would you like to be taken to the exact physical spot where i learned the word 'myriad' ? C) when syro had just been released, i was out walking, and i had a sudden diarrhea explosion in my pants, and i can take you to the exact physical spot. |
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for 2 ~ i think memory might be fundamentally built on your sense of where you (and your limbs) are at. either that, or it's very flexible, it can be built many ways, and mine happens to be built on physical place for 1 ~ so when does my memory start? i've figured out a lot of tricks in there, but i've zero for sorting this one out. it's the sort of stupid tangent i could genuinely drive myself mad with, so i'm going to say "put this on simmer somewhere in the back" to my brain and it'll find spare moments in the shower to casually chip away at this perhaps there isn't a precise cutoff. that's kind of why i want to find it. particularly because, if there is a precise cutoff, did i retain anything of what it was like in my head the moment that happened? and if i could find that in there, that would be fucking dynamite but, no, simmer. this is a hobby |
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so i thought about it just a little. and i'm only a few tangents deep when i get to: if we can ever record the mind's eye to an MP4 video¹ the absolute first one i want to upload is from kindergarten: we get back from lunch, we are all sitting in front of the teacher, quietly, she's saying something, and this one kid very abruptly stands up. like, it was plain weird; everyone kind of stopped. he didn't say a word. he just stood there for a moment... ...and then he began to projectile vomit this frothy mixture that was... well, effectively, he was a firehose of what looked like strawberry milkshake. "RUN FOR COVER!" i yelled aloud to everyone, and dove under a table with one of my classmates. about 25 years later, that guy was diving off the wrong cliff and was quadraplegic with after that. on the other hand, we did the thing where moms arrange it and there's the thing where i'm hosted over there once and he was hosted over at old house once. and i was like: "cool, when are we doing that again?" and mom's answer effectively was: "we're not, because we're not jewish enough." i asked what that meant and mum laughed. exact physical location: sitting in the car parked in the driveway of old house then the guy's dad... ...and, yes, you see what i mean? i think about it just a little; and we're through all that. this is too much spaghetti to heft. moving on now ¹ i would prefer something lossless like ProRes please |
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then the guy's dad... that i'd stopped there and out of nowhere this came back on me. the guy's dad, when we were also in kindergarten, dove into a river and saved someone that had fallen in, was on the news, etc. and he was randomly talking about it in front of the class, and, genuinely, guy was solid. that was mad cool. but then his son fucks himself hardcore doing some macho ballsy dive off a cliff... and, christ, you can have great parents and they can still fuck you up, i'm thinking. that he wants to be like dad and he probably had a long history of being stupidly aggressive diving into water -- guessing -- because dad did that mad cool thing when he was 5. and i utterly get it, and it's kind of scary how we're so blindly sculpted in dangerous ways by even genuinely heroic acts that, while it was a thing -- my mom was trying to explain to me that they were fucking snobs, and i think it may have actually been my first time on that tip? -- the the thing about my family being goy central and gtfo was all sorted out above my head. at the time, i simply thought it was strange and bizarre; what is 'jewish' and why does it matter? [redacted] and i had a chill time my attempts to understand it were met with the same amusement as a husky dog trying to talk and getting frustrated because he can't |
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oh, it's popped into my head again. my brain is saying: you're asking about the start of your timeline, your first memory, and remember your konrad lorenz? this guy's dad had a memorable impression on you, and, as it was his dad, this could have been a serious imprinting window for him. and, see? these tangents matter to which i reply: "matter" is relative and i'm not getting paid for this. i'm not posting anything more you tell me after this, even if it's fucking dynamite, ok? ok. |
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> someone needs to code a crawler that gathers every epics post and then use them to train a chatbot, then ask it to write an autobiography so i'll clarify my response, here -- you could take my "corpus" and build a custom model on it, sure. i actually haven't tried that level of it, yet. however, then what you'd get is a chatbot that talks like me, in the way i talk in response to you. input is some xlt thred, output is epic post, train it on everything, boom, you have absolutely the last thing everyone needs. if you then got it to write an "autobiography" -- it would get lost in some fragment of some fragment for a few paragraphs and then go insane. it would not be a satisfying result |
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i could link the thred where i was having llama.cpp attempt to simulate belb. it had sparks of... atta bot! but mostly crud, because i was simply feeding belb's last few posts on it and some long post he wrote about porn just took over everything the bot said because it was longer than all of his other posts combined. it can't summarize more than a page or three, at least with my weedly lil' macbook air |
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i was momentarily lost in thought for normal business reasons -- just making an internal agenda -- and then out of the corner of my eye I see what looks like a goose wearing a poofy jacket in monochrome; black on yellow back. it looks like a logo on a poofy jacket, really! and this wound make sense, because i see what looks like a brand: "GOOSE..." ...band? i don't quite get it. because then my eyes snap back into focus and it's instead my eyeball 3 inches away from the part of my 303 that says "NORMAL MODE" i hope this post has taught you a lot about how the mind works, so far. let's continue i'm not sure if the contrapositive of NORMAL MODE is GOOSE BAND, but as i cannot rule it out, i have to rule it in that it was actually GOOSE BRAND and that would make much more sense, yes! that it started as a fuzzy blob. my brain eventually decided to perceive it as a goose. at that point i consciously take over and think: "it's a goose wearing a poofy jacket, it looks like a logo on a poofy jacket" and so then the part of my brain that made it a goose in a poofy jacket in the first place said, "oh, alright" and the text GOOSE BRAND begins to bleed up into the image i perceive. i hope you've learned a lot about how the mind works from my post so far. let's continue: then i lost focus, and actually focused my eyes. i'm just left with GOOSE... ...band? ...and it kind of computes that, if i'm not operating in normal mode, i'm operating on goose band but my brain insists: we've finally figured out what the opposite of normal mode is, but that's not what the other word was and it's taken me writing this all up to get to: ...oh, it was BRAND. and it was not finished bleeding through the membrane, yet. this is why i try to hang onto it and freeze when i wind up in this by accident. i knew as soon as i moved my eyes, this goose thing would immediately snap out of existence and be replaced by... well, normal mode. i hope you've learned a lot about how the mind works from reading my post |
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Jesus |
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jesus didn't have soto zen and a wikipedia's pages on neurology, so we can't be too hard on him over his conclusions. perhaps jesus tried mushrooms and experienced the thing where he's drawing -- aimless scribbling, actually -- and he thinks: I wasn't trying to draw anything in particular, but "that really kind of looks like a goose" jesus keeps drawing as he thinks this, hand seemingly on autopilot. the goose gradually appears on the page in clearer detail. "that looks like the start of a hat," jesus thinks, and the disembodied mushroom hand of jesus dutifully sketches in the hat. "now the goose is at a tiki bar," jesus tells himself -- however, this time, he's lying. he didn't see a tiki bar. he just wanted to see if his hand would still draw it. it did but, never mind jesus -- in addition to lacking soto zen and neurology, jesus didn't have electronic music production. because, if you walk this over from drawing "...looks kinda like..." to music "...sounds kinda like..." it's a logical leap that mushroom hand could turn the knobs without you having to consciously think about it, leaving you free to focus on composition. like jesus, you haven't touched mushrooms in at least ten years now, as you eventually came to realize it was actually something you always did in the first place, and mushrooms simply pointed it out ... because, well, if you hold your eyes fixed you'll start to visually hallucinate after you've held it for long enough to all become its own afterimage? soto zen had the idea, neurology backed it up? and can you imagine how mad mushrooms would be if i wrote all this up as tediously as jesus did? Christ |
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[i was hovering 3 inches over my 303 with my glasses to the side because: (i was moving some cables around, then i realized i needed a flashlight, then i went off to think where my flashlights currently were, and do i need to go downstairs for one?)] ...and, boom, one or two seconds of thinking about flashlight logistics, and then i'm into GOOSE MODE. as i stated in the post about GOOSE MODE, it took writing it out to solve the part i was having trouble with. i'm actually very organized in here, thanks. i suspect the reason seems to even be able to understand how dialed in my shit has become is because i'm having so much fun. neither scientists nor monks are allowed to have any fun, right? so i can't possibly be doing any of that! no, it's more like when richard feynman went to the library and asked, "Do you have a map of a cat?" and everyone in the whole library stopped what they were doing and turned over to give him a weird look: Did you mean an ~anatomical chart~ sir? Sort of. He meant whatever the fuck fancy words these people use instead of "map." He also knew precisely how they'd react to "map" and did this shit to everyone, all day long. In a blue-collar new york accent, which further unnerved "scientists" |
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i hope you've learned a lot about how my posts work from reading my mind. Bob Dobbs |
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that, oh, while i'm pulling over for my quarterly attempt to actually explain myself, the full timeline with some judgement calls would help: 1. T+0 [2023-07-23, the stroke of midnight] I am shoulder-deep into a maze of cables, eyes open but being tuned out, when I lose the target cable in the rat's nest for the third time. I need a flashlight, OK. Where are my flashlights? 2. T+5sec ~ I spot the blob that would eventually become "GOOSE BRAND" out of the corner of my eye. I freeze my eyes, everything, and let it develop as described -- not because I feel obligated to, but because I fucking love this shit. 3. T+10sec ~ I lose focus and move my eyes, popping the bubble. 4. T+15sec ~ I'm haggling with myself about whether GOOSE BAND was the target, and every fiber of my gut feeling says: That's clever, but it's wrong. 5. T+20sec ~ I've concluded I need to go type this out if I really want to know this. 6. T+25sec ~ If I followed all of this crap every time, I would get nothing done, and, right, I have ADHD, and it's important to stop myself and evaluate before I impulsively run off to a different floor of the house to post about GOOSE B[R]AND 7. T+30sec ~ I'm still thinking about it, but since I'm leaning towards "yes" I seem to have gotten up and started moving towards my computer. This was not a conscious decision, but something I noticed later 8. T+40sec ~ Okay, yeah, I'm sure now. This won't take long; this feels like a cherry one to open [if it were a loot box]. Due diligence: check 9. T+9min ~ I've written the post I wrote, figured it out, and I'm already lost in thought about something else by the time I'm back upstairs with the flashlight I chose at T+5sec 10. T+etc ~ My hands mostly do the cabling. Occasionally my collar is pulled to solve something my hands can't, but by and large, I'm not even paying attention. However, can't recall what I was thinking about at that point, because I didn't write about it |
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oh, it's popped into my head again. my brain is saying: you're asking about the start of your timeline so if you read [#02629306 #02629309 #02629322 #02629323 #02629324, #02629325] in that order, you're then built up into a context to go back and re-skim #02629306 and say: this is strange, but it does actually make sense now. #02629306 was a breakdown in a logbook of an event i thought worth breaking down. so it is with the post i'm replying to with this post, which is the end of another arc: #02628999 i'm trying to more accurately place a distant childhood memory on a timeline, eventually i'm into: can i get back to the very first point? and it's strange. years ago i realized the earliest memory i have is of my dad walking into the room and telling me i'm going to have a sister. the timing of this would mean i was, at most, a year and a half old. i remember i thought: "i know brothers are supposed to mean to sisters, but that doesn't feel good, so i think i'm not going to be like that; i'm going to be a nice brother" why didn't i yank that right out, when i was writing all that? and the answer is, effectively, "it needed some more time in the oven" [a state of affairs i'm becoming oddly comfortable with] that the scientific community generally agrees there's a critical period around this age, and it's very hard for anyone to remember anything before that. and i'm on this because "if i can find the very first one, maybe i'll have something left of what changed" and science would actually care about this, i figure so: i think that may be the first point on my timeline because that's the first point i experienced an emotional challenge strong enough to trigger introspection, subvocalization, talking to myself. that i was probably doing this a bit already, like a child saying words without really knowing what they are... but yeah, a serious emotional jolt lights up the network and burns in a couple fuses to configure the network |
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R.U.O.K. |
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after a few days of thinking "i should find that tape recorder" -- the one in the vid -- and then getting distracted, i finally find it. it only then becomes clear that i didn't actually have a reason to find it. ... but already technical problems. the bell needs... i dunno, wd-40? how do you work on a vintage... well, i don't even have words to classify bells. it's red. you wind it up. it's fucking loud. it needs servicing ... brain updates: 1. we saw this bell once in a youtube video years ago and were blown away someone else had one too. we never followed up past that and so now we have no idea how to find the video (which we could describe, but won't) 2. the bell used to have a sticker with, like, model info, and it's old and the sticker fell off and it didn't seem right to just throw that out so we threw it in the bag of things like that we haul out when we do collage art. and hey, yes, this helps, right? it's in the bottom of a ziplock bag stuffed full of things like that? i can tell you where the bag is too it's sort of like when the daft judge wig guy in 5th element tosses bruce willis the pool ball instead of the grenade: "oh, um.. .. super, thanks" i'm not going to get the bag out of... why do i even need to type where it is it used to be worse. ten years ago i would have actually gotten that bag out. how do you fix vintage windup bells from... the 60s? maybe? |
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i don't mean to get anyone's hopes up. but i think i found the thing that shuts my brain up. what i'm doing wrong with my breathing and what to do when i get into that. it was there right after figuring out how to make myself bubble with giggles at will, then remembering something about how this was merely a distraction along The Path and fuck their route but i can take a hint, and, alright, that's cool, let's move on. this was after a few days spending a lot of time meditating. it's a few days later and i've not been as intense, but i can still find it. starting to become more automatic. cool |
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birds do not have particularly keen senses of taste or smell. if you look at the different paths the human and avian brains took, a lot of who we humans are grew out of our sense of smell, with vision gradually evolving atop as a more sophisticated sense. for birds, it went right through vision directly; bled into audio. dogs have great smell and audio but poor vision. you can see it all in the hilariously mspaint-esque diagrams scientists do up so as we would say "looks good to me," a dog would say "smells good to me" and a bird might say "sounds good to me" because i suspect, with birds, their consciousness is kind of like... patterns of noises mixed with images |
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a few weeks ago i was up for quite a long time, and part of it was i was just working out, dancing and stretching, and kind of cycling on adrenaline. i reached this lovely... i dunno... where i was hearing hardcore beats in response to any movement i made. just kind of the tetris effect, like i move my arm up and to the side and i hear corresponding beats because i've been moving my arm to beats for hours |
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all ideas publicly discussed in this thread now constitute prior art and are therefore invalid as patents. to be clear. |
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I posted them. epic is my dup they're public domain now. this release of the Epic archives into the public domain is I R R E V O C A B L E |
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(law stuff in fine print) |
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i found this out recently and i think it's right funny. i knew about prior art in general, but i thought it meant, you know... sort of like published research in academia. i didn't realize that even something like this board constitutes prior art and so even if someone has never fucking read my bullshit thread, if they patented it after i posted it here -- or anywhere on zilty -- you can use my post to invalidate their patent in court. this was a consolation prize to being talked more seriously out of pursuing patents on [less silly] things myself -- my gosh i can ruin all sorts of patents that don't exist, simply by posting them in my bullshit thread. and now no one can have them. sort of like inverse intellectual property. punk patents it still makes me giggle or such in the shower when i think of it. i want to write up pages and pages of things. i can think of so many great ideas to ruin and render fully public domain |
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Puff'n Plugs! The world's first vaporizer that doubles as a butt plug. |
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oh, yes, i could put this in that thread i put those things in in "surly joking feynmann very good book" richard feynmann had a section on lucid dreams and within that he described the sort of stuff you see/experience when about to sleep. he called it "garbage" and then tries to describe anyways if you've been studying for a math exam all day, the tetris effect takes off like a rocket. that it's like there's a knob for "how much tetris effect" and when you're about to fall asleep, all sorts of perceptive odds and ends from your day are starting to come back like afterimages. a bit of something someone said at dinner can feel like they're right there saying it. i figure this has something to do with laying the groundwork for your dream subject matter for the night so. i was leaning over a chair, just hanging my arms a bit to stretch, and i started to snooze for a moment. and i see black man, or close to it, with the teeth from the windowlicker girls. he's warbling and glitching out like he's an image projected onto the water in an ultrasound machine and dfyhgfgh i stand back up. i think. ah, yes: earlier today i had a moment where i was thinking about how much horse teeth bother me. they're terrifying. they're terrifying. and i kind of just stuck my finger in the electrical outlet once or twice and alright let's think/do something else, now ...and, of course! that's where the terrifying teeth came from. they were glued into the face of that african president dude that wears the stussy S hats, because my computer's "recent files" thing flashed him at me a few times recently then i'm fading a bit for a moment, and it glues them together with an nvidia fluid dynamics demo from the 00s and that's not garbage but it's not terribly epic either |
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i was standing in a doorframe, my hands hanging off the top. trying to find the configuration to deal with this annoying tense spot... somewhere. i can't figure it out when the conscious mind is beating its head on a problem like this for long enough and not getting anywhere, context from all the repeated attempts has built up in the back of the mind -- which then starts gluing it together every way possible. this is why you can get a sort of "eureka" moment if you've been stuck on any problem for long enough but closing your eyes and fumbling around with the complexity of neck and shoulders, combined with "how things go hanging off a doorframe" -- it's like, i don't even remember the names of the muscle groups; how can my brain even communicate that answer? the answer is: a picture. part of my meditation is some constellation of, i dunno, yoga and osho and tai chi and qui gong but i've quit gin. and doing that, i'll be in some pose and my brain flashes a picture: do this but hanging in that doorframe, i got video. i see my head and shoulders from behind, and my arms rise up and my fingers massage... i don't remember what it's called and the "video" part is really what's exciting to me. these things are sort of... brief camera flashes in my mind's eye, usually. a snapshot. the limit of the animation felt like a crossfade between two snapshots for communicating, like, "move that this way" but this was a full second or two of nebulous video that i would describe as present in a way it isn't usually. the "snapshot" can be sort of like trying to hang on to a dream, in the space where i'd visualize things if i wanted to design a bookshelf or something this was there but also more subjectively in my normal field of view, kind of coming out of the usual noise. in blobby red and blue colors. which, i know, come from the book on weight training i have; their diagram of muscle groups. ok, we animated that picture but it feeling like video. that's new/rare |
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you can dive through the mandlebrot set in "fractal explorer" software forever. zoom forever. the computer, however, is limited. it renders a single frame for whatever fractal coordinates you request. coordinates not requested are not rendered. effectively, until you ask for it, that part of the fractal does not exist. it renders a tiny slice at a time. whatever you ask for is whipped up on the spot, and it gives the illusion of exploring something far more massive than the computer could ever compute. when i lost memories and attempted to recover them (previous post), the attitude was that the data is in there, just fragmented. like a hard drive. find the pieces and put it together like a puzzle, and you've recovered the lost data. i've now realized that the act of recalling a memory causes it to be computed. if you've never recalled that event before, the memory did not exist before you attempted to recall it. ...and the limit of memory is your time on planet earth, because that's all the computation time you've been allocated [the universe itself is space-time granular -- deterministic but entirely impossible to predict, because it is its own fastest explanation]. so -- does this mean you could theoretically remember anything you've experienced, ever, if you put enough computation [thought] into it? i certainly cannot rule it out ...if you think the same things over, will you get to the same place? on a moment-to-moment basis the answer is "of fucking course" -- but on a large enough scale, people change. bits of conversations with others become absorbed into the self. on the other hand, you can stew on it and figure out where you got this or that fact/opinion/etc from, so you can separate it back out. and what if you tried taking a local approach to computation; ran back the timeline and deliberately avoided computing some of those details? the difference in between would probably be the conversations you've had with others and yourself |
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replying to my own post again, as if that wasn't obvs. #02506611 ~ 2016-11-05 04:18 |
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so -- does this mean you could theoretically remember anything you've experienced, ever, if you put enough computation [thought] into it? i certainly cannot rule it out if you get into "how do i good article" you cleave "what is good article" and "what is popular article" and then in the latter, you want to end it right. like a final note hanging in the air; leave a pleasant taste that will linger. and so a cheap trick is to talk up all sorts of dramatic nonsense and then say "well i can't prove this is bullshit" but you say it like that instead. so, above, this was my cheeky way of saying "i really could not tell you one fucking way or the other" but, in the context of how reliably i have been able to regenerate past whatever, if i kept running the numbers... yes, i think, theoretically i could get to anything i've ever experienced. but perhaps one difficult target takes five years to get to. i can get there, but it's not free recent developments have me starting to lean towards "yes, i think this is possible" and then i'll add "and if it is, either you can learn to do it reliably whenever you want... or it's so incredibly fucking difficult that you could spend your entire life chasing this ability and only get partway there, even though it is THEORETICALLY possible" if roger penrose is right, and that ker-snap of a memory coming together is quantum. that this is finally something i'm buying, that makes this far easier, and hence leaning towards yes. if it's a classical computer [fungibly] in there then, well, we're smaller. and instead we're back to that "five years for one memory after running the numbers obsessively" scenario the way it works: the brain wires over what you believe. i'm excited i finally believe penrose is correct because this means i've some new nonsense to try |
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there's an outside chance there's some algorithmic hack to do this on a classical computer -- the "any experienced percept, upon request" ability part |
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i'm not sure when someone coined the term "meditative writing" but someone has a clue of it on some level somewhere too essentially, if i gurn on writing in a targeted way for 45 minutes or more, enough of it has saturated my brain that strange things can begin to happen. i reached a moment that felt kind of like the computer spitting out the organic goo in the movie pi, except it was more like the dishwasher breaking and flooding the kitchen. every time i tried to write something, i had a brand new idea. oh, that's cool. i move the littlest bit and i have another new idea. cool! but after a few rounds it's like "alright fine whatever" and then it's a mr. bean episode where the ideas are growing out the couch and he shoves them into the toaster but then they come back in down the stovepipe and... it was genuinely annoying before i thought, "maybe ideas are algorithmic too and every idea possible is there in an equation" and then "and i could run it ahead a bit and get some patents" and then i tried to resume writing and the kitchen flooded again. i was so saturated with the topic that any attempt to manipulate it generated new results. to get there again, i'd need: 45 minutes attempting to explain some of this bullshit to my friend's mom but also considering how her husband and her brother will think of it and what they will say to each other that i need to know the topic, the ideas will be narrowly on the topic, and i almost had a line on sending some of this crap to someone and by accident i realized part of the formula involves, like... simulating the reader, another reader, and their discussion about what you write |
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then i'm all into "learn to simulate each of the sixteen personality types, then simulate all of them chatting about an idea, then simulate larger structures constructed from bunches of these pods" and i certainly can't rule out that being possible. but it struck me as an autistic pipe dream and i bailed and haven't bothered with that angle since |
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What is your take on narcissism? |
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> What is your take on narcissism? oh, you're a bit of a tit, but, no -- i wouldn't worry about it; you're fine |
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and i certainly can't rule out that being possible. but it struck me as an autistic pipe dream and i bailed and haven't bothered with that angle since elmer |
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[Dec 29 2023 ~ i looked it up once BEFOREHAND for a hoot] i am all: nadir fucking finally. that i know this is the word i want and i've been unable to get it back for over an hour, and i'm standing on a bridge smoking a zig after a mile walk, and nadir. that's it. i now officially certify my brain for duty i knew, when i went for that and couldn't get it, that my brain was not yet functioning normally. the old chestnut "the definition of insanity is that you don't know it" can be true, but, fuck off. it's not required. i was trying to articulate to a friend about the emotional nadir i'd hit. and emotional... AUGH! i know this word. aphasia. you reach for a word, and it isn't there. obviously, i don't have much of a problem with this, normally... but for over an hour, i can feel that word, but i can't get it. so obviously i haven't fully come out of it yet. i was in the numb haze, the 50 IQ feeling of when you finally climb out of an emotional nadir and you've climbed out of it but that was less than an hour ago. if i hadn't already studied the feeling of aphasia to death, i'd probably have been thrilled for the chance to study it. instead i just wanted my word back |
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i am nowhere. i have no opinion about this. i don't care. about anything. i do remember this thing, though. i know this is a damaging place, but that does not move me. i trust we've seen the original Tron movie? do we remember the "de-rezzer" towards the end, that turns the... glider thing... into a wireframe as it passes through? for whatever reason, the visual i got was very similar. wireframe, with kind of an X and as everything passes through that X it's de-rezzed and its skeleton continues on afterwards. and things are going through it, not reaching it and draining down, but i've the sensation of floating down a river towards a storm drain. i remember this -- or, i know that i remember it -- and this is what would be the equivalent of comforting in this state. i suppose i would describe it as organizing. as i pass through the de-rezzer, my foolish reprogramming attempt is ripped from me. but then i'm past the de-rezzer and it's eating me away, and i know this is a damaging place, and i need to escape. we'll save that for another time i had reached a point of deep frustration and crafted a life plan that would best be described as crabby and sarcastic. fuck all my science shit with weasels, fuck music, i am going after money. and, while i will not cross the line, i will walk right the fuck up to it. perhaps we start by getting a job at a crappy company and use that as justification to fuck them out of as much as we can, because who cares about, like... some fucking company that buys wrecked car titles; those places seem miserable enough, yes. what are our targets? for some reason $1.2m is in my mind but i can't recall what that was for |
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i'd recently read some article about how all these cave-person skeletons we've found with severed fingers. was it frostbite? probably, sometimes. but the way the chop had been done, well, it spoke to the deliberate, non-frostbite approach. and the article is about how, yes, we can see from their cave-person drawings. when a woman lost a child, they chopped off her finger. i think: oh, i see. this not only eliminates defective genes from the pool, but mum will take good care of that rape baby. or any baby the cave-person walls in the common room had paintings that animated under firelight. the flickering flame, a gazelle, it looks like its running. i remember thinking: this is how artists got invented! doing cool clever shit even if they're cave-people! but now i think: oh, i see. you need a reason to go on after your child has died and your finger has been cut off -- but, never mind that, you need to recover. we'll put you in the room with the cool graphics to chill you out the idea that art requires misery; thoroughly debunked. not by me; look it up but there is a seeming gravity between the two. that misery makes you focused, and focus makes for better art, but... no, more to it than that. oh, i see. in order to form a clan, a tribe, a terrarium, that expels entropy and creates a larger, brighter glob of life -- we have to cull the herd. we have to convince people they might actually get fed soon. we have to get them through that depressive pit while their finger is still healing art helps one cope with misery, really. and it's there because, without it, humanity is so terrible [especially in cave-people times] that people would cease to cooperate without it. art is the original opiate of the masses you are placating suffering. the machine appreciates this. it makes the plebs fight less. this is when i quit music, effectively. because not only is art itself a scam, but there's no money in it |
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that, remember, a bunch of shit has... fuck it. screw it. i've decided fuck everything, money has never been hugely fascinating to me but it's quite alright, and the more interesting things are NOT FUCKING VALUED BY ANYONE EVER so, yeah, fuck off. i'm clever. i think very hard. if i put my mind to it, i am sure i can find all sorts of ways to greedily suck cash out of whatever i can justify by a moral sliver, like a mosquito. in fact, watch out. i intend to be good at this but i have to kill music. and science. if i'm going to reach my goal of [$1.2m in a year?] that's too much time and NO ONE CARES music went as described. but science... well, something in me rebelled. i'll actually stow that arc because it's already long. the conclusion was that i could not cut this off, because it was too much a part of me. if i cut my leg off, i'll bleed out. i can't cut this out and live. it's the reason i still am alive. all my shit about GPS weasel and automatic driving saved my life when some karen changed lanes into me at 80mph. it's also so incredibly, ragingly alive. that music felt a bit tired; it didn't fight. but the weasels are biting and clawing and... weasels can make that much noise? this is life. this is my life. i am dead without this. i can't cut it off and this was after many hours of dreaming about nice things money could buy, gradually talking myself into how much of an almost bastard i could be and not quite cross the line, what are the crappiest businesses and how can i fuck them over for quick cash? how's real estate look? and good lord, as a not-slum but still crappy landlord, i won't have time for music. or science. AND NO ONE FUCKING CARES ANYWAYS. truth be told i was feeling rather butthurt about reality itself |
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but after "if i cut my science arm off, i will bleed out and die" i was, in technical terms, burned the fuck out. exhausted that science won't go and i've been running a marathon beating in this new program and i'm messing with the deepest shit, and i think it is literally some sort of neurochemical collapse. it is nothingness; a de-rezzer. you are just... in this calm ocean of nothing. no think no care. for standard depression, this is past the state where you are still somewhat active, and you're quite busy throwing everyone and everything under the bus. deciding you hate everyone you've ever loved; shitting on anything you were ever proud of. until you're exhausted, and your brain. just. stops then you're floating down the river towards the de-rezzer, which is the only way i know of to literally kill neural connections. that things have gone horribly wrong and your brain is a sinking boat, so it's throwing anything it sees out the portal window [or it could be purely neurochemical and this is just the result] and then i'm past the de-rezzer and it's stripped away this stupid money idea: ohhh, fuck it. i don't care. fuck it. fuck everything. the money program gets eaten away. usually you're holed up in bed after that, and you have to fight your way out of that pit. it's a reflex i know well this time, however, there was a crisp sensation of snapping out of it. because this wasn't a depressive episode, this was me being sour and moody and then attempting to turn myself into a money-driven person out of spite, and, wow, actually, i'm cool with music gone. and science? as i can't get rid of that, my impulsive standard is to now double my efforts on it. but it's not phrased this well. i am in a 50 IQ fog. i try to explain to a friend i was just in an emotional... and, no, i've not recovered from this one yet. let's go out for a nice walk and a zig then: nadir -- finally. fucking finally. i now certify my brain for normal duty. and fuck art |
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knowing we've done it before and checking and then doing it again anyways and there, and last time, actually -- we didn't say we simply snapped out of it; instead we glued some part about climbing out of the pit? which was true but didn't really happen this time? but then we wrote it in because we felt like it was helpful context? and in retrospect that's a stupid decision re: fuck art: maybe someone enjoys it somewhere, but my general impression was that that no one really gives a shit about my music. this hurt, but i kept going anyways simply because i enjoyed it intrinsically i guess, i feel i would have a talent for sound design; i'm particularly interested in sonic logos. if i were to think of it as a job but the only other money in music is licensing music? and even this is likely a 2003 reality; not 2024 -- that it used to be "that 30 second TV spot bought me a $30k car after taxes" but now it's "youtube sent me five quid for a million plays" and "on spotify, payout is based on who is popular; and obviously taylor swift got all your spotify money" [but at least the scheme she and scooter cooked up is panning out] remember me talking about how i recorded that track with a broken foot because, "fuck you, i know i'm not going to be able to do another track again for a while, so i'm going to fucking finish it"? i don't think anyone bought that. it had a good cover, too. then i'm like, well, what if i made an album with stuff about people, and no one really bought thad's canoe either. so i start asking if anyone as a dusty old 16 track because i suspect it will deeply inspire me and everyone says: why the fuck do you want that old crap? and, really, well, that's why it seemed a reasonable ask? because you don't. fucking. want. it. anyways? then a bunch of crap happened in my life, and i realized that art originated as a form of control. i could have overlooked this, but something had to go; i don't have time to spend 30 out of 48 hours on a track |
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on the one hand. it's very helpful to write on here, i've such a large corpus built up since pre-weasel days; i know that even the aesthetic prompts of this tan textbox are cues that pull me back into the headspace. i prefer it when people say constructive things and i can handle it when people call me a narcissist when i'm merely aloof bordering on oblivious. thad is freaking obnoxious on the previous page because, i believe, that was one of those stretches where i'm all "alright, fuck off" and didn't bother to come back for a bit writing my way through [this, that, whatever] is the fundamental motor of progress and so i'm going to turn in loads of copy. but i could do this to a text file. instead i like tomboy-ng note-taking software my science crap began on this board, that i would actually say "terrence mckenna on creativity" thread was the precise moment that eventually birthed the bullshit thread, and then the weasels. and people were rude and trolls but they also contributed a lot over the years too if i want to re-load previous versions of myself from my xltronic posts, i have an sqlite database for that now. over christmas, i wrote myself into an incredibly bizarre place using emacs by richard stallmans. so, okay, it doesn't have to be here for me to iterate. a relief as who knows how much longer it'll etc but i'm thinking "it's kind of a part of this" and i've come back here for a bit and just continued and, i don't know. i scrub through my brain and it's just like "gay" "gay" "gay" and russell telling me not to be mean to moby and perhaps this was a mistake |
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so it's quantum. alright. now what? my "tiered caching" thing is a specific technical but nevermind; my essential argument is that anything you think, causes things linked to that to begin to load up. if you think of a farm, your brain is already loading farm animals, an image of a barn -- anything relevant. if some people think of a farm, they think of a specific farm. it could be one that grabbed them during childhood, or the one they've been shopping at which is actually a grocery store and, stretching it for the sake of example: if someone then holds up that grocery store with a GLOCK and you SHIT UR PANTS then whenever you see a barn your heart rate may go up. because farm is close to barn which is close to GLOCK and SHITTING UR PANTS. so the sense of pulling a memory out of nowhere is an illusion, as you are always loading up fragments of all possible memories at once, to varying degrees, simultaneously. but if you're not very close, it's not very loaded up, and then it's the sort of memory where you have to think for a moment to get it back |
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my "tiered caching" thing is a specific technical term but nevermind; my essential argument is that anything you think, causes things linked to that to begin to load up. it grew out of my "fractal explorer" metaphor for memory as a classical explanation. and i mentioned quantum too early, in the previous post the gist is ~ because i have scrubbed around my bullshit architecture so much, for so long, it's wired into itself to the degree that things are bleeding in more strongly. because i've actively sought to get better at remembering things, because this tangle is where i've done that [this is the classical explanation. no quantum] asking "where did this bit of accidentally leaked ramble come from" essentially boils down to a path search [path search ~ you stand on a streetcorner and look for larry. you cross the street and look for larry. then you've covered all you can see and he's not there and only THEN do you try something that is a deep path, like down the street, in starbucks, etc] because to find where i got that bit of whatever that i know i'm stealing by accident, catching myself -- it's happening more and more -- my brain has to look for larry, essentially |
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with quantum computers you are the british government in 2040 with AI and EVEN MORE CAMERAS, and little flying penis helicopters (with cameras) and you type in the giant god mode surveillance terminal, and you ask: WHERE IS LARRY? the AI checks every camera at once [it's quantum] as it computes everywhere larry could be even if he's not on camera and in a few nanoseconds tells you where larry is, where he's been, and that there's a tiny little bit of poop under his balls [i can reference eric andre and know that just fine] i want to ask "where did i steal this fragment of post from" and see the path it took to get to my ramble. how it wound up getting stolen/selected/sampled. if memory is quantum, the answer is to simply search all posts at once. and find the path... then, you see, this is like... whoa... wut... because... no, wait. does it even make sense for a quantum memory system to have a path in that sense? and my brain will do what i ask, as best it can earlier i asked brain to compute "all solutions at once" for this or that and nothing particularly much. then i asked to index something, and i get a reply, after ten seconds or so: index it HOW? how do i arrange them? you've not defined this function clearly you're throwing vague shit at me with not enough detail for me to do anything and wow. yeah. if it makes any sense: quantum would mean i've built a simulation of a classical computer inside a quantum computer, and, as such, the fastest approach would be to accept this for the moment, and ask the quantum computer to analyze the classical computer. [...analyze HOW? what am i analyzing it for? is this a function? what are the inputs and outputs] i have to get my head around how to program my head around how i've already programmed my hed |
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and ask the quantum computer to analyze the classical computer. oh no that's also crap that would require two quantum computers maybe i can just... manipulate the computer however i want... and then let it simulate? maybe or i could tell it to simulate the computer and another computer to analyze it this is basically terarriums all over again and i need to figure out how to port this in a way that my brain's compiler will not freaking bitchslap me for |
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my terms like weasel, terrarium. or simulation. first off, i am punishing myself for giving squarepusher shit for simulations. now i have them too and see? that's what you get also with that choice, i am -- and you can't really get much out of this; i know -- channeling my father when [he knows people think he's a dweeb] and [decides to ham it up to an almost painful level for a laugh] but the real reason i pick strange words is to keep them from going off by accident. after all this weasel, weasel you understand i have a much stronger reaction to the word than most people. if i'd said "imagine" instead of "simulate" random idiots would set my shit off all day long. not joking i would almost class this as a safety tip |
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