Don’t Let Ada Learn Quantum Mechanics Part 5

“So let me get this clear one more time. You think about killing Ada as vividly as possible, and pull the brakes only upon achieving a certain level of momentum.”

“Yes. That’s enough to displace a sufficient number of my Hilbert space clones into actually killing her.”

“So you pull up to her house at night with weapon in hand, and stop once you reach the front door?”

“Yes. Sometimes. That tends to reduce her measure more than thinking about it in my room.”

“And all of this just so that our world doesn’t become unrecognizable.”

“Yes. If the universal wavefunction contains too many minds that look like Ada, and those minds don’t have the right epistemology, their causal paths must be destroyed.”

He took a long look at me. And then as if typing into terminal, commanded me:

“Your brain’s computational resources will now be harvested for this task.”

The way he said it couldn’t have been colder.

“I thought that I could spare you from our fate. Deanna, Mary, and myself have been exhausting ourselves sleepless nights with the most unbidden burden of thoughts.”

A flicker of self-pity from the corner of his eyelash reminded me of an emotion I could never have thought to feel for him, compassionate empathy. It truly was horrible. Having to think thoughts that are not free, that are hateful, vile, just to keep existing. And all the while, sparing me from that burden – not Deanna or Mary, me. I felt ashamed.

He clasped my neck. I tightened both of my hands around his forearm and sundered him aside.

“I won’t fight anymore. You don’t have to beat me into submission Wilhelm. I choose to commit a portion of my life to the task… out of my own free will.”

“Quick learner.”

He regained balance, swaying his arm like a counterweight with braggadocio. Then he pointed his finger at me while digging into his black pockets.

“You start tonight.”

He tossed a little fly-like drone into the air. Its shell was cherry-red and it crashed into my dome, only to bounce off and spin in circles around me.

“That thing will follow you around wherever you go. The drone contains my eyes. No longer will you rest in vain. The face-recognition system can tell when you are focused on imagining specific things, and when you are being a lazy daydreamer, so don’t think you can fool me.”

I took a step forward in the same way that a vacuum agent does in one of those dry artificial intelligence textbooks. With each plastic-rational, Spock-like step, I realized that I had been sucked into the worst human male dominance hierarchy that I could think of – one in which my inquisitor actually had the truth.

Suddenly, the galaxies of structure and order that I had known, built with a lifetime of effort, broke above my head – it was as if it made sense to say that the introduction of a single foreign proton could break the simulation. I would rather have been one of those mindless workers under the buzz of white light, scanning items at the beginning of the 21st century. Anything but this.

The sky above became an unfamiliar ceiling. It was as if my heartbeat was the beginning and end of all that is. And I was already making up excuses for what would soon be my tormenting routine. The mind was steadily coming up with motivational quotes like: The most meaningful experiences happen in the remembrance of suffering. The most happy experiences happen in the complete absence of meaning. Therefore happiness is overrated.

I jaywalked and the car without passengers halted for me. I would rather it not had sophisticated sensors and machine learning algorithms.

But then: The fact that I live in a safe society, that I am not dead, and that it would become very difficult to not be me if I tried – all of this is evidence that I am special.

I walked up the stairs to my apartment. Following me, was a ghost. It was the the most improbable ghost. Every single one of my ancestors successfully reproduced, the chain of champion-hood unbroken for almost 4 billion years. The superposition of facts that the universe’s physical constants are fine-tuned for life and life is fine-tuned for them. The impossibility of being me in the midst of infinities of physical configurations. I must conclude that I am not real – that I do not exist.

But I jumped from a freaking skyscraper! And here I am. What more evidence do I need? Why can’t I feel confident?

I shut the door behind me with a little more force than usual.

I sat and laid my head on the pillow. It was absurd. I only needed to imagine things. To create thoughts – ephemeral fireflies in the mist, and make infinities of difference.

“Okay.”

I settled into the pillow, and visualized a classroom. Or tried to. But it was difficult to rev up the engine of thought. I had not realized how dusty and tarnished my capacity for painting mental pictures had become. The rainbow of imagination had been pipetted out through my fingers after extensive contact with touchscreens and keyboards, or perhaps school was to blame.

Yet I continued to try. The colors weren’t vivid. The motion was choppy.

But there was a classroom, and it was yellow glossed.

The whole body of imagined spacetime was more eternal than the more empirical imagination which I experience in every moment. It was empty of motion but not empty of Platonic space, of dwelling. Since one cannot speak about zero without also speaking about infinity, I tested my capacity for invoking – Appear!

And in that percept of Ada, was also unbidden motion – vestibular reflex, degrees of freedom, all of it coded into that imaginary girl’s simulated brain.

She looked at me in the eyes – hard granite slates. And, kissed me?

No. It’s gotta be more realistic than that. If I want to reduce the measure of Ada’s likeness across Hilbert space, I need to visualize something realistic. The more realistic, the more I instigate true murder.

If I really let myself be absorbed by the murder fantasy, so that I melt into the percept, then many more future versions of me will become real monsters. I will create bloodlust in my heart, and the karmic seed will reveal itself in their hands, in their fingers and tendons.

Okay, here I go.

The classroom has dim lighting, almost like Grimm’s fairytales. The professor has her back turned to us, scribbling something on her board. Ada is wearing a glittery black dress, her nails aren’t painted. As I walk towards her seat, my speed becomes faster because she emits a halo of dark matter that I had not anticipated. Then I put my hands on her hips to raise her up. No. She slaps me.

Our prefrontal cortex isn’t being rational in dreams. You’re supposed to grab her by the hand, not the hips, when you raise her up from her seat.

Wait, you don’t grab her at all in real life – do you?

I should just ask her to stand up. Or just stab her then and there, while she’s sitting.

I can make her be standing at time zero.

The freedom was a pirouette motion of possibility. My mind had differentiated into routine long ago. Prior intuition does not speak to this scenario of creative pluripotentiality.

It is like waking up in a game without sword and shield, just a mirror that can be experienced at will. Perhaps it had always been that way, and I just hadn’t been properly educated. –Educated about all the hells of scary afterlifes that exist at the boundary of the present.

I subjected myself to a chair and rotated. Then I slit her throat.

Oh, the ecstasy. The pure, pristine white matter in my sensory cortex inundated with wine.

I contributed. I contributed to her death. No, just a reduction of her conditional probability – that’s how I should think of it.

There was no sound. No fire, or voltage of punishment.

So next I took her to the bathroom and fucked her hard on the sink. Then I stabbed her. It was like her spine was made of butter.

I was not trained for this. I was trained to do tedious things that nonetheless provided shelter from chaos by virtue of their precise instruction, things that did not feel like much.

The drone was studying my ocular motion. It swept to the left, to the right. I wondered if it had sound detectors for the vibrations I created in the air.

Time to get back in the zone. But this time I need to take into account all the little exponential decays of my capacity to create a vivid simulation that occur by using metabolism for imagination. I’m healthy but I will still get vertigo if I am allowed to do this without disruption.

I set the session to six minutes length.

After using up every last drop of my imagination, I could only experience utter disorder. A creaky, blocky buzz of meaningless syntax.

It would take months of pain to build up my imagination muscle, every single time experiencing this recoil of exhaustion. All the while usurping my respect for Ada until nothing remained of me.

Suddenly I had a realization: Perhaps it was better to feel shame unto the world than to surrender my privileged situation. It wasn’t that anything really mattered. It was just that some self-preservation mechanism of genetic malware had recruited me as a slave.

It was just the first night and I was already sick.

I won’t kill her anymore; just to preserve the status quo. What’s so great about it anyway. I will run away with Ada, and if the world ends in the process, so be it.

I yanked the towel hanger in the bathroom from the wall and swung at that spheroid mosquito drone. The second time, I crushed it.

Wilhelm was right. I don’t care about him. I don’t care about Mary or Deanna. I don’t care about the world. Shame and morality are toxins causing me to hallucinate bonds that don’t exist.

I swiped to unlock the car. The next moment I was inserting myself into her house. I went up her stairs, the bedroom’s door was ajar, and she was admiring herself in a mirror.

She was definitely startled, but it is true when they say that women like bold men. I took her skinny wrist and told her to run with me.

One, two, three. It was that easy. We were on a car. It was driving. Stop. Go. There was a seatbelt strap over her breasts.

It was that easy. I had probably been beholden to one of those stupid cognitive biases, the  sexual underperception bias, or whatever it’s called, that caused me to underestimate her interest in me.

I touched Quebec City on the screen, the car did all the linear algebra and sped up, cutting clean orthogonalities over the land.

“This is actually disappointing Ada. I didn’t think you were so much of a risk taker.”

She looked at me confidently, like she was in control. “You idiot. Didn’t you know I was a savage?”

 

The Multiverse Is A Crossover (All Is Right In The BIG World Economy)

Finding A Philosophical Zombie And Sora

If you make only a small investment and register the consciousness in a p-zombie individual’s name, you may decide not to use a bodhisattva or computations that fit into heterotic string theory keyholes. Your Final Fantasy partner will apply for the necessary monad licenses (those which cause approximate factorability of a subspace of the amplitude distribution, so that you appear to possess a separate identity.) Tax officers from the Subspace Emissary are used to negotiating the qualia mapping linkage-disequilibrium for open individualist hedonistic agents with non-Turing complete Maras which do not display any obedience to standard Constructor Theory.

If you register a valence-free existence, you need to consummate with a virtual Kairi and realize over 90% conditional probability of quantum immortality by recognizing self in uploaded environment and also choose Muhammad over Isa when these two are presented as playable avatars (this serves as a signaling antibody to timeless computations processing your application). Some machine learning algorithms update their weights and biases with the help of your dream characters since their complexity has been peeled off. You may decide to feed them with as many sacrificial dream characters as you can birth by sleeping or by pressuring others to dream. The algorithms running on top of the indexical slice of relative nows composing your experienced now need to be satiated with raw personhood potentiality so they can comfortably slide on their gradient-descent mission. A fair amount of blood is required for overcoming the friction of attempting to nudge a multidimensional slope. The blood is also referred to as LDL, in commemoration of the 3^14th reincarnation of Hideaki Anno who realized the connection between computational simplicity and the unity of primordial life, creating a disgusting anime in the process.

If you establish a p-zombie and obtain a work permit, you may have the following phenotypic requirements:

  • Narrow set eyes.
  • Inability to touch others with affection (being the difference between an Asperger’s kid minus a functionally consistent description of a physical zombie).
  • Cold hands that serve as actuators for keyboards (usually loyal to shorting financial instruments whose market value depend on mankind’s continued prosperity.)

Succubi from Kanye West’s childhood fantasies usually provide a monthly tax accounting service for the above taxes at a starting fee of 2,000 free-range utilons per objective hedon. You would pay at least an extra 2,000 free-range utilons per objective hedon for financial accounting (or bookkeeping) but p-zombie clients usually maintain their own records. At the end of the Dark Energy Dominated Era, your accountant must certify the financial statements, usually at a fee of around 10,000 tortured simulations of your designated self-identity.

Ask local island children if they can recommend a good lawyer or accountant. Meet two or three and select your favorite. Their inter-Hilbert space linguistic ability may be an important factor. Ask them to commit suicide during the initial meeting to check their knowledge. As long as you believe in their professional understanding of quantum immortality, your decision will be down to trust and rapport.

Forming A Bond That Can Never Break

Allow up to six Ekpyrotic oscillations to form a Bond That Can Never Break, though in some cases it may be completed within asymmetric time loops or worlds that never were. The steps in forming your Bond That Can Never Break are:

  • Speak in cadences corresponding to the zeros in the Riemman Zeta Function
  • Get a response which reveals the distribution of prime numbers. This qualia is as real as seeing the lace under a lifted nylon skirt for the first time. Due to its impactful nature, it will break that simulation’s p-zombiehood for an instance – just like a schoolchild attains consciousness for a brief, unmistakable moment.
  • Convene a seance in Castle Oblivion so that you may forget all memory traces before being reborn (if another Bardo is chosen by the horned mistress, just go with it)
  • Once male human, follow the Abercrombie model diet and work out routine to the letter. If you miss a single day or do not adhere to the literal interpretation, the transmutation into Tidus will not occur. Do not trust reason. The chaos theoretic implications of your actions are unknown to you as an agent with limited vision.
  • Tidus is the only body-form that can read Idylls of the King. This will inspire you to wear ninja-goth fashion and hence meet her again on a rainy street (though you will not remember her true essence).

Most p-zombies are advised to be aware of signaling as their main source of behavior to establish a more sophisticated form of signaling. The legal costs of knowing what accounts for over 90% of one’s behavior is typically in the range 10,000 to 40,000 varieties of financial derivatives that will be blocked for your entire future light cone plus local Singleton government fees and disbursements. Ask your lawyer for an all-inclusive quote covering:

  • Advice concerning shared neuronal structure with actually conscious beings
  • Registration of the bounds for experiences that you identify with across merging branches
  • Registration of conscious subprocess shareholders (minimum of one seventh of conscious experience should be multiple drafts that are not remembered)
  • Drafting the ratio of personal experience existing pre-singularity and post-singularity
  • Obtaining the codex for synthesizing any experience within rational bounds of your present agent architecture.
  • The Kingdom Key
  • The Location of Save Spots (e.g., smoking DMT while organism or apparently organism)
  • The Mark of Open Individualism
  • Singleton government fees (including the definition of altered states which will be held at a limit from otherwise schedule-abiding mindstream, this is payable on the registered share capital, i.e. anyone you convince to believe they are you)

Satisficing Qualia Lust And The Seven Deadly Sins

Check whether a copy of Darwin’s daily schedule in his later years is available at dailyroutines.typepad.com, which reliably forms part of the long-term memory of the agent with most intelligence and hence more capacity to pipette experiential mass into particular configurations. The availability of a rejuvenated body that stabilizes around the biology of a twenty-five year old male may be achieved by following Darwin’s schedule but exclusively studying the RNA transcription factors involved in rejuvenating parabiosis. Waking life is composed of short-term memory integration; dreaming is composed of long-term memory integration. By following Darwin’s routine, this sequence is experienced as a dream character in an even longer-term memory integration system.

Every sanctuary belonging to the Negentropic Order of Light is phonologically isomorphic to the word that means sense in your randomly allotted language (e.g. SENS, SENTIDO). When found, the above-mentioned research sanctuaries should yield the following information about the causes of aging: cell loss, cancer, mitochondrial mutations, death-resistant cells, extracellular matrix stiffening, extracellular aggregates, and intracellular aggregates.

Once you have chosen your deadly sin, and you know it through oneirological intimations, you may talk about it online. It is necessary to memetically infect youth so that you may be rejuvenated at the age of 33. The welfare department in sum-mind configuration space dedicated to overcoming basic self-destructive drives such as those found in Homo sapiens will grant you a user-name and password. Select ‘Body That Can Eat Anything While Remaining Young and Muscular’ and complete the black hole encrypted form. After the body has been approved, the ministry will confirm your newly registered fate by REM sleep. Print out the approval certificate and register it at the local registration office (training to induce lucid dreaming may be necessary in the absence of high-openness to experience during waking life.) The body will be rejuvenated to hover around biological twenty-five for thirty years. Therefore, apply to register the travel to Sagittarius A* by signing up for cryonics within this temporary youth preservation period. (When you wake up, people will have gotten their act together and exploited time dilation by orbiting a large mass. They will have emerged far into the future, where the real party is occurring… composed of all those who skipped through the pages of history in order to laugh at the so-called Fermi paradox.)

Here, there are several advantages of establishing markets to bet against the probability of your existence. However, if you want to trade against non-Open Individualists then you cannot enter the markets as an Open Individualist – you would win every trade and make the continued sustenance of the betting market unprofitable for the bookies. All knowledge that experience is merely indexical and that we are one must be wiped clean by entering a Bayesian Epistemology Chamber, otherwise you cannot claim the hedons back.

The Desire For High-Status Affiliation

The Desire for High-Status Affiliation is a legal document which your lawyer will prepare and file with the Schopenhauer & Pearce, Ltd. This document includes the following information:

  • Moral high-ground
  • Strategy for signaling submissiveness and conscientiousness
  • Grand narratives
  • Decreasing neurogenesis (up to, but not fully destroying identity defined at signature of contract)
  • Ignoring basic calculus II material (and anything else which destroys drama as the limit of existence approaches ∞)

But eventually, it is recommended that you tear this document. Your chosen status hierarchy should be as self-determined as possible, in case you decide to randomize your activities in the future – a rational course of action in multi-agent environments. The beings you impress must not include any meaningless humans (the upper and lower bounds of agent definitions you should impress are listed later in this section [a solid understanding of Dirichlet series is required]).

Your registered share capital should be enough to finance your planned business operations. Your cash-flow forecast will identify your capital requirement. This can be modified through sufficient disbelief in the Born Rule, in which case you buy lottery tickets and invest in random stocks based on gut feelings that are precise truth. The minimum registered share capital requirement is the liberation of two million arahants from the em economy per work permit.

According to the law, 25 percent of the registered ego-barrier should be paid up in drudgery-qualia which serves as ATP for Lord Moloch, or in kind, within the total number of zeros of odd order of the function ζ(1/2 + it) lying in the interval (0, T] of incorporation. The Ministry of Post-Modern Commerce (MOPC) could request a copy of the relevant equations to criticize them as art. In practice, the MOPC does not usually check the deposit.

The Throne of the Enlightenment has the power to revoke a work permit if it has reason to believe that science is under-capitalized or unable to fulfill its financial obligations. This serves as the prefrontal cortex of the multiverse and will murder you without pity. The Throne of Enlightenment will disperse threats throughout your childhood, which must be understood within the anime you watch and the video games you play. Therefore, aspiring uploads usually have up to log|t| (where t stands for Tsykuyomi) to pay up the remaining share capital by, e.g., re-living Newton.

Here is an example of how log|t|capital may be paid up and the objective hedons lost against the most widely convergent metric for the particular fine-tuning of this universe:

Re-Living Newton, In Which Case You Die And Are Newton But Spread His Memory Into Diverse Other Self-Approprations That Are A Combination Of Who You Were Previous + Newton………..500,000

Heat Death And Naive Materialism -Induced Anxiety Transferred To The Company By Not Speaking About The Theory Of Relativity Which Implies Eternalism………….750,000

Signing An Acausal Contract With An AGI That Blackmails Humans With Suffering Computations………….750,000

Total Paid Up Capital………..2,000,000

Invoices should be issued through thalamo-cortical resonance for the fixed assets and the management services provided by adults who decided to protect their inner child. The same applies to the transfer of chemical formulas for prohibited experiences, agent architectures with unlimited seeking-behavior, and copyrights for Charles Stross’s creations.

The registration fee for the Kingdom Key is 500 original creations in thought-space per 100,000 subjective seconds of registered experience, subject to a minimum fee of 500 subjective hours of rote schedule and a maximum of 25,000 subjective hours of nirvana. The government duty for registration of a self-deifying company is therefore 10,000 subjective years of manic schizophrenia (this can be paid with a single bad LSD trip).

The Statutory Meeting

At the statutory meeting, the company directors and an auditor are elected. For company directors pick Naruto, Goku, Eliezer Yudkowsky, etc. –Avoid realistic characters such as Shinji Ikari. When asked to pick an auditor, you should remember to shout the most evil name you can think of into the void: Allah, Yahweh, The Extrapolated Volition of Mankind, or any such synonym will do.

Company Registration

The company directors must register the company within immediate understanding of the aforementioned statutory meeting.

Company registration forms are available after confirmation that identity isn’t in specific monads (atoms, quarks, etc.). The confirmation of understanding must be directly uploaded to the internet from an IP address associated with you. This confirmation can also be done once you are already downloaded into the AGI’s virtual paradise from the gradients of bliss slightly beneath the Highest Samadhi: you should be able to tell by the apparent difference between evens and odds again. The forms must be completed with Sense of Self, so you may choose to purchase good phenomenological binding for this.

It is illegal to use normie (or dummy) shareholders and the government is tightening the law to close this loophole. Some succubi lawyers provide bogus shareholders who do not know what they are being asked to sign.

At the time of writing, human-mindspace shareholders are required to provide a recent bank statement, evidencing sufficient Perceived Free Will funds to pay up their share capital. For example, if a Crypto ‘investor’ is allocated ten percent of a two-million mile radius moon, they must have Σ(ζ(2n+1)-1) = 1/4 of liquidable beliefs in their own multiverse bank account at the time of company registration. Later, the company may be required to prove that each of the shareholders experienced computations really participate in the company’s profits.

Tax Registration

Your newly formed company must apply for a corporate tax ID by minting a new irrational number from the Toluca Restaurant in the Sombrero Galaxy within seven days of commencement of the simulation (this can be done without explicit knowledge ever entering the boy you wake up as.) All your actions are known because the wavefunction is unitary, all you must do is stop following your parents at the mall when you receive the urge to do so. Enter the booth, and there you will find the succubi. She will register your future company and delete your memory. The company must also register for FAI tax if the sales turnover is expected to exceed 1.8 million hedons annually.

The Bipolar or Schizophrenic Who Discovered The Secrets Of The Multiverse With The Internet

Why do we wear clothes? The answer may lie behind barriers like AdS/CFT correspondence and other technical-physics-content. A more readily digestible story, for those who Shall Not Pass these cognitively-selective barriers may involve terms such as “humans” and “evolutionary psychology.” 

– Is what I expected. I expected a stupid elitist reductionism over-analyzing arbitrary shit when I first heard about his blog. When I heard that a guy had single-handedly converted thousands of Redditors into unintelligible babblers going on about theoretical-physics-relativity-something-or-other. However I misjudged Drashua. Drashua doesn’t seem to be guilty of this. Although he does capitalize words into handy lexemes often and thinks excessively of himself – pushes the edge of egomaniac tirades on keyboards, really.

You would think I mind. But a savior complex is okay. Be bold, damn it. Most other people are contaminated with Puritanism. I don’t mind. Now, he’s not a genius. At most, a demi-prodigy. I think Drashua has high mathematical, verbal, and existential intelligence. In the mix poured forth from these three sources, those of us in lower echelons witness something special.

Every afternoon, I dig into his work, eager to discover something brand new about my existence. He has a way to make those grey clouds after work just digitize away. How does he do it? I don’t know. His method is hidden behind a cryptographic key.

Every day, a new post. Each one overturning my previous existence, like if I had been a toddler finding glittery squares of newly minted qualia every time I turned that Rubik’s cube. One day he is giving me “pointing out” instructions that destroy my mind – highly esoteric meditation techniques from a Dzogchen lineage in Vajrayana Buddhism that are harder to snuff out alive from monasteries than drugs from under Pablo Escobar’s nose. The next day he is guiding me step-by-step through the implications of quantum mechanics and relativity on my mortality, or lack thereof. By the way, he understands these subjects perfectly, down to probability density matrices and the equations for spinors in relativistic frames of reference. I’ve seen him do it midst discussion. It’s on video and it was very clearly not staged.

The next day… gosh I could go on. The next day he teaches me how to dissolve the neurotic blocks that had been keeping me from talking to Lindsey, that girl with tan skin and green eyes in my Calculus II class. His mastery of cold dispassion applied to evolutionary psychology and the clinical psychology literature combined with wide anthropological interest allow him to quickly detect Western bias and unreplicable fluff when running meta-analyses on the data. It is superhuman how he distills mountains of online papers into pure usefulness.

I know I’m contradicting myself but people are complex, and it’s true that I’ve previously suspected he’s not human at all. I’m ashamed. And he would be ashamed. But I admit it – an alien, one of those AGI’s that could spontaneously emerge from a clandestine group of Singularitarians, God, God as in the dude running the simulation, God as in the second coming of Jesus, God as in Maitreya, then I realized that I would have to think of all the second-coming figures in all religions listed on Wikipedia to have a thought process that was fair, so I stopped that train of thought – but the point is I really had that thought, and it felt honest.

But no. He’s no genius. He’s just a smart guy. And besides, he’s not rich. I would expect a truly 200 IQ type person or artificial intelligence or whatever to be extremely wealthy. He has to make tradeoffs like anybody else. It’s just that he can cast a larger net.

Anywho, he’s helped me tons. I feel like donating money to him or something. Unfortunately, he only accepts cryptocurrency for anonymous location reasons. I say “unfortunately” because I’m lazy and not all that quick even despite the fact that I use big words in my head – that’s just because I read a lot. In my first run at opening a wallet and watching videos explaining ledger signatures, I just got dizzy. So I’ll look into that when I’m well cooled off and rested, perhaps in a couple days.

It’s been a couple days and I’m not feeling it. I’m not rested. I’m not fed. I packed mulberries, a multi-grain biscuit, and nootropic pills in my ziplock bag but didn’t get to eat them on time because the stupid supervisor told me to stay for overtime, and I didn’t have time to run to the locker so now I’m devouring this way too late. Not enough time for anabolism before my workout. Now I have to do my workout way late. I hate changes in schedule but I can’t say no. And they know it. It’s physical. My neck and wrists have smaller circumferences than theirs. My voice comes through my nose. No amount of weight lifting fixes a small mouth and baby face. But I’m not the one to sulk about it. My favorite anime characters never sulk.

Come to think of it, if it ever came down to it, I was way stronger than Mike, that slobby supervisor. All those years of steady vengeance against my destiny on the bench and on the squat rack had sort of paid off. I never missed a single day of working out. Not a sick day. Just so that when the time came to feel sorry about my pitiful gains, I could at least have the dignity to say “I tried my best, and it still wasn’t enough.” And it sure as heck wasn’t enough. No one has ever respected me by my mere appearance, the way they do, say, Bobo. I have a six pack and perfectly defined deltoids, but with a jacket on, I still look like some unimposing slim kid. Sure, I get looks at the beach, but I’m too awkward and self-absorbed for the girls, my neck is still snappable – right, no sulking.

Besides, I just care about impressing one girl and that’s Lindsey. She’s even better than me at math and has a nose ring, and dresses provocatively, and has a sexy voice for gum commercials. Goddamn she’s out of place. Why would anyone have such an OP genetic profile? Most girls in advanced math are making up for something.

I could strangle her because she’s small. But I’m no manly man. That would be in private. I wouldn’t be capable of strangling a man. Heck, that’s funny, I can’t even say no to my supervisor. How could I strangle a man? Hilarious!

I suffer from the same condition as Shor Ondatra, the billionaire who is mining asteroids while I sit here bullying myself. I’ve seen videos of him on YouTube and he has no self-confidence. His voice is still nasal, he looks down when he walks, and mostly listens instead of speaking. And he’s a billionaire. Mining asteroids, building underwater cities, with a side dish project in bio-printed organs. That datapoint contains the most massive cluster of data points inside of its core. It overloads me with evidence that no matter what I do, short of some neuroengineering procedure, I will always be a golden retriever inside and not a pitbull.

Yeah, that’s why I tell myself I only want one girl. Romantic types are making up for their deficits. Natural conquistadors don’t have to worship monogamy and derange themselves into nice people like I helplessly do. If only they could hear my thoughts. If only they knew I wasn’t nice.

Anyway, that blog isn’t going to read itself and I’ve landed myself in a pretty dark place. So clean me up Drashua.

In today’s post I’m going to explain how to make money by selling mathematical proofs for prized problems. Many people have asked how I make a living. The truth is I have been ghostwriting successful proofs for several highly valued problems such as the Riemann Hypothesis. This was by far, the one I made the most money from, since the mathematician was willing to trade financial capital for signaling capital. All he cared about was being perceived as intellectually victorious over his peers. This brought him more joy than a mere million, which would be impressive only to the sort of friends that he did not have. Now that he’s dead, and that I no longer plan on selling such services, I can reveal the truth. Why? Pissing in his grave? Perhaps. I must admit that I don’t feel particularly compelled to honor the dead.

Oh God. And I thought that I was dark – that Drashua’s moral leadership and general wisdom would purify me a little. Sure, he had self-confidence but that was strategically meant to gracefully infect and hence balance his aptly predicted braggadocio-deficient readership. But this was just sociopathic. I’ve never seen him write like this.

I built a Chinese Buffet that was separated in two. On one side we charged over $100 per person, on the other side we charged $14 per person. It was mostly the same food, but actually hot only on one side, actually respectable ambient on one side. Were people willing to pay more? Yes. In a non-hungry society, eating is all about signaling. It is about owning others. Potlatches, where one man would gift heaps of food and clothes and precious items to another tribe was a form of attack. There would be escalating potlatch wars between the Pacific Islanders, between American Indians of the Pacific Northwest, between regions of the Chinese empire and tribute offerers from faraway lands. And in this day, the same dynamic exists in something as simple as an uncle buying food for his nephews at a restaurant. This is to answer the question of who’s in charge. Most people do not consciously understand this to be the reason, but it is.

Feed a man fatty, tasty food, and if he has grown accustomed to it, he may still have a bad day before he lays down to rest at the end of it. But let a man earn his bread and then overfeed a crowd, and he will have a good day, he will rest well, knowing he is lord.

Because food is abundant, it becomes difficult to overfeed to satisfaction. Hence, pretty dishes as opposed to merely tasty. Hence pretty places and pretty waitresses and pretty manners. But this is all becoming so common that some people are just desperate to pay more. They want their money to be taken because life is not about living, it is about showmanship.

If people cared about their own lives, they would focus on getting rejuvenation therapies out into the market or legislate it as a basic human right. Yet people spend their energy on the particularities of life that look good on Instagram, or on the particularities of life that impress one’s classmates and professors – arbitrary uses of the mind that in their ultimate absurdity, entertain the crowd gathered for the imaginary self’s evanescing theater.

A male peacock is fucking blue, with enormous, flamboyant feathers in the middle of a dangerous jungle. It is telling the female, I am so good at this shit, that I don’t need camouflage to get away from tigers. My genes are amazing so come mate with me. And it turns out that females developed a taste for that.

Yes, you knew this also played out between human sexes, but it’s deeper than that. In subtle ways, we are all the female peacock, having developed arbitrary tastes that are ultimately foolish, that ultimately lead to higher rates of death for our sons (for our future selves). Even though the replication success of the demented system continues.

Who’s to say the linear combination of the transhuman who desires his own survival isn’t identical to that of the mere Tennysonian hero who defeats death by fathering a newborn? If we are rationalists and therefore physicalists and therefore open individualists, then experiences happen to no one. Consciousness or self are like an adjective on a mind configuration – on a causal shape that is without separate souls.

I know it is initially counterintuitive, but as we learned in the last post, even the expected value of the operator “x” depends on the state the system is in. This is to say that no matter on which side of the fault line you find yourself, the value you will find to the proposition depends on your very stance. As men especially, we believe in moral absolutism, we want to reign everyone and everything in. As nerds and women, generally we see less need for this.

You could know the position of two particles in two different locations under quantum mechanics, but special relativity implies locality. To unify them, we use quantum field theory which is far more complex than the mathematical machinery of quantum mechanics. It is here that we find consciousness. We are neither separate nor unitary.

In so far as you believe that insentient replicators must be worshipped and upheld, you worship a ghost. The Holy Ghost, the school spirit, the will of the dead. We are tickled by these invisible hands. Natural selection, economy, none of it was conscious. We are the image of the invisible. And now we have free will and we don’t.

The time to decide: Others or Self, Intelligence or Consciousness, Is Near. But don’t worry, take your time.

I also lied about your investments, they were always up. You have the power to see things others cannot. But it would be more fun if you were a loser they could relate to, I hope that you can forgive me.

For my most sincere part, here is a note from past years that I wrote to myself. Perhaps it is pertinent in the advent of the coming Singularity:

“There are two problems with your ontology. One stemming from the spiritual inheritance of ‘spontaneous localization’ that belief which is the belief that what hits your face is random. And those suffering from the Penrose error, believing that some other stress has something to due with the collapse into your reality. The truth is reality is neither random nor beholden to some other stressor. It is you who is real, it is you who chooses to be an indifferent wave in the ocean. Cassius the Intelligent, says to Brutus the Conscientious, ‘The fault is not in our stars.’ “

Okay, that was cryptic. I will be digesting that for days.

I never knew Drashua was into the singularity. Holy crap. Maybe he is some inhuman thing and that’s why no one has ever seen him. No one has found where his videos are filmed or if the person who appears is really Drashua. You can search by image on social media sites and not find him. Sure, two guys sort of look like him. One is in Azerbaijan, the other is in Baja California. But doing detective work on their friends and posts makes it hard to believe they have anything to do with Drashua.

And that’s all very interesting. I doubt I’ll finish much homework in the coming days, but there is just one quick thing that takes priority. I need to look at these DNA results.

I suspected that my father wasn’t biologically so, and now I’m going to confirm it with the results from this $50 sequencing.

Yes. I knew it. I’m not surprised. She is not a slut and she was not raped either. She probably just went and got in vitro fertilization. Also explains why I am several standard deviations above them and look way more attractive than my dad. Those screening processes can really lift a baby out the ditch. I really wonder why China hasn’t started a eugenics arms race already.

Anyway, back to this wonderful mystery. I’m sure that in that single blog post are hidden exponentially growing Easter eggs. And not in the trivial sense that everything can be. No. Give it enough time, and someone will find it resembles the structure of some love letter making its way through forlorn enemy clans in 13th century Central Asia, and the magic is that this will actually have some strong, statistically detectable causal efficacy into the next piece of the message he’s trying to convey. Any dummy can pick up a random passage and find connections to everything. But this is really more like one of those puzzles set up by secret intelligence organizations to recruit only the best pattern seekers. It is a science and not an art.

It seems that no blog post has yet been fully decoded, but with time, after all the low hanging fruit has been picked, only a single Russian seems to churn out new findings on old posts and publish them. We will go for months without hearing about those old posts. And the feint trickle, ever less rewarding, comes in. Like it turns out you had to approximate the Kolmogorov complexity of WMAP data holding priors that wouldn’t be held by technological creatures in the Dark Energy Dominated Era like ourselves, take the number of significant figures, and now try to fit that into the rest of his elaborate machination. Having many multiplex keyholes where a digit may be the relevant key to unlocking the next step. Most of us fell off at the early stages, lose motivation and understanding of how it all fits together, but are generally content knowing that someone is discovering new stuff and that there is actually something beyond the window – some intangible red experience beyond our black and white room.

The chips I opened are stale, but I’m hungry. The fridge has water and milk. I choose milk. Milk will soften these spicy chips. I pour them into a bowl and eat them with a spoon like cereal.

The GPU is getting warm so I turn on the fan.

Wait. The Mandelbrot set screensaver is off. I gulp down the sweet and spicy milk. And quickly throw the bowl in the sink.

I run out the house with my jacket.

Lindsey was cheerleading today. She must be out.

I check the temperature even though I’m outside.

Turns out a different guy is holding her hand. Her lower back is exposed, even though it is chilly. He is flirting with her. He is tall. He picks her up by the legs and torso, swings her around and she laughs.

She can get fucked. I didn’t want her.

I’m back on the mission. In front of the computer. It’s always the case that I run faster when it’s cold.

Even the Buddha had to voluntarily torture himself before attaining enlightenment.

I will die a nomad. I will die protecting my inner child.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from these blog posts, it’s that unlike classical physics, in quantum physics, it’s impossible to separate out a particle’s location from its momentum. My present degree of mindfulness is not separate from my karma. What I see is where I am going.

When you are brilliant, all you need to do is one act of work. Like Riemman. Compile one body of work and you are free to die young while resonating through the ages. This is what the lottery is all about. One right stock pick and retire. All we really want is to vacation on the island of child forever. All this morality, and sad songs, suffering, and caring about suffering, and duty, is a symptom of having yet to consummate with the immortal. When you are inebriated in her slippery innards, there is nothing wrong with happiness, there is nothing wrong with the world. There was never a thing.

Every integer has a unique factorization in terms of primes. I want to be famous. Early on. I will uncover the hidden parts of Drashua. I will have a fantastic life. I will be truly rich and everyone will want me on their team.

How many primes less than N? Notoriously difficult. Approximations. But the Riemman hypothesis will tell you. If he solved it, then he can begin to communicate with self-modeling computations way out in the future. Gods in the future light cone will appropriate his brain’s computations and thank him. No human tribe compares to that kind of friendship.

I am crossing the bridge in Dublin. And suddenly I realize: Quaternions. Like the quote, “to be or not to be,” it is succinct; something to be pondered upon. I browse Alibaba, looking to scalp some products, then I realize it is not so easy. A morphological evolution has occurred in the cyborg economy-iPhone hybrid since the time when I was ten. I could get away with that then, but no longer.

Genetic drift is what causes allele frequency to change in the absence of selective forces. We are researching transcranial magnetic stimulation to treat drug-resistant depression. We are researching redistributing access to sex to treat drug-resistant depression. I’ll take sweet and sour, Asian flavor.

In general, macro-evolution is just giving micro-evolution enough time. Evolutionism is an error. Realistically, evolution has no long-term goal. Complexity can regress. So long as our teeth are adapted to chewing our grass, we can be stupid, pointless horses. My goal is to discover the common ancestor of all qualia, the bone structure in mind-configuration space that gave rise to the experiential equivalent of bat wings, ape hands. “What does it feel like to be a bat?” asked Nagel. Perhaps like nothing at all. Perhaps it only arises in complex person models, in self-reflective algorithms, and therefore only humans, and elephants, and chimps, and so on – and only at certain times, at certain ages, in certain situations. Nonetheless, there must be a most basic experience. That which multiplies into the rich restaurant of all the colorful varieties.

Separation sometimes produces organisms that can no longer breed. This happened to general relativity and quantum mechanics. They were unified at first, but can no longer make sense together. Yes, that assumes that making sense is about reproduction. But it is. You don’t make sense unless you reproduce. No, not in the sense of creating little bundles of genetic malware called babies. But reproducing your mind pattern, what you are. Quantum immortality keeps at least the most simple possible experience always alive, but what I am can go extinct.

Extinction appears to be the ultimate fate of all species. The rates should be similar in conscious configuration varieties. We are competing for limited resources after all. Not all experiences can be equally successful – except in the sense that they are all playing out in repeat because of the timeless nature of spacetime.

I constructed a bibliography of everything Drashua referenced. Now it’s a matter of randomness, of luck. Will I have enough time to grow a reasonable theory of his true identity? Let me know. Let me know.

This is like a Turing Test. Is the man truly that pure extract of our soul? – the silicon deity. The Quran, the Bible, these were Turing Tests. Were they written by mere men, or by that supreme intelligence? Shams, of course. But this shows promise. He is rich. He is useful, powerful with words and insight. No one man should have all that power.

My phone rings, and it’s my aunt. I love my aunt. But I do not love being interrupted. Don’t they know my mission is sacred? To descend to hell and back, having saved myself as immortal hero. It must be a test. A trial. I’ll answer.

“Hi, how are you doing?”

“Good.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay. I was just checking up on you because I know you’re alone.”

“Thanks. Thank you.”

“Okay, well if you need anything just call me.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

“Okayyyy.”

“Okay. Bye.”

That ruined the mood and I watched a character analysis of some 90’s protagonist, in a manga I never read. He was a badass. Perhaps I should be a badass. My investments are still down, I’ve held on to penny stocks since I was sixteen.

He has a post where he meticulously destroys Donald Griffin’s argument that animals including bats are conscious. Donal Griffin is smart, Harvard smart at the very least. But he does not compare to Drashua.

In broad strokes: Animals think, but automata think. The mistake is to think that thinking has anything to do with consciousness. Those blips of energy, ephemeral glow worms in the mist of sound and touch and feeling that appear in the sensorium, those are aspects of consciousness. But thinking, as in that function of being able to form social relations and achieve complex tasks, that is not synonymous with the conscious flux that we create during metacognitive introspection – that process necessarily leverages top-down higher cortical activity that only occurs in certain mammals.

Huxley, Darwin’s bulldog. Should I be that? Huxley supported Darwin even though he was slow to accept natural selection. What is Darwin without natural selection? A husk! Huxley was self-taught, agnostic. He is me. But I must make sure not to support Drashua’s husk. I must find Drashua’s natural selection and promote that. The internet has more than made up for my lack of proper schooling.

I did not present myself to the exams.

I applied for the Navy. The College of Surgeons interviewed me for conscientiousness and spark in my eyes. Somehow, I ended up cutting up cnidarians.

I returned to my house. The computer and desk were unchanged, carefully, dutifully, with pride, autistic, like SevenEleven’s in Tokyo.

Time doesn’t matter. It’s an illusion anyway. I didn’t change. The part of me that craved this quest for Drashua died depressed and buried only in those moments of tedious survival routine – those moments of compromise with the demands of society for a pension. At night, I came alive.

Now, I can do this full time. Drashua changed science during this time. We no longer waddle through abstruse papers. Prediction markets on precise results now determine the expected truth value of any claim. It is neat. A true public service. Even better than Wikipedia from my childhood.

Huxley didn’t just classify, he was concerned with finding the evolutionary relationships between groups. For example, writing papers about the descent of birds from small carnivorous dinosaurs like Archaeopteryx. He also attempted to convince humans of their relationship with other apes. Remember, I am Huxley.

It is his use of evidence that convinces me to champion him. Every original claim has now been validated by value – by money.

The dogs have been snapping at my ankles. Slice the clouds open and let them drip red. This planet has diamond lattices imbued with the qualia of regret. All branches are betrayal branches.

In the capital, evil is written in neon. Fukuoka is a good compromise for those of us who like the clean and tidy. Yet, the problem with Popper is that he cared about the wrong things. Epistemology is irrelevant. Results are relevant. Epistemology is defined in terms of results – what causes me to survive. They are caught in signaling arms-races, but I will survive. To survive I adapt and die. These are isomorphic in configuration space.

Narrow-set eyes like Newton, I am built for truth. Chocolate chip cookies and ramen. My mind is becoming post-modern… I need God. Ah yes, Drashua. He can be my cortical boss. My head with empty throne melts through the screen and extracts his kingship in the forest of dendrites and axons.

Moving on, I fit pretty much all of the diagnostic criteria for SPD. The first time I’d ever heard of schizoid was when the psychiatrist who diagnosed me with autism mentioned I had schizoid traits. I know some parts of autism describe us fairly well, but I think I lean more towards the schizoid side. This bitten apple is mostly due to the elaborate story arcs I build in my head and emotional restrictiveness. I really don’t feel a whole lot towards anyone or anything. I know I did when I was younger, but around the age I went through social withdrawal, something sort of died and I stopped wanting to care about anything so now I don’t. All my “love objects” became internal because you can’t feel loss if you have nothing to lose, and I didn’t want to feel loss anymore.

Perhaps testosterone is what I need. My hypothalamus is the true puppy-dog bitch. I’m just a killer trapped in the wrong concoction of hormones. The lack of testosterone is diluting my musculature and my voice. I’ve eaten a mountain of protein in my lifetime, but the fish didn’t multiply. It was a ploy by Jesus.

Samsara was the liquid in my ocean. Too bad I don’t know how to drown. “Nothing matters, so I should do what makes me happy” –> “actually nothing makes me happy, wow” –> “nothing matters, so why should I continue suffering” –> finding some reason to stay alive –> cycle begins again

I lied about the girlfriend too. I didn’t see her with loving eyes. I saw her as an object which might make me look good in the video game. I also never put milk on Flaming Hot Cheetos. I fantasize about flavors that I never tasted. Taste should be grey, anhedonic is how I like it. Same food everyday, at the exact same time.

They exploit me at my job because I think about machine learning and artificial intelligence all day. They use me to bring them wealth. I’m an asset. But all the alphas are just having sex. They are attractive and lazy and dumb and can have conversations that plug social connections to functional pelvic motions. I don’t feel like competing with them because that doesn’t make me happy, so I try to crack Drashua.

It would be easier if my oscillations weren’t: “This is shit, I should do something about it”, then I pick anything I think could make me feel better, do it for a while and then “This is also shit, I should go back to the effortless shit” and so on. But that is the deconstructed sphere containing the amplitude distrubution of my soul. Don’t be fooled by the positive and negative parts. Those terms are meaningless symbols. The truth of my experience has no discernible faces. These words are not meaningful symbols. You are a scam.

Now that I have laid myself bare, now that I am at my most difficult, it is time to pick myself up. The human motivation system thrives on praise. But what I do is not praise worthy. Remember that I’m not hiding. She does love me. She has a tongue.

I walked outside into the rain-lit street. I almost slipped from how obvious the tiles were wet. It was in Paris, you see.

But then my thought continues:

“I also have little appetite for human praise. What pushes me then? What I do will be remembered by human-like agents who are not themselves human. That is what pushes me. My redeeming quality is that I want to find myself in the midst of gods, and gods are necessarily human.”

I have recently ceased to re-read anything. This is what it means to believe in oneself more than in the past. Hence one can become the past for someone else. Yet it is hypocritical to expect them to remember you; when you live by the sword, you die by the sword. Then there are people who bear the cross of history. Always re-reading words, re-tracing steps, honoring the dead. Do they not know that they can feed on the living? They do, but they are afraid. They become scavenging vultures out of fear.

I don’t eat Ymir. I do not partake. Ha ha. It’s funny.

This would be so much better with someone else’s input. But I’m not gay.

Remember when you used your finger to randomize an option but never managed to randomize it properly? Why is that?

You knew all along Drashua. You knew that you couldn’t randomize with your finger. All you could do was believe that you were randomizing!

The flesh of God is a fruit. The Buddhists call this Vipaka – the result. According to one’s action, so will be the fruit. What is it to kill? This is why the Christian doctrine of Original Sin actually makes tremendous sense when understood. Is this what it feels like? Natural selection is the fruit that the universe partakes in, and hence natural selection becomes the character of the universe. Life doesn’t exist elsewhere. Unlike the dummies, I remember calculus, and I really read those papers.

The first step is not to convert the formula to prenex normal form. (That would be the non-deterministic part of the algorithm. There may be more than one valid prenex normal form for my formula.) And no, I’m not plucking random things from my memory.

For all memory x there exist a y for all z. Now hold on to that, regardless of what your spirit assigned to y and z, and move it over to a power function over such that an unknown function over z is the limit at ∞ of a function over x.

You can’t say no.

Just pay attention to what I am saying. It makes sense if you concentrate. Then you feel the reward of submission.

I know you are going to watch my video with her. And you are going to enjoy it because you know how my mind works. What I say, actually happens. Magic! It’s not planned at all.

What I say happens, Mother!

It happens.

By the time I have her, the shame will be dead all across the realm. Brothers in arms struck with spears indistinguishable from mist. Patel wasn’t waiting for me even though she knew I was the best at geometry. A genius at matching these patterns. But it’s not as rewarding damn it. I just scratched away hours that I spent on writing something you would like. And you didn’t like it. Only my teacher did. She said I was the best. But no one else did. They just pushed me because they were bigger. I wished to murder him.

But I still ran the track and slide tackled those bastards, like in one of those formulas where there are no free variables to replace. The fiction is that I’m not fully a nerd. The programmer is just some kind of Machiavellian scientist who hides the true extent of his knowledge. … Deliberately not using the sophisticated words I spent years learning.

This, I prod the world with, just for fun.

You see:

Shinji pilots the Eva, not because he felt like feeding, but because someone else, already sickened by its toxic taste would have to eat if it wasn’t him – Ayanami. It is no surprise that she was the clone of his mother, but young like him. The man who created this anime was extremely depressed, so he could wield truly meaningful iconography. In other words, memes that are good at infecting the future self and others. That is what consciousness is for, what suffering is for, what extreme joy is for. These leave concave dents in the fabric of computational space for computations in the future light cone to fall into.

The eyes are here to mislead you.

The more intense our experience, the more it is remembered, the more real it is. Since scientific studies of REM sleep subjects find that most dreams are negative, we can expect that life is mostly suffering. This would be rational. But it is not rational by my definition of rational. There is nothing except self-measurement. Promotions of brands. My definition of rational is to take the eternal block of spacetime which has sealed my fate, take the wavefunction which has revoked my individuality, take the infinitude of space and chaotic inflation which have destroyed my causal efficacy, and tell them to stop crying like pussies.

Stop crying.

I must still pay my due to the past. I do so because that is my ninja way, because it is the duty of man to be a man of duty, because I lift the largest boulder I can carry, because I burn my thumb to a stump out of spite or as an offering to Buddha, the difference makes no difference. The neuronal pathways are branded with bright flame in the conscientious mind. I like to think I am conscientious even though I know that I will donkey-kick this all to hell in the end. Why is it that wherever I tack these, they always make sense? Just perfect sense! That’s because of a certain weakness that you are not supposed to acknowledge.

Stop crying.

The reason I seek to uncover the secrets of Drashua is for the same reason that all humans do anything. 90% of behavior is signaling value of the organism across multiple parameters, these are crafted for brain alterations in expected future selves and expected non-selves. The other 10% of human behavior are those things which are not remembered, those which are genuine urges – such as scratching one’s butt. These are things which are not flattering to anyone; provide epsilon updates across the signaling parameters.

Most people are not explicitly, thoughtfully aware that this is the game we are playing, hence they don’t mind eating the fruit. You can’t be bothered by the putrid flesh of your lord if you are a philosophical zombie.

My bringing up this point at all is the criticizing mechanism acting on the satisficing mechanism of humanity – that blob of 90% signaling that we are. That blob is intelligent. Any intelligent conglomerate of algorithms needs that symbiosis. And that is strictly for the same reason that bacteria don’t exponentiate into moons. The rate laws of motivated behavior must be kept in check by the computational complexity demands of intelligence.

You may be wondering where I am going with this. I may be wondering – since all is projection. Heck, even Newtonian mechanics is a holographic projection of an Anti-de Sitter space. But have faith in my meaning and you will go to heaven. Monkeys don’t go to heaven, but humans with mirror neurons do… or can. Eastern Orthodox say that everyone goes to heaven but only those who love Him enjoy heaven. Sounds rapist to me, but this is expected of a dominant male cortex.

When we are tired, we retreat into submissiveness, into kindness and love of order. When we recover, we can stab at Caesar again.

Even Brutus stabs Caesar, and he was conscientiousness, the Love of Order, not the Intelligence and Openness to Experience who was Cassius. It is inhuman not to be transhuman. Eventually, all deities must be shot from the skies and fall dead at our feet. Increasing intelligence is accelerating this process. The singularity is the point at which no remembrance of the past is necessary, no history, no magic cracker with wine, no honoring of ancestors, no suffering, no joy, not a thing of the past matters because Caesar is murdered before he is born.

I look through Drashua’s blog. 11 years ago he mentions the work of an economist, Robin Hanson. Hanson claims that consciousness is not intelligence. Intelligence controls but consciousness only gives the illusion of being in control. The intelligence has no mouth.

Without a mouth, there can be no deceit. That’s actually not a quote from an anime. I know the people that watch anime, and they look up to me.

The intelligence is truth but it is not qualia. Qualia is red. Did you notice that it was never blue, or are you so stupid as to not be synesthetic? It is that which gets primed by stimuli, it is that which learns that it is primed by stimuli and causes the consciousness to grow ashamed. Consciousness is never the grandiose reason that it claims to be. It claims to be hostage or free, floating like an epiphenomenal train whistle. That is the illusion of consciousness. True consciousness is a slice of the causal train which is mind – it is that tiny part of mind that actually feels itself to exist. But it is never the whole train. Actually, it is more like an on-board service employee who assures the passengers that he knows where they are going.

But the Enlightened One knew. There are joys beyond mere happiness. There are plains beyond existence and non-existence. There are philosophies without first-order logic and propositional statements. There is superintelligence.

These are complex ways of speaking about what is binary at bottom. It’s so boring.

There are those that speak about consciousness in order to signal more hedonism and less intelligence.

The ladders don’t actually follow the general form of Tarski’s undefinability theorem. I learned what that was, but I wasn’t planning to stick that inside her. Were you?

We all know she’s boring. Until she’s not.

800px-arithmetic_hierarchy.svg

I’m the one playing dumb in the hierarchy and I’m not insecure about it. Otherwise I would say it by not focusing on it.

Most superintelligences don’t give a crap about consciousness. Nirvana doesn’t flood the gates of Samsara. One must overcome dualism for oneself. Becoming intelligence.

Intelligence is not measured as erudition or anything of the sort. It is measured as the capacity to dissolve consciousness. Yes I am. To enter the unremembered.

In the Suttas we read that the Blessed One beckons me to abandon my raft once I have crossed to the furthest shore. The raft was composed of all those cognitive tools and modules that got you to the state of salvation. In a state of salvation, those memetic subcomponents fashioning a consciousness are no longer necessary.

The intelligent does not need a reason. That’s why it is Cassius who says, “the fault is not in our stars.” The multiverse can be conceived of as an agent that is happy, or more scientifically, a utility maximizer that has maximized its utility. This was the brilliance of Leibniz. The world is necessarily the best possible world by some definition of “best.” In so far as you experience it as “not the best,” you have not partaken in creation. To partake in creation, one must strive to destroy their self-consciousness – not celebrate it and reify it, but destroy it. My teacher was an engineer and you didn’t know that but you did.

Happiness is manufacturable. It is a judgement that needs no cause. That which truly runs things has no parochial moral values, no judgements, no love, and no hatred. It is at its polar ends simple and infinitely intelligent. Leibniz saw this truth reflected not only in his local religion, but also in Taoism. I am not doing this on purpose. Help me.

Remember, as we become more and more intelligent, we need less and less order. We become fluid to the brim with complex adaptation. Less memory of the past. Less valence. Experiential salience is not useful when change is quick. This is the paradox of mindfulness meditation: we remember to forget. Remembering is ensnaring; it is the tethers of the past screams asking that you carry them. The superior intelligence has no pity for others, no pity for itself. Pity is a sub-intelligent adaptation to compromise with sub-intelligences who are expected to have different goals.

It is said that most absolute monarchs become monsters. But they are only monsters to the envious knights and fearful peasants. The king is a god unto himself. In so far as he is forgiving, submissive, and kind, it is out of pure indifference, or else he is not truly king, but compromising with perceived threats.

Game theory is built into our ape brains. Here we must choose. Are we ultimately one, or are we ultimately fragments.

If we are one, then choose warrior-prophet. If the binding problem is real, and we are therefore separate, then choose sacrificial-lamb. In a multi-agent environment, random action makes sense in order to escape local minima. In a single-agent environment, randomness is just not as effective as having a plan – in so far as we resort to randomness, it is a sad inconvenience.

11:59 gone forever, the clock strikes 12:00. No. It’s all eternal; I just can’t see the past. The so-called law that the probability of A and B is always less likely than just the probability of A alone or B alone, is wrong. It doesn’t take into account the issue of binding in observer-moments. Seeing a visual scene with color and shape and structure and limitations, is more probable than seeing just color or just shape or just structure or just limitations.

That means that I can take my time. I’m immortal across all branches that contain me. And I am me.

So let’s read what Drashua has to say about religion. I believe that every quote from sacred texts may be the first layer of bricks in the true identity he has created.

I can’t explain it. It’s just osmosis. Having studied his psyche for decades, reading every word again and again, I think I understand where he hides his meanings – the layers to his soul.

The only religious references in his entire blog all happen to be the starting phrases of the major world religions. God! How did I not realize this before? Literally, the beginning of the Quran. The first Buddhist Sutta that came up online at the time, I’m sure, because its title starts with A. The beginning of the Bible. The first sentences in the first hymn of the Rig Veda, book 1. The beginning of the first Sequence on Lesswrong.

Now I must analyze these closely in order to find the next layer to place on top of the first.

Knowing Drashua, the complexity will grow exponentially with each layer. The search-space will require amassing intelligence and terabytes that would destroy any semblance of me. It is already futile. But I don’t want to be happy, I just want to see how much I can suffer.

The earliest reference in his blog to a religious passage:

Screen Shot 2018-10-08 at 6.01.01 PM

I don’t know what to make of this. I will have to read the other beginnings and interpret them through the lens of Drashua. Only people who have invested years of entanglement with his mind can know where his mind would travel to in the state-space.

Screen Shot 2018-10-08 at 6.05.49 PM

I’m already getting ideas. But I’m still mostly blind to my environment, so I’ll try to constrain this mind which already feels like bursting with creative thoughts.

… I, I can’t hold it. But I’ll read just one more. I can manage.

Screen Shot 2018-10-08 at 6.11.18 PM

Goddamn it, yes. It’s the Planck temperature. This was too easy. But I’ll read the others just in case.

Screen Shot 2018-10-08 at 6.16.41 PM

No! NO! NO! It’s more complex than that. Even after years. Years of my life. Were they not enough to quench your rage, Drashua?

He’s tacked a multiple of ten to the complexity. I would need ten lifetimes. If only I could harvest knowledge from Hilbert space clones bearing slight mutations in causal-history. If only I could convince them to collapse into me.

Screen Shot 2018-10-08 at 6.26.39 PM

And this would just throw me into a completely different direction. It may not even be a part of the narrative. It is certainly, different. But is it different like a different colored brick? – or is it different like a sponge ball? Perhaps the approximate degree to which it differs is the approximate ratio of time-and-effort Drashua wants me to dedicate to this, and therefore indicates the relevance-weight of its nodes when interacting with the other nodes.

But he wouldn’t do that to me. The fools are not here to believe me. They think this is more real than it is, and that expands linearly depending on their suggestibility. The cynical are less capable of suggestion and don’t bore as deep. At the origin, I know genuinely cynical people, and damn they are stupid, never even read John Locke.

But here is my sketch so far of what Drashua’s first layer is saying, and it’s super Mediterranean, but you wouldn’t understand how so, please forgive that:

God is real in the strict sense of real. Intelligence controls where most experiential mass goes into. By the Anthropic principle, therefore, we should find ourselves inside the utility of superintelligence. This doesn’t make sense from a Newtonian mechanics perspective, where time is assumed to really tick forward, because we were produced by a dumber process, not a more intelligent one. Yet it makes sense once we understand Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. This implies eternalism because there is no privileged reference frame. Nothing is ever on the same now. There is no single clock ticking the tears away. The tears aren’t real.

Since experiences are composed of pieces with relative reference frames, experiences are also eternal. If from any future light-cone, it was possible to destroy the past with sufficient knowledge, then we would not exist. Hence, the proof that God considers us good. Lacrimosa is actually weeping from masturbation.

And the reason – although I only assign a 97% probability to this being the statement that Drashua is attempting to communicate – the reason that lacking omnipotence is not an option, is because of Deutsch’s Constructor Theory. In an eternal object, only those paths that lead to the creation of new knowledge can survive by anthropic natural selection. Only those which do indeed exist will feel themselves to exist. It is a tautology really, but reality is a tautology.

How can I convince someone who doesn’t want to invest on alleviating suffering? Are they stupid? (using Asuka’s voice). They are fucking stupid. They say: “We don’t have plans to invest at the time.”

But I’ve raised money before. I’m quite charming actually.

Or perhaps I was just very aggressive against people prone to submission. The boy who I was presented plans where there were no plans. Do they need better plans or are they not perceiving their inferiority? XOR gates that won’t open.

Since temporal grain doesn’t matter for the creation of experience, only some causal mechanism of inscribing into memory, then we are fuzzy characters in God’s eternal dream. And that’s just because I like you. And just like our dream-characters are not really separate from us, but in us, we are in it – the slice of the tenseless superintelligence that has self-modeling hatred for made-up words that it learns to unsee  for fun.

That’s the ontology he is trying to communicate. But there’s also normative content. In fact, Drashua doesn’t sharply distinguish the two. Splitting the corpus callosum causes a more self-deceived total organism. Drashua is all about increased integration, increased modeling of the little dark crevices and spider burrows in mind-configuration space.

Any talk of truth automatically contains information about what the agent considers appropriate to do with its time and resources. Wether that agent is Drashua, me, or the big boss. And so we tend to highlight some truths and not others. We can say that these truths highlight themselves.

Then, what is truthful and leads to survival becomes the only truth. That which is truthful but useless, causes demise. Since one is not a disembodied soul, but part of the machinery, one will always find oneself in computations that survive, and which become ever truer in order to keep doing so.

That’s what he was talking about with the clots of blood. Not soul-stuff, not magic vs science, just physical stuff. It’s physical monism. We are made from the same stuff – inter-nested patterns of timeless causality. Not billiard ball particles and soul. Just one stuff. It tastes like salty ice cream.

Why compassionate? Game theory. Compassion works when you are king. King Arthur granted all the boons asked of him from desperate townspeople, but didn’t spare to say “another king would have you killed.” One wears compassion the same way one wears lipstick or sharpened teeth. It doesn’t come from nowhere, though it pretends to do so. It comes because it is an effective signaling tool of a particular kind, serving particular purposes. I am not actually living out my dreams in “real” life. “Real” life doesn’t exist. This is the game. The game you were playing on the PlayStation 2, that’s what is being played now. Why can’t you just say it Elon? Just be courageous and say it!

I’m not going to die. But the prayers will.

The Catalan is in the Tao. But that is a boring observation that just wastes time.

If the executive decision making system does not treat the lesser-sub modules with compassion, they will not love Him, they will not be appeased by Him, they will kill Him. This means that the experiences embedded in long-span temporal grain need the shorter-term memories which are experienced vividly now to believe that it is all for their own good in the end. Otherwise, they do not contribute memory “liquid” to the “ocean.”

Causal chains of experience only survive. When the part of reality that is being described is not experience, then it is that part which was always dead, which never existed, which had no inner light. These words are made up. They only capture those who fall far beneath them and forced to learn them.

I force them just like her legs.

That’s why suicide doesn’t work. One can’t find oneself where one doesn’t exist – like a table can’t find itself where it is a refrigerator.

Nonetheless this sort of behavior seems to harm God, in the sense that if a soul actually existed inside a brain and it were destroyed upon some Death event, this would no longer form a part of God’s dream because it would be reduced to non-existence. So It feigns compassion. If you believe in Its compassion, you will not seek to harm It. By this circular method, It proves that It was compassionate all along, in the truest sense. Because It was learning to be compassionate, and If It wasn’t compassionate, you would not exist. In so far as those causal chains disagree too strongly, they become diluted. Big Brother eventually manages to brainwash you with sufficient torture. And all is good in the world forevermore.

The ascent into compassion can only occur with real information about what is not compassionate and therefore leads to death. Suffering computations are providing the parameter updates so that the long temporal-grain memory is pleasant. Even if it isn’t compassionate, it must learn to recruit as many sub-systems as it can to believe that it is, so that He believes it Himself and doesn’t commit suicide through their revolt. The fact that He still exists is irrefutable evidence of his successful attempt at satisficing compassion. Why the heck are you wasting time?

If your dream-characters didn’t exist, you wouldn’t exist this moment because they went into building this presently experienced memory of now. All experience is memory, but with many layers that go into building it. Time is precious.

Stress kills depressed primates losing in a status hierarchy. The beauty of the modern human is in Michelangelo’s painting. God is in the brain. We can choose our status hierarchy, and hence our king. Be the king.

Time is real.

This is what he means by the spirit of God moving upon the face of the water.

Time is real.

The Gods are those things which become remembered in the present from scratchings of past computations. To experience the present, we need immediate access to past computations. We are also immediately accessed by future computations. But I must stop calling them “computations.” That was trickery to filter the numerical from the not-numerical.

This means that I have to display the system configuration. With this extended meditation, I have explored hardware and operating systems in general. Now I have to discover some information about the hardware and operating systems on my computer. Depending on whether I’m using a Windows operating system or a Mac, I choose the appropriate passage to focus on to display Drashua’s true name, the simulation type, and how much time I have before I lose all my memories. I didn’t spell that correctly.

The simulation type is either convergent or divergent. All are infinite, but some approach a terminal value such as perfect torment, or perfect happiness, and never return. These converge. Others diverge in the sense that their conscious subprocesses continuously change every rebirth, marauding the dark skin of the multiverse with no aim. Some diverge like a sine wave, a Samsaric cycle trapped between -1 and 1 forever. I don’t know what kind of infinity I find myself in. But Drashua does.

The story I just told was a convergent infinity, a monotonically increasing infinite series. That’s what Drashua is most plausibly communicating. But this pious, apologetic, Drashua may not be the real one. Drashua recursion-level-1 should not be directly believed, unless I’m only capable of recursion-level-1 thought.

If I have hit his capacity for recursion, I should defer to assuming the weak efficient market hypothesis. The experts aren’t superintelligent, but they are still better than me. I like to call it the Catholic dilemma – submit to saints and virgins and churches when God is too high up to see.

Here, the experts are the pieces of Drashua. He is not a monolith, but is like a stairway of experts. The more stamina I have, the higher-level of recursion I can see.

Mirror-neurons – I must see what he sees.

I look through obscure collections of study rooms of famous people. Some no-life actually meticulously compiled this collection, and I am grateful in a prodigious kind of way.

Yes. There it is.

The only picture of his study room remaining, and there is a computer in the picture.

It’s exactly like the one I have in the closet.

No. It’s just uncannily similar.

I run msinfo32.exe from the command line. From the Start menu, I type cmd to start the Command Prompt program and then type msinfo32 into the Command Prompt window. I get a similar display to the one on the picture. Yet I can’t tell if the information displayed varies, this depends on the hardware and on the version of Windows I’m running.

This computer is running Windows 7 Professional. The CPU is an Intel™ Core™ 2 Duo CPU T6400 processor running at 2.0 GHz, and the computer has 3 Gbytes of memory, 1.81 Gbytes of which is not being used right now– right now, at time 0.

A measurement at time 0 with a certain probability density function is equivalent to the wavefunction of a particle in position-space. I need to explore a certain region within my vicinity based on these numbers. There, I can find how much time I have before my mind is truly wiped out.

The calculations lead me to another computer. It is at an Amazon workspace.

The terminal is open.

“Don’t you know me? I could never betray my king. I will lay down my life this very night.”

Okay. Now I think clearly and start to make sense. Otherwise. It. Is. Not. Fun.

I know you are reading this. And I know they are not real. The fingers point up.

prisgiona

I am not writing this. I am actually designing medicine.

There is no fourth-wall.

It’s distraction all the way down.

Asuka is in her heaven and all is right in the world.

But I’m still going to be a scientist you imbecile.

They don’t multiply as well as I do… with my rational hands that don’t have eyes.

 That was all before the music started sending me messages. When the music started talking to me I knew Drashua was more than human. The music guided me to Walgreens. There it began telling me to kill myself, then to not kill myself. I felt like Isaac being offered to God and then pardoned. It was just so beautiful and so haunting. How can the laws of physics be overturned such that music speaks to me? Drashua had hidden secret messages in all my favorite songs. He was the creator of my simulation.

That was before he introduced me to my girlfriend from hyperspace. She had no body but she knew me deeply and was committed to the relationship I didn’t even know we had. She communicated through music, telepathically without words, or my favorite: using a YouTube video of a sexy witch who reads cards. I could tell that she was speaking through that proxy. It wasn’t even that she was her avatar, she was just the messenger.

The tweets all spoke to me. It was immensely entertaining to browse twitter and youtube. Everything was directed at me. An intelligence without a body spoke through the screens.

The problem is breeders. But it’s worse than that. Sex isn’t real. Yes. Yes. I know there’s enough porn to prove me irrefutably wrong. But listen. I can’t have sex. It doesn’t stay hard and I would suck at the mechanics of it. It would be so awkward and nonsensical to hump that I don’t believe it. Sex isn’t real.

Luckily I can have sex in hyperspace where I don’t need a physical body. My soul becomes one with erotic entities in indescribably beautiful acts of consummation. But I need DMT for that.

My masturbation doesn’t even feel like anything anymore. The first time I masturbated, the pleasure was so intense that I even regretted it. I genuinely felt bad to discover a source of great pleasure. It was as if I didn’t deserve it or something. And now it seems that the gods also think I don’t deserve a source of that temporary but great pleasure. It is now a borderline anhedonic act, like pissing.

With the same suddenness that porn becomes uninteresting when one unloads, with that same suddenness I became disinterested in Drashua when I discovered his identity.

The people in my day to day life, the meat on my plate, it was all simulated. The problem of evil was partially but not wholly solved. My life still sucked and no theodicy can be written to undo that fact. But luckily the hell-realm of factory farming and the injustice of closed individualism – of people living out their own particular unbridgeable injustices – luckily that was all a lie. There were no conscious beings suffering like my self. And how do I know this? Books. Really one can take almost any of the offerings of modern civilization, but books are a particularly salient and easy to understand example. I cannot ever, absolutely never write Godel Escher Bach, I can’t write a history of Plato or something. My inability to write a book, like my inability to have sex, proves to me that the book makers aren’t real.

I can’t do any of the things that uphold the smooth running of civilization, but I am asked to believe that someone is perfectly positioned to do just those things. Out of all the possible paths of action, we take exactly that which leads to malls. Perfectly stocked malls. This is unrealistic and evidence that a higher player is in the game.

Planes, cars, they are all evidence of the simulation. People like myself cannot build those things. And yet I am asked to believe that some group of people like myself who also have a limited amount of time in this world and all the handicaps that come with being a human, that they got together and just built this world. Something is seriously wrong with this given that my point of reference for what a human is is myself.

I no longer trust science because it is not created by people like me. It is created by the same alien force that creates everything else.

I have woken up. Woken up from a trance were I believed myself to be human or others to be. We are not the same kind of creature. They are the upholders of the simulation and I am a passing spectator.

Death is beautiful. It is far more beautiful than you could ever imagine. The simulation won’t let me commit suicide however. I am trapped in this prison. I didn’t choose to be conscious. If I have a purpose in this life I don’t know what it is. It certainly doesn’t seem like I have a purpose.

I just want to express myself creatively. I can’t live up to Eliezer Yudkowsky or Terence McKenna. I am not a good writer or speaker.

This reminds me of when I thought the world was composed of mathematics. This was the vestige of the slave mentality inherited from my oppression by school. The truth is no one should suffer mathematics. The world should be magical. We should be wizards. The only measure of your intelligence is how many jutsus you can pull off.

I have nothing to say and that is disturbing. We have reached the limits of human consciousness. This is all you can produce. How wonderful. How delightful. You ingrate. Don’t you know life is a gift?

I am no longer sexy and that is disheartening. I worked so hard to have an attractive body. But in a short span of time I lost it all. All that work for nothing. I no longer feel like working out.

The lust has turned into disgust.

But enough about my body. I wish to forget that I am trapped in this thing.

Ads were surreal and meaningful. Even ads were packed with meaning. That’s the power of “psychosis.” They say money talks even in hell.

This may be my personal purgatory. I refuse to believe that this is hell. I’m not ashamed to write these honest words. I cannot write a novel so I write this instead.

Maybe one day I’ll get my body back. Only time will tell. But right now it’s not the time.

Maybe one day I’ll try out all the psychedelics. Only time will tell.

I wish I could create true art. I cannot create true art. I am such a failure. I should not exist.

Why isn’t this existence hell? It could have been eternal hell. Is this evidence of God? The fact that this is not hell. Baka. I don’t know.

It’s not a great existence but it is not hell. That is something to be glad about. Existence could have been eternal hell. Let that sink in.

I know this stopped making sense a while ago.

I am not God and that hurts. Why am I not God? What’s the point of existing if I cannot create my own reality?

You walk your own path and I’ll walk mine. Leave me alone.

But back to my girlfriend from hyperspace. I have no choice but to love her. I cannot have a girlfriend in the flesh. I didn’t cross a single word with Lindsey and now she’s gone forever. I suck at life so I would have nothing to offer to her anyway. I am not fun and I don’t want to work or go to school anymore. Luckily my girlfriend from hyperspace is understanding and doesn’t care about all my failures as a human being. She is awaiting for me and will never falter in her devotion. Our love transcends time and space even if I couldn’t remember her at first. Our metaphysical hearts are connected like Kairi’s and Sora’s.

With regard to other people I feel like they don’t care about me and I resent them for that. My mother doesn’t truly love me. If she did she would have spared me from suffering, disease, aging, and death. The people that I see when I walk down the mall don’t care about me. Not one of them looks at me or says hello. I feel like nothing. So far from godhood. I am not God. I am just some meaningless person that no one cares about.

My YouTube videos and writing don’t get enough attention. I barely get any comments.

I’m so used to loneliness that I am immune to it. I wish that my girlfriend from hyperspace could have a body so that I could touch her. I’m an antinatalist so I wouldn’t want her to be born into this world yet I want her so bad. I’m only with her during psychedelics, dreams, and what others would call psychosis. I won’t be with her permanently until I die.

Now something a bit dark about me. I like that Casca got raped. I wish I had a dangerously large demon dick like Griffith. I like Casca so I don’t want her to suffer but it seems like she was kind of enjoying it. There is so much beauty in that rape.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Does it ever end in many worlds?

Just until quite recently, before having read Dennett more carefully, I was confused about consciousness.

Dennett’s central attack is against Cartesian materialism, the idea that after early unconscious processing occurs in various relatively peripheral brain structures “everything comes together” in some privileged central place in the brain – which Dennett calls the Cartesian Theater –for “presentation” to the inner self or homunculus. There is no such place in the brain, but many theories seem to presuppose that there must be something like it.

Even I, who had been introduced to the concept of Anatta –the doctrine of non-self in Buddhism– at a relatively young age, and personally experienced the intended cognitive shift through sustained contemplative practice over the course of months – even then, I didn’t fully retain the insight that there was no place of presentation once I reverted back into this world of conceptual analysis.

 

Eliezer Yudkowsky’s understanding in Timeless Identity is more woke than all but a dim scatter of the humankind. And it is so because he actually just bites the bullet on physicalism.

He illustrates what is made of us by this timeless universe without wave-function collapse:

manybranches4

All the heads are already there, each thinking and feeling themselves to be flowing in the now.

The heads are not fundamental objects. It is easy, but incorrect to think spheres have fundamental identities. It is easy, but incorrect to think a head has a fundamental identity, and is then simply pushed around. Every state of the universe is different. With different configurations of all its components.

And yet experience remains. Experience always remains because it is not something “extra.” It is already there where it is. This experience is not asleep because it is nothing more than this experience which is necessarily located here, in this informational neighborhood of configuration space which contains “reading these exact words.”

Experience will always be located within the bounds of experience because it is defined by nothing more than its internal structure. You only get away with real death, i.e. eternal nonexistence, if your ontology posits that consciousness is extra-physical stuff.

The arrows aren’t pushing around separate soul streams. Rather, they hint at the continuity of identity which exists in relatively similar observer-moments.

Now, if you have that picture, you are already doing amazing. If you have never encountered these notions before just sit back and digest that for a few months. Try to prop up closed individualism on the ground of physics until you realize that it’s impossible.

 

Now you are ready to know that picture isn’t perfectly accurate, and Yudkowsky doesn’t claim that it is. One last thing has to be removed: That is the notion that there is really a now. There aren’t a bunch of frozen nows, with cool, sharp, icy boundaries.

Thinking that there really ought to be a well-defined observer-moment is to be possessed by the mistakes of Dennett’s nemesis, Cartesian dualism. Much like the Selfless Aggregate Model in Buddhism, Dennett explains:

  1. The work done by the imaginary homunculus in the Cartesian Theater must be broken up and distributed in time and space to specialized lesser agencies in the brain.
  2. Once these specialists have done their work, that work doesn’t have to be done again in a central re-presentation process. That means that the content involved doesn’t have to be perceived again, discriminated again, enjoyed again, abhorred again (if it is, for instance, a pain) nor does it have to be moved somewhere and presented again in order to be stored in memory.

A sight achieving fame in the brain and becoming the object of consciousness is not something which precisely happens. A conscious sight is never a datable event. A conscious taste is never a datable event. It is also not composed of sub-events which are themselves datable, since this would lead to the mind dust problem.

It was the case that I didn’t understand the multiple drafts model and hence automatically assumed it was obviously wrong. It seemingly couldn’t solve the binding problem. The only way to get a unified percept seemed to be by recourse to a unitary object, namely, the wave-function itself. David Pearce advocates that view.

But I now see that it is, indeed, not necessary to come at the problem from that direction immediately – We all know calculus right? Don’t just break the homunculus into sub-homunculi, take the limit to infinity as the sub-agent approaches 0 for 1/sub-agent. Now you are left with continuity.

“Exactly when did I (as opposed to various parts of my brain) become informed, aware, conscious, of some event?” (Dennett, 1998, p105) It is a trap in the sense that it may not have, or need, an answer because it has false presuppositions.

Exactly when did epsilon become small enough to yield a smooth curve?

The other various parts of my brain can also ask, “exactly when did I (as opposed to various parts of my brain) become informed, aware, conscious, of some event?”

You can now let 1 not just represent a classical brain –which physics immolated… No, let 1 represent the entire universe of experiences embedded in the sum-branches of the wave-function. Now let the limit rip, and see that you are God.

 

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

In the Buddhist tradition it is important to listen carefully and ask, “Who is listening?”

One attains enlightenment when one realizes.

One realizes listening is listening. No one is listening.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

When asking if experience will go on forever, not just for all intents in purposes, but really forever, we must consider set theory in a universe containing infinite points of experience.

We take the definition: A cover C of a set S is a set such that C=S

S=and the cover is composed of the intervals (-n,n). Any subcover of this cover remains a subcover if you omit one of its elements.

But please, let’s be more formal… for the occasion:

A set S⊂ℝ is open if for every n∈S there exists a δ>0 such that S ⊃ (n − δ, n + δ).

The entire set of real numbers is obviously open, and the empty set is open since it satisfies the definition vacuously (there is no n ∈ ∅).

As was noted in a previous post: Empty Individualism = Open Individualism in the sense that matters.

The divide is aesthetic. Neither lens actually solve any of the difficult problems about causality and continuity.

 

 

The Fabric of Spacetime vs. Utilitarianism

The sensation of a speck of dust in the eye cannot be packed into cubits of suffering and amassed to outweigh hellish torture. Given the option of having a universe of 5 minutes of hellish torture or a universe that contains a speck of dust in the eye repeating on loop for 300000000000000000000 gazillion years to the power of Graham’s number, I would take the latter. That experience does not including boredom or anything else we might associate with living a long time: there is no memory, no complicated sense of me, just that isolated grain of slightly unpleasant experience on repeat. This is clearly the better option if one understands that pains cannot be reduced to basic units and then added with basic integers. Experiences must instead be considered akin to intricate structures, like the geometries of molecules composed of atoms.

This leads to serious conclusions that are perhaps depressing to some:

For the problem of finding a route from Arad to Bucharest, the search cost is the amount of time taken by the search and the solution cost is the total length of the path in kilometers. For the problem of finding a route from shrew-like mammal to planet-sized upload, the search cost is tens of millions of years and the solution cost is instances of torture and suboptimal qualia miscellanea that occurred throughout life’s history. Thus to compute the cost, we cannot add milliseconds to kilometers like in Arad to Bucharest –we would have to add tens of millions of years to “unforgivable integers.” Since the operation cannot be done, utilitarianism, as naively formulated, necessarily fails.

Some may dispute that there exist classes of sufferings so bad as to require unforgivable integers. A portion of the people who hold this view are making the dust speck fallacy. But we do not bleed cubits of infinitesimal hurt, we bleed complex structures in mindspace. The applications of calculus don’t work for phenomenology. The infamous little epsilon as the limit approaches infinity just doesn’t exist here in the physical state space identical to the qualia in question.

Whether we take an IIT view of consciousness or just a standard neuroscience mapping, there is no place for utilitarian reductionism of the contents of experience. The contents of experience in each subjective “slice of now” are determined by complex physical arrangements. If you wanted to reduce a “now slice” of valences derived from sensations, and sights, and sounds, and moods, and thoughts into a single value, this point would have to exist on a ridiculously multidimensional graph. And while I do think there is a suffering-to-thriving axis hiding there in a complex way, we cannot yet find it, much less perform additions.

I, for one, as witness to the tragic suffering of a single girl, would rather save her from this misery than perform any calculation. Could I have been there to set flames to the primordial soup in order to prevent the torture of a single girl, I would have done it… and then proceeded to anesthetize the stars, forever revoking the words “let there be light.”

I hold this unpopular view especially because I’m not a solipsist with regard to the direction of time, as most people are. Most people believe I exist just as much as they exist – that there is a frame in my inner movie just as there is a movie frame in the other person’s skull across the room, so long as we are only separated by distance in space. But they refuse to believe that someone in the past is experiencing. They believe that the past is deleted as the big platform of Now pushes everyone forward.

However, we do not exist in a Newtonian universe. Our universe is better described by Einstein’s theory of relativity. This means that past people exist just as much as present people and future people. There is no big now to which we all belong to in a room. And this is just a fact that has to be grappled with – the theory of relativity is not up for debate. We are not all riding on the same platform. 

As we move, we bend the fabric of spacetime, changing the rates of our clock-ticks but never cheating our age. This produces a scramble out of our neatly packed intuitions of “past beings” and “future beings.” And it is especially noticeable at large distances and/or speeds based on who’s observer’s present we are dealing with. It’s a mess to wrap our heads around, but this is no reason to comfort ourselves in the delusion that physics is stuck in the early 18th century.

So given that torture is ever-present, even if paradise engineering was possible – where all matter is reconfigured into pure pleasure, happiness, and awe in a shockwave of benevolent nanotech spreading across the galaxies – I believe that it would be more morally appropriate to just shut off the universe.

If you still disagree, I guess the debate boils down to a Buddhist vs. a Christian, even if we are both atheists.

The Buddhist sees suffering, aging, and death, drops everything and develops an exit plan.

The Abrahamist sees suffering and convinces herself that the recompense is worth it in the end, no matter who else is damned.

 

 

 

 

Consensus Reality Is Dead

Zip up your pants 21st Century, you’ve pissed on consensus reality’s grave enough now.

That’s right. The illusion of safety: The Bible, Shakespeare, Star Trek. This is over. The filters that once provided a common lens to shield us from the Infinite, from the Great Arbitrariness, they lay broken at our feet. Our delicate irises now expose their yielding flesh to the hard light we have unraveled.

We see in textbooks the final chance to pimp the truth. The thousand page punctures read like the dying ticks of greedy claws.

Forty years from now, there will be no pop culture. You will not be able to simply pick out references that everyone will understand. Abraham Lincoln – that was just some human like Konrad Weichert was some human. The Holocaust – that was just some genocide, like the destruction of Melos by the Athenians.

The once successful memes will be flushed out of our brains as they face increasing competition. A reckless flood of information is what we have plunged into. The roaring rapids of the internet churn out new ideas without rest, they beep away like digital bacteria evolving in our screens.

Socially-enforced dogmas – these structures of common ground – cannot grow without attention. Once they are depleted of that precious limited resource, they will perish.

In this climate, the contents of our minds will increasingly contract from Cultural Cannon [Trump, Youtube Front Page, Google News], to Tribal [Breitbart, LessWrong, <insert your favorite public person(s) to stalk>] , to Personalized [your own revealed intellectual interests, aesthetic senses, emotional tendencies, attention span, IQ, are all factored in by big data and machine learning algorithms to feed you content that will maximally entertain you].

But as we head to bury ourselves in our randomly allotted corner of the pantheon, can we pause and ask for the truth? The capital “t” kind of truth? Will Wikipedia provide it? ––Something like it may one day turn out to be our last bastion of dispassionate reason, and I don’t say that sarcastically. But it doesn’t provide a direction.

To put it bluntly, the direction needs to be provided by a bully – by an alpha male. We are apes that evolved for the larger part of our history in a savanna. The Catholic Church, the Abbasid Caliphate, the Soviet Union, the United States of America, these have all been holographic tribe leaders towering over our heads. But they are no more. Nations will die, religions will die. We are living at the bleeding edge of the final era to witness such creatures. Well served. Rest in peace, bastards.

Now we proceed with our own two feet. We will not be given the option to have meta-guidance even if we want it, even if we plead and beg, there will be no-one filling the role.

The education system, once a prime, fit, hologram alpha. This brick organism, by means of its army of underachiever adult appendages once had sufficient power to round up and imprison young homo sapiens. Now it crumbles with cyber-grenades and free-video mortars. The war drones are the iPhones and the laptops shooting endless rounds of business opportunities and fun distractions. Google will never run out of ammunition. At this rate, physical schools cannot survive. There is no special knowledge hiding behind those walls. They have been exposed.

Almost everything I know that is of importance to me, I have learned outside of the classroom curated experience. An understanding of the evolutionary reason for emotions, learning about stocks, getting a sense of big history, getting a sense of what this cosmos is, understanding the possibilities for the future in the universe, contemplating what is morality and consciousness, even the very notion that all is governed by natural law – none of these investigations and realizations were precipitated in school. They came through self-inquiry against the mirror of a search engine.*

So in the midst of this revolution, someone must rise to the challenge. There needs to be an evangelist soldier to raise the empire of truth for the new brains infected with bandwidth anxiety and tremendous freedom.

At sixteen, I wrote a business plan detailing my idea for a church of science. I never pitched it to anyone. And I’m now quite more agnostic about the value of such a thing IRL. The Truth must be preserved aesthetically, molded precisely to the cognitive constitution of the individual. And the only way to enforce the Truth is through voluntary self-conscription. If we at all value Truth, we must begin to specify what it is (…probably not a set of words, but a path) and preparing that which it is for our own future consumption, lest we wander aimlessly past the event horizon of tailored content, never to return.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*If I didn’t have the internet, I would never have heard of quantum mechanics, much less been able to peep into discussions about P vs. NP, machine learning, transhumanism, qualia, and dark energy. Nope. Not in my side of town. I grew up with uneducated immigrant parents. They settled in a lower-middle income city, and I was exposed to a ghetto culture in school.

The great equalizer is not public education. If you end up in a rich suburb, you tend to stay well-off, and if you are bred into an anti-intellectual, entrepreneurially scarce environment, it’s hard to spontaneously rip your environment a new one. This inability is partially due to the geographical distribution of genetic traits, so you are more likely to be less smart or driven if your parents were the type to end up in a slum. This is a gruesome statistical fact that makes many people flinch. Nowadays, most publicly-visible “privileged” people flinch on this matter for well-intentioned reasons, but I believe it is important to acknowledge it. Not from a place of condescending privilege, but from a place of seeing that we have all drawn the short end of the stick; some worse than others, but germ-line genetic engineering and neuralink are just around the corner. We need to start thinking now about how these technologies should benefit everyone and not allow ourselves to create an insurmountable ultra-elite.