models are dynamic constructions achieved thru trial-and-error by the individual, the species or the society. what models represent is not the structure of the environment but its action, insofar as it has an influence on the system. they're both subjective, in the sense of being constructed by the subject for its own purposes, and objective, in the sense of being naturally selected by the environment: models which don't generate adequate predictions are likely to be eliminated. thus, the development of knowledge can best be understood as an evolutionary process characterized by variation mechanisms and selection criteria.
major religious sects syncretic hops analogous to rafts in buddha's parable + zoloft psychosis for associative neural pathways rooting ftw -- only works if u've played yahtzee as a kid
i used to think a dependent plane could create other dependent planes but ONLY with the existence of an autosufficient plane to start it all, n where n can be any number and u_n is our plane -- dependent of u_y (n > y > 0) (our God's plane/our God), as intuitive as it sounds it's still epistemically circular for every u_x / x < n
no wonder every billionaire is dumping money on AGI/AI, if it can figure out how to transfer consciousness to u_{n+1} (digital plane) u don't have to deal w unpredictable possibly terrible preset afterlife unless u_y's Creator(s) decides to manually interfer (*empirically* very unlikely...) no fucking way i'd go there tho LOL i'll take the gamble
i've been hit w waves of acedia quite often for about a decade now & the mental gymnastics i've used to cope w it backfired & shattered my sense of reality. altho i could probably piece it back together it'd render a self the actual self despises for considerably long unless i resort to sedatives; remnants of disproven yet ingrained beliefs hammer postmortem terror as i go forward + it's more of an alignment issue, unrationalizable.
for the past months i've desperately clinged to this so dear mental model, pled bitterly for guidance & hope. as it is, saturn eats its own children.
even then, years of almost daily repetition + OCD-esque feedback loop (or actual spiritual conviction?) molded me to the point i'd now sooner die than fully deny it. it's either the cruelest memeplex or something alien. true faith: i can't believe it but it's true; i feel terrible but He's here; though i don't see Him now im filled with inexpressible joy.
weird part is that i somehow self-induced terminal lucidity by believing in the death of my egregoric self, that is only not "me" solipsistically.
names and faces and locations will be similar. your memories will be intact, but they might not feel like they happened to you, exactly. if you really wanted to, you could try pretending that nothing happened. but you will not be able to fully shake the sense that things are not at all the same, and they'll never be the same. everything might seem more saturated or more translucent or somehow fuller or some other change that you're not quite sure how to describe using language. you might feel something that you will call happiness, but you know that isn't the right word. it's something more solid and much less human. strange things will happen, just often enough to keep you from forgetting.
the world ceaselessly revolves in hedonic splendor. each and every day a painful luminescence
scorches the retinas of my aimlessly wandering eyes. there's an emptiness in the pit of my
stomach that no amount of food will ever fill, and my eyes search hungrily for the satisfaction of
that abominable yearning that is the hard skeletal core of human existence.
i no longer pay much mind to these eyes of mine, whirling around in my skull like the oracular
pyramid in a magic eight ball, wildly scanning and probing the landscape for something I can't
define. But this is all mechanical, the robotic movement of a million years of pointless evolution.
i am the reverberations in God's eardrums of a loud and abrasive noise. an unwelcome noise, like
a cold steel pipe falling unexpectedly from the scaffolding of a reconstructed church into the
unforgiving concrete below. the pipe falls and strikes the ground with cataclysmic force, missing
the skull of a hapless near-victim by the width of a hair. and in that instance, the universe is born
again.
there is no beginning in time, no end, only eternal summersaults. the longer it stretches the
dizzier we become, until one day we fall over in the grass laughing and maybe vomiting a little.
i have my consolations, yet i only ever play at being consoled. the existential terror is only ever
glazed over, lightly hidden like a coin in the sand, waiting to be uncovered again by a misplaced
step. yet unlike a coin, this terror annihilates me. it splits me in half and dissolves me in sulphuric
acid. there is no way to deal with it. that is why the light in my eyes is artificial, like a 60watt
LED hue bulh shifting through its phases of RGB in predetermined monotony, while the only real
thing is the darkness in which that light is forever consumed. I crave oblivion and yet this light won't stop glaring
malevolently through the drapes. i cannot for the life of me figure out how to black out the room.
light is too tenacious, it always finds the cracks and illuminates these forms that crowd my soul.
when will dissolution come? but it has come .... too many times to count. yet every time it has
come, it has soon after left. after annihilation is always the cheerful reassembly of this complex
and unfathomable structure we think of as "reality", and yet its substance only lies in the fact that
we are here to observe it. without my presence, none of this would exist. or would it? would it
even matter if it did? not to me. but who am I? nothing i can put my finger on. "i" is as elusive
as a black panther in the thick jungle on a moonless night. and just as vicious as well. it will
pounce like lightning and rip your open stomach. it will gnaw on your entrails as your other-
worldly scream is drown out by the blood filling your lungs. it is the big Lie, the one no one told
you about, and that is why it is so inescapably effective.
simple solutions are never exercised. we want the
hard answers, so that we can try until our face turns red and our eyes pop out of their sockets,
and right before we solve the riddle, every fucking time, we collapse. we hurl the puzzle, two
pieces shy of completion, across the room and proclaim that we "need a nap and will give it
another shot later".
later comes, but our hair is now gray and the puzzle still sits unfinished on the coffee table while
we speak to old friends of degenerative diseases and our preferences for various brands of blood
pressure medication.
God speaks thru me but that means i'm in the way.
breaking up w her due to long-lineage history of logographic language epigenetically lowering scion VCI ceiling
God's 1st act of love was data curation & we lost it (kicked off the garden) by eating the fruit
He gave us a second chance w the Bible & people started mixing it w reason LOL -- no wonder Thomas Aquinas called his writings "straw"
if a former delinquent son who was disciplined & helped by his loving dad called his dad every day for years w joy for his new life couldn't contact him anymore, asked his brethren & had no answer, & screamed from the rooftops in search of him sold all that he hath to buy a train ticket to his father's house, would his father open the door? and if he didn't, was the son ever loved at all?
thinking about watching TEOFTW S1 on netflix party w *redacted* back in 2018
thinking about tempering huzuni w darkcomet payload (ran off pagekite bc couldn't open port without telling parents) & opening anabelle jumpscare site + troianos bat script to some random sandbox back in skype days while grinning mischievously
thinking about macarraocookie big luckyblock map
thinking about GOEC's winged eye poast
thinking about 1st time skating
thinking about stargazing in Grupo Dia's parking lot
thinking about rainy day on 1st day as scout
thinking about Kinsey Eisert (nefertiti)
thinking about f_{n+1} (meta+neuralink)
thinking about mayaka o9a eric kinny sam hyde bill biney ghost lemurs of madagascar
thinking about hoodied rusczyk penguingm1 evan chen
thinking about przetwarzanie sygnałów w praktyce
thinking about von neumann's last rites
thinking about hollingworth's study
thinking about rt physics genius oneshotted by luana teaching me calibre to read sagan's slop @ 12 (he made it to ipho)
thinking about YOU <3
k(x) is generally uncomputable because we can't guarantee that a program will stop when we're checking if it correctly generates the string. the bright side is that we can come up w computable "entropies" or descriptional complexities for computable computation structures like polynomials, decision trees, and finite automata. these can serve as objective functions for adaptive or "learning" algorithms that build such computing structures -- i.e "fitness functions" in genetic programming. in general,
h = structural entropy + remaining sample entropy
for instance, when fitting a k-degree polynomial w precision d:
h(k,d) = kd + theta(log kd) + sum(over all points i) s * (f(x) - yi)^2)
where s is a "scaling constant".
a binary decision tree that best represents a relational database:
h = # nodes in tree + # bits in inconsistent examples
when it comes to game strategies, the number of states in a finite state machine that outlines the strategy is used as a measure of "bounded rationality" in game theory. a more precise measure would include the fsm's time and space costs, along w its learnability cost, but the latter often takes precedence and isn't well defined by machine learning theory; the number of states serves as a rough estimate of how hard it is for an agent to learn the strategy.
ref: Ming Li & Paul Vitanyi, An Introduction to Kolmogorov Complexity and Its Applications
intelligent discourse is nutrient-dense communication, that's why u can communicate w a dummy by lowering information throughput, but can't raise bandwidth to communicate w spirits, or the changing seasons, as equal. man can bark like a dog, but a dog can't speak like a man
if u are unique, you've no choice but to live uniquely.
u may very well pretend not to be, sputter out whatever is expected of you to ensure company, and do whatever people around want you to, but it'll drive you into psychosis + schizophrenia.
to live otherwise is heart hardening -- pharisaic, even. focus on what's real or you'll always feel empty, life isn't meant to be a performance.
this is how relationships die and turn into boring dopaminergic exchange fueled by panem et circenses. there can be no possible love in something assembled out of vanity + convenience, instead of one built from the insane intimacy of fully displaying ur soul to someone & being reciprocated.
it's how people in hostile spaces end up backing themselves into a social corner so hard they get led into brutal social exile. piranhas can smell blood in the water, and people will descend on you like a hawk -- the honest man can say anything & get away w it. the dishonest man says nothing & gets punished for it.
Luke 12:48 is only a comforting verse if u don't overthink stuff, terrifying for high-functioning autists tho. i think the soul ages differently from the body, amplifying both my compassion and my suffering; the reason being receiving the thought rather than the thought itself.
there's no reason to subjugate the Truth, coterminous w beauty + often validated post-hoc, to the "truth" shackled to the criteria of rationality
Алеет Осень Ценными Дарами,
Еще Один Животворящий День.
Хлеба Червонят Желтыми Шнурами,
Хрустальных Вод Философична Сень.
Два Вечера Цеплявшиеся Шишки
Артист Писал, Бездонна Синева.
Дорожный Шлак Целуют Червячишки,
Еще Покрыта Флоксами Трава.
Дымится Чай Эффектней Шоколада,
Фарфоры Чашек Достаются Трем,
Блондинке Девушка Дана Отрада
Форшмак Делить Холодным Острием.
Жена, Толкая Хилую Подругу,
Желает Сняться Этим Выходным,
Ценя Сама Арктическую Вьюгу,
Бросает Шар Арбуза Четверым.
Цикад Пяток, Едва Чревовещая,
Дарует Дрему Фикусам Окна.
Хотя Довольны Жаждавшие Чая,
Хозяин Шумно Жертвует Вина.
Фокстротами Шесть Девушек Пленились,
Эстрадных Танцев Фантастичней Па,
Едва Ступающий Цыпленок Вылез,
А Селезень Блуждающий Пропал.
Алеет Тело Бронзовой Осины,
Царит Теней Ажурная Длина.
Беззвучней, Чем Автомобиля Шины,
Болоту Ветер Дарит Семена.
Transient Information: Telephone calls or data messages in progress; present
state of all lines, junctors, and trunks in the
office.
Generic Program: The operating intelligence of the system. It
controls actions like line and trunk scanning,
setting up and taking down connections, etc.
Parameter Table: Informs the generic program of the size and makeup of
the office. This information includes equipment
items (frames and units), call store allocation (call
registers, hoppers, queues, etc.) and office options
(days AMA tapes will be switched, etc.).
Translation Information: Day to day changeable info which is accessed by
translator programs. Also includes form tables,
lists called "translators" which are linked in an
hierarchical pattern.
ref: Engineering and Operations in the Bell System; Basic Concepts of Translation
Hans Eysenck regarded creativity as an aspect of the Psychoticism trait.
Working more recently, British psychologist Daniel Nettle’s review of the psychological literature has shown that certain personality traits and indeed most personality psychologists nowadays regard Openness as the characteristic trait of a creative person.
We favour the older concept of Psychoticism as a better description of creativity – and we have derived the Endogenous personality from Eysenck’s analysis. However, we have departed from Eysenck by emphasizing that the high Endogenicity variable is rooted in group adaptiveness, and not in individual pathology. Also, we focus on a brain specialized by an innate inner-ness of orientation as the basis of the personality trait cluster; whereas Eysenck explained higher Psychoticism in terms of a broader field of associations.
Our reason for our preference and emphasis for rejecting the currently dominant explanation of creativity by Openness and our advocacy of a development of the older idea of Psychoticism; is that Openness and Psychoticism (Endogenous personality) are at opposite ends of the General Factor Personality dimension: Openness is pro-social and Psychoticism/ Endogenous is a-social.
In other words, Openness type creativity is a response from a conscientious and empathic person to social demands or needs; while Psychoticism/ Endogenous creativity comes from the inner and innate drive of someone substantially indifferent to current societal self-awareness, knowledge and roles.
As such, we would suggest that ‘creative’ is not what you ‘do’ but what you ‘are.’
ref: Bruce G. Charlton
Be liberal about what you accept.
Be definite about what you accept.
Treat inputs as language, accept it with matching power, generate its recognizer from its grammar.
Treat input-handling power as privilege, and reduce it whenever possible.
ref: langsec
Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
Cheshire Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.
Alice: I don’t much care where.
Cheshire Cat: Then it doesn’t much matter which way you go.
Alice: So long as I get somewhere.
Cheshire Cat: Oh, you’re sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.
ref: Alice in Wonderland
babe, my unnatural degree of restlessness yearns for our William Tell act
dude u don't get it!!! the most entertaining outcome IS the most likely!!!! how do i know that??? musk razor bro!!!! deleuzoguattarianism!! gnostic calvinism!!!! bible as hyperstition!!!! read up on it!!! immanentize the eschaton, catalyze the singularity, & accelerate!!!! what?? wdym theo-anthropomorphism??? epistemic circularity??? retrocausality??? nonsequitur xenologics??? thats just drivel u permanent underclass freak!!!!
im not sleep deprived! i'm mimicking heightened dopamine state (via adenosine) & increasing subconscious behaviour imprinting 4 everlasting habit acquisition!! u wouldn't get it tho
swarmed by sapiophilic young millennial thots post roadsec kids' performance to be taught about ivf donor fees; not today, termagant
it was dusk when tebow found he had erred. he and the roommates agreed it was he who must go. at some point, things had been done in the wrong order. he had begun by modeling the individual as an extrapolating stateful functor operating on an n-dimensional experiential field when perhaps he should have started by modeling society as an interpolating stateless operating function of a time-varying random variable. in any case, tebow had been weighed in the balances and was found wanting, and a punishment of death in exile was found suitable for the crime. his first-principles approach wasn’t first-principles enough -- he may have found the root cause but he didn’t find the root cause of the root cause, and what use is that!!
the home state? i cannot describe it at all. it is possible that it does not exist. but they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from tebow.
