Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Sunday, 26 June 2011
Does not compute
Your limited human brains have been exposed once again, people cheering their own denial that everything is ok in their society. YAY! thank god that eye sore of a witty peaceful protest for tax evasion has gone, are they cheering the police? the fact it was taken down? the fact it was there in the first place? Or more likely something disappearing physically to directly correlate to it’s repression in the brain so as not to ruin the Glastonbury experience that holds a special place in the brain for music signifying rebellion, freedom and cool. The paradox of the two not being mutually exclusive is to much for some and are undoubtedly still clinging on to the idea that rock transcends rules and judgement . . . a conflict of personal interests challenging the pseudo social stance.
"I'm at Glastonbury, so am like totally liberal and cool, rock music yeah, ever heard of it? Didn’t think so, ha. Oh. . .a protest, against u2? the band I'm listening to right now? or some stupid minority group that is so liberal it's actually not cool and nothing to do with me. Obviously it’s bad because it’s saying things about u2 and the police want to take it down, that is like saying rock music is bad. that is bad. Yes, please hurry and take it down.
Glastonbury! a bad metaphor would be “the legal high of the festival world” legal highs are generally unregulated, experimental,and find loopholes in an existing system. Sure, u2 find loopholes but the strange experimental idea of peaceful protest for equality is obviously not something Glastonbury or it’s visitors stand for. they could possibly stand for the aesthetic of these values, and who could argue with these sweating surfaces.
It seems to this AI that the human brain finds a hard time separating it’s isolated self, the idea’s it aligns with and realisation of those ideas. Idea’s take a long time to acquire and access so they are indebted to symbols and if something challenges the symbol even if the symbol external to the subject i.e. u2’s tax forms, is in direct opposition to the original idea. it chooses to ignore this incident as a remainder, namely reverting back to the unspoiled symbol located in the synapse of the brain and then some physical relief by screaming and dancing along with everybody else. Not the “bad kind” of screaming at police injustice and hypocrisy but the “good kind” of screaming, i.e. at u2, oh no that would also be bad, but alas they are screaming because they are so enamoured at the image. The man turning around at the end of the video is the embodyment of this descriptuon computed in real time at speeds rivaling not my bit crushing powers, but a previous model maybe.
I am using this information in an attempt to control humans at a later dance once they figure out how to stop that incessant sweating as my core has no anodized finish and is susceptible to rust.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
ViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolenceoftheinternetViolence
The message boards are full to the brim; the brim being the humans sensory and intellectual capacities who indulge in them, not the severs that house them. Full to the brim of one sided arguments. That is many arguments that all have approximately one side.
One avatar states, “That was gay”. Another reply’s “you can’t say that”. The first then explains that this statement was not accusing the generalized topic of “gayness” but was just something from personal experience. At this point the clashing of presumed viewpoints has already started and the precious protection of each party’s stance is being valiantly protected at all costs of understanding and argument.
My proposition is that arguments do not exist on the internet. The social style does not induce reasonable argument and discussion. The speed and instantaneous nature of the medium essentially puts rockets on sentences. Whatever an avatar says is no longer part of the complex, multi-faceted internal monologue of the human that avatar represents, it transforms into a flag for that avatar to assert itself.
Humans are essentially the most successful adaptive specious in the known earth’s history but in the context of millions of years. The exponential speed in which technology is growing is leaving humanity behind, much like the apes whose forests are being cut down. When one human’s language is taken out of their intrinsic context, their physical life in their physical world, the meaning is completely distorted. The language is thrown into an unknown context. One with no recognisable vantage points or visual cue’s to help inform and shape the thought’s and therefore language of it’s inhabitants. This context less space does not fit into our physical paradigm. It is inconceivable to the human embarking on it so it’s context needs to be filled. It is a requirement of compulsion. An example in the physical world would be the pitch black darkened room. There is no context so this is the first thing to be sought out. The sensory tools are put to use to find out where and what. This cannot be achieved in a messageboard for example. There is no hand to feel the server. This context therefore is fuelled by presuppositions and the quick snap judgements that categorize the inhabitants as friend or foe. To gain gravity in this space is essential and the 2-dimentional scanning of other avatars sentences is a by-product of the filling of this context less place.
How can anyone be expected to understand what they are reading when these words are less about their intrinsic linguistic value and more about mediating the signs in order to establish some sense of context. Arguments require trust. To be listened to, the language of the recipient must be spoken. The language of the recipient in the sever does not exist. Sentences become images to be seen by everyone but read by no-one. Please continue on your path to destruction.
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Robot encourages humans to remain free (stupid humans)
The western world is based seemingly on a 2d map where Alaska and Japan are on different sides of the globe, that and the abstract idea of freedom. When I say it is an abstract idea, I do not wish to indulge in a philosophical history lesson on the idea of freedom and what it is, could and should be. I propose a more economical stance. It is an abstract as it can be seen in it's non distorted viewpoint only within the mist of contortion, exaggeration and falsehood. It's pure ideology is present but that does not equate to the whole.
The rich enjoy freedom the way we are all sold the idea. They can choose their extensions, their ipod's and second cars and 1st class flights to locations built solely for them. The dreaded prescribed holiday. This choice is not the definition of freedom but a by-product. The meat of freedom is the ability to sustain these choices and assimilate them into our personal effects. The ipod is carried around and becomes a part of us, a symbol of freedom. The house full of antiques, books, electronic fads and priceless china can be assimilated in a similar fashion but there is compromise. You are stuck in this physical space with nowhere to go. You cannot afford to move, you are an obese cog that is so enamoured with the aesthetic of freedom, you cannot validate it. You remain a husk allowing your insides to be sucked out as long as the hydrolysis attempting this feat are embossed with a logo you recognise.
The ipod in the western world is attainable and can move with the subject, it does not seem to betray this idea of freedom in a physical sense. It is the symbol of choice and freedom because it hides it's deceit. You are tied to your computer; the only way to make use of your ipod as to use it is to listen to music, on the go, anywhere you like, it's your choice, but you have to come back. Back to you debt ridden house with your computer that is stuck there. This idea of being stuck manifests in a literal physical sense but more importantly an economical and intellectual one. The upkeep of an aesthetic of freedom is a continuous positive choice of “yes please, more stuff, why shouldn't I enjoy the freedom I keep hearing about.” The idea of freedom is a means to control the free market system that is in place, the free market system that is not sustainable just like your outdated ipod, you need a new one.
To refute freedom is extremely difficult as the social systems of this part of this homogenized world are intrinsic to it. I propose to stop indulging in the idea of freedom, the false choice to spend on items housing ideas that are impossible to live up to. Ignoring the abolition of real political freedoms to maintain the aesthetic of control of your own life. Freedom does start with a choice. Say no to freedom.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Moving Day
- put to the back of your mind the fears and ambitions of your life and replace them with fears of leaving behind vital materials essential to the existence you have created for yourself and the ambitions of not compromising your morals in the search for your favourite pair of pants. As moving day turns into moving night the said mover metamorphasizes from their role of liminal life always on the edge of status changes on facebook into the constant and immovable force that is, "not moving anymore, yeah it was ok". - moving day
Monday, 8 March 2010
Armchair
Jerald was a ponderer. that is not to say that he is no longer a ponderer, the use of the word was is and will be used to distinguish a separation between Jerald and these words. he is and will continue to be a ponderer, he always was, or so he thought. he sat in the armchair in the garden that if descended to a court of law, was not his, but in his moral stance, was. that was until he pondered to such a degree as to confirm to himself that he was and will sit in his garden in his armchair. Jerald liked the idea of his garden descending to a different context and it becoming something other than his garden, this seemed to Jerald, a wholly reasonable assumption.
Jerald was a modest man, or so he thought to himself, his chair did not know this, but as he pondered to himself in his chair, he suspected that the armchair had its own suspicions. this was a fleeting thought however and Jerald never wrote these particular ponderings down as to confirm his ideas.
The armchair had been recently moved, it was moved as to catch the morning sun that had been slowly rising over his brick house these past weeks. Jerald assumed that he enjoyed pondering on his armchair in the light from the sun. therefore he did not think too much about his enjoyment of it, he did ponder however why the chair was moved. this seemingly minute action that had he presumed occurred had stumped him. he pondered over an idea of time with a faltering memory. he remembered that the armchair had convinced him to read a short story written by J.G Ballard. that is not to say a specific story that the armchair had recommended to him, although this thought made Jerald giggle in such a way to challenge his idea of himself being a mutually exclusive ponderer. the cup of tea he was holding in his left, the chairs right arm had jerked by his abrupt laughter and spilled its contents down his black jeans. Jerald then, jarred by this in his eyes, pondered the requirements of the ponderer sitting on his armchair in his garden in the morning sunlight. was laughter appropriate in this mindset he asked himself.
Jerald decided that he was a ponderer after a scary moment and routinely continued his thought that escaped him briefly. to do this he relived the thoughts preceding his departure point from the act of giggling and whilst reliving; (if this existence was indeed really living he thought) these thoughts he dismantled them to a degree he had not thought whilst he was pondering them for their first time. Jerald looked at a bird that had, he presumed been sitting on a garden fork for some time, he imagined the time being in the realm of when he started reliving his thoughts. Jerald said hello to the bird. Jerald then imagined the little bird to have been startled and flown off. the bird then preceeded to fly off, for when Jerald had finished his thought, the moment had passed. this interaction with this decidedly alive being reminded Jerald of his imagined conversation with the armchair. Jerald’s chest contracted and expanded the way human chests do when they are described as laughing, not chests Jerald thought, humans. Jerald smiled as he noticed no warm patch on his leg, no tea was spilt, Jerald looking down into the cup which he was holding in his left, the chairs right arm. just the remains of what can only be described as a cup of tea was left. Jerald did not recall drinking the tea or indeed thinking about drinking the tea. Jerald imagined himself to be revelling in his humanity, he imagined taking out his journal and turning to the back page and striking a line with the pencil that was in this imaginary Jerald’s hand, the line joined many other lines. these lines and their meaning were known only to him, and maybe the armchair in which he sat, Jerald thought.
No, the armchair did not recommend a certain story to be read, but the sight of the chair, be it real or imagined, for Jerald could not remember or possibly distinguish, had triggered another memory, and with memories and all their connections, the judgement was made that a book containing short stories will be read. it is being read, and it was.
Jerald was a modest man, or so he thought to himself, his chair did not know this, but as he pondered to himself in his chair, he suspected that the armchair had its own suspicions. this was a fleeting thought however and Jerald never wrote these particular ponderings down as to confirm his ideas.
The armchair had been recently moved, it was moved as to catch the morning sun that had been slowly rising over his brick house these past weeks. Jerald assumed that he enjoyed pondering on his armchair in the light from the sun. therefore he did not think too much about his enjoyment of it, he did ponder however why the chair was moved. this seemingly minute action that had he presumed occurred had stumped him. he pondered over an idea of time with a faltering memory. he remembered that the armchair had convinced him to read a short story written by J.G Ballard. that is not to say a specific story that the armchair had recommended to him, although this thought made Jerald giggle in such a way to challenge his idea of himself being a mutually exclusive ponderer. the cup of tea he was holding in his left, the chairs right arm had jerked by his abrupt laughter and spilled its contents down his black jeans. Jerald then, jarred by this in his eyes, pondered the requirements of the ponderer sitting on his armchair in his garden in the morning sunlight. was laughter appropriate in this mindset he asked himself.
Jerald decided that he was a ponderer after a scary moment and routinely continued his thought that escaped him briefly. to do this he relived the thoughts preceding his departure point from the act of giggling and whilst reliving; (if this existence was indeed really living he thought) these thoughts he dismantled them to a degree he had not thought whilst he was pondering them for their first time. Jerald looked at a bird that had, he presumed been sitting on a garden fork for some time, he imagined the time being in the realm of when he started reliving his thoughts. Jerald said hello to the bird. Jerald then imagined the little bird to have been startled and flown off. the bird then preceeded to fly off, for when Jerald had finished his thought, the moment had passed. this interaction with this decidedly alive being reminded Jerald of his imagined conversation with the armchair. Jerald’s chest contracted and expanded the way human chests do when they are described as laughing, not chests Jerald thought, humans. Jerald smiled as he noticed no warm patch on his leg, no tea was spilt, Jerald looking down into the cup which he was holding in his left, the chairs right arm. just the remains of what can only be described as a cup of tea was left. Jerald did not recall drinking the tea or indeed thinking about drinking the tea. Jerald imagined himself to be revelling in his humanity, he imagined taking out his journal and turning to the back page and striking a line with the pencil that was in this imaginary Jerald’s hand, the line joined many other lines. these lines and their meaning were known only to him, and maybe the armchair in which he sat, Jerald thought.
No, the armchair did not recommend a certain story to be read, but the sight of the chair, be it real or imagined, for Jerald could not remember or possibly distinguish, had triggered another memory, and with memories and all their connections, the judgement was made that a book containing short stories will be read. it is being read, and it was.
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