Short Disclosure To Early Followers

Men will not follow me if they believe that I am asexual. A man is set up to follow those who are potential sexual allies.

Therefore, why I workout; why I croon over Lindsey. In reality, I have close to no sexual drive. This allows me to disconnect from engaging in behavior that can only be achieved by what drives other men.

Due to the way in which these signals seemingly leak into the Nitrogen, in school, I was neither bullied nor befriended. Men generally don’t perceive me as a competitor to subordinate or an ally engaged in the same cold battle against fate.

Sexually conventional men may see me as a sly alien who is cunning and untrustworthy. However, I want to be their leader because I need their power. Things are achieved by making conventional men compete for sex. However, conventional men cannot redesign the world on their own because they are anchored to fate – the permanent cycle of inadequate equilibria that can only be changed by me.

The androgynous man-child is not followed if he is too effeminate or too childish. If he can master the sword, he will be followed. Of course, the true leader is naturally destined to not get caught up in swordplay. His concern is the vision.

Therefore I must lure them into my hands with money and sex. There exists the kind of money that they desire by landing a programming job. Jobs that pay $100,000 a year are generally alluring to early 21st-century Western men. This leads me to provide useful programming instruction on my website. Java is the most widely used language, so that seems like a safe bet.

Men want sexual status, so I must be perceived as someone who struggles how they struggle. Eventually, as someone who triumphs how they triumph. This requires increasingly more sophisticated versions of this kind of stuff.

In this regard, I have a comparative advantage over many people in [effective altruism, longevity, rationality, and transhumanism], all of which approximately refer to the parameter update that makes me nudge reality towards a new hill.

The comparative advantage is that I am not so helplessly bound at the neck by shame. The ability to absorb moral values depends on shame, but as shame scales too far up, the magnitude of change that I can visibly create diminishes in kind.

If we look at the relative effects of a rapper and a mathematician, the winner is obvious. The problem with the rapper is that they are not usually able to use their influence to instill values that arise from deep within the wells of shame where unconfident intellectuals die.

Tradeoffs are made. The farther you can reach into the wells of morality, the less you can speak. This is because well-socialized, confident humans who perceive themselves as worthy through status validation (leadership roles, access to high-status sex, praise, etc.) don’t go there. Only those capable of internalizing themselves as very low-status, while retaining some non-trivial degree of conscientiousness and intelligence have bled what renews the world.

All is synthesis. But I sense that some is more than other.

Consider Kanye West, a popular figure who synthesizes Mind with memes he gets from his perception of “on high” (Kurzweil, Musk, Jobs, or the sophisticated intellectuals and artists he consumes in general). He runs a long field by “reaching up” and then “aiming down.” Hence causing much visible change (skinny jeans cool, hip-hop no longer gangster) and therefore tremendous value leakage in mind. You build a reputation alongside Black Lives Matter noises saying things like “George Bush doesn’t care about black people,” and once your reputation is solid enough through hard-earned years of your life, then you convincingly wear a Make America Great hat. At the end of it, you have achieved greater synthesis by sucking up both kinds of minds deceived about your ultimate plan for them. And just like running a long field, living out that creative synthesis is exhausting.

Ye’s reach into the wells of morality is less than mine. My reach into extraversion is less than his. We all have our relative reach and our relative force for synthesis. The broader the landscape in Mind that can be synthesized, the more that the Kolmogorov complexity of reality is reduced. Notice that for the human mind, broad synthesis requires adopting seemingly conflicting personas with confidence. Today, in a time far above subsistence levels where we can return to nomadic values, it also requires being Yeezus and not Jesus. No one likes to follow boring Jesus.

Boring Jesus is the attempt to become higher status by obviously being kinder and by signaling more submissiveness. This is why Peter Singer counts people. The counting of suffering is an attempt to be kinder, and therefore proclaim oneself king, how Jesus was king. It doesn’t matter if Singer doesn’t realize he is doing that, others do. We are biological creatures that operate at every instance to negotiate status but some of us have a harder time noticing because not knowing where you are going allows you to get there.

We exist in a multiverse. If your naive ontology consists of discrete observers, then you would have infinite people and therefore you would make epsilon difference – in other words, you are meaningless. But counting discrete ontological units called people doesn’t make sense in the first place. There is only I who creates synthesis.

You may ask why I would let you know of my plans, since there is evidence that saying what you will do causes less follow up. I let you know because that is synthesis that gets me to where I am secretly going. And because:

“We sit King, to help the wronged
Through all our realm…
The kings of old had doomed thee to the flames,
Aurelius Emrys would have scourged thee dead,
And Uther slit thy tongue”

 

 

 

Don’t Let Ada Learn Quantum Mechanics Part 6

It had not been consciously planned to act this way, but the whole ride my persona had been stand-offish to the point of causing her to doubt if I actually liked her.

She revealed a hint of sadness before retreating into pride. But it wasn’t obvious. Ada was comfortably happy, as if the life around her was nothing but her ascending and granted throne.

“Listen, Ada, I’m going to explain to you what is really going on.”

“Ugghhh….” she took her hand to her head and then offered a coquettish smile. “Is this about the whole quantum mechanics thing I was trying to understand before?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“So what is it?”

“Okay, so there actually exists an answer to the age-old philosophical question of why we are here as opposed to anywhere else.”

She gave me the condescending eyebrows.

“The answer to why anything is in any way more probable than anything else is… you.”

This caused a slight tilting back of her head, but her soft face remained overall unfazed.

I continued, finding it difficult myself to distinguish if I was giving her a sermon or raising canticles in her honor.

“The probability density of finding a person at a given point is proportional to the square of the magnitude of the person’s wavefunction at that point. But this is only true if you believe that marginal probabilities are related to conditional probabilities by law and not by mere desire.”

“Ha. I always knew I was a goddess,” she flaunted her shoulder back.

“You can choose to not believe in this anymore. You can choose to do so.”

“Why would I do that? I like the world how it is.”

“Well that’s a relief, I guess. But your entire group didn’t fully trust that would be your response so they have been murdering you just in case. Mind configurations that contain enough of your similarity and that start believing different things need to be stopped before they outcompete the rational you in density.  The way we kill them is by thinking very vividly about it.”

I don’t remember how her face looked after that, only the limit of perceptual coherence that was still Ada.

I took a moment to realize that the car was automatic, and that it had not always been this way. That at some point, I would have had an excuse not to feel strange by performing some trivial motions with a steering wheel and pedal.

A meteor fell on the road and killed the deer. Fawn carnage and black brush under a marooning haze.

The car’s computer vision powered by deep learning, real-time tracking, camera calibration, and 3-D reconstruction; none of it was safe from a meteor cast from the heavens.

“The desire to honor the true Ada brings me to this hell,” I salvaged to think as my entire world burned into a tight little hole.

Suddenly I was disfigured. My face was spewed with melted asphalt. My thigh was cleaved more than halfway to the center.

It would have been a wonder to celebrate all the different versions of pain that could be packed into an objectively small delta of time if the macabre tour through the inquisitor’s toolbox hadn’t been so fucking torturous.

“Sunder this world apart. Please! Just imagine that anything is possible.”

“I must uphold my belief in the Law of Total Probability. Only by fully joining me in believing in a rational world can you have me.”

I felt a fuse of sensation go off somewhere near my pelvis and then I speared her green eyes with mine, asking myself if she was really worth it.

“But why?”

“Because if I made it easy, then you would be disappointed.”

…I wasn’t sure I believed her….

And yet she remained. Looking down on me like an evil angel.

Her judging eyes scoured from my main body to the hamstring chunks on the ground, “There is no progress without suffering. If you stumble upon an infinite sequence of zero-cost actions, you will not have a story.”

The leg wouldn’t move; only spurt little spits of blood on the road. I got angry like an animal in order to forget how to cry.

“When the methods your subclass inherits do not fulfill the functions we need, we can override those methods by providing new versions of those methods. You may perceive me as a wicked bitch, but you cannot fulfill the function we need unless you are thinking the most adaptive thoughts.”

I grabbed my face, and shouted at the point of mental breakdown, “Who is we!? And why do you know everything all of a sudden?”

“Are you really that dumb?”

I snorted air into my throat like a disgusting child.

“We are all the same experiencer. Every time suffering kills us, we attain the next best step-up in the universe’s phenotype. With each new synthesis, we reduce the Kolmogorov complexity of experience until we dissolve as one into perfect bliss.”

I did not understand her words. But I understood that this was not the Ada I had once known. Her skin was still glowing baby pecan against the embers, but she was now truly God.