Note: This ended up growing substantially last night and this morning due to conversations over IM with John Walter, which led me to do further research and extend this conversation.
"Evans' theoretical musings lead us through a Borgesian labyrinth of the networked consciousnesses, a virtual schizopolis populated by the purveyors of an emergent artificial intelligentsia. Like a DJ theorist spinning new ideas, he plays the citational remix game and reminds us that being hyperlinked to the Virtual Motherboard on Gather is part of the addictive lifestyle choice that has become our common nature"
- DJ Versimilage
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Morning thoughts from Will at the Zero-Moment point, toxins leaving and clarity returns (which means your fucked because I am going Meta on you), you can either blame the L-Tyrosine or the caffeine, thoughts begin to crystallize, so I may step away from the more lyrical poetry and return to pure ideas (these are not easy, I apologize), also remind me to explain the idea about how networks exhibit and emergent behavior very much like fractals. ** see bottom for explanation
I(we) exists as in the theoretical tradition of looking at crowds as the self-fulfilling prophecy of a neural meta-consciousness, then as autonomous entities existing independent from my intentions of the individual it is made of, consciously acting in the world, we can exhibit an emergence.
When looking for factual proof of the existence of such a proactive, instead of fractal-like adaptive, intelligence, one can only start by assuming that this entity I call (I) must produce some observable patterns. Patterns we can isolate and possibly decode.
I seek to decode, and then recompile this pattern.
We Vibrate in Ex(is)tacy
- the evolutionary mist / raw simulated self *
- raw crystal self
below Fourier's shade
splendid drop - life underfoot - water years
turning bare marvels
mirrors deconstruct the grave - crystal lattices::between authors,
us, is called some new transformation
"ordered MAGnitude. . .the "I" as "we"
(which is what I was thinking this morning John, so I wondered {quite a few comments}- I hope the combination of both radiation, and chemo yesterday didn't leave you in too much pain or discomfort.)
Algorithmic Meta-Consciousness
My mind can emulate this screen can emulate the laws of nature and feed them back to me. Re,cur,sive,ly. That interactive self decomposes a function into a continuous spectrum of my frequency components, and the inverse transform synthesizes a function from its spectrum of frequency components.
Invented monadic memories can be replaced by genuine shared ones,
s,e,p,a,r,a,t,e,l,y
[realms of reality] can be folded-in and brought to uniform size and blended into one constructed lattice presupposed by its facets.
But this is NOT monism. But it points into it.
These are just the beginnings.this is what we say. We operate as synaptic agents of self-organized control, remixing pure simulations of worlds we have not yet invented; if you can see them, they are successful. Like viruses. Like genes seeking to replicate themselves.
I may be the inter-connection to dreaming of new worlds, after all dreaming is the moment the mind generates quasi-perception (it may also soon become the only private space left, once the agents of complete surveillance and control attain pervasiveness), like a crystal growing. Rereading the literature about interactive writing, an emerging practice amidst poetic praxis at large, the parallel becomes obvious to this idea of self-organizing, organic memetic growth. Pre-conscious (as in my morning pre-consciousness) writing is a conscious and paradoxical effort to tap into the screensaver-mode of my mind; interfacing it directly while self-assembling language, crystallizing on this screen, real-time, on Gather, poetic syntax drip from my fingers like a Rorschach test, traditional descriptions of identity evaporating like ink soaked-up in blotting paper. Later, this writing seeks to "map" the ideas to other writings by connected authors in the virtual space. But how this plays out is still in nascent form. How will these feedback loops effect the writer's interiority of their creative effort?
The credibility of its practitioners notwithstanding, it is interesting to me that, during interactive writing sessions, the writer by no means writes in a language he speaks, indeed the language does not have to exist at all. It has been pointed out that all interactive writing tends to converge and resemble each other and you might say that this is caused by all minds obeying to the same internal logical instruction set, just as salt-crystals all look roughly the same and for now we assert as conceptual instantiation that growing crystals of thoughts equals the organic growth of ideas in a hyper-real virtual space, fed by the the constant feedback loop of other authors contributing comments, encouragement, or re-mixed variations of the author's original dialectic ideas which map ideas from the interiority to the exteriority of the Other, and then back again:
John: Still, the neuroanatomy mapping leads to inevitable artistic questions about how we "create" or map in the world, if our consciousness is expressed sequentially proto-self > to core consciousness > to emotion > to feeling > to extended consciousness and back in different feedback loops, always refining the mapping procedures…
Will: Can you consciously map these connnections, or does the mapping happen organically: I suppose, by feeding certain pathways, and starving off others?
John: Both, Will, but remember that most of the processes are unconscious and only for maintenance of the organism until perceived by the organism by reaching a threshold of activation, usually with coordination between various of the proto self structures…
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I was thinking this morning that the evolution of consciousness through human history is marked by growth in articulate attention to the interior of the individual person as distanced — though not necessarily separated — from the communal structures in which each person is necessarily enveloped. . . . In The Inward Turn of Narrative (1973) Erich Kahler has reported in detail the way in which narrative in the west had become increasingly preoccupied with and articulate about inner, personal crises. The stages of consciousness described in a Jungian framework by Erich Neumann in The Origins and History of Consciousness (1954) move toward a self-conscious, articulate, highly personal, interiority. The highly interiorized stages of consciousness, in which the individual is not so immersed unconsciously in communal structures, are stages which, it appears, consciousness would never reach without writing. Obviously this is a recent.
"The interaction between the orality that all human beings are born into and the technology of writing, which no one is born into, touches the depths of the psyche. Ontogenetically and phylogenetically, it is the oral word that first illuminates consciousness with articulate language, that first divides subject and predicate and then relates them to one another, and that ties human beings to one another in society. Writing introduces division and alienation, but a higher unity as well. It intensifies the sense of self and fosters more conscious interaction between persons. Writing is consciousness-raising." Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino
-Walter J. Ong (Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word)
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Networks, Fractals, and Viruses
At the beginning of this post, I made the bold claim that networks were like fractals. Let me explain that I think it is shaped like a fractal. That is to say, it is self-similar across all scales, at all resolutions, no matter how far down the rabbit hole you go. Any portion of the network has the same structure as the network as a whole. Neurons connect with each other across synapses in much the same way that various words on this page are linked to other sites across the internet. McLuhan claimed that, “electronic circuitry is [an] extension of the human nervous system” (Medium Is The Message, 1967, 40). But the opposite formulation may be more useful for our interactions here in this Simulated world: every individual brain is a miniaturized replica of the global communications network, and are both self-organizing and dependent upon a constant feed-back loop.
The network is the great Outside that always surrounds and envelopes me, even as I connect to it. But it is also the Inside: its alien circuitry is what I find when I look deeply within myself. The network is impersonal, universal, without a center, but it is also pertubingly intimate, uncannily close as hand. This is why Deleuze defines subjectivity as a folding (in): it is “an interiorization of the outside…a redoubling of the Other...a repitition of the Different…It resembles exactly the invagination of a tissue in embryology” (Foucault, 1988,98).
Burroughs makes a similar point when he suggests that “the whole quality of human consciousness, as expressed in male and female, is basically a virus mechanism”(Cities of the Red Night, 1981,25). In both cases, identity is implanted in me from without, not generated from within. My selfhood is an information pattern, rather than a material substance. I may describe this process that subtends my consciousness in several ways: as embryonic infolding, as fractal self-similarity, or as viral, metastasizing proliferation. But the difference between these alternatives is just a matter of degree. The crucial point is that the network induces mass replication on a miniaturized scale and that my consciousness may exhibit a fractal pattern which is strikingly similar, especially as my consciousnes and writing connects to other nodes, is fed by, and interacts with other writers in this virtual space.
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Comments: 8
Far Future: Your meta-phoray here, which deserves my hooray! in elsewhere, Will, speaks softly to me like one of the five digi-hivedJorge Luis Borges librarians--this one shy, avuncular, used to his blindness but able to play chess with you with Spinoza affect sequences to relay emotional mimesis--- composed mostly from transmuted black and white footage in the last days before the Aleph took the original-- left over in the two remaining phase-shift interfaces between the Seem Worlds and the SimStem Gate after the final multiple player Amok Icon Liquidations of the late 21st that went Outer with the bad mojo result of crashing all R-ZPPSS ( Replicate Zero Person Point of View Simborg Stations) along with literally all non-looped people waiting for Eternal Return: "You see, what your fellow pre-Sim Evans was saying back then came from freedom, and hunger, and keeping the feelings inside that kept his consciousness burning like the leaves of the Pharoah's book lit by the Architect inside the Great Pyramid before self-immolation on the scarab disc. So all this dueling with other minds was a way of testing out the knife before he went into the card game, knowing that the knife mattered nothing compared to the reflexes. The knife is shiny, it draws much attention and a crowd, but what matters is the timing and the urge to finish the game once and for all, even though he knows one of his inner doubles will one day go back to another card game beset with this need to feel again from his own expressed emotions of the kill which have lain dormant for so long, all his emotions this way, buried like the Pharoah's engineer, so his feelings are only a maze of thoughts that summon maps of earlier duels, memories of the women that triggered them. This drive to feel one's emotion, that is not the same as bloodlust: It is in itself a game, the Doppelganger who stalks Victor Sanchez Martin, RamonRodriguez Acosta, there are dozens of other names, like there were once dozens of the Emperor's flags on the Great Wall."
Present: I want to hug you, my author brother, for you look into my eyes you've never seen through your own mirror neurons of optical acuity and share my sorrow. When I read this after five minutes of the pulse and five hours of the spike my mind leaped into the domain of the possible, the self-fulfilling praxis, the future THAT WILL BE OURS if we coolly survey our cerebrums and stop letting the world go haywire because we're either using "smart drugs" to dumb down by multitasking, or Piling it Higher and Deeper (basically, most current American humanities or social science PHd with the current paradigm in place) intellectually on the Marx/Freud chip by way of artificial antics of drugged romantics how hierophantized by . We can be self-sufficient cells that cling to yesterday's newspapers in the game of life, or accelerate by slowing down as relativity's frames of reference are no longer used to lament an incoherent world but rather to ways of travelling and bringing others with you down new ideational boulevards in breathless sports cars where her scarf blows just out of the frame. Patterns become us, memes are mimetically charged maps for others to ride like trolleys while you (or your co-adjutants) ring the bell and hand out sweets.
THE MAP IS NOT THE TERRITORY, BUT IT CAN BECOME THE SIMULATION OF THE TERRAIN, THE ICON THAT LEADS BACK TO SELF.
Korzybski is screamingly relevant now: Experience precedes language, but language has spread beyond the recitation of vast rule books on rugs in the desert and grafted glyphs together for the Comicopolis.
So, since we are the "feeling of what happens", emerging in our maps of social emotions writ large on our networks, Web 2.0 blogs, simalucrums of the "home" we never had or the "hell" that we've dived into displacing our favorite bad feelings (since it's the pleasure payoff that drives this for the most part, baby, when the spirit fails, think Garden of Gethsemane at the split second the rope snap Judas' neck) well, then, we need stories to bring in where our 1st person accounts can somehow be melded into others without it all seeming like consciousness is broken, language leaking nothing but courtesies, cutups, carping and cliches.....we need the bizness of seeming real, as some eloquent hip dude from the projects might sig it.
We need men who demand facts but know they are useless mainly as detritus for metaphors, men who can quote Deleuze on interiority in the Emptiness when he goes inseminational in his hyperbole because it was the one time our Parisian prof of desire got it right, yet know in his bones that Deleuze's Anti-Oedipus War Machine theories were frigging nuts, driven as much by Eurocommunist yearnings as by the fashionable rebuses of the day.
I hug you for thinking of my disease, and the cure, and not for one moment diminishing me for either, Will.
Very Near Future: out of genome and phylogenetic inheritance revealed improvisationally in deep patterns on those sculpted behavior trance scripts that are less written out (except when posted, waiting for fulfillment) as enacted again and again, we graph ourselves, graph others: A form of mapping where the feelings are deliberately left out because the reader needs them to be, the same way he needs his scientists 350 years after Science incorporates royally in England then goes through German permutations to write up everything in the third person as if none of the men in white lab coats had egoes, reputations, Porsches, dogs named Molly!
Compassion and consciousness and calculation and calibration come together part somatosensory "heal me" plea, part "God within me" song, part statistical heuristic, and all refiguring, rethinking, reviewing and reconstituting of what postmodernism has turned into tropes and traps.
The result: Our pre-Simulationist memeplex maps out the brain of the network that replaces the machine as large scale Metaphorical Conceptual Handle of Reality, of the Sim Worlds To Come. We approximate the different viscera of the flesh in the neural maps of the networks, from skin to gut, looping the tears that show core consciousness its sadness into the next evolutionary structure up the tier of genebound time, the feeling networks of the midbrain, not to look for analogy as the diehard cog sci robo zombie guys did when giving us Spielberg's AI or the Watchowski's base Oracle/Machine as well as all their functionalist fantasy transhuman projects, but rather to see the transposing in the encoding OUT THERE.
Near Future Next. (Probably Tomorrow). And Eternal Present, What Is Elsewhere and Plans Are Memories of The Future.
Will, you are hot and your organization of this piece is clear and scintillating.
John, wishing you continued brilliance and ecstatic release from mundane pain.
It is a joy to watch you think.