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necessity is the mother of invention. i've always struggled to define precisely how far my compulsions go. when the doctor says, "how strong are your neural weightings here, on a scale of one to eleven?" you say, "how the fuck should i know?" put it into dollars, though, and everyone has an answer. you want my lighter and cigarette box swapped? well, how long? an hour? we're free on that. all day? that'll be a $20. a week? $1000. hey, now, that scale is a mirror of the value. if the lighter and cigs are changed for more than a few days, the new spot will begin to subsume the old spot. at a week, you are officially fucking with my architecture, and it'll cost ya |
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we're way behind on brutal honesty... us, xlt, this thread that's not read; it's dead. james we're way behind on writing about the brutal honesty that i've deployed recently. first and foremost is this: lewis is fascinating, broken, and you care about him a heck of a lot. it's the two buttons that drive most of your life combined with your best friend struggling, shooting himself in the foot, over and over, and yes, this is exactly the sort of thing that could warp our judgement. it was like writing about hypertext. it wasn't until i wrote a bit about lewis that i realized i felt much more strongly about it than i realized. the word desperation. there is an edge of desperation, for sure. i wrote it along with the rest without stopping to consider if it belonged there. then found myself worrying on it later, because it did. then there's ego, too. being the first hacker to bootstrap a paranoid schizophrenic into cohereny would be a nice notch on my belt, but that's not what i care about. i care about lewis. my ego sneaks by with a compromise: a hacker finally fathoms schizophrenia simply because a hacker so so incredibly bothered to see his friend hurting. oh, yes, more ego: being the first hacker to explain autism in terms of engineering would be a nice notch on my belt, but that's not what i care about. i care about an iterated feedback loop of self-improvement that takes off and accelerates until my pants are conswanqlated and socks aren't a problem because i've switched the problem neurons over to mining word salad like bitcons. so, yes, let's not get ahead of ourselves. be content with gradual and modest gains in lewis as well as yourself. |
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then there was the oddity that bootstrapped itself: lewis about to shoot him in the foot, me about to become cross with him, and he skips a step: my words come out of his mouth, and he's cross with himself precisely as i would have been with him. or myself. how the hell did that happen? did it get internalized? will that keep working, or was it a weird one-off? should i tell him? the only reason i didn't tell him immediately was because i wasn't sure i should. conscious awareness will immediately meddle in something that happened subconsciously. it's like having the world's first artificial life form show up in your beaker. it's a one-off; this was a freak accident and you've only got that one there, in the car. you're not going to be casual; spill your coffee all over it.. no, it will be minded carefully. very quickly i decided it was best talked about: i did it once by accident, but if more is needed, well, i don't like the idea of being some svengali. part of why lewis and i have these sort of things happen is that it's such a deeply honest and open relationship. deception creates blockage and we're also fucking with any potential for progress. best reason yet: this is about consciousness, you dolt. me, i mean me, not you. having matt consciously on board and actively wrangling his own weasels, well, as i've said: you live with your brain 24 hours a day. i see him a lot, yes, but he's more strategicly positioned. he's inside his own mind and that's feedback from the system i don't have... talking about the moment with lewis led to a conversation very full of the feels. in retrospect, i was a bit intimidated by tackling it. how a bit of me is in him and a bit of him is in me. after a talk, conclusion was thus: that's the way we like it, thanks. attitude is back to playful, and that's where it should be. how did i get that weasel to jump the air gap? ask the NSA |
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the notion-layer thing is blowing my mind, as of late -- it's blowing its own mind, too, i can tell. . before the smokes. before hurricane lewis has cavitated my beachside stick mansion of weasels into the surf. i've never really thought to combine and real estate, but it fits this to a T. all lewis did was touch a single rock. you're epicmultitrax. you're as much a machine designed for your car as your car is a machine you've designed for yourself. you're redesigning the machine that is your car, in the machine that is your mind. you're epicmultitrax. you are hanging off of a (public bike rack [backwards {to the left}]), when this began. some hair ladies have now seen you like that for two whole minutes. you have no idea they arrived and began ohmahgawding righteously: how do the hair ladies handle this shit? rabid protocol negotiation: call the cops? give him a dollar? ignore him? lewis touches the rock, and the house crisply thixotropinates. gone. the hair ladies about face and observe in numb shock. where'd the house go? you're epicmultitrax. you're confused. the house is not where you left it. givens: you can move, the house can't move. ok. next, landmarks... oh, that pine tree. i got it now. let's go! the lovecraftian lurch when your spatial map of reality is rejoined with reality is a jarring, non-euclidian explosion of panic and squirms, with a hint of funk. hair ladies see it via peripheral vision. peripheral hair-weasels lose bladder control. wat! they never. they don't even. they need the conscious mind to debug the [???]. they context-switch to data mining, and about face, again. you're epicmultitrax. you have resumed your previous position on the bike rack already. lewis goes to touch the rock again |
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the caching process is a separate thing from self-indulgent absurdity. that doesn't have to be on paper, because you're making it up as you go. you're epicmultitrax, and you're blowing off some steam. fine, fine, ok. just avoid peter molyneux and recursion, and make sure your next post to explain the previous post doesn't generate a subsequent post to explain itself. then, stand up, because your knees are cross. and crossed. |
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so, i'm a kid. we're recessing. an activity is found and a crowd gathers. as the crowd is informationally upstream, i swim towards it. i know i'm not in water, it's just fun to move my arms. what's this? the kids are relentless bothering a springy doorstep. i fall in love with it immediately. we take turns with it. i start trying to figure it out. my fourth turn is planned and targeted, with a list of experiments as long as a loaf of french bread. it will take hours. i forget we're taking turns. i know how to take turns, and that i've forgotten to take turns for numerous things before, including but not limited to: pizza, nintendo, and speaking. the other children eventually realize that my ghost has left its body and is now inhabiting a rapt exploration of every possible noise the thing is capable of producing. they become cross. i hear yelling, but not cross. eventually, they leave. i am not invited to sarah's party. her house probably doesn't have one of these anyways, so i'm not particularly torn up about it. six years later, in high school, you've had at least four or five paradigm shifts already. you were looking at the springy doorstop totally the wrong way. you've taken it further than you dreamed possible. the teenagers around you have become used to how you do... well, those things, and now there is a familar staccato waltz that will color large chunks of your life: you are playing with the spring. heaven. not a care in the world. then, people are yelling at you: ohmygawd! quittit. reluctantly, you do. for perhaps five minutes. then, people are yelling at you this is how social anxiety forms: i'm up my butt, in nirvana. don't mean to be intractable, unfathomable, and obnoxious, but it is what it is. that gets me what it gets -- ohmahgawd, explosions -- and pretty soon any time i'm not playing with a springy doorstop, i'm a neurotic wreck, because this is always the part where the trauma hits me out of nowhere |
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by college, i had the nascent ability to multitask, and notice when i was toeing the line of "too far," but it was "too late." i had not yet come to appreciate the rich complexity of spirals and ping-pong loops and more that anxiety can produce between people, but i was certainly familiar with it merely ordering a ham and cheese sandwhich in the precise configuration i always had triggered massive amounts of anxiety. my lizard brain is on full alert, waiting for the high school kid to get confused about my sandwhich. there's always confusion. how can i design around confusion? process engineering the sub shop. yes, this happened, allowing me to face two or four minutes less of exposure to people. why am afraid of them? the root, i suppose, is i don't trust them. deep down, you see, i know they're still mad at me for the springy doorshop shit. one wrong move and it'll all come out. everyone at this sub shop. mousey cashier. pregnant lady with mysteriously empty stroller process engineering minimized the time my body spent at the sub shop, and my mind has long since been optimized to madly flee from the fact that yes, we are in a lowe's hardware, and it was supposed to be a sub shop. never mind that! i've noticed external reality! already, my heart rate is climbing and i'm dgfjkdfg this buries the hatchet. i begin the official ascent up my own posterior. i'm already four or six years behind my age in social skills, and aphex twin hasn't put out a new album since tuss. i brashly decide to step up. this will require powerful drugs |
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the last part of that last thing was no kidding. i more or less decided i was content to say in my bubble, because i had a pretty bomb-ass bubble at the time. a rather large basement to myself with a nice oriental rug, my studio in one room. a chaotic workshop in the other. i worked from home probably 20 or 30 hours a week, and the general pattern would be to work for three days, then some out of body experiences and a few tracks, then another few days of work, and then my boyfriend and i are getting wasted to finish the evening off. i begin recording albums. things start to get interesting. my car breaks and i make a note to... i dunno, fix it or something? get a new one? whatever. i just volunteer myself to do all the dishes to offset never going to the grocery store again. i record some of my finest work. i feel like i'm only getting started some explosions, bees, and it's all gone. no bubble, no synths, no boyfriend, and all of this right in time to discover that alcohol got its claws into you. un. fucking. acceptable. right after i delt with the drinking, i took the same attitude towards social stuff. four months and i was over the hump. i'd un-tube-sock'd. i am of two minds: 1) i lost all my shit right as the music was hauling the most ass it ever had. i feel like i never got to finish. i wonder what it could have been 2) traumatic as it was, losing my shit may have been the best thing that ever happened to me... or, well, first it almost killed me, but after that i was more or less forced to get it together i'm still rather skittish, but i'm finally starting to be able to relax, here and there, just as well as i can alone. this is a trail marker for the entirely new class of absurdly weird situations, problems, and wonders i've experienced going about in public without being in a blind panic and a keen sense of rhythm |
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the irreplacable dynamic between lewis and i can pretty much be summed up by this story: one day, in the car, lewis began asking me: are we there yet? like a kid. there's even a tonality to the phrase -- think about it, you'll get it. the songy way it's said. he is not seriously asking. no, he is trolling me. i laugh the first time. the second time, too, but i'm about over it now. the third time i pretend to be amused. the fourth time i want to throttle him. "that tears it," i think. "i have to get him good next time." the clock is now ticking until he drops it on me again, and i had best be ready. the core answer, obviously, is "no." this gets us into why, and, yes... that's good already. but he's not asked yet, so i'll keep it in my vest and try and do better... eventually... are we there yet? lewis, we'll never get there. wherever you go, there you are. we'll never get there because we'll always be here. the question hasn't come up since, other than when we've gotten into how words like this lead to blind spots in language and consequently it's hard to talk about treason if you don't have a word for it, just like newspeak in 1984. what? you haven't read 1984? what kind of paranoid schizophrenic can you be if you haven't even gotten down the basics? i get him as good as he gets me. |
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fart synchronicity weasel remains a theory, for the moment. i think i'm just getting lucky |
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re: -- subconscious API yes, the i will start by walling myself off from the technical nonsense about neural structure and latency. there's five posts that can wait, yep. right into some live examples: Example 1 / "NO" -- i am rambling to lewis in the car while iterating through my tree structure of sterlite creatures; there's probably music too. i am delighted with this multitasking thing i'm starting to get down and i've gotten carried away. even this, though, works a bit better: there is no disaster. no problem. just, smooth as a robot, i complete all the sub-tasks and promptly had lewis the wrong item. like, yes, that fractal you wanted rendered? yes? ok, here's a jpeg image of a cat. rambling: "i'm trying to do too much at once, and now i need to tell myself not to so i won't keep doing it." then i do. but it's funny... i do it real hard for emphasis, as if lewis could look in my head and see me doing it extra hard somehow. it makes sense enough, really... if i were explaining a physical motion, i'd have done it real hard. for emphasis. result: i am doing too much at once again. i am driving, musicing, and fishing around for the pack of gum behind the other thing, but in front of the backup lighter. left hand, by feels. eyes on road. as i'm doing this, i start to think about routes. well, this road is good, but... then... NO! what the shit? that was a notion. but they're not usually... scolding me like i would a dog? what was that? the beauty is that i was able to figure it out. my brain told me the NO was connected with a visual snapshot of the pack of gum in its nook, and it happened precisely as i tried to GPS while doing that. bro: you're about to do too much at once again, and, yeah, didn't we not want to do that? fair enough. i stopped. |
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Example 2 / Eager Puppy like multitasking, i was beside myself that this notion-layer thing had gone from idle noodling in the car (theory) to something that was a working machine i was beginning to get interesting reults from (practice). one day was just off the charts. the above example, this one, and more. the notion layer was coming back at me mid-sentence. it was like it was an eager puppy going: ohmygodohmygod here it is omgomg. it was also not disorienting to me in the slightest. it also wasn't an interruption, per se -- it arrived at my internal monologue as i hit the word in the sentence that the notion belonged to. it was a pointer, wow. like, these vague notions to do whatever? they can still be astoundingly vague, but i used to be left wondering... did it mean what i was just thinking? that thing on the road over there? much less of a problem, now. it's like hearing my mom saying something to me while i was coding as a teen: i'm aware of both at once for a moment, and i have to pick: hear what mom said or finish this bit of code? typically, i get a word or two ahead of the notion and i have that same situation going on, and, oh, let's see what that has for me. i was too thrilled to be nervous, but i felt like i should be. this is a bit close to a and perhaps we should back down a bit. so i did other stuff for a while; i have no problem burying myself in a stream of things like the last two weeks of ars technica articles and hunting on google bad news for the best images of men in ski masks using laptops. it was more or less like flipping a switch. my conscious inner monologue prattled to itself as always, but yes sir, we'll stop that firestorm, ok. then i get back in the car and i'm stressing over routes or lewis snags and here you are, sir, yes, i've connected this word with a potential solution and saved you the time of thinking it up. |
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the day it was going non-linear nosebleed on me, i actually caught tone in the notion-layer as it interrupted me mid-sentence. i realized: shit, it's me. it's me, earlier that day, giddy that it had broken open somehow. i thought back to the "NO!" moment and, yes, that's me too, as i said it to myself, real hard. for demonstration purposes. ace demo. well-played, notions |
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one of the founding rules of the notion-layer thing was a bit of conscious evaluation: is this a reasonable thing to do? do i want to do it? turn left? sure, yes. stuff that cat into an ATM like patrick bateman? no, sorry, i'm late; i have to return some video tapes i was very deliberately engaging in something hidden behind a wall that rationality can't really penetrate, and, well, i had to get my bathing suit wet. get irrational. but not too irrational. no, that won't do at all... let's do this casually; as a car game. like archetyping other drivers based on their car and the way they wield it. go with it when you can. a "when in rome" sort of attitude, but stopping before the part about some loose plebian at the agora and syphilis. typical me: intense anxiety and neurosis meets raging curiosity. neurosis always wins, but not without quite a fight. it's like a guy on crack and PCP beating up a fire hydrant. he doesn't do much damage, but it's impressive he does any at all. |
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Example 3 / Root Voices i figured it was fair game to argue with the notions. like: no, that strikes me as a bad route; please explain yourself if you want me to do that. eventually, it did sort out how to do a bit of this. at times, though, it's just like: no, nope. fuck that. i'm tired, that's further away from home. they only respond to this if i've been into it and poking the spot all day and it's already really chatty. this is what they say, more or less: fine, do what you want. it's your brain. miffed. butthurt. but... then i realized: it's my father's voice, with a bit of my mother too. it's not anger, or disappointment, just... it hurts me you're saying no, but that is your right as a conscious individual. i should always be ready to exercise that right, lest i become a machine to circumstance. grow up and repeat my parents mistakes... no, let's say: that notion is my dad's identical neurosis, and i'd like to avoid that trap. but, that's not what gets me the wounded parental tone... no, it comes when i'm set on wanting to do something i know i shouldn't, and i start hunting for a rational justification. say i'm driving and it's past daily practice and far into procrasination. i begin debating the next branch, an intersection a quarter mile up. highway? home? a notion percolates in: go home. if i then say: no, fuck off, the highway will be ace at 3am because i'll have it to myself and the cops will be snoozing and... fine, do what you want. if you want to shoot yourself in the foot, i won't stop you. i've been having this conversation with myself at numerous intersections for an hour and i should have gone home, and now even the notions are telling me to go home. usually i go home when i should. if i should and i miss it, notions help cover me. the real trick is sticking to it, really, on nights when i'm feeling tied down and out of control and want to assert myself. |
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that i hear a combination of my father and my mother sounding genuinely hurt when i flaunt the collective wisdom of all my years of rambling to myself is deep and astounding. it was always there, really. i've caught myself thinking this or that many times throughout the years and thought: oh, yeah, there's mom. heh. depending on what it is, it can be charming or insightful or just plain weird. before, i mostly caught that through the words. the phrasing. i know my parents' writing voices like their actual voices, and the way i've written it up is also both of them at once. i'd catch it, but i couldn't hear it. i seem to have cultivated a small (but growing) awareness of how the voice sounds: me, excited as a puppy. me, telling myself not to get so carried away with multitasking, real hard. lewis's phrases and mannerisms working their way into my stream of thought and coming out of my mouth like they're my own. as a baby, your mind has no language. you're around your parents and soak up their harmonics, rhythms, and feelings until enough has built up for you to learn to speak by exploding all that you've heard into little bits and stitching it back together to express yourself. i've joked consciousness is a just really long tape delay with the feedback turned up slightly past unity... kernel of truth, there. the voices of your parents are fed into an empty delay with the feedback slightly past unity. it gathers and spirals around until you break the wall of language. other voices flow in: relatives. sesame street. over time, a unique individual emerges as your spiral gathers the inverse of entropy. your parents' spirals were initialized by the voices of their parents, and their parents by their parents, and it's like a tape loop of rhythmic data being passed from one generation to the next like an olympic torch. remember ? yeah. ow. my hed |
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in retrospect, not only was all of this was already there, but i was aware of a lot of it in bits and pieces. i needed to make up stupid names for things like notions and weasels before i could . notions started off as what everyone has: a voice that's pretty close to your conscious monologue, but not. it's automatic, deep, unfathomable. without a structure of machinery for the conscious mind to interpret these signals, most of it got lost. like everyone, i figure, i've been following notions for years. same attitude: either do it, or argue with it. always give it the respect of serious consideration. i never questioned what it was in the first place. i never tried to hear it with more detail. i'd argue in my conscious monologue, but i wouldn't get back fine, do what you want. then, i'm studying automatic driving, wondering how it got so good. i notice a chain of events: a song starts dead-center on a green light, the cars brake and surge, beatmatched... then, red light exactly as the song ends... wicked, i love it. i want more. so i'm focusing on that, now. i was already driving in time to music for fun, so that was my angle of attack: consciously try to get the lights to sync up. get better at guessing. i never did. after a few weeks, though, i noticed that when i got a stabbing "switch lanes" or "turn left" it led to a synchronous moment -- too often to be written off as chance. wrong 3/4 of the time, but when they're right... wow. so this isn't a premonition. it's... a notion, i suppose. we've not really thought it through, yet. a guess. notion-layer is beside itself that it's finally able to express itself clearly. it's giddy. it can't shut up. just like me. notion-layer is an unfathomable hive mind of chatter, thrilled to be heard, but not demanding. there if you want it. just like this thread. |
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i've mentioned i write these things because they force me to explicity spell things out, check my facts, find things i miss, and synthesize concepts into new ones that fit better... and this is a mechanism to save me from myself. old mistakes hanging there to remind me, new ones revealing themselves as i read it back. i've mentioned that i wrote all this on XLT because you can't edit posts, and this provided a mechanism to save me from myself: i would spend as much time again editing as i do writing, and, well, i'm way behind with just writing. the mechanism(writing) to save myself from drowning in my own information spawns a mechamism(XLT is broken forever) to save myself from drowning in my own information. then i'm still drowning, and, after a cry about hypertext, studying the structure of concsciousness led to a lateral, off-the-wall solution i'm rather proud of: a tieded caching mechanism, with my monologue as L1, lewis as L2, writing/diagrams on paper as L3, and XLT as L4. here we are, and this thread has finally explained itself. it's a relief to know the well has a bottom, but the cache is still choc full of unprocessed data. this will keep me busy for a good while yet. but, amazingly, i've finally found a point where i can log off the board and stop worrying about it for a bit. sounds like i should get some real work done, quick, because i'll figure out more of this soon enough. |
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a is using engineering to cheat god (physics). a CPU running at 800mhz has memory at 100mhz, but techniques behind caching -- L1, L2, L3, RAM, Swapfile, Saved Files, Backups, Internet Backups, Archive.Org.... wait, where were we? yes. a tiered cache allows me to take my brain's memory bus (adam sandler's fatty mcgee) and get enough performance out of it that my CPU is drowning; always stuck waiting while bits about rhythm unloaded and things about caching loaded, then the AC unit clicks on and smashes my stack, because it's right as i fart. no, that didn't happen, but i wish it did. perhaps it will. i know what voice to use for that one. it's also very charming and beautiful from a human perspective. my consciousness is L1, and lewis is L2. he is so similar to me yet so completely different. it's the closest i can get to having another version of myself around to point out ideas i've missed. explaining things to lewis spawns all sorts of new data that goes back to L1. down in L4 -- then still L3 -- we're drowning. so behind on writing. i can feel some of it leaking. don't let it slip. whatever this is... the answer was my compulsively honed set of note-taking techniques, in a parking lot at 5am. flowcharts, arrows, etc. and it was like i'd taken a huge dump. unburdened. the core of it is there for reference later, in coded symbols that are not the whole deal, but enough that i can work back up to where i was later. L4 was freed up to the point where it began functioning again, and a day or two later i had compiled a very deep and beautiful conclusion using a beowulf cluster of circumstance i built with engineering, my best friend, and a forum that is both broken and interesting. |
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spare glances in this thread -- you know, morbid curiosity -- are subconsciously stored. then i've leaked out all over the other threads, as always, and jokes that grew over there came back here and a derailed aphex twin thread formed the groundwork for a derailed freqy death thread that spawned some other things that led to the stuff, weasels. weasels. weasels. entangled pringles. your reactions influence my reactions. pretty much, in my personal bubble, i have two boards that could handle this thread: riced out yugo, and XLT. riced out yugo allows me to edit posts, and the system began sucking mud. so XLT it was... riced out yugo is thoroughly autistic, but XLT is pretty schizophrenic, and, like lewis and i, it was simply a good fit. being the first person to diagnose a messageboard's consciousness with something out of the DSM is a nice notch in my belt, but it's not what i care about. what i care about is that i have a supercomputer of circumstance, something found moderately tolerable by the angry voice of steve jobs in my mind that demands innovation, elegance, and no bullshit. i remember the first beowulf cluster i made. i was 15 or 16, and it was three terrible linux boxes and lots of config files, messing with C, until finally i had a program that farmed out stupid arithmatic problems to crappy linux boxes. the family dog was chasing it's tail, and got it. my dad remarked, "well, now thatcha got it, what ya gonna do with it?" when i finally got it to add up numbers, there was a moment of calm in my noisy brain. now what? well, same as the crappy linux boxes they ran on, which i'd spent hours bodging up out of dumpster parts. they were pitiful and old and the idea of farming real work out to them was ludicrous. in college, one of my better moments was saying, "i could combine POSIX and the comp sci full of beige boxes and beowulf cluster this project." 12am, get it to myself, log in everywhere, take the lab over. decimated. |
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beowulf cluster is such a profoundly perfect name. if you go over the original beowulf in a school class or something, you'll run into this: fame and immortality are one and the same. no afterlife, just, you're beowulf, you're now immortal. like david bowie. no longer actively synthesizing, but left behind is a ripple around of influence that pings and grows... ...until his last album of self-organizing structures (rhythm) reaches a critical threshold where... well, no, there won't be another bowie album, but people will forever be wondering what bowie would have done, they all talk about it, make their own david bowie albums. the albums have a good think, people look at what each other did, steal bits, and then economic pressures determine: yes, this one is the most david bowie, let's go with that... and we've gone and compiled the album he would have made, except we've gone and fixed a few mistakes he's missed |
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approaching 500 |
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i'm already O(9000). just switched on the thing right as the massive attack solosfdiogjdlkfgjdflkgh SDFJGK alright, yes, that was me breaking out of my ramble vector because i happened to switch the tv back on more or less dead bullseye on where i'd needle drop for the start of the best arc. it had been off for hours. i made the playlist, yes, but i don't remember when i put this on it at all. it's future proof, a gorgeous painting of a song about how you cannot design around every possible scenario; nothing is ever future proof. for every 99 vectors of attack you close down, there will always be a 100th window to the soul. i got to a bunch of these conclusions, and it was very exciting. but the sense of relief didn't come until i wrote it out on here. but now i have this polcy: on paper first. ok. i dilligently go for it. what's this one stupid moment in light of the rippling effect it will have on my whole mental ecosystem -- which, obviously, i care about as much as my carcatecture. perhaps even moreso. so i'm paper caching, but it's exploding my brain all over all over again over the map and all i'm goddamn it, it just looks like it as darn it, as the voice of robert anton wilson writing about ulysses in prometheus rising. i can also give you a date, but i'm not certain. yes, there, even that just did it. this is ridiculous. there simply is no other way: i have a certain amount of recursive jokes i have to get through in the day to survive. and abstract stories involving lewis and bike racks... tangent, tangent! |
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the world's longest PHP joke spawned the world's longest peter molyneux joke which spawned the world's longest peter molyneux joke until i fixed the cache, then there was recursion all over the floor from my brain overflowing like a clogged toilet... but, continuing the metaphor, the toilet was functiong, and i was no longer full of shit, and this makes cleaning up the mess seem like a priviledge, because, this is some dragon shit. i wrote in my EpicMegatrax Writes Bullshit thread, about how it felt to braindump all i hadn't binge-posted yet. so much it was sending me peter molyneux. i described it thus: "it was like i took a dump." a few hours later, it hit me: then it hit me: . my plans involve laser-scanning the lair from afar, studying the dragon for weeks, learning when he eats and when he sleeps and when he poops and then going in there when he's just taken an amazing dump and eaten three other adventurers and carefully make off with targeted bits of loop. optimized for best loot vs. what will the dragon notice missing. it's like my subconscious mind said, "alright, here's the battle plan! we can't explain notions properly unless we david copperfield him real good, and this is a good a time as any. also, let's scatter little bits of it all over all over again and again in the process, inside the process... then once he figures it all out, let's do it again the same way" "the subconscious mind is a mirror" -- so literally true it's ridiculous. mapping it out spawned structures that spawned structures that... and i'm stuck. until i had more bandwidth, i couldn't escape a certain class of local solutions, and promptly auto-gun my foot. go up my butt. full squarepusher. today, i'm caching to paper, all good for a bit. then i catch myself about to write up a squarepusher joke. no, that's not right. stop that. this is for critical archiecture |
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so i wrench myself away from lulz and get some notes out... and by the time i'm done, i have more notes to write. this shit is the mead, because words begat words begat words begat fuck it i am in my car in a parking lot so i can focus on this and now i wrote most of it up and it made more to write up and i have to pee. so i decided, well, if it's spewing more, i've cached enough, and some of it has to go to XLT. then i got to XLT, and i promptly had the same problem. tangents. recursion. no, delete that. stop it. stick to the outline. finally, i yield. i realize i have typed up the first sentence or two of the squarepusher joke i told me was nice, but, can we focus, please? for my sanity? ok, thanks. now it can't wait its turn for pizza and is cutting off all the other pickup trucks with trump stickers. it made me realize: i have a certain amount of recursive jokes i have to get through the day in order to survive, so, shit, fine. ok. now that i've caved i'm doing it properly, thoroughly, writing this squarepusher joke with the same level of focus i use to face deeply unpleasant realizations, because that's just my normal level of focus, you know? if squarepusher is to ever to un-reverse-tube-sock, he needs to stop playing simulations with himself all day and get a live funk band. coathangar hed band, led helmet band... man, get hand bands banned so they don't get out of hand. on the other out of hand, this joke got out of my head as many mines were simulated out of my butt that i realized that squarepusher is the joke. so far gone up his own butt he's come out the other side and realized: shit, i'm the joke, let's go with it. hug it and see what it likes for lunch. simulate bands so more squarepusher jokes will self-organize on forums and explain to me exactly what's so funny about myself. i take my music career very seriously and i don't understand the rude comments, guys |
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anyways, i no longer almost zone out and roll through red lights, and i have a spot in my brain strongly interconnected with peter molyneux that ensures, as a writier, i will never hit a dry spell. not that i ever did |
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anyways |
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and carefully make off with targeted bits of loop i don't remember noticing that typo before... oh, jesus christ... even glancing at this thread is enough to rope me in for hours. no wonder i sabotaged my own attempts to sit down and re-read it |
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you write such voluminous amounts its hard to keep up, have you read a Thomas Pynchon novel? |
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i know about the famous opening line with screaming rainbows, and that he was on the simpsons with a paper bag over his head, but no, i've never actually read anything he's written. |
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i was up far too long (as i often am) and had a hell of a good sleep. i woke up two or three times to pee and drink water to pee out later. i remember some flashes of dreams, seemed a bit intense, but as usual, don't remember them. what i do remember is that each time i woke up, i stewed on some writing for a bit before going back to sleep. wake up, think, fall back asleep. now i'm up and still thinking about it. roald dahl was one of my favorite authors as a kid. charlie and the chocolate factory is a metaphor for potential. getting the golden ticket doesn't mean you get the chocolate factory, it just means you possibly could. there are all sorts of ways you can screw it up royally: entitlement, greed, and netflix addiction (mike teavee). everyone on the yugo phorums knows who aphex is, if only indirectly, but it's this place that reacts to gene wilder's passing. like a myoclonic jerk, we get a thread as he falls asleep. i have a story about lewis trying to figure out which movies i've seen gene wilder in, and so i type it up. this is squarely why it's in my head now: oh, yes, there's some sort of thing about ascention in that glass elevator, isn't there? but that's just a few moments of the movie. most of it is about tragedy weeding out anyone else with potential, it's just so silly you don't notice. |
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re: , real hard ~ notion example having my inner monologue come back to me later in the day as subconscious signals was huge. really, i'm sure it's been doing this all my life, but it's like scientists finally catching a neutrino -- takes months, totally worth it, flood of data, the data ripplies throughout the theory and does some construction on it, and now you know how to catch neutrinos better. which is good, because now you have lots of new questions that require new neutrinos. so, as written, i'm driving to music, and i grab for my pack of gum. then i start thinking about GPS, routes, as i'm groping for the gum, and driving. out of nowhere, i get a notion: NO! it worried me for a moment, because i never get that sort of immediacy and tone out of my notions, and are they getting out of hand? no, i realize. that was me earlier in the day, telling myself not to get carried away with simultaneous tasks, real hard, as written. the only reason i was able to figure this out was because i have developed enough machinery to interpret these signals with some nuance. i had no idea what it was about, at first. my first guess was the GPS, because that's what i was on when it hit. when i consider that, though, i get a pointer: yes, sir, the notion meant this other part. i get a visual image of the pack of gum in its cubbyhole (my eyes are still on the road, obviously). oh! the gum was a subtask of driving, and i tried to add another task on top of the gum (GPS) and it's messing me up. it was completely correct. thinking about GPS had me fumbling by touch twice as long as i'd usually need, and i'm sure it impacted my route planning too. too many things going on at once. too many to realize i'm overdoing it, and then my own voice comes back from somewhere and saves me from myself. yeah, this is pretty big. |
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what blows me away is the complexity of the pattern my brain managed to catch. i've always figured these automatic habits to be intensely limited things: no sense of time, no sense of situational relevancy, just running on static patterns it's seen before. like a computer program that can recognize any image fed into it, but changing even a single pixel on a known image means the program can no longer handle it, and crashes back to conscious focus. the second situation was completely different from the first. the first: i was not driving at all, i was parked, shuffling through storage containers and rambling. the second: i was driving, groping for gum, and routing. completely different. until that happened, i truly did not believe the system was capable of that level of complexity. the thing is, maybe it really wasn't capable of it before. perhaps this is a new thing i've developed in myself... the core point is this: i'm talking about programming metaphors all day, and i finally have what is tantamount to a programming language for my subconscious mind: i write a message to my subconscious mind in the way that someone makes a note to themselves. there's an emotion attached to the message, as well as a strength. yelling at myself really hard gets yelling back at myself later. as i'm doing this, i'm fixated on whatever i'm writing the message about, and this forms the basis of a pattern my subconscious searches for to trigger the playback of my message. i've been doing all sorts of stuff with this already, but it's things like "no, don't use that part of your neck so hard," but i have never attempted things like "do not multi-task so much it makes everything slower or even breaks it entirely" because i assumed that was entirely too complex. by accident, i realized i was wrong. so wrong. it's just a message playback; you have to be able to trust yourself to obey it later. i stopped the GPS and focused on my gum, but it's not like i had to. |
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a few hours later i hit on the "root voices" thing, that it implies live rhythms passed from one generation to the next. this goes back to the birth of language, and the DNA goes the rest of the way down.... oh, and, yes, i can now programming angry yelling and it will dutifully spin back at me and scare me later.... this is about when i decided to slow down, take some time off, catch up with the writing backlog. it's so much to process. some of it is powerful enough that i can shoot myself in the foot pretty good. the bootstrap analogy comes from baron von munchausen pulling himself out of a swamp by his shoelaces. it makes syntactical sense, but overall, it doesn't make sense. a metaphor for the invention of metaphor, perhaps. as an engineer able to get occasional flashes of the underlying machinery for a second or two after whatever event i want to examine, i conclude that the mechanism for this is a cache memory that i've begun to be able to peek into. i get onto streaks in my work, things i've stewed on all day yesterday will be in my mind when i wake up. so, alright, this is a tiered caching mechanism where relevancy rises to the top, and... in retrospect, it's entirely possible that my subconscious mind has been re-organizing itself to follow the map i've been building in my conscious mind, and whatever i put into the architecture comes back, backwards. so, i need a tiered cache of myself, lewis, paper, and public forum to process through an architecure i can't even close to keep in my head all at once, and it's possibly because this is how i've decided it all works down there. if the process of exploring the architecture down there is what defines it, well, awesome. i love it, really, there's nothing in this world i trust except my code and algorithms. whatever i come up with will be solid. it will wipe the floor with pranayama, buddhism, NLP, and v1 of metaprogramming, because it's strange homunculus made from them all. |
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i got up from bed, huge lovely sleep, woke up three times and thought about this stuff a bit as i went. already it's gone from a few elegant points to a mess of blather... yes, the cholocate factory thing, golden ticket but the glass elevator won't simply be handed to you. you're not entitled to it... and, yes, this wouldn't be shuffling around if not for L4 of the cache. putting myself in a glass house, i called it. writing deeply personal things for the public to see and react to in the middle of a place where i'm discussing all sorts of random things alongside of my glass elevator thread. thanks for the help. comparing that to sneaking it at 12am and turning the comp sci lab into a beowulf cluster and utterly decimating the problem i've been tasked with solving is a bit of a cheeky metaphor. worse, it's dehumanizing. the nicer way to say this is that, like lewis, a part of you all is in me and a part of me is in you, and the rippling feedback look in between us all is not merely a source of perspective, it actively shapes what i'm perceiving. lovely. |
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re: i generate ideas faster than i can talk, let alone write. new stuff rolls in and pushes those ideas out. if i had lewis to ramble to, they'd stick, but i don't. ramble-cache-writes have tiered costs: L1 ~ free. L2 ~ set-up of collecting lewis; then free L3 ~ 5-10 min per page L4 ~ 10-30 min per 2048 characters. i have to be more efficient about my cache writes. L4 ~ limit of N posts per XLT, in this case (1). edit. condense. L2 ~ vocal dictation to simulate lewis? L1 ~ it's complexicated: I Jused Paperstack while HikeThink around trees now i diagram the subconscious mind is a lookup table of previous states. into this, one pours data about states of states (studying automatic driving) and this builds the ability to manipulate states of states. then states of states of states... subconcious becomes conscious of itself in layers. i have to teach my unconscious mind how to control my conscious mind before i can have proper control of my unconscious mind. got that? ok. stacks are required. writing things on paper has taken on an odd feeling of my subconscious listening closely, so let's give it instructions there. then again on XLT. --working out ways to ~push~ stacks into my life ---->stored patterns of states of mind in which i am thinking about my life in terms of stacks --finding where they're used already used(sitting_upright[autopilot{ramble}]) TREES -- visualize; practice; eventually notions will be able to show a tree visual in addition to words/voices/nonsense visual. trees to keep me on-point. pick a root point. visualize the sub-points. then iterate. when i've wandered off somewhere and can't remember how i got there, go back to root, and start over. thoughts become self-organizing structures that will reliably generate sub-thoughts, simulating an ability to remember more than i actually can. simultaneously improve bandwidth to L3 |
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then, it's rambling that got me here in the first place, and i have a good one to cache for the lulz. practicing actually speaking aloud, singing, etc. ties in with all the voice layer coding abstractions, and rhythm, breathing, words... yes, so, in persuit of this lofty layer of nonsense, i'm just singing the word "helium" to various songs. quickly rushing to skip one, declaring it had no helium at all. i'm mostly focusing on saying the word helium to the rhythm, in tune, and so on. this spares me from having to distract myself with lyrics, and it also gets pretty riffy. he - le-um. heeeel. ee. uuuuuuhmmm. it gives the activity enough structure that it's not just incoherent noises but it's vague enough that it allows a measure of incoherent noises. like the disc-scratchy noise i can make with my teef. then that's mixing it up with helium, yea then, obviously, after twenty minutes of this, i'm coming up with heli-yum, nummy helium and bla bla bla. it strikes me that i can pick any word and sing it to music for twenty minutes a few times and i will just be able to riff that word forever. enough words in my riff database and it will start to melt into general riffing only in the car do i go full singing. for the sake of my neighbors, i keep it quiet in the pod. however, i do have a song that i call "indoor trumpet" that i do loudly when my neighbors are being dicks. it's a mouth trumpet and it is in segments and clusters that allow me to pause jarring intervals and swap out what they expect for the other segments... it's essentially designed to troll people. it's beautiful. another thing i did by accident just quietly singing helium to myself in a corner and making my indoor DJ scratchy tooth noises, yessir. except if there be reason to raise my trumpet above unity |
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one of the toughest things for me (besides myself[the joke{squarepusher accepting that there are situations in life where there is no clearly correct answer. i accept it in a rational sense, but i still can't help picking at things to try and see if i could have done better, if i could do better next round. some guy tried to change lanes into me at 1am last night. i snapped out of whatever, seeing it start to happen, hope this doesn't keep doing. it does. shit shit shit horn. he pretty much forces me into a turn lane for a moment, and then whizzes ahead. if i had not seen him and reacted, he would have hit me. it's just one of those things -- and, shit, my reaction to it saved my skin and my whip perfectly well. the other dude did not even react to my horn. he's lucky there was a cybernetics researcher behind the wheel; your average soccer mom might not have reacted so crisply but i'm still arguing with myself: did i do anything wrong? could i have spotted it earlier? it's such a weird and nutty driving almost-calamity that i half figure the guy was on drugs or getting a blowjob while driving or something. it reaches the point where i'm pitting my few indulgences against this idiot and i realize i've already put way more into analyzing it than he has so, i should be just fine. but i worry. that's why |
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usually i would have been pissed. my brain was like: yes, this flappy adrenaline crash, should we get pissed off now and fly up after him? ...ugh. no. fuck that. i want to stay as far away from that bastard as i can. the difference between me at twenty-one and me at now is a lot. i might not have saved my own behind. even if i did, i would have gone ragequit on the sucka. my curiously strong memory dutifully loads up all the stupid shit i did at twenty-one, and none of this matches. this can't be. not finding any mistakes at all makes me nervous. what'd i miss? where did i screw up this time? i didn't. the other guy did. you can be driving like captain safety and still be taken out in half a second by a guy in a tractor-trailer with a no-doz deficiency. this shit happens. i have to firmly remind myself that i have permission to not be at fault, and that some things are simply beyond my control... or are they? pick pick pick at this crap. all day. pity me. shut up, brain. i can't stress about every freak accident that i flawlessly dodged, right? if i did that, i'd turn into ulillillia. getting a blue water notion! freak accident imminent! retreat into a simulation to calculate probable chance of survival. projected solution: adjust sock; transmit tree diagram to evasive weasel |
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so, yes, i'll never be , , or , but i've realized there's still a pretty good career to be had in being the behringer effects . a sinoprodukt of the boss dd3, perhaps... because that's the sort of pedal i find worth ripping off. i can't remember if i figured out the fractal-nee-squaretempo-input thing before or after i read about it in an autechre interview; i genuinely can't. so let's just keep that one for ourselves, and eventually we'll be mistaken for david elsewhere in a parking lot. no, no, i'm not him. it's just smooth enough that anyone who isn't seriously into dancing as a discipline might make that sort of mistake. The word "hacker" has two very different meanings. The people I knew who called themselves hackers were software wizards who managed to creatively program their way out of tight corners. They knew all the nooks and crannies of the operating system. Not dull software engineers who put in forty hours a week, but creative programmers who can't leave the computer until the machine's satisfied. A hacker identifies with the computer, knowing it like a friend. Astronomers saw me that way. "Cliff, he's not much of an astronomer, but what a computer hacker!" (The computer folks, of course, had a different view: "Cliffs not much of a programmer, but what an astronomer!" At best, graduate school had taught me to keep both sides fooled.) --The Cuckoo's Egg i don't have to fool anyone on the hacker side, but the rest take some homework |
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also proficient in , in which i subconsciously brick an upgrade to my metaphor library into a recursive peter molyneux joke. scroll, scroll... lol, wut? guess my subconscious mind is bored of davids and onto the harrys. that, or there's some big department store metaphor iceberg t(r)ipping. let's suppose, though, that peter molyneux forms a worst-case backstop, and not bother with kickstarter again until we have it more thoroughly sorted. like, that other david in china had this idea about the sinoproduckt of ken stone's ripoff of buchla's thing that was something some else did in the fifties. raymond scott invented it in parallel, not knowing of this, as did delia bowlerhat an leonerd theremin, and mark twain wrote a superb review of it too |
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to summarize this thread's algorythmics: -> this thread -> me -> the joke -> squarepusher -> squarepusher's simulation of squarepusher -> peter molyneux -> this thread -> me -> the joke iterate until the stack overflows, sign off of xlt, return to calling function (nature). |
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the man who invented methoxetamine must be a bit fed up with explaing himself. why do you have one arm? oh. how did you convince the english government to supply you with ketamine? what? for your ramachandrian mirrorbox deficiency? I discovered a long time ago that ketamine and cannabinoids helped my phantom hand. I’m quite convinced these classes work by distorting body image so severely that you phase out triggers for the pain. I have experienced profound proprioceptive distortions after intramuscular PCP injection, as if my whole body were a proportional model of the sensory homunculus. But in a sense, what I feel is not hallucination or a distortion, I actually find dissociatives corrective, that is, they make the phantom disappear. uh, ok... why did you feel you could do better than national health's K? Needless to say, the whole lot of it gets squirted up the arse to bypass my taste buds, but even this has its drawbacks… like sticky, sugary bum cheeks! ? oh, of course. now let's explain this to the cops. what's this pile of insane writing on my computer? oh, that's what my therapist told me to do As I later found out, they also thought I’d tried to commit suicide after finding some printed pages full of vitriolic rants in a drawer next to my computer. It took bloody ages for them to believe that the rants were written years ago as a form of therapy where you put down your feelings in writing in order to exorcise said feelings. It was three weeks before I convinced them I was not a suicidal maniac, but rather that I was a pharmacologist investigating the structure-activity relationship of 3-methoxylated arylcyclohexylamines… That was one they’d never heard before. then, i'm sure, they asked about his arm again. now let's patiently explain again, but to vice magazine... in terms even rinzence can understand |
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back to 2012. moving into the house i'd be very productive within until my bubble imploded. take my first listen to mouse on mars. radical connector. love that album. i've been playing it again recently... i mean, heck, they said this album focuses on voice, right? seems like the right time to get back into it... multiple little mind blown moments. my little mind is blown a little further MOMents. like noticing a voice quietly saying "aphasia!" off to the side in the last track on the album. i'll make up nonsense words -- chiouxsoughaesphuel -- and then sit there, my OCD driving me words, because i can't get the spelling right. yes, this total nonsense i've made up? spelled wrong. i can feel it. this isn't right. goddamn it. play with the letters... some have literally haunted me for years. so deeply familiar with that, really, but only when i try to type it up on an internet message board... fumbling for a way to describe the feeling... shit, what is that.... it's something else too... oh, aphasia. "it's on the tip of my tounge..." when you can't grab the word you want out of your brain, even though you know full well it's there. i got aphasia-feeling when the notion-layer was tapping its foot, annoyed with my conscious mind for not being quick enough to respond to a notion. last night i realized: shit, that's deja vu, too. that's also aphasia. i'm not quite sure i'd call my analysis fantastic; it's more compulsive. then i've only listened to RC and Idiology. i put on idiology and there's the rambling verbal monologue on The One, how it's one of those weasel words that creates a blind spot in language... i feel like MOM has been chatting about all this since the turn of the century. dammit. there's good data in there, and they're probably too famous to respond to a rambling email about this all a compromise: why have i only listened to two of their albums? i torrented the whole discography through varcharz... varchar(255) like in SQL? mis-spelling of german w |
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ordz for "war charts" says wikipedia. my german is only slightly better than a natural-born german downie, but is that towards "battle plans?" i was more thinking "fill in the blank" until that. e.g. the track has a complex structure, but it's off to the side, and you're only aware of it when they actively navigate around... two mice lost in a martian cheese maze... mice on mars then i wander over to the wiki for parawotsit and the thumbnail of the cover is all: MOM! oh, shit, the vulvaland video. them being born in the same hospital on the same day... yeah, go figure. since 2011 or so, i've mistaken a crude anatomical joke and assumed it was something from one of my AI classes again. this happens to me a lot i mollify myself by allowing the presumption that the name is multiple things at once, and, alright, we weren't wrong, we just had a leaf node of the joke tree when we thought we had the root then there's also something in the stuff the internet spits out... it looks like a technical schematic for a couch fort, with music gear inside. blanket over it; geodesic bucky dome is too much effort. then video projectors outside, blasting light relevant to the output of the music machines all over the skin of the couch fort, surrounding the occupants in a synaesthetic bubble. wires go out to the computer, the man selling powerful drugs visits the couch fort and leaves with a pocket full of folding space |
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next, it's clearly time to look up "aphasia" on wikipedia. i've been slapping the word about for weeks; maybe i've gotten this as wrong as your MOM jokes. wikipedia says: no, you had it more or less right. there's "anomia" for not finding the right word, specifically... now: damage, damage, damage. science would seem to view aphasia as something that does not occur in healthy minds. fair enough; if i regularly had trouble finding words i'd get myself to a doctor. but i don't. i get it here and there: that... word. ugh. dammit. you know what happens then? i dig the fuck in. i find a comfy place to sit and relentlessly dredge through my mind until i dig it back up. i will not let this shit go. i do the same thing sometimes, when i lose my train of thought: something, something, BOOM, shit, what was i just thinking about? it was good, i want it back, this is un. fucking. acceptable. i have actually developed a whole toolbox of techniques for this. trains of thought follow linear time, and my first-line of attack is to ask myself: what was i thinking about before the thing i forgot? i can always find something a few steps back. alright, there's our start... then, what did i jump to when i lost it... alright... and, now, i have a trajectory, from a thought i knew came before, to the point just after i lost the thing i want. usually, at this point, i can just re-think a bit and... oh, right, of course! there's nineteen pages on yugo somewhere about all this. how it's like all the memory is there, but you've lost the address. without a C++ pointer indicating the right neural junction, you can feel its presence, but you can't get to it. yeah, this is also aphasia. losing my train of thought results in a less acute form of aphasia that i have learned to systemically circle around and strangle until i have it back. nonsense words (spelled wronk) give me the same frustration. alright, neuroscience, we're throwing you off of kesey's bus. this happens plenty in healthy minds |
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this leads us to a moment in the early AMs, last night / this morning. as is often the case, i could lead you to the exact spot i had the thought. it's nowhere near universal, but i have an unusually strong ability to remember where i was when i had a particular thought, or learned a word like myriad. to properly explain how much data i have on learning the word myriad, i would have to take you back to the school building, then the specific room... next, we'll have to arrange the furniture as it was when i learned the word myriad... ok... yes, now, here, i was sitting here. this chair. the vocab workbook... i can tell you about that. grody plastic slip cover. brownish color scheme on the actual cover.... but, as years go by, the details go aphasia. i ask myself "in the list of 20 vocab words for the week, was it towards the top or the bottom?" and... yes, there's the feeling. dammit. i can't remember. i know when i'm going too far, though, and i'ma let that one go. however, i'm willing to bet i may have been able to remember it five or ten years ago. another thing about having a really good memory is that you are keenly aware when you've lost something. that's normal enough, i figure, but most people won't get furious about it, and refuse to let themselves get up to pee until they've figured it out. |
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i was mulling. fretting, even. i've let this die down, because, well, i need to get the bills paid. i'm so terribly nervous it will all drift off on me, and it'll be some flowers for the algermon. should i worry about this? it's not that far back; it's not too late... the notion layer cut into my train of thought, at this point: don't worry, it's all in there. in ways you don't even understand yet.... ellipses. a sense like a professor got up to the blackboard in my brain and said ELLIPSES, whap, slaps the blackboard with a 3-foot pool cue turned pointing stick. these things are totally getting heavier. it used to be: "yes", "no", "turn right"... then, moments of epic breakthrough: "listen to the rhythms." very terse. like twitter, it doesn't have the space to be verbose. now i'm starting to hear a tone of voice, and my subconscious mind seems to have hijacked the way i'll use ellipses to express itself. the subconscious mind can only express itself through the tapestry of things the conscious mind understands, and so this makes perfect sense. a bit of my writing consciousness was wired into the notion neurons, and now the notions and pointedly drop an ellipses to more clearly express itself. the real trip, though, was when i followed the ellipses. why is it darting after that? tugging at the leash, like a dog that just spotted a squirrel? well, it's probably informationally upstream.... let's chase that squirrel. what it led to was this: the crazy siphon i started is older than this XLT thread. this thread is where it went from idle amusement to serious discipline, and i lazily assumed this thread was the start of a good many things. but, no, the ellipses leads back to . yugo thread ID#2001. that was just luck... but, yes, in there, you'll find the same stuff as in here. except, it reads better, because it's edited. there's also less depth, because it's edited |
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anyways, yes, this all helps. the notions are getting better at explaining themselves. all of this is very, very deep in my brain. deeper than i can even understand.... ellipses. i felt the need to write that part up, but now that i've written it up, the rest can wait. i have to work, get the dollars, and now that i can trust this will stick, i might actually be able to keep my mind on the job |
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a spare but important thought that's just cropped up: hypertext provides valuable sanity relief via allowing me to condense a load of unweildy blather into a single link (at the end of which is a more weild-y pocket of blather). a reader can hop in, and, well, it's still a mess, but a little patience exploring the structure, clicking on links, and the whole thing starts to click a bit more. this is analagous to neural connections between metaphors. so, what about weighted hyperlinks? this connection is: strong, medium, weak.... what about hyperlinks that go to more than one place? split a word up and link the letters, or split a phrase up and link the word fragments... then, go further into the meta, and have hyperlinks that link to an organized structure of hyperlinks.... yes, that's the thing i was looking to have the computer generate for me, once i'd entered enough data for things to spiral |
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