mother of hydro
novel mother of hydrogen by Vinay.. discovered via
from reading options here
reading this one:
yellow – if he wants typo help
Harry sliped gently into
as Father said, “Peter spent a long time figuring out the hidden angles of the obvious, and you should look over his shoulder at least a couple of times.”
Father still looked up to Peter, even though Peter was by most standards quite poor, a green camper van packed with strange odds-and-ends of electronics and camping gear and clay and a wheel and a mandolin and, some years, a dog or two riding saddles or… “look over his shoulder, but for god’s sake don’t go off on the whole trip with him, son!”
he was aware of going through the motions, too aware of his own awareness to really sink into the practice
Unlike a news organization, State wants to know what’s really happening, including all the boring stuff, the places where nothing ever seems to happen because everything is fine, the trucks arrive and depart on schedule, the grain sacks are full and correct in number.
everything is fine –> same as trucks arrival\ness and sacks full\ness
Systems evolved for realtime news pay attention to vocal stress, to rapid movement, to any sign of conflict or strong emotion. They tend to bias the feed towards drama, and that turns out to make it surprisingly difficult to understand how humanitarian operations are really going.
science of people in schools ness..
Gregory doesn’t want the kid to grow up not knowing what’s out there, locked in the rat race like every other victim, unaware of the shifts and tides of the world. He doesn’t want to lose his son to the illusions of the world, or to his brother’s mysticism. Given the choice, though, Peter’s way is better than what Gregory feels he can offer. Better to live the dream, than to be disillusioned.
Peter is training Harry in the hope that his personality will be strong enough and refined enough to survive the shock of the conditioning processes of the cadet year. If anybody understood the family’s intention – to produce a child capable of dissent, of doing something against the National Interest as defined by the chain of command, even in uniform – to produce a man capable of disobeying direct orders, in fact – they’d all be prosecuted…..
His generation’s experience of war was heavily shaped by soft propaganda, a lifetime of exposure
to a culture which was meant to make it very clear what right and wrong were, and where real power, goodness and wholesome values resided: with the National Interest. But what they do to the kids these days goes far beyond that. They make sure, without a doubt, that their minds totally internalize the chain of command, the concept of the higher authority embodied in the America and its values, and above all the need to be parts of a smoothly functioning war machine, something capable of maintaining all that’s wholesome and sacred in integrity and power.
They’ve taken a decision, to break the kid out of the system before he even knows what it is. To train him to think for himself, so that a generation of draft-oriented psychologists won’t make him believe the National Lies. Everybody goes through it, and it’s producing a society of slaves.
he taught the secret history: imperalism, genocide, COINTELPRO, the rape of nature, and the death of the world. He’d lived through the nuclear age, and watched world peace slip out of our fingers over and over again.
The seed understanding that “this is very wrong” raises the question “but what is right?
And for a man to seek the answer to that question, to make up his own mind, is a crime
Peter says the unthinkable. “I think he’s going to go all the way, you know. I think he’s going to have to. His generation are under so much pressure, and they need somebody to break through. We all know that change is possible, but they’ve done a very, very good job of making sure that there’s nobody to lead it. I think he has that spirit.”
is this an autobio..?
You want your son to be free, to understand the world by his own lights, and soon enough he’s enrolled in the Army of Freedom,
“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law!”
a nother way .. for all of us.. indeed..
as they digitize life, as they take up nature and make it into a pet, and wipe out what they cannot control, we become increasingly responsible for outcomes.
spear – as conscious life…. (harry): i am the spear
Men kill as a primary primal activity, and women create. Both genders, both roles.
binary ness.. et al
and.. why killing from anyone..?
making things irrelevant.. yeah that.. killing.. i don’t think so
The lance for a female helicopter pilot would make sense, but your mom plays the fiddle for a living.” Dad sniggers. It’s a family joke, she’s actually quite a senior classical musician, but I see it all from so many perspectives right now.
“Love is the law, love under will.” I wonder what it means.
Somehow that sounds better than hitting the road in the little green van and seeing more of the world. I want to see home, familar things with these new eyes. Perhaps from there I can make more sense of it.
Julie, one of the two girls in the group. He nods, and she speaks. “I think it’s important to remember that we’re showing people our values too. We’re not making war for its own sake, we’re trying to keep the peace, fighting for the world’s future, to make it a better place. It’s not just about defending our country. It’s about improving theirs. Saving the world.” Predictably enough, she looks smug and self-satisfied. I see her for a moment in the far future, in a blue suit, a future politician. Mentally rehearsing her lines, the image. Future ambition written on her face. She’s an idiot. I shake my head for a moment to clear the vision, and focus. I’m looking for cracks, for flaws, for weakness.
I have a momentary sensation of powerlessness, confronting The Machine in the man in front of me.
right now, he’s got the upper hand because they sat him down and drilled him for months in nonviolent communication, in manipulative psychology, in making people feel like he’s a gentle, kind force of good as he shapes them into cogs.
voluntary compliance ness
I bet I’d get the same polished response from every other Sarge in every other highschool in Colorado. He’s just too good to be himself. This happens a lot. Training with the cadets, with Sarge, it’s clear they’re better than they have any natural right to be. It’s not the man, it’s the training. Over and over again I see this from him, from the Senior Cadets. They’re polished bolts. We’re nuts.
But the stuff that Peter said keeps going around in my head: not the men, the machine. Not the men, the training. They want to shape you into a component of the machine that kills the world. I think the rhetoric is old, out of date – as far as I can tell, and I’m no expert, we’ve stabilized the climate with – surprise – more machines. But I’m wondering, more and more, how you turn a 17 year old, just two years older than me, into a Senior Cadet. It’s an education for national service. But I’m getting stronger, and I’m starting to put more and more of what dad and Uncle Peter said into context. The people in the service are like cells in an organism.
It doesn’t look that bad, but he’s bleeding, shaken and red. The Sargeant, however, is delighted at the unexpected action, and I realize I’ve made a mistake in distinguishing myself.
i’m guessing – this means – revealing his kung fu talents.. i’m thinking more of the no feud ness..
This Taleb / Graeber thing is the type of feud that makes history. Intellectual positions harden, books get written, followers polarize.
let’s not go there.. to fighting/killing/polarizing
Peter says my job is just to get through this crazy society and try and keep my perspective, keep my center. I can figure out what to do later. Senior Cadets are not the enemy. The Sargent is not the enemy. The chain of command is not the enemy. Humans are not the enemy. Bad jugement and bad timing, perhaps, are the enemy. And I haven’t made a very good showing today
“It’s not his body I’m worried about.” A simple finality. She understands.
Gregory’s pleased at their simplistic scientific doubt. They’ve not been raised atheist, but it’s natural to children who’s questions are answered. They don’t disbelieve in anything, they’re filled with a bit of natural wonder and curiosity and a soft-headed gentleness and… Gregory wonders for a moment about his own beliefs, how he maintains an honest atheism while, at the same time, knows full-well that Peter’s powers – mild as they may seem – violate reasonable causality. Not god but nature, but Nature… As Helen serves the girls, under his breath, Gregory whispers a moment of what’s become a creed. “Mother of hydrogen, thou art the void, the interstellar interstitial infinities are the expanses of your body. Holy are your ways, unimagined… unknown… and unseen…”
Gregory’s pleased at their simplistic scientific doubt.
the girls had grown up on doubt and biology, Helen’s basically scientific underlying frame of reference, and a certain open-minded curiosity had grown out of it.
It’s a very ordinary moment, but for a moment, everything is just right.
The Colonel continues, heartfelt and sincere, logical, rational and for all of it, wrong. Dad’s been out there, he knows what we do, and it’s not true that we’re sorting out the mess we made in the last century and attoning for our crimes by shedding our own blood to protect the helpless or whatever the party line is. We still interfere, we still kill, and it’s not… Whatever.
The electricity is tangible. We sit at opposite sides of one of the low mess tables, on the cold steel benches padded with sleeping bags, and eat soup. I begin to understand how seductive this all is – young people on all sides, from all places, meeting, exchanging ideas, broadening horizons, all in uniforms from their district, their region, their school and their heritage. A thin layer of conformity over “hey, how are you! where are you from?” They really know how to do people. But, right now, I don’t care.
Tonight something prickles my scalp, a subtle sense of something being wrong, not the chilly evening or the swarm of fuzzy parkas and fuzzy thinking lapping up chilli in the other tents, but a deeper sense of… unease. … There are charts and graphs and documents, instructions on how to play the role so that as many as possible volunteer, and those that don’t are left with a clear sense of deference to those that do. It’s how we build and maintain society. It’s how we win the peace and prosperity that has, despire all odds, chosen to linger on America. No, it’s something else. It’s the sense of being watched, but there’s nobody there. I remember it from active service. It’s the subtle pressure on my mind that comes from the enemy. And there isn’t one here. I’m getting old.
graeber’s violence ness from rev in reverse.. the sense more violent than someone actually watching ness
“How do you know what your type is if you’ve had a sample size of one?”
spot on .. for the whole way we do marriage/dating/match-making
I don’t feel like I’m sixteen. I feel… real.
He doesn’t know who he feels worse for, the mechanised divisions who’ll live in suburbia and bomb towns on remotes, or the poor saps who go into the field, hauling bags of trouble with them, and spray fire into the bush indiscriminately when the sensors are down, hoping against hope they won’t hit one of their own unintentionaly. But what’s the alternative? The end of the good times for everybody? The encroaching chaos on the borders south becoming the mainstream fate of all?*Nobody is tricked, and nobody is lied to. That’s a previous generation’s propaganda, and we’re too open a society for lying to people to work any more.
*god i wish
“Try and bite your finger: if you hit glove, you’re still inside.”
We’re not quite sure what the scenario is yet, but that’s part of the scenario.
there’s very tight synchoronization between the unit.
I don’t really understand the line between initiative and disobedience, relative to the computer’s suggested force positioning, and that’s probably something they’re trying to teach us.
we don’t have a Sargeant or a Captain
We maintain that stuff in the class room because it’s the bureaucratic form of the organization, but it’s not how anybody fights. Computers don’t work that way, and so neither do soldiers
it doesn’t take long for us to think about hardware we’ve never seen as completely real.
what the drone jockeys see in the business for. The sensation of power is, frankly, amazing. But it’s still basically in my imagination. I can feel the mask on my face, feel the edges of the harness. I’m know I’m in school.
The limbic system is the part of us that cannot help but be convinced by our dreams. Pixels, or atoms, the limic system doesn’t care: one real word.
Sort of a horror story.
no doubt.. all of this.. ugh
Alice says “Good idea taking the flank, Harry. Nice shot on the first tank too!” The Senior Cadet nods from behind her, where he’s taking notes. I guess that means it’s initiative, not disobedience. Will try harder next time. Nobody asks me what I was doing in the house.
gosh i hate this part..
I sense a sadness in him that I never want to feel. He’s travelling because there’s nobody to come home to.
I am secretly terrfied.
Nobody can be Awake for you.
Until every one of us is free, there’ll be those than grind, those that are ground, and those that lay in the cracks between the slabs, waiting for their time to sprout up, and one day break through the roof with their branches.
I’m innured to my own imagined death. It’s disgusting.
a club of little explorers fighting the good fight for continued American dominance of the world. We’re in a position of privilege, and we’re using it to sort everyone else out. It’s our time, our right. It’s something we’re being shown is necessary, is a duty we must all carry. And it’s not done with lies, it’s done with statistics. “If we don’t, who will?” but there’s charts, graphs, economic geography. They make the case for war to each one of us, in our heads and in our hearts. They want volunteers, and they want believers, and they know lies are refuted with truth, and there’s plenty of truth, straight from the sensors, free for the taking. They can’t lie, but they persuade. They can’t fake the facts, but over and over again I struggle to untwist their conclusions.
He and I both know that what is happening wrong, but what’s the alterative? What they’re teaching me is “Just War.” Just. War. I’ve read about patriotism. It sounds like a disease, but what I’m confronted with is worse: it’s the laid-bare workings of the world, with the sensors everywhere, and the effectors – that’s us – hands, fists, feet and robots – trying to turn the soil of history with the sword, for a harvest of peace and plenty.
Virtual Jefferson salues
Somehow she lifted a weight off him, gave him permission to be more human. To fuck up, to fail perhaps. It’s cracked his mask in front of me.
We didn’t spent the summer together.
It’s not as simple as the mercantile empire, or the ecological authoritarianism models, it’s an attempt to engineer the souls, by deceiving the primal parts of us that this social order is our mother and our father, our brother and our sister, our tribe, village and peers. And it’s not, it’s a bloody layer on top of our society, of force, violence and bloodshed, imposed on us from on top.” ..You’re afraid it’ll work, Uncle Peter, after everything I’ve intuitied and seen?” “No, I am not afraid that you’ll stay brainwashed, Harry. I’m just afraid that you’ll waste so much time digging the filth out of your head, you’ll wonder where it all went wrong
(the hardest part, to be without trying to be
You’re not pushing anybody, you’re just refusing to be pushed.”
the theory’s plain enough: catch the experience in a bag, and don’t let it get up your brain stem.
got the formalites of the way first
fact the doctor isn’t watching to see if I take it means ducking it isn’t going to do any good. Casual, careless, dozens-a-day manner from the doctor. He’s casual because he doesn’t have to pay attention. That means a machine is watching.
God it’s subtle, it’s… A. Drug. But I don’t fight it. I am, right now, inside my origami box, looking out at the world from a tiny cube of space, buried inside my mind. I don’t know how I know, but I know that this is all going in there, going away from me, my core identity. They will not have me. So I relax, I don’t have to fight it. I visualize pouring the experience into the box, a liquid. All ok.
thinking of this and the box in the box ness earlier.. having just read it as i’m walking back from gym in lobby.. to my room.. my echo chamber.. like living out.. walking out.. that whole experience/experiment (3 min/day) .. via rp ness
perhaps .. not so much magic.. as natural.. (seems magic because of science of people in schools ness.. et al).. having that anechoic chamber.. as a means to ongoingly ground yourself.. that solitude.. that quiet in your room ness..
the rp ness.. is a macrocosm of that.. a visual.. face to face.. touchable/seeable macrocosm
I can’t see Gibbons face clearly
As he comes into focus, it all becomes clear. I’m staring myself right in the face. My god, this explains everything. I’m seeing Gibbons as myself, forty years older. He’s become my ideal self, the perfect form of my older self, the perfect older me. He’s the idealized superparent, the mentor, the hero, the inspiration. My brain is trying to slot him in somewhere beside Dad, Peter and Papa. For some reason my own father doesn’t inspire this, it’s different. Gibbons isn’t quite showing up as my father, it’s something more… a… King?
He speaks again, again in the voice of god. “As Senior Cadets, you brave men and women will begin to taste the satisfaction which is service to your country, to your fellow human beings, and to the world itself. You will come to understand how a disciplined, organized citizenry can provide the strong backbone which civilization itself demands. You will find a true meaning and higher purpose to your activities and affairs which transcends the personal.” “This struggle has always been an armed struggle, as the people of the civilized lands strove to maintain their way of life against the barbarism and chaos which was previously the human norm. You were party to this war before you were born, and this country has fought for over 250 years to keep the flame aloft. We pass that torch to you today, and you will carry it for the rest of your lives.” I feel something descend on me from above, a sheet of energy, a weight, pressing me into the ground. But also, right in some feral center, I feel holy and justified in doing whatever I please.
“Your willingness to lay down your lives for this Nation is what makes you, in your hearts, Citizens.
or reaching forwards on to the sholders of another,
The silience is not between strangers, but between people who know each-other so well there is nothing left to say. We simply keep pace. It’s a perfect ritual. Together, alone, we walk around the track for half an hour, keeping our spacing from the others. Nowhere to go but your thoughts. I expect most of the others are reassessing their lives. I’m reassessing my society. I’m thinking “No wonder we’re fighting a war without end. After this, what else will seem real?”
I’m waiting for the drugs to wear off, so I can think.
I (president of us) am not a statesman. What I am, really, is an advertising executive who bought this job with my grandfather’s money. I know people, I know how they think, and I know how they see. I know how to message. I grew up in a world created by carefully sculpted messages.
History has come. With teeth.
thinking of jadedid’s four: ed, history, media and law (though she seemed to build it in premise of still ed ing some basic – ie: use of word student… et al)
but he’s the President. He can’t name this event. Not his job. That’s for the press.
so above we had history.. now media and law.
Reassure the people: we are on this. We are the Government, we’re big, we’re scary, we’ve got this covered. But the truth is we’re just like you, lost in the storm. The only difference is that we’re much more afraid because we have much more data. Or, in this case, we know that we know nothing at all, which in our case is even worse. “My heart goes out to every one of us.”
i hear zac talking of wh experience.. and impact of.. they are just people working hard to change things…
begs a nother way.. for all of us..
a precision which, the President prays, protect everybody else
President Knight weight the odds.
He’s the man he could never have been until history called
The message is what matters, not what he had to do to make this happen, she thinks, briefly questioning her journalistic integrity.
She risks a gambit…. This may be a negotiating edge. So she tells them the truth. They can prove nothing. It is the beginning of her rehabilitation in the eyes of the Chinese people. They can prove nothing, but a flicker of hope arises in Beijing too, that in America, there is an honest man. Peace is fragile. Faith helps.
He resolves to act again, having little to lose. It’s all completely broken.
He saddles religion with the blame for the Second Holocaust, and proclaims a secular faith, in America, in American values, and in progress.
oy.. progress .. american values..
Great men and women leave large footprints in history. They change everything. And also nothing.
There is a box inside of his head. Harry is inside this box, but he’s staring at a picture of the box, painted inside the box, which makes him think he’s outside of the box, because you can’t be inside a box and be looking at it from the outside. Therefore, to one part of himself he’s inside of the box, and to another part outside. This paradox is a magical object, created by ritual magic, lodged deep in his symbolic system. Or, just possibly, it’s nothing more than an old man’s trickery when he’s out of cards. Deep in his limbic system, he’s outside of the box, because lizard-brains don’t understand the difference between realities and pictures of things. In the cortex, he’s inside of the box. He understands symbols. The two layers peel apart in their understanding of the situation because they see reality differently. The hope is that the split can contain the damage from having an empire ram its ideology down his drug-addled brain.
box/chamber ness again
locals thums-up or thums-down to get
They’re extensions of our bodies, we’re not putting our minds into the machines, we’re wearing them
sense the fighting spirt
and he misses the war, right or wrong. He was good at war.
on missing what we’re good at.. how real is that
There’s something profound about being in your own flesh-and-bloody body, with familiar things, close to people.
or he can watch it’s flight in delight,
Bliss is how Peter reacts to the uncontrollable unknown. That’s what makes him a hippie,
I want to get out of existence. Even death won’t do it.
I thought it’d be my rational mind that got turned inside out, coming to believe that America is God or something equally asinine, but it’s the other way round. I can still tell that we’re an Empire, that we’re killing the world, that the corruption’s down to the bone. All that’s still true, and I’m having no problems holding it in my mind. I’m fine. But my emotional self, my body’s intelligence, is insane
Some tiny glitch in the immune system, your body *misidentifies nuts as deadly poisons, and over-reacts badly enough to make them deadly poisons. Choking out on a trace of peanut butter left on a knife. Self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s like that, an allergy to lies. Dying of it. I think about the Senior Cadets I’ve seen, their self-assurance. It’s copied, copied, copied but not from their fathers, it’s **copied-copied-copied but not from their brothers, their uncles or their friends. It’s a discontinuity, something grafted into them, an identiy. A blind.
*voluntary compliance ness
I’m thrashing around inside myself, the mental equivalent of food poisoning.
We’re not meant to… live in a world… like
It’s the lineage of the greyfaced men and women who comprised the State, from the age of the Kings. They organize, they optimise, they improve, but they take a cut out of the system’s yield on each pass, and when growth stops, the entire model of takinga-cut-of-the-profits turns into servitude and destitution, as they take slice after slice out of the flesh of the nation. Overseers, slave-masters, managers, all one single lineage, those who must be obeyed, or you’re turned out of house and home, out on to the streets, which are owned by the city, by the territory, by the Crown.
god. how i feel now.
strings attached ness
All they’re doing at Induction is taking the next step – “your real family isn’t the people that made your body, it’s the people who feed and protect you, the service.”
There I am, eating food from the service, away from my home, doing as I’m told, to implement directives. I’m a cell in an organism, but that organism is a cancer
There isn’t a natural thing left in my life, except possibly what’s happening with Emma, which is as old as genes, maybe older. And there it is. Right in the root of me, there’s an instinct to protect all life. To create new life. And it’s being perverted into an instinct to protect not life, or even just my species, the humans, but something much more selective: the Americans, and specifically, the service. My species is supposed to be Government, not human. Induction makes me a member of a new genus, Homo Militaris, the selfreplicating viral invasion of wars. The uniform is my skin and I am click. Wearing it. It peels off in a sheet, a whole identity, a mindset, something passed down from Rome or Greece or perhaps Sumeria before that, The Man of the King, a member of a Royal Household superorganism, clamped on top of the local peasantry like a vine enmeshed in a tree, offering order for 20% off the top, a symbiote living on the float, multiplying gain and causing agonizing pain on loss, it’s..
Because America is as much responsible for my welfare as my family is, my deep physical inteligence, the animal mind, wants to relate to America as if it was a family member. But America doesn’t have a face.
They’ve taken everything we used to feel about the Earth as the source of nourishment and Wonder, and transferred it to two ghosts: the Economy and the Nation State. They feed us, they clothe us, they… I see the little pill come back up. John Gibbons is not my father, and I am not going to grow up to be just like him.
They are hacking us to support a super-organism called a country, and it’s bleeding us to the bone.
rather.. nationality: human
I’m a ripple in bits of the earth, nothing more, but I’m part of something so sacred, so ancient! This is Wonder. Then I see the pattern integrity of my body subsumed into the pattern integrity of an even greater structure, the State, and then the system of the world, and then… it’s us, we’ve turned against the natural order of things, our self-awareness unconsciously biting the hand that feeds, turning on the life that made us, enslaved by the mind. The lesser eats the greater, for it’s own continuation, and the balance of nature is violated
we have no idea what we’re capable of.. what we’re like..
I see layers and layers of imaginary mental nonsense layered on top of a simple truth, “life is good”, trying to obscure it behind layer after layer after layer of “if you buy this new and amazing” or “if you obey the rules” or It blows me right out of my frame. Unconditional love. I don’t want to kill anybody. I don’t want anybody to kill anybody. I don’t… there’s a twist… hunting for food to feed the kids, I’d kill a deer for my sisters, somehow…
We don’t have to live like this.
I see the whole framework, the whole tree of life before me, and I see my branch of humanity, wrapped around it like a vine, choking the life out of the trunk. We’re parasites, and we’ve gone mad. And Induction’s just the next step. We’ve completely lost our center and our values, we’re not even taking care of our families, never mind the world.
The whole message is “this is what a successful adult male of your species looks like”, …..“Be one of these.”
..if I’m not going to be Colonel Gibbons, and I’m not going to be my father, and I’m not going to be Peter, who am I going to be? No wonder the conditioning takes so deeply: they take the hardest decision in your life, and they make it for you, and then they dare you to change their mind
“Hey… I’m still here.” She laughs. I say “no, seriously, I absolutely understand how I’m supposed to feel, the warm patriotic glow and all that, but I’m still your son, and I’m not going to become anything that I don’t want to be, and I love you.”
I’m at the mess hall, and inside, it’s like looking at a motor. People move as if on belts, cogs and pistons serve food on to plates, the pieces of the machine functioning as a whole. I let the Puppet take over, and the room fills with warm, friendly, wholesome people who are working together to make the best of their new opportunities as Senior Cadets in the greatest country on earth. I smile with an easy cameraderie, effortlessly making small-talk
small talk ness.. as natural
peeping out between the cracks, I see the whole thing for what it is: one great big fraud, convincing us that the higher-order functions of society have replaced our dependence on nature …
I fall asleep, and other that my time with my family, I do not wake up for a year.
the only objects I keep in the safe are my keys and remote when I’m asleep, and a single sheet of origami paper, with a box drawn on it freehand and a box of matches. I have no secrets
I’ve lost her forever, and she’s lost herself too. ..and I feel the finality. Something between us dies, and she says ““I’ll miss you” and, for a moment, I see a flicker of her that means it surface, and then slip away below the mask of duty. I fold the box around myself quickly and calmly, and let The Puppet take care of it. I’ll be back later.
perhaps.. good advice.. let the puppet.. till we’re all living a nother way
just now.. w mom
it’s like.. let the puppet.. if you can’t remember Rumi’s:
often words are no words. meaning: they don’t mean what the heart means. trying so hard.. to listen to/for that..
and if i can’t.. let the puppet.. i’ll be back later
h u g e
that’s not my job right now. I’m not here to think. My Puppet is patient and fascinated. I’m utterly bored and disgusted, but I only check in once a day.
I spend half an hour in a mirror, practicing The Puppet’s ways. I haven’t analyzed exactly how it all works but I get the basics.
I look with both sets of eyes at the same time, and it all makes perfect sense. From a human perspective, everything is fine. They’re young, healthy, happy, productive cogs, each perfectly its own shape, working in The Machine. They didn’t design the machine, they didn’t build the machine, they’re cogs. Says so right on the box
That’s just good manners. Good cog, good cog. The Machine tells itself, and tells us, that it’s saving the world. But as you know, we had to kill the world to save it.
h u g e
I’ve spent a year dead rather than being a Cog. I realize that inside, from within their own heads, they’re people, just like me.
holy cow.. such resonation..
it’s the patterns of relationships that do it. A brick in a wall is the same as a brick falling from the 99th floor on to somebody’s head, the difference is only position and momentum. Every one of these kids is a person, a human being, *forced by their parents, their country and their circumstances into these straightjackets. Position and momentum.
*forced ..voluntary compliance ness
we’re all lost here. They find their place in The Machine, and as long as they don’t question its overall functions, they’re fine. He’s not relating to me, he’s relating to my function relative to his in The Machine.
I jam my hand across the table, and he meets it with his, and we shake hands and squeeze them tight for a precise half-second longer than a handshake, and he says “Proud to have served with you!” and I reply “An honor!
It’s taken a year of being an automaton to find compassion for them, but I have. I’m going to have to look elsewhere to find a way out of this. I’m going to have to break right through this veil of tears, and out into the wilds. I could even look for whoever’s designing the brainwashing, mandating the drugs, all of that. I could look for the unseen hand at the wheel, but when I get there, it’s going to be another cog, blindly turning out the specifications for other cogs, in the cog specification subsystem of The Machine. It’s just a blind maze.
..I got through the Senior Cadet year without becoming a cadet. But in the process, I got lost, and I don’t know who I am any more. I wonder if this is success or failure from Peter’s point of view, and then I start to cry. She puts her arm around me, and Dad too, and they hold me for a while, and then I go upstairs, and I lie down, and the tears continue to come. The World! The World! What has it come to? I can’t find a place, I can’t find a place to be.
yes. this. me. now.
I put on a brave face in front of my sisters, but when they’re not around, I try to let it show, try to make it clear to my parents how fucked I feel. They accept, they understand, but I’m out of their range. Nobody really knows what to do. That’s not surprising: we’re brainwashing a generation. The others, they’re all around me, going forwards with their lives, and I’m stuck out here, alone in the white hell of knowledge, seeing the lies, seeing the lines, seeing what we’re really doing as a people and as a culture, and there’s nothing I can do about it, there’s no way out, back or forwards.
sitting on a nother way.. but no one can hear/see
drowning but i can’t reach the line to them…
Box of Rain. The music is pathetic, the recording is horrible, and the lyrics are exactly where I am right now, lost and abandoned and, even in the heart of my family, completely alone.
and I get it, I understand the whole thing. We’re doing the best we can, and it’s not really enough.
a Senior Caded as of a month ago, I’d
turned “applied agrnomist.”
we curl up under the blankets, and I sleep like… Life is worth living.
book two..? three..?
We’re maybe 5 or 10 kilometers from the river, slowly circling over an almost continuous conurbation of small hexagonal metallic huts which stretches to the river, and for some distance in either direction on this bank. … It’s so decentralized you can’t point to a focal point of any kind from the air. That’s home for four and a half million refugees
Harappa was supposed to be a better approach to refugees. The idea was to make them economically productive: build a city, set them up on their own feet, no more refugees. A solution to the refugee problem.
There are narrow bicycle paths below us, mostly become playgrounds at this time of day, just after school is out.
crap Vinay.. really..? school..?
All I can say about the old duffer is that he was well-intentioned when they started this, but it’s probably just as well he’s too old to travel here. I’m not sure he’d approve of *how it’s all turned out.
*because part\ial.. ie: still school.. no?
They compete for sunlight, and his design is archtectural socialism. I want to punch the bastard. This is madness.
“Gridbeam.” It’s then I realize that these people really are refugees, and this really is a refugee camp. Suddenly Gupta doesn’t look so crazy after all
we begin to map the social structure of the camp-city. The local political reps (not… mayor, they’re doing something more complicated, surprise) explain “reassortment” – people with similar values simply exchange houses, until pretty much everybody likes their neighbours. Everybody has a remote, a bank account, a population profile. Systems match buyers and sellers of not just goods but services, so it’s hard to remain idle if you have even one skill, like braiding hair, never mind the people who were laywers, doctors,
teachers in their previous lives, and are again. The bigger domes we see dotted around are not private spaces, but community buildings, built using the same panels as the ordinary housing stock – a single design for everything here. The mathematics is taught inside of the domes constructed using it: convex tiling, rather than Fuller’s spherical trigonometry. They still teach using the Harriss Manuals. On paper, it all works. But these are the political elites, those elected to make decisions on behalf of the collective. They’re the winners. Our job is to find the losers, to find the unhappiest, most violence-prone people in the camp, and try to improve their lot from their own (or, just possibly, their neighbours) cultural resources. The locals like our plans.
“Ah, Dr. Vine” (I don’t correct him, he’s in mid-flow)
dr vinay.. missed that
It sounds too good to be true, and we find out that it is.
I suppose, at the time, I’ve fallen into my own colonialist mythology. I think this is an African problem that I can solve. ..
..It’s not. It’s a human problem, and I am just as human as they are
They are not laik us, Harry
or three hundred armed veteransl of various
Yervish suspects it. John knowns.
curls up foetal position
She closes her eyes and beings to rock backwards
forward me the footage on recept?
the rocks, and hovers just about the fourth.
Sally Yevish is back on her feet. “Trauma reaction. I got it out of my system, I’m better now. I figured there was nothing better to do with two hours. Now let’s live.” She is great in a crisis, it must be said.
after her nap
And the others, not that they’re really why we’re here
Back in the States, pleasantries aside, he can’t face his father, inside he’s destroyed. Everything that is wrong in the world happened on that day – the vast reach of Nation State power, the white privilege, the conceptual over-reach, the use of power, money, time, into a perfectly worthy, perfectly justifiable war crime. His father, the war criminal. His father, the avenging, protector demigod. His… father.
Or me, suffocating and cooking inside of a metal tomb, my flesh a delicacy for mass murderers. The world cannot contain both things, and Harry cracks, and hits the road with Peter who is old enough, these days, to need some taking care of. They start to travel together by default, and for a few months, Harry hits the bottle, stays drunk all day, and tries to reason it out. He can’t. It’s just too much, it’s impossible to make the world fit inside his head any more, it’s just too big. Harry breaks, but all the way this time. Peter takes him to Annie, and Annie says “beyond me I don’t know what’s wrong with the boy” and, for reasons of national security, i.e. the shitstorm that could destroy all of their lives if this ever got out, neither Peter nor Harry can tell her. So Harry stays broken, and eventually Peter makes a suggestion.
corrsucated with ionizing and other radiation, scoured clean.
Amazing things are happening, but they’re rare. We don’t have enough natural resources for everybody to have a flying car. Most people are still farmers, you know?
Space is not equally depended on these things
I come to the conclusion that, while the Puppet is what’s getting me through, it’s also getting to me. It’s a pathology disguised as an initiation concealing a pathology which is, in fact, an initiation, which is an enigma, and so on right to the horizon.
…I need a more universal solution to my identity than skins. I need to know who I am, and what I’m really here for.
deep enough ness
And for that, Peter says, there’s two places you can go. You can talk to Dr. Gupta, and he’ll regularly and reliably ruin your life and make you work on his projects for your tuition, or you can go and talk to the Permanent Red Interface Group, the PRIGs, who keep cultural tabs on the Permanent Reds and try and learn what we can from them, without catching their almost-entirely-hypothetical but still none-the-less-deadly-expensive cooties.
he’s always seen himself as an investor, a venture capitalist of souls, guiding the evolution of the human species by placing assets and resources where they need to be.
Dr. Gupta cannot die yet. He’s tried it. None of the poisons work, and the guns don’t fire.
Harry Pine is tripping on the Space Station
am i missing something.. or should it be vine
book three and a half
He’s staring right off the eclpitic,
It can’t escape without something new happening, something wonderful.
of her neck. And then Harry gets it..
..You can’t love the creation in pieces. You can’t say this is worthy of love, and that is not. It is all one,
She’s as faithful to infinity as we are to multiplicity
They have to be taught to hate, and they have to be tortured to enjoy torture.
Harry’s heart opens, and he loves the boy he killed. He wishes he’d been there when whoever cut Jake’s mum was about to hurt her, and stopped it. If he, or somebody else, had been there to stop them cutting Jake’s mum, then Harry would never have had to kill Jake, because Jake wouldn’t have been trying to hurt… that girl
your own song ness..
Harry realizes the only drug involved in his father’s recruitment was foolish young man’s pride, or Patriotism, or some other minor character flaw that, in a nice world, there would be nobody left to exploit.
Harry is so afraid of turning out to be like his father, a professional killer who’s so unaware of what they’ve done that they take pride in it, that Harry’s grown to secretly hate himself, almost to death, for killing Jake. And it all melts away, in the tender loving kisses of the Goddess of Infinite Space, Nuit, of whom Laurie is but one aspect.
we are trying, as hard as we can, to understand each-other and learn how to make each-other happy, and she is inside, outside and around every single one of us, now and forever, world without end. We’re all trying to work this out, as best as we can, and inside we are all the same
i know you ness
I tell you true: please stop hurting each-other, it’s breaking my heart
perhaps no end ing..
because (as you said… *we need to read more cyberpunk written as sci fi..) in order to get minds that made tech we now have were thinking.. et al.. in order to decide how we want to end/begin the ending
rev of everyday life ness.. so 7 billion of us can end/begin it
feb 2016 – @leashless 2/26/16 3:15 AM .@thejaymo a mirror of Blockchains from Amsterdam, the best talk I’ve ever done mirror.explodie.org/blockchains-fr…or two s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/files.howtoliv…
this is where we have to separate sci fi from reality… if you tach computer to govern resources.. make life easier.. but not obvious this is replacement for gen ledgers (?) of govt… diff neurological make up of people.. we’re having discussion about what kinds of minds run society… been going along forever… ie: can arts and sciences get along… turbulence not well described because happening so fast… if you want picture.. have to go back to cyberpunk written as sci fi… we would have much better grip if looked into that.. what we mean as a society banished from polite company…
Here @leashless answers the first question for a possible interview with @singularityblog at 3:00. #NowTheRestPLS? https://t.co/T7MLQAQhSJ Original Tweet: https://twitter.com/jhaand/status/750426077584035840
25 min – no reason we can’t build a world that actually works.. we can actually do this.. we’ve got the tech
37 min – we must free activist world from nation state illusion..
40 min – can re conceive crypto project as aligned with human survival rather than human greed..seems too big – arthur – there’s no other game worth playing.. so play that game.. if we are not here to save the world.. why get out of bed in the morning..– vinay..
44 min – system of world is a very bad thing.. highest purpose for blockchain is to make system 1\ visible 2\ repairable…. use blockchain for tracking transactions in order to track resource flow
45 min – killer app fro crypto ledgers is global democracy.. a way to register opinions.. currencies are tiny little things.. hardly worth discussing.. not even wrong .. insignificant even if correct.. really hard problems.. are collective action problems..
47 min – this is not best use of these techs… just my model.. someone else could come along.. vastly bigger dreams than this is about currency/contracts..
51 min – we need bigger dreams
aug 2016 – a thesis: hexayurt guy capital partners? – https://hexayurt-capital.typeform.com/to/lV91Mv
9 min – not investing enough in crazy.. only thing worth doing is 1000 to 1 returns..
16 min – to get into that space (1000 to 1) .. you need to be investing in things that don’t only seem mysterious to you.. but that actually seem physically impossible..ethically unreasonable.. or require patterns of human behavior you don’t believe in
20 min – we have clear model of phases going from irrational dreams about possible futures thru to the hard core regulatory grind of bolting things directly to existing superstructure..
why existing superstructure..?
21 min – if you don’t have that kind of crazy.. not going to dedicate life to it..
23 min – on other hand precise set of skills necessary to master diverse power of tech and pull into coherent vision of future.. which then you can attempt.. then slide in front of culture of an option to divert from path that it would be on if you didn’t exist.. a pretty rare set of skills..
25 min – rather than burn crash people.. soft land them.. what if started looking .. at pulling this stuff out a little bit earlier than burn out… perhaps more would go on (refreshed) to a 2nd/3rd try
26 min – so how to align interests..?
30 min – what if did a vc ..is a matching engine.. bunch of kids with enormously erratic visions.. get out in advance of human cultural change..
so ending/beginning of ending.. of mother of hydro.. mech that facilitates 7 billion people’s erratic visions… whimsies.. curiosities.. everyday.. as the day..
32 min – investing in things that could become a norm.. a verb.. building new verbs into human language.. way of thinking about things that plug into people’s lives.. mass psych of choice.. not deterministic..
46 min – in may case.. didn’t understand what i was doing.. ie: a successful company.. because of speed up..only thing we can hope is to build machinery that gets people through their lives.. all we’re doing is enabling people to get things done.. rather than operating inside of older paradigm
There’s a huge leap of imagination to take our existing physical resources and purpose them into this kind of pseudo-utopian project, but it’s only a leap of imagination. We have all the technology, right here, right now, this very day.
In my novel Mother of Hydrogen a lot of the action is set in a temporary city which became permanent, called Harappa after an ancient Indian hill fort. The economics of building essentially countries from scratch are a lot better than you would expect: it’s dirt cheap to provide a population with all the denim and bicycles they could possibly need, but once again, you have to be a soft paternalist about this to get the job done at those prices.