Omens

I think about, because while I don't subscribe to a supernatural vision of the world, I acknowledge the effect of the world on my narrative. Which is...I don't know, extranatural or transnatural, something like that. I can ascribe significance to events that they don't...

OK, never mind. This will be more appropriate for here.

BUT...the point is that I've experienced countless moments lately, where/when I've dropped something, and then promptly caught it on the way down. Lots of them, more than two dozen in the last few weeks. It's a fucking trope at this point. And it's saying something, right? To me, from me. Saying something.

Oily

Every Wednesday I emerge into the hollow darkness of my living room. All the lights are off, have to make my way by touch and memory. My roommate sleeps in the living room-all I can hear are his soft snores, maybe the rustle of my heavy-footed cats.

I'm headed for here, for my metacortex, my window. I can see it dimly in the corner, all our tools' lights flicker like a constellation. And then my monitor goes white, like a sun, just for me.

Problems

I want a good universal metric of risk.

I want open-source objects.

I want gene hacking.

I want open-source laws.

I want hypertransparent government. And markets, now that we're talking about it.

I want meat in a vat.

I want geoengineering.

I want metamaterials.

I want guns that shoot from the sea into space.

I want AR.

...

And I'll get it, all of it. You guys can have some too.

Tu Madre

First of a cruel month, no crueler tho. It's been thick, rich. Deep and dark, and warm. Blood warm.

Lots of interlocution, lots of interlocutors. Too much charm, too little pretty. And time, never enough time.

Which do we like better, clade-infovore, datavore, infotarian? If I consume a lot of data, how can I identify myself, what word can I use?

Bioaccessible

Isn't a fucking word. I've been chemical, biological. Ill and winded and wounded.

...and the Formidable Clown

I ate pie* at 1:59 today. Some of you know why. Some of you'll know why later.

By the end of this, maybe, or before you drift off to sleep. Some of you will never know, and don't ask, 'cause I'm not telling. Mysteries and secrets, the unlocked door that's more interesting than the locked one. I'm full of data, full of truth-even when it's an outrageous lie.

As I evolve, grow and die and emerge. On the brink of myself. As I think about the questions and problems (is there a better word?)...once I would have kept myself to myself for my benefit. The asymmetry of information where I know what you don't, and can use that to my advantage.

I don't believe in that. In the asymmetry of information in general, but certainly for myself. How can you do what's best(for you) with me if you don't have a clear picture of what I am? If you're only working with a couple of facets, some small slice?

There are upsides to this. It doesn't make me any less confusing though, which is unfortunate. My lies are more digestible than my unfiltered truths? Sigh.


*Blood Orange Meringue

Hearkeners

Fuck those guys, and their before.

I've installed Windows 7, I've taken the cat to the vet. Tonight I'll make naan and dhal, and clean the house. Glenn Beck's on in a moment.

I don't believe in luck...

Wish me something.

Revolting or Revolving

I've decided to begin organizing to defeat the Hegemony. Who's in?

Gnomoncloture

So, it's occurred to me, or I've articulated, or I feel like I should explain...

Let me start over.

So, let's say that there's two of all of you. There's you, the person you are when you get up, your knowledge and experience, your senses, and the self-improving algorithm that is your sentience and consciousness.

This is how I think of myself, by the way, so I'm just guessing your experience is much the same. I acknowledge that this may not be true(or that it is, but you don't articulate it the way I do). Some of you are probably demons, droids, lifeless automatons. Still...

So that's you, YOU. Your you.That's fine.

The you that I interact with, the you that I have...that's a simulation, an idea. A complex collection of remembered interactions and simulated outcomes based on those interactions. It's you...but my imperfect, inaccurate idea of you. And it is inaccurate, imperfect, incomplete. Our beliefs and experiences are all totally different. We want different things, believe different things. We use different words for the same things, the same word for radically different ones. My blue is not your blue.

I can't know your motives, your secrets, your beliefs. Those things are you, the origins and authors of the behaviors that are the only parts of you I can know. I can only know your output. Even those of you that I spend a lot of time with...you're different all the time. Like I am.

Frankly, I can barely keep track of myself on a day-to-day basis. What hope do I have of genuinely knowing any of you enough to judge, or anticipate, or expect? It's hopeless (grin), so I don't. Or I try not to, which is sort of where this is going.

...

Most of you have names, names you were given. Those names are symbols, right? Like "sandwich" isn't literally a sandwich, so "Steve" or "Wilma" aren't literally the persons they label...names are handles (aha!), tools I can use in my head and out of it to understand and address you. But they're like my simulation, like any symbol. They're not what they symbolize. And while I recognize the simplicity and the necessity of that symbolism(can't have my head full of sandwiches)...like so many other things, I think that I need to acknowledge the failure of that system in order to function optimally.

Investigate what is, not what pleases.

I give everyone names-nicknames, hobo names, names you never hear. Names that are things, or places, or notions. Names that aren't words as such-those are hard, weird things. I do it because I like to, because I'm good at naming things. But I do it too, to reflect myself in the way that you're labeled, to give you a glimmer of me. And, I do it because it's confusing, because if I don't nail you down, don't pigeonhole you, then I keep myself from believing that my model is anything like you. Because it isn't.