Daedalus

I'm a fiend. I'm a devilish incarnation of spite and hatred. I have long black scales and a fine covering of ash colored hair. I take pleasure in the pain of others. I snicker at the chaos that unfolds before my eyes. The struggles of honest men are my comedies. Tragedy is my favorite pastime.

I see a flowing river of cool clean water, a mountain stream breaking itself amongst the limestone and wet earth. I see pure green foliage sucking that deep moist life from the edges, a garnish on the naturalistic banquet. Like children they come, innocent and helpless, visual imagery and bucolic intoxication.

The rocks are the young men of the hillside, hearty and bold. With rough-hewn edges and obtuse textures they populate the incline, ignoring any semblance of solidarity or order. And yet they are in harmony, planted like seeds in the field, aligned with the grace of chaos.

A crystal pool parallels the sky, and like a mirror it returns the sight of the beauteous heavens. Unfathomable depths contain hidden wonders, or perhaps sinking blankets of blackest murk.

And then there are the automatons. The civil people of this wilderness. They make imitation caves for shelter, hardening the elements of the earth in the sun, forging the iron cores of stone into metals and ores. Like joyous ants they scurry along their grids of activity, swirling patterns of perceived relevance.

Their heads are swirling chemicals and organic mush, and miraculously they obtain consciousness. A twisted sort of meaning made of metaphors and edifices of reason. Like the pistons and engines of the east, they are driven forward by an indescribable force.

I can hear the pounding of the underground soul, the music at the world's core. It’s a solid beat pushing a bittersweet melody in a rickshaw, round wooden wheels clacking and clattering on the cobblestone street way. A turn in the path drives through a mulling crowd of automatons, grimacing in horror yet grinning nonetheless. But we are through, one harmony, eyes closed and erased vision, find that fantasy.

Out of the city and into the forest, waterfalls of hatred spilling down. The trees are ancient beings of otherworldly greatness, bark like the parchment of a thousand tomes. Their black skin seeps with love for the earth, baked in the soot from the skies. I begin to cry with uttermost pity for their kind, and wish to see their limbs torn apart into chairs and tables and playthings. Their kind will silently suffer, blemished and faltering, and they will fall. I will see to it.

Disease like a rising tide seeps into the forest. A black scum of filth coats the forest floor and gums up the waterworks and streams. Rocks melt to gelatin, dirty pathetic things. Lazy and incompetent automatons are sucked into the slow maelstrom of disgust and are melted away. My domain is a bubbling cauldron of meaninglessness and despair.

The automatons do not believe in death. In their twisted minds, they will not be destroyed, but be remade. A great creator, which transfixed the motions of their madness, will wait for them till the end. No laughter of mine can match the insanity of such a notion. Like the dark stone and flowing water, they too will be slowly consumed and digested in my maw. My putrid belly will bulge from my gluttonous feast. Flesh will coat my horrible visage, and the maggots of decay will sing. Like a grinding pulse, the oceanic symphony of the earthen depths, all will meld into homogenous brown.

I welcome you to continue your pathetic plights, foolish conquests and feeble economies. Like automatons, your society of machines will march to the edge of the cliff and fall into the fire. I await the day when like bloated bacteria, your societal excrement will clog your aqueducts and roadways. I await the day when the monumental stagnancy becomes a ferocious crumble.

On that day devils will worship and reclaim the earth.

I was languishing in my bed at the tail end of an afternoon nap, winamp streaming out the chillout channel of an internet radio station. I was in a half-dreamlike state, letting the pulse of the music flow over me in my bed like aural silk. I was also thinking over the requirements of a group projects - flash games for medical education. Teetering on the edge between consciousness and sleep, it was if I was a half-step behind my own thoughts. My control of them seemed assured, but it was if I had climbed up out of the boiling cauldron of my thinking mind.

Slowly I was exploring the architecture of our web games, flying through needed structures and functionality. "We'll need a pathway in the flash code to communicate with the backend database, realized in php code." "We'll need to dynamically load animated gifs based on opcodes embedded in the relational data for each game mode." "We'll align the user interface into panels and information flow will be unified."

Each precept wasn't vocalized, more like visualized as an orb of wisdom and truth matching needs. I wasn't totally conscious, and perhaps not even correct in my musings.

And then I closed up the box, wrapped up my maintenance and construction of the internals. It was time to view the final product, and do a demo. A female voice spoke, and I had been anticipating it.

"We're going to play a game."

It took me a tic to parse the reality of the situation, and another handful of seconds to pull my mind together and crawl out of the haze. I was transfixed in the marvel of my own mind. The voice had come from the mp3 stream, a haunting female recording probably from some 50s TV show. Yet from the first syllable of "We're", the entire meaning of the sentence had been incorporated into my dreamy mind. I could almost see the speaker past the corner of the desk where the manifestation of our webgame lay.

Of course these are mere metaphors in text to describe the ethereal process of thinking. But a variable easy enough to ascertain while thinking is whether a chuck of info "fits" with the rest, or is complete random and wrong. In this case, that female voice fit fine.

This brings me to two points:

"The Incorporation of Stimuli"
The wonder of the brain is that it incorporates the vast multitude of stimula into relationships. Unlike a rational database, which stores the absolute representation of discrete data, perhaps the brain stores a thought pattern that can be used to derive a piece of data, using other relationships as parameters.

Often, when I'm attempting to think of a word to describe something, I know the feeling and meaning of the word. I also know strange, completely arbitrary words or concepts that "link" me to the word I want. Sometimes I'm at a complete loss for the word I want, but often after a minute or two, it suddenly pops into my head. This illustrates the theory: the meaning of the word is the formula; the other random data act as parameters or relations to construct the word.

I really have no clue whether the actual word was stored somewhere in my brain, with its own pronunciation and dictionary definition. Perhaps groups of neurons act as a diverse filter for audio input, returning true or false based on if I recognize the word - have heard it before. Other filters of neurons act in the same way - filtering a feeling or meaning construct into a word or group of words.

The point is: the brain uses elaborate schematics to incorporate every possible stimulus into the set of meaning and memory. Of course we don’t remember every instant of our lives, and we don’t have to rationally filter out the fluff. All that occurs automatically and naturally.

"The Illusion of Meaning"
This is brings me to my opening story. My dream had been manipulated instantly in my mind to incorporate the outside stimulus of the woman's voice. Meaning had existed before rational parsing of it had occurred. In fact, dreams stand as a reminder that meaning is outside of conscious control whatsoever, given the oftentimes insane logic of dreams. Perhaps intuition is merely one of the filters I spoke of above.

Many times I'll be dreaming when the alarm begins to blare, and yet I don’t wake up. I can hear it in my sleep, and it takes on a face in the dream. Perhaps I am trapped in a maze or nightmarish complex attempting to find an alarm to cut off the retched noise. Sometimes I know that I'm sleeping, yet in my dream I stand up and turn off the alarm - only to find out its impossible to cut off.

Much like Freudian psychology - often the filter of meaning incorporates precepts of reason or social standards. But I'm not interested in psychology - I find the computation of neurology far more interesting.

Where do we go from the standards above? For me, one conclusion is that the mind is most certainly computationally possible. There is no magic amongst the gray matter.

Yet the old way of linear scientific thinking - solving problems with math - probably wont work to model the brain. Even modern computers work in a linear fashion - a single chunk of computation is done at a time. Neural networks attempt to models the supposed physical structure of the brain - yet they treat all neurons as blank slates.

Personally I believe the human brain comes hardwired with a number of computational tools - which contribute to the above principles.

And I think the driving force of consciousness is important. Selectively weighting sets and chunks of neural data is vitally important. Such a forced imbalance prevents equilibrium, and maintains the internal illusion of "thinking" rather than just reacting like a state machine.

Is consciousness quantized? If consciousness is merely what's contained on a set of neurons, the question is raised - they can only do so much over a certain amount of time. The rest of the brain is thinking away, and consciousness can't keep up. It must selectively choose what to hold onto for each quanta of thought.

In closing, perhaps these filters of the brain are like the elaborate patterns created by artificial life simulation, the original rule being the initial protein synthesis by DNA. Do the rules themselves have any meaning at all, or are they simply the rules that led to intelligence in humans? Personally, I don’t believe brain size has anything to do with intelligence, nor density of neural connections. The filters have to be there for thinking to work – and thus we got lucky as a species, evolutionarily stumbling across those DNA “rules” for a thinking mind.

Here's a very interesting essay about Neoconservativism, both from the context of Reagan and Bush.

http://www.everything2.com/index.pl?node_id=1541119&lastnode_id=1541120

I used to not be such a big fan of Reagan, mainly because of the cover ups in South America (Nicaragua), as well as the Christian Coalition agenda unleashed on America (War on Drugs).

But now I have a lot more respect for him. I told my friend the other day:
"Reagan removed the fear from the American public during a very fearful time. Bush instills fear in the American public during a relatively safe time."

I think that’s the vital difference - Reagan was genuinely concerned with the entire well being of America, both stateside and abroad, and building that concept in a positive light. I think Bush cares for the "generic" American citizen, but by no means does he want to improve the well being of America in the global context. His agenda gets in the way.

Just finished a great Steven King short novel called The Long Walk Very excellent - reminded me of some brutal backpacking trips I've had, or that one time I hiked 26 miles in a day.

It also inspired me to write, which I've been neglecting while phooling around in photoshop.

I'm pissed and sunburned, late at night, speakers resonating with fury. I'm wearing my blue vest and no shirt, but the felt liner is cozy. I'm still pissed. Not cause of her, but because of the fury of the nighttime thunderstorm and the weight of the world. I have three glasses in front of me.

Vodka in a glass, mountain dew in a can, and water in an insulated plastic mug. I juggle all three in a desperate chug fest. After a few seconds, all three are imbibed, I get a little bit drunker, and my mouth sings with salty sweetness.

My lips still form a frown. The music is so damn loud I can barely think to type or understand. It’s not a defined hatred, just a bathing anger of irrational seething fury. Heat expelled like a-bomb radiation from my blistered skin, desperation and ignored violence.

If I define the seasons by the overwhelming mood I underwent during that time, this summer is bliss. Its nonthinking, nonresponsive euphoria. Just a state of passion and summer sun, smiles, THC and alcohol. It's sunny rides on the lake, easy classes, high school sweethearts, graceful ballads, and city walks. No pressure. Responsibility so light it doesn't weigh down on my shoulders like gravity.

And so tonight is a tribute to harder times, to sadder feelings and the golden desperation. Biting lip fury of the past, cause perhaps the present is too good.

I'm getting soft, clammy, and weak - soaking up the sun and unfulfilled.

As three AM approaches, and I know tomorrow will be another perfect day, I squeeze my eyeballs in my liquid head and think of the fall. When the plateau of bliss begins to fade. When the euphoria subsides, and I push myself through trials and pain. When my grin does not cover my entire face, but is a slight smirk. And I'm alone in the wilderness.

Alone, that's what I drink to. What the cool summer breeze alludes to.

A different time, a different me.

One thought that often crosses my mind when I think of the competing realities of open source and private software development: does this resemble communism versus capitalism? At the root of both these methods lie those two differing ideologies.

Capitalism comes from the theme of healthy competition, laissez-faire. The legacy of Adam Smith has brought about tremendous prosperity and progress. One could say that capitalistic processes drove each new technology forward: from international trade (East India Co.), to transportation (railroads and transportation), and of course consumer goods (Wal-Mart, strip malls, and all the rest).

Communism, in the Marxian sense, revolves around equality of goods and services, a homogenous economy of sorts. In the world of software, where code itself is the product, open source parallels this equality very well. Anyone contributes, all benefit.

I think the vital difference doesn't lie in the ideologies themselves, but in the Transparency of Transaction. Here's what I mean.

In the past, harvesting natural resources created goods. The transformation required labor, time, intelligence and money. This created value. And of course, the individual or company who put in X amount of resources expected to reap Y gross, and hopefully Y > X. Simple economics. Competition provides choice for the buyers, creates more risk, and catalyzes growth, development and progress. These are the capitalistic ideals.

Lets put aside monopolies and government subsidies and whatever else has come into play to distort the original "rules" of capitalism.

Of course Communism was deduced from differing principles. Socialistic aims concern individuals, not economic movements. The economic philosophy of the left states that if the needs of all are met, then most everything else will work itself out. In practice, however, the choice of people is eliminated, which is as vital as food and shelter. Couple in the limited natural resources thing, and you have a big problem (U.S.S.R, Cuba).

Now lets take software development. Not counting man-hours, resources required are very small (a few PCs, internet connection). Of course, software can be extremely useful and powerful, so Y > X. This is not always the case - and software can fail (vaporware anyone?) or be extremely buggy.

But if a grocery store goes bottom up, the whole thing wasn't a waste. It just means that for a certain amount of time X > Y. And there can still be marginal Y (sales and clearances). In software, if a company can't release anything and goes bankrupt, Y is ZERO. And there's no way to utilize X (most code is scrapped).

Open source steps out of this model. Because there is no drive to acquire profit, and virtually no transportation or natural resource costs, X is never really lost. It keeps growing and growing, creating a product that rivals any corporate creation – companies burdened by the pressure to attain Y and keep X < Y.

As I see it, as this Transparency of Transaction continues to spread to goods and services, the greedy capitalistic model will falter. These ideas can be extrapolated to medicine, government, education, consumer goods, and of course intellectual property.
Here is a link to exactly what I'm talking about.

Of course, until we have nano-particle replicators in every home the problem of scarcity wont be eliminated. But there’s a good chance that the technological infrastructure will significantly reduce the overhead to create and move these goods.

These are words from another time - a trip to the inner depths. March 28, 2004

1. latch onto the stream of empathy, ride it like a flow of thick crimson water. all the sadness and happiness of what it means to be human blurred into a teary visage: this is weeping.

love? compassion? pity?

seeing the pathos in all men and women, admiring it.

2. clouds: dancing bodies, all alive. an mc.escher painting, all shapes intertwining to become pattern. those dancing bodies the happy dionysan spirit of a bliss behond our present time, out of reach for a while, beckoning. Will they dance and beckon me for all tomorrow?

3. taking his hand, feeling the moisture and slime of sweat and desperation, but through it all, a passion for the flow. all facade thrown aside, true faces shown, friends here and now, solid.

4. joy and wonder, the sun again shines. and as it rises, hydrogen bomb hallocinogen in the east, it's a snickering rebirth, kinship.

5. her, the sadness and intimacy of what it means to grasp. her. and tears are love, they are, soft drops of sullen joyfulness. form her eyes in front, so close and unwavering. she'll never break that gaze, never look away, forever.

just weep.

6. drop off, fall away, ride some bliss on the way, smile and feel your insides implode.
resurface and make the plunge anew.

7. the leering pirate faces still gleer from amongst the woodwork. let them laugh, swallow the joker spirit, a smiling redfaced skull.

8. and from a rational side, how fucking unbelievable was it to see the wood grain turn into a fractalling artificial life animation. lovely, huh, steve wolfram.

9. and thats all we are, a curve of calculus, an index in the recursive pass of a state machine, so basic, so simple. oscillate on that, let the heat sink in like a synapse firing.

10. his fear was there, her sadness was there, my smirk, his wonder, her eyes, my tears.

11. her = kindred soul

12. all the other people i've ever met, hardlinking into them for upload. are they smiling?

13. when does the trip truly end?

14. is this it? remember from dreams past with smiling realization I've reached the end, all feelings groked, and it's ok to die.

What do I believe in?

I'm past the disillusion and apathy of mid-college nihilism. Agnosticism isn't a belief so much as a lack of one. Self destruction was years ago. Unfocussed rebellion only goes so far. Anyone can bitch and moan and feel terrible about their lives and the world around them. But it takes a degree of maturity to grit your teeth, grin, and live with it. Perhaps work to change it.

I'm sure there are more ideals floating around in my head, but I think these are the seeds. Five virtues that are positive, and equally important as far as I'm concerned.

Integrity -
Standards and ideals aren't set in stone, but if I believe in something, I'll live it. Given my college kid liberal nature, there aren't too many principles in my book. But I'm not a manipulator, a backstabber. I strive to not be a hypocrite, and to give everyone I meet equal respect. Formality, courteousness and firm handshakes still hold water in my book.

Industry -
Hard work is an American tradition, but I think a malaise of laziness has infected far too many people. High school is a breeze, and working cozy retail jobs either results in snooze fests at the cash register, or mind-draining manual labor. I didn't learn hard work till I came to Tech. Spending an all-nighter on a project is only part of it. Spending a large part of my waking hours churning over math problems, programming assignments or literary essays in my head was another part. Industry is about devotion to a task, whether I like it or not. Its about a drive to achieve more, get more done in the day, and smile at my to-do list. Keeping busy is key.

Openness -
Writing, thinking and discussing important issues, no matter the subject matter, is vital for a healthy mind. Many people ignore their problems, or cover them with mindless time-wasting activities. Openness also requires acceptance and understanding of controversial viewpoints. I find it interesting to read or listen to opposing political viewpoints, and watch how my own views shift. Being slow to pass judgment, or voice my opinion. Searching inside to find fears, failures and misunderstandings is a constant process, but cannot be neglected.

Moderation -
The brunt of the day is filled with little things and minor decisions. Time management and organization must become second nature to make a difference. Priorities must be made, and changed as circumstances shift. Of course, I have to fit in mindless fun or relaxation in with studying or working. Taking a deep breath in the middle of it all is important for me. After a test or a presentation, I'll definitely buy myself a beer. And after a weekend of crazy fun, I'm satisfied to face a hard workweek. It all balances out.

Passion -
The final rule trumps them all. There is always choice and free will, and I'll always give impulsiveness consideration. One's personality, the glowing core at the center, should always shine through. These rules are just guidelines - I've broken every one of them. And if its because of a passionate idea or hobby, its worth it for me. Staying up all night playing a new game, tramping all around tech campus drunk, writing furiously for hours on end - these are the keystones of a well-lived life.

Because that's what its about - living amazing stories. It's not about being happy all the time, or being the most successful. I think happiness and success are nice, but temporary side effects of a well lived life.

That'll do for now =D

Just put up a new story I finished. The Herd

I wanted to do something just barely sci fi, but more to do with nature versus society and civilization. I'm glad I got around to finishing it cause I was having a hell of a time figuring out what to do with the ending.

I have some neat ideas going on for some other stories, so look for another one in couple weeks.