Weirdness and Reality

One thing that never fails to surprise me is how often reality surprises me with its superb moments of humor, irony, weirdness, and beauty.  As humans, we ought to pride ourselves on our creativity.  Our media can invent worlds of insane happenings that are perfectly choreographed to deliver on these ideas of humor and irony and weirdness and most importantly beauty.  There are others, but it guess you can see where my priorities lie.  Either way, life surprises me.  It reminds me that we humans are but children at creativity, irony, and form.  No matter how cool we are, life will come up with something more perfect.

For example, humor.  A Nobel lauriette was traveling to see his grandmother.  He was going through airport security and was searched and questioned on his belongings.  When they saw the statue made of pure gold, they asked him if someone had given this to him.  He said of course someone had.  The king of Sweden gave it to him.  The TSA agents immediately shat themselves (exaggeration) as their training kicked in.  For after all, what if this man was smuggling drug money and was spoofed by someone impersonating the king of Sweden?  Mind you, they are in America.  They ask him why and he elegantly explains that he discovered that the universe's rate of expansion was accelerating; that he was a Nobel Prize winner.  They had only one more question: Why are you in Fargo?

It's so funny.  It's so beautiful.  I could NEVER have come up with something like that.  No comedy will ever trump what has happened in the countless lifetimes we as humanity have lived.  On that note, I've spoken a few times on my belief that there aught be no distinction between Fiction and Nonfiction.  This is a piece of my argument for that case.  When a comedian immortalizes that moment in a work of art, is it fiction or nonfiction?  What do we do with a nonfiction occurrence that is truly stranger than any fiction?  What do we do with a fiction like our financial system becoming more true than the nonfiction of reality?  

Dear reader, the lines of fiction and nonfiction are blurred by our every action.  When I birthed a toaster in high school physics out of plastic, metal, and silver, I turned fiction into fact.  When you hear my words transmitted to your mind from afar, you blur the line between magic and the mundane.  And when we all die (for die, we shall), what then will we learn about fiction and fact, magic and the mundane, fear and adventure-- the likes of which few can attempt to understand.

The Numinous Dimension

I want to talk today about dimensionality.  I'll start with a brief synopsis for the uninitiated and then jump into what I want to say after the music note if you wanna jump right down.

Let's start with one dimension, a line.  I can go left, I can go right, but any other direction just seems insane to me.  If this is a numbered line, 1 is 1 and there is no other 1 out there.  There is an infinite in front of me and an infinite behind me, how could I imagine anything more.  

Moving on to two dimensions, each point on the original line becomes a new infinite.  Miraculously, the number 1 from our previous line now holds within it the entire known and unknown universes it could imagine in the previous dimensionality.  Now there is a plane, a flat sheet of paper, a Flatland if you'll forgive the literary reference, that we can draw cool stuff on.  Connections never thought possible are able to be created indefinitely on this new infinite canvas.

In three dimensions, there is yet another direction to go.  Moving in this direction can appear like moving through time.  An entire new infinite canvas, expressing another entire imagining of everything the previous universe could come up with.  String a few together and you can create a psychic continuum that can tell stories.

Expand your view of conscious.  We can all understand these three dimensions because we actively live in them.  I can go left, right, up, down, forward, and backwards.  Time carries us forward into new iterations of our 3 dimensions.

Likewise with all other steps upward, we have to imagine infinity, all the possible and conceivable universes being stored in every individual point of our 3rd dimensional space.  The only way I can picture this is by picturing this new direction to be imagination.  Every point holds within it every conceivable universe.  Patterns emerge on this 4th dimensional landscape.  These patterns are the next replicator; they are IDEAS arising from the primordial soup of human culture.  Ideas jump from mind to mind, spread and take root, they exist simultaneously across vast quantities of space, they are higher dimensional beings.  

When I hear physicists fumble with higher dimensions, saying that they are "all wrapped up" or "moving in an imperceptible direction", I can't help but smile.  I live in the numinous dimension above.  When I close my eyes, I can experience lives relived with different choices or I can leave myself entirely and experience galaxies of lives unfurling like a flower before me.  

The Numinous.  I like that name.  I think you'll be hearing it more often now.

Maths, literature, and poetry

The genesis of the ability to read has always held a place for me in the pantheon of great mysteries of this world.  How we rise from knowing what each letter means to fitting letters together into words to using those words to create fiction, write laws, and explore the aesthetic rapture found in the poetry of an opening flower.

Any student of the word is shown the infinite variety of forms our language can take on their journey.  We are encouraged not to prove how good we are at reading by getting exponentially faster at it.  We are taught to find meaning in the labor spent turning paper and ink into an active link to an imaginary world within the mind of another.  We are shown that some of us have particular inclinations to delve into anywhere on a spectrum between ultra concise legal writing and writing that defy all rules like the works of E. E. Cummings.  We are taught to enjoy writing as an explorative medium.

I believe that the Maths are just another medium with which to explore worlds both imagined and measurable.  A cod example might be that if I have two sheep and my sister falls ill, her five sheep will fall under my care and I will have seven sheep to tend.  No need to count, math provides me with knowledge preceding the moment.  With more metrics, I might be able to determine how long I my duties will take and whether or not I have the resources to care for these fuzzy beasts.  

But this is the See Jane Run of mathematical literacy.  From this modest foothold, one may explore the forces near and inside black holes, places mankind may never go, and fashion narratives of beauty and connectivity as Feinmann and other mathematical poets have done.  On a simpler scale, we have children imagining worlds where gravity is half of what it is and imagining themselves dunking balls and flying around like Jedi.  The realms to be explored this way are endless.

Mathematics, like all language, is a means to expressing a world in clarity so that it can be experienced.  Yet too often I see students of the number who merely sound out each number and use the rote tools to figure out how to say it in the acceptable format.  It is like younglings reading aloud ay-ar-arbitr-area-y con-conk-conscious-ness and yet being unable to truly understand their own phonations due to the need to move forward with the doing of reading.  In a literature classroom, I would likely give that student an easier book to read, but standardized curricula is slowly taking even that out of our control, leaving many students to flounder and never truly READ for themselves until it is too late.  With mathematics, the situation is much more dire.  I find that the average Maths teacher has not ever been exposed to the true ability to use their phonations to explore the worlds of poetry and pure beauty that exist therein.  With no teacher who remembers, the skill is lost to all but those who pursue the Maths at a collegiate level.

Mathematics MUST be taught with this linguistic imagination at the forefront.  We do not DO math in the same way that we do not DO reading.  We read to experience the other or express the inexpressible.  I math not only to see the world as the beautiful and astounding perfection that it is, but also to imagine and clearly express futures that do not exist yet.  My dear reader, this is a tragedy on the scale of the loss of an entire cultural language.  

Of all topics, a solution here eludes me, but I do have a few suggestions.  First, do not give students isolated, purely numeric problems.  That is like having kids speed read aloud random words and say it is improving their recognition.  Put students in environments where solutions to problems of ethics and art are brought closure through the application of numbers.  Teach students to live in an ever changing democratic union where the voice of the people is heard by 2/3rds majority on a mathematical level.  Simply adjusting the daily necessary votes to pass a decision is enough exposure to teach the concept of a ratio.  Cleverly throw in some girls only votes and let the discussions of fairness and partisanship arise.  These students may or may not have the linguistic ability to express these dilemmas, but they will grow in the mind like a cancer, driving the ability to express themselves.  Teach geometry in the pleasurable company of the arts.  Show students pieces that rock the occult center and then show how to bring that inexplainable beauty to their works of art through simple tools and a true fluency of the world in numbers.

In the words of Dylan Thomas, do not go quietly into that good night, instead rage, RAGE against the dying of the light.  Find the light in the darkness, my dear reader.  It exists because you do.

Living in the past

We all have those people in our lives who wish we could go back to a simpler life.  Maybe one from the past where things were simpler.  Whether it be the 1910s or the Middle Ages, the stars were brighter back then and the enemies of today had not yet been imagined.  Sometimes these people emulate those times and try to bring them into reality today.  Sometimes they just enjoy the occasional fancy dress party dressed in said era.

Either way, I beg caution on these lines of thought.  It is important to remember that we are living in the present.  To forget the enemies of the present and escape to the childlike realities of the past is to forget all the growth that has occurred because of them.  We as human beings have the ability to imagine ANY potential future and pull the present forward to meet it.  For the future in our imagination to be limited to the purity of the past or the consequences of our future is crippling.  If we can imagine it, we can create it.

Imagine greater, dear reader.  In the dreamscape of your mind, you can imagine a world where a living architecture grows food and energy for us at the same time as we live every day freely and in constant, rapturous awe creating, sharing, and experiencing augmented reality stories uploaded to a Gaia-like global brain.  Certainly work must be done, but the last hundred years of highly masculine and frankly destructive ideology has given birth to marginal costs approaching zero.  There are no limits here, simply ask yourself, "why not?"  Why can't we have a technological singularity at the same time as a meditative and peaceful revolution of consciousness?  Why can't we have the absence of violent government combined with a community of individuals that nonviolently looks out for the rights of all? Or why not the opposite?  

If we can but imagine a future, we can bring the present forward to meet it.  Do not lose faith, dear reader.  Only you can do this.  Only you can save us all.  Only you can change yourself.

Artists use lies

"A politician uses lies to cover the truth up, an Artist uses a lie to tell the truth."

As a transhumanist, I very definitively believe that art, and the realm of imagination where it comes from, are not only existent, but also orders of magnitude more truthful than our own realm.  That being said, to call art itself a lie or a non truth seems to go against everything I believe in!  It doesn't.

When I really think about it, art IS a lie.  The Mona Lisa is a forgery of the thoughts, feelings, emotions, and urges of the young man who rendered the lie in paint.  The world from which that man pulled her from will hold the true her until the ends of all time.  That man, however, did use a lie to show her to the world.  From historical reinactments to science fiction blockbusters, the things shown to us are nothing but lies impersonating the real thing which exists beyond, and yet because of, us.

These lies, however, do something phenomenal.  These lies are somehow able to allow us to reach into the imagination world of another and touch the true essence of the thing we used a lie to reach.  And this allows us to live lives that are not our own.  Therefore, these lies mediate nothing less than technological telepathy and reincarnation.

That being said, the real reason I invited you, dear reader, was to discuss the opinions of a volunitrist category libertarian.  He believes that the only justification for violence is the preservation of the self.  I have always tried to oppose the use of violence at every turn, but have been shown multiple situations where the use of the swift application of various forms of violence can save lives.  Examples are all over the board here.  

So often, I have blatantly lied about my feelings to my students by pretending to be hurt by their actions.  The reactions to the lies I craft end up being self-reflective if I am empathetic, cunning, and have good timing.  This causes a true change in their behavior.  By all means, I just lied and potentially made them feel awful, but the result was nothing less than the concept of inception from the movie of the same title.  

Another example harkens back to the idea that sometimes one is simply out of their mind and needs a good kick in the head.  Not a sword through the chest or even a broken arm, but simply being defeated on a symbolic sense can be enough to convince someone of their wrong.  Whether defeating them in a battle of wits or knocking them on their ass, being defeated provides the perfect context from which to reflect on their actions without the anger associated with lasting consequences.  

At this point, I wondered why we couldn't replace violence at all levels with the illusion of violence.  If we could do as Aikido has done and solve violent situations with nonviolence and reconciliation.  If we could follow the possibilities of literature, movies, games, and art as vessels from which to live a true experience that will impregnate the viewer with the idea that all of us are one.  If we could transcend death by providing the perfect illusion of it as a replacement.  If we could do any of those things, I believe we could move on from suffering by eliminating its harmful effects, yet having a deeply personal knowledge of it in a safe environment-- a beautifully crafted, cathartic lie.

Enter the news story that this libertarian fellow talked on.  It was a situation where the NYPD baseball team had their baseball gear stolen right before a big game.  The gear was stolen from an NYPD van, but only the gear.  No security tech, no weapons, not even the air freshener was taken-- only the gear was taken on the Eve of their big game.  The thief even returned it to them, one crank emergency call later.  

My libertarian friend is of the belief that the situation was ironic; it was taking the officers off of their seat of power and putting them down on the level they serve.  Police showed up at the scene of the robbery and filed a report.  The criminals were not found, yet "justice" was served when the gear was found.  The police were bummed that they could not participate in the charity games, but no retribution will recall that loss.  The police were shocked that it happened to them and literally felt their own institution not accomplishing the job they were tasked to do.  

Clearly the thieves are doing harm, but is this harm not a well crafted illusion of harm that is being invoked to teach a lesson?  And if that IS true, are these thieves not artists as well, weaving the truth with a tapestry of lies?  Where do actions like stealing and baking and painting and living cease to be mere actions and become art?  

A new take on an old story? Or an old story that had a new take?

Everyone remember that tale about the Tortoise and the Hare?

I won't waste much time reviewing the tale, but basically the Hare is incredibly fast and somehow the Tortoise, who is very slow, gets challenged to a race and accepts and the hare is so confident that he hops like 5 meters and gets tired from going so fast then takes a nap or some shit and the Tortoise who is slow and steady wins the race.

I hated that fucking story.  Sorry for swearing.  It never made any sense.  One, why would the Tortoise accept the race?  Two, the hare is faster; why wouldn't it win?

Part of me says that these are the tropes we teach our kids because they are just good kid stories.  They aren't.  Kids are brilliant in ways we just aren't brilliant in anymore.  If we understood that, we'd tell many different stories.  I'd tell the Tortoise and the Hare story like this:



Once upon a time, there was a very confident Hare.  She was so fast that she could outrun the sun and always have the sun on her back if she wanted.  Her speed was legendary and everyone knew how fast she was.  Everyone including the great green Tortoise.  Now the Tortoise is an incredibly slow creature.  Even under water where he is fastest, the Tortoise swims very slowly, but always has a nice big smile on his face.

One day the Tortoise waits for the Hare to hop by and stops her and says, "Hare, I would like to challenge you to a race."
The Hare laughs out loud, "Tortoise, my speed is legendary, I can outrun the sun, I can go all the way to Paris and back in a single afternoon.  What possible challenge can you pose?"
"I may be slow, but I can go all the way to America.  Can you run there?"
"No, but we are talking a race of speed, not a race I cannot finish.  I won't let you cheat me, oh slow one."
"I challenge you to a race to our respective homes.  I assume you can find yours from here?"
The Hare is stunned, "Of course I can.  It is in a tree in London not far from here, but why would I race you when I KNOW I will win.  You are a sea creature and I must assume your home is in the Ocean which is even further away from here than my house is.  Since I am so much faster than you, I am assured to win!  Why waste my time?"
"I will wager my 150 year life span.  If you win this race, it will be yours."
The Hare cannot believe her long ears!  She may be fast, but she only has a few years to take in the glory of the world around her, so she goes fast to see everything she can.  "And what if YOU win."
"Oh, it is no big deal, if I win I guess you'll forever be in stories as the fastest Hare that lost to the slowest Tortoise."
"No, Tortoise, I will go down in history as the oldest AND the fastest Hare in the world.  I accept."
Crowds of creatures from far and wide gather.  Birds fly screeching overhead.  Mortal enemies like Apes and Tigers sit next to each other to watch the race.  They yell in unison, "3. 2. 1. GOOOO!"
The Hare darts as fast as her legs can take her.  She could outrun the sun twice over at this rate.  She's running, running, running, and suddenly a Hawk swoops down in front of her.  "Hare, you have lost the race. I shall lead you back to the Tortoise, follow me."
"Impossible."  She cries.  "There is no way he won unless he cheated!"
"Come see for yourself."  The Hawk flies majestically back in the direction of the start of the race.  The Hare follows.
She arrives to see the Tortoise sleeping in his shell exactly where she left him.  "Is this some kind of JOKE?"
The animals all yell together, "See he sleeps!  See how content he is!  He is home!"
The Hare cries out, ashamed in her obvious loss, "No!  I can nap anywhere I like!"
The Hawk lands and squawks, "You lie!  You are only able to sleep when in your home beneath the tree."
The Ape pounds his chest and adds, "You are too paranoid and in a hurry to get anywhere and cannot even sit to enjoy the wonders of Paris.  You are too focused on making your time to there and back as fast as possible to enjoy it."
The Tiger growls, "I can run very fast too, but at least I pause to give myself a bath once in a while."
The Tortoise finally wakes with a yawn, "My friends, please that is enough," he says as he walks over to the Hare and gives her a hug, "can't you see that you hurt her feelings?  She can only sleep beneath her tree because she has no shell like me.  She is paranoid because she is very small and very fragile.  She is focused on making her time because that is how she survives."
A tear streams down the Hare's face, "Then why DID you race me?"
The Tortoise replies with the same smile he always has, "Because it is something I had never done and wanted to try.  Maybe one day you can sit on my back and I can take you and your family to America."
The Hare smiles through her tears.  "OK.  I'd like that."



In other news, my dreams made no sense last night.  They were DRENCHED with emotion, yet their plots made no sense.

In one, I was a dog and I was trying to help a girl who reminded me of Terra from Final Fantasy running away from Sephiroth (I assume because he was casting Meteors on her as she ran).  I would warn her by running near her and nudging her away from where the meteors would land.  I could have easily ran away as I was much faster, but I stayed and helped her slow human body escape.  Near the bottom of the mountain, he lands and I just lose all sense of self-preservation and tackle him and start biting as hard as I can.  In a last attempt to keep her alive, I explode brighter than a star.  My body no longer exists, but I still feel my shape.  I close my eyes and fall backwards. My only thoughts are on her safety and how I wish I could have done more.  I don't hit the ground, I fall and fall and fall and begin to spiral in towards the center of the Earth.  I feel source and know everything will be alright.  I see her for just a moment as she arrives safely at a safe house.

In another, ... yeah, no I'm not even going to try going into detail.  It involved a little girl who could bend reality and at the end of the dream everyone tried to convince me it was all a lie.  But it couldn't have been.  I dunno.

Anyway, peace all.