A journey into life beyond sanity...
Saturday, July 24, 2010
11:20PM
Six years can seem an eternity to a man, but to evolution, it is but a blink. It only takes 910,000 iterations to re-create the image of the Mona Lisa with nothing but 50 semi-transparent polygons. Such is a feat no mortal man could accomplish should he set out to do it, yet it can simply occur from a completely-random basis.
Yet I must ask... into what image are we molded? We commit to billions upon billions of iterations of our genetic sequence, progressing, changing, but into what are we changing?
A simpler man might answer that we are molded toward survival, but that would be simply incorrect. Survival is merely the means to the end. In the case of the image, the program is the means: it determines which shapes in the figure continue to exist and which are changed. Similarly, natural selection determines which pieces of genetic code continue to exist and which are lost to time. These are the means; the code which tells whether traits exist. For the code to act, it must have a driving source, else it returns the same image every time.
There are two obvious answers.
The first is the religious solution. We are molded into the image a deity or deities have created for us. If that is true, could we be an abandoned project, cast out of Eden to walk a purgatory of broken toys? A solution which knows only a local maximum, ultimately unable to ever acquire that holy perfection?
The second is that we are our own genetic destiny. Life is molded into the image of life itself. The source image continues to change as the output image changes. Situation and current state determine the source image. The result is a self-perpetuating chaos. Is that life? Can there ever be convergence? Could it be an inevitability, leading us to the first solution once again? God only knows.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
4:39AM
Perhaps I am a moral person. Or perhaps I merely characterize my weaknesses as honest moral judgments. The world may never know. One must ask himself whether morality arises from a genuine sense of justice where it diminishes the self or whether it exists to subdue the advantages of the strong to exalt the self. In layman's terms, is altruism just a long-term form of selfishness? Center of a tootsie roll pop, I suppose.
Shaving: like pedophilia with 100% more legality.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
2:53AM
So... with respect to the turmoil of a breakup, what should I do? Confess that I know the feeling though means indescribable, or to feign ignorance and maintain the demeanor of... whatever it is that I have become? It is no simple question when the meaning of such a confession cannot be understated. That would be to admit to others a level of involvement completely foreign -- but perhaps expected. It would be to admit my own mortality and human bias. Though a taste of humility would do little to endanger my cause, I'm not sure that I desire such transparency of character. I drop hints here and there to remind myself of my plight -- my belief in doing what is right rather than what is in my own interest -- yet when these conflict, which should take precedence? One must ask himself whether it is truly justified to maintain clarity of purpose and individual integrity if it means that another must needlessly suffer as a result.
Hah, the mindless ramblings of a drunk.
Monday, June 8, 2009
11:09PM - On the definition of obsession
From the perspective of the target, it's an unhealthy obsession the proprietor must "get over". From perspective of the proprietor, it's a matter of enduring true love and the struggle to achieve reciprocation. Either side can only see what he wants, of course, and the proponents of transhumanism will suggest that this behavior should be changed. Yet, would that be prudent?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
9:23PM - A dream
My first time, and it hardly mattered. There she was, almost half-asleep, but awake enough. It just was. A fleeting action. 9 months later, a hospital bed. I would dedicate what I had to make them comfortable. It was a mistake. I wonder if she even recognized what it was -- perhaps even tantamount to rape (or was it just guilt for the children). A soft bed, a loose sheet, and a woman curled up below. An opportunity -- an unlikely one -- was taken. Leaning my head down from above (a bunk bed, maybe? but it doesn't make sense) to see her below....
Their names: Nora and... oh, but does it matter? He never knew either, and certainly not Nora's. He wanted to call her something else. I don't even recall. By now, she has a man to take care of the two children, who were long ago birthed. They are young -- still infants -- but more substantial. He would never be back when the Buffalo Bills lost (or Buffaloes?). There at the hospital, a director -- a man constantly around. Everything in the hospital -- designed to cheat you out of every penny. Or was it the town hall? All up and down one street -- a hospital, a cineplex, and a town hall.
And so I ate at some nondescript restaurant, something, alone. As I left, I watched a scene unfold.
"I told you it had alcohol in it!" The little girl chastizes her father. He goes to pay, some money involved. There is also a smaller child around. The father goes and pays -- something about a kind of pizza and a combo bag and items added (all 3 had the same thing). The father is very forceful with his children, and they are not incredibly pleased. It looks to me as though something is not right in the relationship between the father and the children. I suspect he may be a molester holding the two children captive. The father is held up for some reason -- perhaps he falls over? I no longer recall. I take the arm of the child and pull her aside. She begins to to walk to the exit. I ask her if that is her real father and she affirms. She runs off, and apparently her young brother (was it a brother?) follows. I suspect something and follow them south, to a house just south of the Cineplex, across the street.
Two kids south of the Cineplex knew him as a zombie. That IS their real father, she said. Yet she is worried. He hasn't returned yet. Could he be hurt? But it wouldn't really matter. The police would know his problem. His un-death wouldn't be punished and he would have to be let to return to his un-life, with his kids in tow. Peaceable un-life was tolerated by the authorities -- not openly addressed because it is a sticky, emotional situation. Something doesn't sound right about all of that. The Buffaloes lost today. I know who to call: the woman whose children would become his.
All of these lives -- one man.
Or was it all mine?
My final vision -- a woman, sweat on her soft white face, tastes the drops of water falling to her lips... yet she will die of thirst awaiting their coming. Her clean visage is marred by first beads and then streams -- is it sweat and tears? -- and yet she waits patiently for the drops of life which keep her alive yet seal her doom. It wasn't her fault. Why should she suffer? I can't stop this thought. And now she must accept the burdens of us both (or is it all my life?).
A solution must be made. A life must be prepared.
Finally, walking in his shoes, going to his life, and he in mine. Were we ever two or has it always been one man's journey? Walking up the street with someone, I look at my reflection in the glass. I see me but know I am him. How could we have not seen?
The dream was so vivid, yet I can remember so little now. Why was the street so important? Where did I live? WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER MY DREAMS FOR MORE THAN 2 MINUTES AFTERWARD?
Sunday, May 10, 2009
9:21PM
The opposite of congress is digress. Sorry to ruin the punchline.
A recent study found that bullied kids are more likely to be psychotic. I have to wonder, though, if anyone considered that psychotic kids are more likely to perceive persecution.
It's funny that proponents of intelligent design complain that the odds of life occurring as it has. I wonder if it has ever occurred to these people that, had life happened any other way, they would be equally puzzled at how it happened their way and not another.
6:07AM - Progress
We often define the end to our means as "progress". It's a malleable blanket term, really, with incredible connotations and a rather nebulous denotation. Who decides what is progress and what is regress? This is, of course, a sophomoric question in itself: each person will define his own version of progress, just as one defines his own morality (Socrates aside, anyway). But rather than question what progress may be defined as, I should like to evaluate whether progress can actually mean nothing at all.
Let's start from a sociopolitical ideal. I often make the assertion that law has no place in utopia. This is fair, of course, because in utopia, all things are provided freely by others as a matter of goodwill. There is no need for law or government. All functions which a government may provide are provided more effectively by the society. All people willingly act in a way which is least detrimental toward others. Thus, law has no place assuring the adherence to property rights or anything of the sort. Rather, law would simply exist as a useless restriction, which would then suggest that it simply be abolished. I will have to elaborate on this thinking at a later date.
*Yawn*. Oh dear. I shall have to complete this later.
5:41AM - Yes, Virginia, there is a nice guy?
Assertion 1: Those of lower fitness tend to be lower on the social ladder. Indeed, those who are judged to be attractive are more likely to be considered socially-adept and are more likely to be sought by their peers. This is independent of all personality factors. Since this is partially influenced by non-genetic factors, one can increase his social capital by conforming his body to expectations (for men, a strong, fit body, and for women, makeup and hairdressing).
Assertion 2: Those of lower social status are more likely to be socially receptive and helpful. Studies have shown that people of higher social status tend to avoid conversation with those of lower social status. It has been suggested that the reason is that social interaction with lower social strands tends to bring association with these types, which would lower social capital. Similarly, people are most likely to help those above their own social level, so those who are least helpful can, all things constant, be expected to be higher on the ladder as an average.
Assertion 3: Mate selection tends to be a rather quick process. The selection is to be of the most fit mate in a more uncertain environment. Hence, the most apparent selection criteria are those which can be quickly noted. Appearance is obviously the top, but for women, social strength plays a larger role. If a woman believes a man to be wealthy, she will perceive him as more attractive than she would if she believed him to be less affluent. For a woman, social capital is as much a player in the survival of the offspring as physical strength, so she selects the man most apt for the job.
Corollary: In this quick evaluation (no time for in-depth background research), the helpful man is more likely to be less fit and less socially strong. The effect is doubly strong because fitness affects the pecking order, which reinforces the perceptions of the mate-seeker. Ergo, nice guys finish last.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
5:58AM - To do list
Is there such thing as progress? Further, to what end do we progress?
"Nice guys finish last" is a corollary of fitness-based attraction.
Racial identity is a fallacy.
I'll get to all of it in time.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
9:59PM
I love it when the filthy-rich kill themselves because they lost money. Bank robbers generally don't take the plunge when they get busted, and not only do they have to give the money back but they also get 20 years in the concrete cage. Killing yourself because you're less rich takes a special level of greed.
Speaking of greed, I am now taking 20 hours of classes. Silly me
Monday, January 5, 2009
6:11PM
Ah yes, my New Year's Resolutions:
1. Get back down to 175 lbs
2. Be able to bench 250lbs
3. Get a 4.0 GPA
4. Learn a new language
5. Become conversationally fluent in German
Delude yourself more, Scott. You can't even...
...
3:07AM - Dream on.
Ill. I just feel ill. I know it's not like I actually have an upset stomach. No, it's something altogether different. As long as I can distract myself, it's gone. But that lingering shadow...
Thank you, dear Professor. Thank you for reminding us that obstacles just remind us of how much we want things. Yes, just how much we want things we can never have because the obstacles are insurmountable. You may have been pleased with your life as you come to its end, but some of us haven't the luxury of a lifetime of achievements to fall back upon. No, we can only sit and think of the futures we will not have. The things we'll never have because we were not born into it. The lives we'll never live because we live only one.
I am not survived by four children. I have not touched hundreds of lives as a teacher and mentor. I have not achieved my childhood dreams and likely never will. I haven't a justification.
Though the circumstances are, of course, starkly different, I wonder if this is how it feels to be discriminated against. It's not that it's intentional or malicious, but I almost feel that things are out of reach for the family into which I was born. Then again, this would be perfectly acceptable were I not sitting here wishing I could have what I cannot. Genetics always determines much of what you can have. I should know better; no, I do know better. I just can't help it. Still, I am so tempted to a particular action of which I am almost certain of the consequence. It is unsettling. Sickening.
I should know better. But here I am. I cannot do anything. I am certainly not the first person in this situation (predicament?), and I certainly will not be the last. It's so selfish. It's arrogant to think I deserve it and it's inane to believe that I the universe would bend to my will. I cannot help but think that the famous prayer applies: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; And wisdom to know the difference." But what of the things I can neither accept nor change? I exchanged a nurtured fondness for what I had hoped would be a lasting friendship and now I pay the price for such meddling. These four years have not been kind.
You'd think that, with my unwavering cynicism and utter faith in biology, I would escape this problem. Or maybe you would not; maybe you would predict my comeuppance. My penance for disbelief in the lies we tell ourselves? It's like being emotionally back in middle school. Frustrating as hell.
I spent the evening before falling asleep running through metaphors. I compared the choice to believe in God (temporary loss to the end of eternal benefit) to the choice I try not to make (risk a friendship for something... different?). Double-or-nothing greed (you'll always lose eventually). Et cetera, et cetera. I have chewed through all kinds of silly comparisons and I the situation has certainly not been clarified.
Thinking about this is not getting me any closer to clarity. Dawn approaches and lucidity still eludes me. All I have are daydreams and wishes. Sleep will have to be my escape.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
3:17AM
Information overload. Costs us 950 billion dollars annually, according to a recent study by Basex. It's too bad that there's no question of the human cost associated with it. The human brain was not designed for the hyperconnected world.
I really liked 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days. I think it's probably the greatest film produced last year. But I wouldn't say I enjoyed it. No, it's not that kind of film. It's like watching a train wreck in gruesome detail for 2 hours. Once you've had your fill of the horrors of one car, the scene switches to the next. It's an emotional bludgeoning with no light at the end of the tunnel. Just one final betrayal.
We sometimes have to walk a fine line simply because of the status of two people. Conversations with a boss are never quite normal. Try talking between social statuses -- neither will have any idea what to say, with the person on the low side likely to feel condescended upon while the person on top may feel indignant about being dug down by the little people. Even relationship status clouds a conversation (don't want to give the wrong vibe). But what I'm really getting at here is... what kind of idiot designed this social system? If there is any great evidence that there is no God and no intelligent design, this certainly must be a part of it. We could certainly be more productive without these barriers. But instead, we evolved as selfish creatures bound on bringing ourselves to the top and flooding the gene pool with our own genes.
And that's what we are. Genetic hoses. We exploit the system to continue the reaction because if we didn't, the reaction would stop, and the reaction is the alpha and the omega. Our raison d'être. Funny how complicated the game has become in order to continue the reaction better, faster, and stronger.
Monday, December 22, 2008
1:58AM
We often preach to children that one can get anything if he works hard enough. Randy Pausch repeatedly insisted in his "Last Lecture" that obstacles are there just to remind us of how much we want to achieve our dreams. Funny, then, that not all dreams are within reach (rather, most are not). When is it, though, that we become so calloused to this fact that we repeat the lie to our children? Know your place, little one. You'll never rule to world or marry a supermodel. Don't even think that settling for union president or marrying that one is even within reach. Learn to compromise early.
I had this discussion with my father a few weeks ago, and I think it would be most apt to put it here. Life does not defy entropy by requiring the organization of molecules but rather works within the bounds of entropy, which ultimately require that additional disorder be created. And I'll finish some other time, as I just don't feel like it now. Instead, I'll lie in bed and dream of things beyond my power.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
4:00AM
Amusingly, I read that the Stanley Milgram experiment was recently re-tested (in a rather vulgar way, I'm sure) and that the results were essentially the same. Welcome back, reality.
Fates worse than death: we universally accept that they exist, but people simply choose them over death. Does it follow, then, that we are morally malleable, or have we simply improperly evaluated the situation? Rather, I think it is the death of another which can be trivialized, but one's own death must hold more weight.
And not to leave any irony unsung, our avoidance of illness (see: Lysol) is killing us, and so is the hysteria regarding food allergies. The finger trap comes to mind. Sometimes makes me wonder just how much we are paying attention.
It seems that our modern excuse for every denigration is that "times change". Music becomes atonal, structureless nonsense? Times are just changing; you are a dinosaur. Sex with every person you come across? Times are changing, you medieval fool. Cheating others becomes our zeitgeist? My friend, we'd all be worse off if we didn't. These are the things we accept in our modern condition. We accept the categorization and compartmentalization of life. We divide the war and the warrior. We foster the schism between private and public lives. We leave work at work and home at home (and leave sleep out entirely). This is my work face, this is my relaxing face, and this is my party face. Maybe we all have dissociative identity disorder.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
5:18AM
"Just don't hook up behind your boyfriend's back. That's cheating. Maybe." The irony is that men hold themselves to overall higher standards than women (though both sexes suffer the I-can-do-no-wrong double standard).
Speaking of which, saying "I love you" during sex is now... awkward? What kind of meaning do we intend to apply to our relationships and words today? The doublethink applied to sexuality in our techno-medieval age is (dare I say it?) mildly astounding.
In Germany, I often saw posters saying "In what kind of market system do we wish to live?" (My own translation; I lack a good word for marktwirtschaft.) I wonder, though, if we can make such a choice. The decision will be made by those who have the greatest desire to excel (invariably at the expense of others). Socialized systems will always fail because there will be those who fail to do their own part and there will be those who will work toward there own betterment beyond the socialized system. In a more moderate system, those with money make the decisions (as though I had to prove that). Power begets power, et cetera. There is no choice.
Speaking of no choice, there is no free will. That's not to say that there is fate, per se. We are merely the afterthought of the subconscious. I am not entirely sure what purpose our own voices serve; we are merely diplomats for decisions made far above us. Or perhaps that is the purpose: social confluence. Mere obtuse conjecture, regardless. "I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance." Thus spoke Socrates.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
12:51AM - Piled higher and deeper.
Yes, more rubbish. Who'd'a thunk it.
Back for another Thanksgiving. It's been more than three years since I left this place. Roger expired more than a year and a half ago, and Kitty breathed her last no less than twice that ago. Come to think of it, I don't even remember when she died. I still remember her, her face, her demeanor, and so on, but I have no recollection of when that was, or when that ceased to be. The new one, Simon, resembles her in several ways, from his soft, orange-white fur to his distrust of unfamiliar faces. But the real story is Tubby. She's around 9 years old now, and she is showing her age. She's still affectionate as ever, but she is noticeably slower and less nimble. Time has not been kind to her, though I wouldn't say that time has any of our best interests at heart. Were she to live as long as a person, it would be as though I stayed with her for the first 40 years of her life, only to disappear for another 20 years. I wonder if they even think of it that way.
So, as promised, free-market socialism. Let's take a perfect competition system. Principles of economics dictate that economic profit in a free market is zero. What this actually means is that all investments return at exactly the same rate as the alternative (i.e. the opportunity cost). Across all professions, the accounting profit is the same, as they would go to a different job if the rate of return were better and the demand for the jobs would equalize. Final result: everybody makes the same amount of money. That is, perfect competition is socialism (with the almighty dollar forcing everyone to work rather than the omnipotent government). So, the point to it all is that capitalism requires inequality to for people to benefit.
You know, I'm way too tired to even get going on that. Here, have a tired fox. I'm no zoologist, but I would estimate that my anthropomorphic friend is crying. Some people creatures cry about everything, don't they?
exhaustedTuesday, November 18, 2008
11:20PM - Time, progress, and other illusions.
After several years, one might think that I'd simply lose the name and place. It was never a major project or anything at all, but somehow, years later, in and out, I return to this to write yet again for nobody. Funny, really, that the most prolific and profound writers of every generation since man ever learned to pen his penitences and pensives, since man ever designed to pass more than his genes to a future generation, likely was lost to time. Yes, time destroys the man but leaves man always intact (despite his best efforts to the contrary, of course). And so, though my work will certainly be lost (though I dare not presume to know when), here I sit. Writing. Or rather, typing -- yet more transient a form for my thoughts.
One may have to ask himself for whom the writer writes. Similarly, for whom does the painter paint or the composer compose? Is it for God? Country? Love? Man? Or is it merely for himself? Perhaps these are all one in the same: the son of Man is the son of God, the country is a country of Men, and so on. So the writer writes for himself or for God or for no-one -- the point is moot -- and expects others to see... what? I have to wonder to myself, writing to myself, as nobody will ever see this but me, why we even bother. Or, more specifically, why do I even bother? And for that matter, is it proper to assume that others would ever be so inclined? No, in too many minds, epistemology is synonymous with religion and the concept of self is adapted from a book.
People often ask themselves "what is the meaning of life?" Of course, it's a rhetorical question as no living could possibly answer it. However, I wonder how many people start with the logical precedent: "is there meaning to life?" Is there meaning to a repeating cycle of chemical reactions? Is there a meaning to adenosine triphosphate and sodium channels through a semi-permeable membrane? Too often we answer the macroscopic question without the microscopic: is there a meaning to the man who eats the fish who eat the echinoderms who eat the flagellates and ciliates who eat the bacteria who digest macro wastes on a micro scale? If the cycle repeats itself because it repeats itself -- it is, after all, entropically-advantageous -- is there a meaning to the product? If so, why? Only after determining a reason that life must have reason can we approach the question of what the meaning of life is. And to avoid sounding any more sappy, the answer is "yes" -- the meaning of life is to reproduce and continue the cycle that just began one day. Just ask women.
Stanley Milgram once devised a brilliant experiment which damn draconian ethics will never allow us to repeat. Just shock him if he doesn't get it. In the experiment, 100% of the women followed through to the death of the subject. Charles Sheridan and Richard King repeated the experiment with a real puppy. Of 26 people, 13 men and 13 women, 20 of 26 went all the way. All 6 who refused to continue were men. Stanley Milgram concluded that women functioned at a lower level of moral reasoning. Many modern psychologists (a field now dominated by females) dispute this, but I can't help but wonder. Women are, perhaps, morally inferior. By the most recent experiments, it has been found that women are more likely to kill preemptively than men, would rather kill a room full of people than their own child, and are much less willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of others. Psychologists still blame gender roles and social learning, but I have to wonder. In an age when women are treated as equals (occasionally to their chagrin), things just don't seem to change. After all, organisms with a 20-year reproductive cycle tend to evolve rather slowly.
Next time, stay tuned for Free Market Socialism: why perfect competition means socialism and why progress requires a loser.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
8:25PM
On Brazil's flag is stamped their national motto: "Ordem e Progreso" (roughly translated as order and progress). Yet, this presents one problem: the two cannot coexist indefinitely. Fear breeds order but stifles progress. Remove that element and chaos manifests within rampant progress, like an out-of-control stock market. Ultimately the progress becomes its own enemy, and fear must regain control. Likewise, fear brings order, but it cannot be entirely sustained -- given proper time to develop, fear feeds on itself and the process implodes. The two oscillate -- fear and freedom, order and progress. Neither can ever become completely dominant.
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