author: niplav, created: 2021-10-13, modified: 2022-12-20, language: multiple, status: in progress, importance: 1, confidence: other
Very small pieces of fiction and things that are sufficiently like fiction.
Was ›sagt‹ denn eine Dichtung? Was teilt sie mit? Sehr wenig demjenigen, der sie versteht.
— Walter Benjamin, “Die Aufgabe des Übersetzers”, 1923
Paradises, peacocks, peaches and palimpsests! Prussians, prowlers plus plumous penguins, priestess parks principles—priceless.
gah, can't snarf evince.
You can sit here and be okay, if you want.
Now hips, a black hole to surround
no Riemann metric has yet traced
an old, a new decision is now made
a bow is drawn
a good one, as of yet
no fragmented escutcheon
from the old master's whirring feet
a pair of compasses would never
traverse the geodesic so
a “hi”, a “no”, a saddest look,
relieved of possibility
Now have I fucking traumatized the bird‽
Ein Wille wie Silizium, ein Auftreten wie Sand, ein Gemüt wie von Licht durchschienenes Glas.
Oh die Tyrannei der Mühle, oh die Medizin der Mühle!
Aufschlagbare Halsschlagader, durchschlagbare Halsschlagader!
Nachts sind alle Katzen grau
Alle Schatten werden schlau
Denn Vater Zeit, von nun, lässt uns
sein hellstes Beil erschimmern.
Wo ist Norden?
Die Grenze aller Sehenden
Das letzt' Gedicht dran abgeprallt.
An einer Linie durch den Raum
Ikto verso lapido.
Sed nihil subsequor.
Well, not strictly haiku (not always a cutting word or seasonal reference) or senryū (not always cynical & dark or about humans), but I follow the 17 (5-7-5) syllable format.
Winters Klee entschied
Einmal mir nachzufolgen
Bedachte nicht; Pferd!
das samtene Firnament
bald stürzt es hinab
Doch Blüten, deren
die mit Graphitgeste kein
Nicht Domizil, nicht
Humbug, hat dir, Odysseus,
Schändung nun abzollt
In the CPU
Peace. But the tranquility
Autumn, slashing when
The eternal emerald
This computation sufficed
But data? Perturbed
Splines are weird and nice
Where get differentiation?
Just increase your
In jazz scattering
Forward, backward, to the side
Please turn off the lights!
Very high costs arise, when
The light is on. Thanks.
May your death be like
A married bachelor, ex
The silence prickles
A mind too swift for meaning
Unwrapping my thoughts
A sharp mind might start
cutting itself, if it ain't
dulled once in a while
Thus declaring: “read,
write, code—sit, approach, lift”, off
into the mountains.
When the elder drop
Never hits your eye again
Itching bark quivers
Lest our shimmery
Streets give no unheard secrets
I will munge some corn
Kazakhstani pools, we hence
Then hold to the nearest points
Having now observed
The one year and one day rule
I can say it's good
The moon, presented:
A jewel on a pillow
chalk washed far away
I made up the ugliest possible genre of poetry.
giggling, snatched this poisonous
cum from a mailman
At my spot, I found
an old spy, cum Trotskyist
Just sub a smoking
cumulonimbus, our work
now turns arduous
Moloch whose wasp-nests are fractal!
Moloch whose pilots are spooky!
Moloch who resides in an infinite-dimensional space!
Mandate of tenderness! Fugitive astralites!
epistemic status: I saw the best minds of my generation
Limply balancing mile-deep cocktail glasses and clamoring for laughable Thielbucks on the cramped terraces of Berkely,
who invite you to the luring Bay, promising to pay for your entire being while elegantly concealing the scarlet light evaporating from their tearducts and nostrils,
who down 3¾ bottles of Huel™ and sprint to their next fellowship or retreat or meetup or workshop, in the pore-showingly lit hallways with whiteboards and whiteboards and whiteboards and whiteboards,
who want to crown random nerds with aureal sigmas fished from the manifold crevaces of self-denying deities,
who write epics of institutionalized autists bent on terraforming these overpopulated hypothetical hells,
pointing out dynamic inconsistency in the comments and melting hectoton steel-marbles around civilizational recipes,
who improve their aim hurling yeeting philosophical tomes at unsuspecting passerbys and ascend urban lampposts to loudly deduce their mechanical liturgies,
who cut down oaks and poppies in the parks to make oil and space for those ones yet to come and who hunker down in fortified coalmines in Montana and the Ruhrgebiet, propelled into the rock by an Ordite reactor, a Bostromite dynamo,
who exitedly pour & plaster tabulated exponents into webscripted canisters just below the teal-tinted ceiling,
hating one-sidedness and bureaucrats alike,
who can name the 11 AI forecasting organisations and the 4 factors of successful nonprofits and the 7 noble ways of becoming more agentic and might even find Rwanda on a map not made in Silicon Valley,
contemplating hemispherectomies to purify their nascent idealism on the verge of a hope-ash London dawn,
who catch a feral heart in the garden behind the A100 rack and save it into a transparent domicile, injecting it with 17000 volts to illuminate all the last battery cages equally,
who empty out their pockets with uncountable glaring utilons onto innocent climate activists, promising to make them happy neutron stars one day,
microscopically examining the abyssal monstrosities their oracles conjure up out of the lurching empty chaos,
who fever towards silver tendrils bashing open their skulls and eating up their brains and imaginations, losslessly swallowed into that ellipsoid strange matter gut pulsing out there between the holes
"Yeah! During the collision, his head hit the window. If not for it, he would have received a serious trauma."
"But what kind of person wears a helmet while driving a car?"
"I don't know. I asked him, but he started babbling something about “expected valuation”, so I increased the sedative dose."
"People are strange."
"Use large gears, if you must."
"Okay, any questions? ……… Great. Write them down so that you can google them later."
making a crucifix: "Human—Values—Are—Complex, BUT"
extremely Bertholt Brecht Voice: "Was heiligt denn die Mittel, wenn nicht der Zweck?"
“baby, come over, my parents aren't home ;-)”
“i can't, i'm trying to understand causal inference…”
“I DON'T KNOW 😭”
“Sorry, I can't meet up. I'm moving to the US in a few weeks.”
“Oh, my condolences.”
“Haha, no, I decided to move there myself.”
“Oh no, my sincerest condolences.”
“We are trying to accomplish an extremely difficult thing that requires everything to run as smoothly and efficiently as possible, but luckily our status incentives are so optimal that the high status men getting to sleep with a lot women is just the best!”
“What, of course I want to spend my entire life on this very specific spot on the happiness/productivity Pareto frontier, dummy.”
“yeah? vipassanize this then, nerd” suckerpunch
“Stop narrativizing yourself! Stop narrativizing yourself!”
“In general, my reaction to that kind of thing is sound of someone trying to strangle a laptop”
“Are these subagents in the room with out right now?”
“What wordcel wrote this!?!”
All compounded things are subject to vanish. Strive with earnestness.
— J. Robert Oppenheimer, Remark after the first successful Trinity test, 1945
Law of conservation of valence.
Globe-decorated neo-neoliberals furiously fruitlessly arguing with zero-summers on birdsite, shaman bros helping others get laid at parties funded by eternal-life cryptomoguls, infra-red haired identity-fractalites with two dozen Mercedes stars draped over their bodies lecturing pale soy-skeletons about Cockshottian cybernetics. It is, not exaggerating too much, a moment exactly fitting the emergence of a second semi-unknown unknown, only to be faintly perceived by posterior-maximizers who have trained their sensory organs to the maximal degree of data intake possible without (at the moment outside of military circles unavailable) BCIs. And yet, the 'works scale and scale, just as foretold by the 𝔊 prophet.