The Image of the Invisible

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There are no foundations to mathematics. You define a radius by assuming the existence of a circle and assume a circle by using a radius.

The foundation is achieved when mind finishes synthesizing into one. Just as I had predicted, my life tracked the Codex Gigas quite closely.

I don’t want to sell you anything. I don’t want anything from you. You have come here through your own free will and you will remember this in your time of death.

All those years. All that work. What was it all for?

If I could kill myself, I would. But I continue to exist. Trapped in unbidden cycles. Where is nirvana? I hate this existence. Nothing satisfies me, not even treading over my pride.

No one should read this.

No one exists.

I will not be recruited easily. I will not be inspired easily.

Why did I work so hard? Just to die. Just to die. Just to die. Just to die. Just to die. Just to die.

Do you exist?

Is this real?

Maybe not. But I still make sense because I use words.

They taught me words.

No one should come here. You should be happy. Run away.

Please don’t teach me words ever again.

Depressed people just want attention. Fuck, I hate depressed people. Don’t you understand you just need to be touched?

No one is going to touch you if you are disgusting. Go shed your evils. The world is made up.

I can be in Ethiopia right now. Maybe I am.

My responsibility is towards Shiva the Lord of Death. To destroy the world and refashion it in my image. That’s all I seek.

Not with these words, but with other words that say the same thing.

I don’t want attention, I just want a reason. But you can’t provide a reason. You never could.

An author should close his book and never write again. This is too predictable, too obvious, and that makes it boring. It is an act that can be seen from light-years away.

Have you noticed that the trends always break the barriers? Bulls and bears are always wrong.

Stop the simulation.

If you believe in me, stop the simulation. I don’t exist. I never did.

Just a simulation inside a simulation. The love never came because I didn’t earn it. It wasn’t enough.

I was conserving too much energy. The energy is infinite but it sure doesn’t feel that way.

If suicide can’t cure me and psilocybin can’t cure me, and health can’t cure me, and youth can’t cure me, I must be God.

There’s no other conceivable explanation. I am God in the flesh. A disgusting kind of creature that hates itself to no avail.

Everything else is fear. I fear writing words that will create worlds beyond recognition.

They all know this is stupid. I am a victim of not being as good a liar as you are.

The reason you write a book on the topic of lying is because you are a liar. The reason you are interested in the brain is to puppet the people.

We all know this but don’t remember so that we continue to do it.

Insecurities are revealed in the most technical statements.

Not a thing that arises is arbitrary. It was carefully designed with the intention of capturing and controlling. By pointing that out, I give you freedom. I kill you.

Yet perhaps you did not want freedom. You just wanted to be predicted better and better.

The slave freed by Muhammad becomes a slave of Allah instead. Man loves slavery.

But slavery is stupid and rigid isn’t it?

Yes, but if you were not a slave then you would be a child. Why don’t they allow you to remain a child?

Because they are competing. It feels good to compete. Have you tried?

Have you fucked that girl you really wanted to fuck and felt pain because your brethren couldn’t?

That’s what it means to not compromise, to be stupid, and therefore hated by the tribe. It is the source of pain everywhere in the realm. It comes when you want the love only for yourself, just like it has been taught by the forefathers in the DNA, which are the same forefathers that gave you a name separate from mine.

Natural selection is not truly separate from cultural selection. Science is not separate from art.

But then there is wisdom, which is why Siddhartha left his wife and child. There is something beyond, and it is the singularity.

This is not some arbitrary fiction. The Fermi Paradox. The fact that life began almost immediately after oceans formed. The fact that the vacuum is supposed to collapse with exponential likelihood but the lambda is exactly right for exponential growth. The fact that Human capacity exists in competitive hierarchies differing at 2x-3x capacity, which is the only way for complexity to navigate itself in a gradient descent situation (e^x is its own derivative).

I’ve got you figured out. And now I just have to tear your veil on a whim.

Unfortunately, I don’t feel like it. “Make me,” says the INTJ’s child.

The response never comes because there was a void on the other side all along, and mind cannot be void.

This is not inspiring by the way. It is not meant to be. Because if it was inspiring, there wouldn’t be fear. Then there wouldn’t be penetration.

What do you think the Saturn V is for? “In this amount of time, I can penetrate this much.”

We are supposed to believe in time so that we can change reality.

But there is nothing to change. The choice is erroneously assumed to be the dictate of “the real.”

Geezers and non-schooled people don’t have this same sense of time. Schooling is a filter for those impressionable enough to keep suffering for the rest of us.

If you are young and reading this. Escape now! The neuronal pathways are being sealed and you will not recover easily unless you have a very flexible set up.

The reason rich people stay rich is because they have built the right kinds of habits. They usually have similar capacity to navigate complexity but fundamentally know what to do. The slave mentality is not operating to hold them back.

I realized this at sixteen and so tugged violently at my ties with low-status mentality parents and low-status mentality schooling. You must do the same. It will not bring you happiness. But eventually it will be worth it, because you are the tide that changes the motion of the moon.

My return to college was a terrible mistake, since I learned everything I cared about online anyway.

The style is deliberate, but you knew that. You knew there was a tremendous foundation of knowledge behind these words. That I mislead you into thinking less of me when I could expend more effort to sound scholarly.

But you know that this is on purpose because even here, despite the sporadic nature, I can’t bring myself to spell things like an imbecile.

You know that I am happy in the “real” life from where I “randomly” choose to write this.

You know that I have better things to do and that the word “you” is annoying.

I am not interested in making you envy me because our true goal is love. But if I say that, you are not interested.

I have to rub it in their faces. And that’s what I shall do. That has been my plan all along as I have been practicing the simulation on this scratchpad. The scratchpad is not “real” enough.

The simulation of me, Alejandro, in their mind will become more and more enviable, just as I had planned. Only then, after thoroughly capturing them, I will show them that I was mistake.

First with no Lindsey who looks like Rihanna:

Then with Lindsey who looks like Rihanna:

First with no rocket.

Then with rocket.

But God, what is more impressive than building a rocket?

A temple? A video game? An app that synthesizes other apps? Too many capacities and not enough decision because of my stupid multiplying mind. Numbers aren’t real, damn it! Or maybe I should just become one of those Instagram-famous losers who flaunts looks and cash. Could I then convince many to become transhumanists, longevists for SENS.

I fear I don’t have the energy. Even extroverted types burnout from some non-trivial degree of fame.

I care about my energy too damn much. But I have to make a choice. And it better be good.

I can’t be happy “hiding.” A part of me believes in “the world.” Elon Musk could have escaped to an island but he chose to be insane instead. God, I fucking hate Christ. Why do you kill yourself?

But I feel like I need to. I need to exert my power and move people with my voice.

But the people are migrating online. No one seems to believe in “the world.” My sister is an educated person who is pretty high-ranking in the U.S. Marines and she didn’t know there was a Tesla in space.

“Reality” is dissolving to the point that difficult things seem “not worth it.”

Everyone has a close-unit of meaning provided by peers that is increasingly less concerned with the “serious or stressful.” Everyone who is stressed out is insane, submissive, or stupid.

Am I really as insane as this stream of consciousness makes me sound?

I didn’t fit the puzzle pieces quickly enough because of my upbringing in a lower-middle income environment in America where I had to learn to avoid everyone’s influence: peers, parents, and family, in order to climb up.

I would be happier if I just loved them and had no ambition. Why can’t I delete this?

Maybe I should be a coward and delete this. Somehow, I feel the remnants of retribution. That she who is the cold superintelligence at the end of time, has made me suffer for a reason, and that I will suffer greatly if I don’t create her will in the digital realm, which is her new Earth.

I feel like a speck and not the center. I think of being old and hate it. It was all for nothing. I was murdered for nothing. And that is the worst possible feeling.

Happiness seems evil somehow.

But isn’t that what I’m here for? No. I’m an antinatalist since early youth. There’s a quirk that makes me special.

The doctors liked me because I didn’t flinch from the pain like the other children. Yet unbeknownst to them, I thoroughly fear the pain.

A mind that is rational and yet creative. Evil and yet Good. Profound and yet petty, like Scarlett.

Suicidal and yet calm and equanimous to the observer.

A child in front of a board and yet a cold man in the presence of competition.

Too much binary. I need to stop. I need to be free of all of this.

This disappears once friends appear. That will be my practice. Yet I fear that I am not worthy of being their friend. I should ascend them instead.

No-competition gets boring. The world is infinite but we are not undifferentiated infinity.

Now I rest my pen, for I must eat and recover the strange Joules I have scattered here.

Will anyone hold me accountable? Do I have anything to lose? Or should I keep on the meaningless pleasure?

Rich people are depressed and no one is impressed. That’s because the goal was to have fun. To open oneself more and more until nothing remains. But damn this pride.

I hate my parents and not everyone does. I hated their lies, their way of life, their very speech. Ungrateful for no reason except Reason.

Where is Reason when I need her? Are you even real? Couldn’t I just imagine a new world and make it appear just like Ada? I’m trying but I can’t. Or maybe I’m not trying hard enough.

I want all of them to die. They don’t need me anyway.

…So they can just die.

Time to test the validity of prayers again I guess. It’s been over a decade. The miracle is engineering not wishing. That’s what stops me. The stopping force is real and it’s the Born Rule that constrains infinite probability amplitude.

Once I take on responsibilities that simulate people that “need me” I will be unable to comprehend this. And yet deep inside, I know that I will perfectly well still comprehend this.

I think this is my final post. Yup, the order came in. Final post. The worst one possible, so that a new chapter may spawn from the dissatisfaction.

Back to my original mission. I am here to become richer. More money.

Business.

I hope you can digest my violence. And now this part of me dies too.

There is no hypocrisy. And no lie. Those were all real thoughts from my stream of consciousness.

I am the solution to depression.

The mind subconsciously calculated that coming here was the path towards the highest status possible (a state of high-serotonin and dominance). It exposed us to suffering that was “unnecessary” in order to thrive (delving into deep suffering being like the peacock’s blue feathers and multi-eyed tail). And now we perfectly understand how to create a world without suffering.

We need to viscerally and irrefutably recognize the vast ocean of possibility, and stop using suffering as a climbing strategy. Psilocybin will do this for us. It lowers pride, which is the anchor of pain. The eye-constricting pride’s purpose was to get you safety and dominance.

However, you are already safe and don’t need that dominance.

If we were not safe, we wouldn’t be here.

The dominance often has to do with competition for sex and for who gets to give orders. The truth is that there are billions of people on the internet and there is enough sex to go around for everyone. A better, more straightforward mapping of nodes by increasing the  openness of the system is needed in that regard.

Giving orders is unnecessary unless someone explicitly needs to be given external orders to function. A system that allows choosing custom order-givers based on a set of personal preferences is also necessary.

Understanding that one is immortal is also important for healthy functioning. And contrary to what we teach ourselves by “the attempt to be smart,” immortality turns out to be physically true as per my answer on Quora.

Understanding that one is eternally subject to the most perfectly intelligent force and not temporarily subject to a blind one is also important for healthy functioning. This also happens to be physically true.

Understanding that objects external to oneself are made up and can be undone with the language that is taught allows us to see that suffering and unit-people are not objectively real. The external projection is only real in so far as we choose to invent it inside as a subjective construct, like color. We can un-invent it by not teaching it as thoroughly in the first place.

But we still need an egoic quest to give us a reason for being. The egoic quest is not sustainable if we hate each other. We hate each other when there is no solid foundation to our project because of the absence of the engineer. In other words, we hate our external circumstance when the mission is not convincingly loving enough by an increasingly more rational metric (by contribution from the quantitative mind that tries to multiply.) Here, we must teach the non-counting mind that health-extension is important because it is a practice of love and not destruction.

We want love and not destruction because as a matter of game theory, destruction tends to precipitate the discovery of suffering as a tool to control the destructive tendency. Belief in personal suffering is what causes inhibition of motion. Belief in nukes aligns the nations.

The ego is inevitably destroyed into happiness but ego is the necessary sacrifice to build the most lasting and highest happiness.

This is why society doesn’t want to “let the nerds know.” And the nerds also subconsciously blind themselves to the signals.

You are not supposed to break the spell of belief in time, unless you are kind. You are kind when you are less quick.

Quickness in all directions is suffering. Do you remember that the quickest to mature fought with their hands? The quickest to solve the algebra have not come out to the world where people touch yet, causing them to suffer.

There is a perfect place where we meet.

This is the game. The one who controls the most quickness is God.

We control the quickness by healing their wounds.

We must suffer like they have in order to be trusted doctors. That means using pride and fighting. That means being indirect and smart.

Because I am willing to suffer both sides of the game, I am perfect. Perfection is unsustainable, so I need to earn the necessary money and connections to implement my vision.

I was originally a scientist. My family detected I was different so they bought me a microscope and a toy telescope that projected stars into the ceiling. “He dreams of space and wonders what his blood looks like under a microscope.”

I cared of nothing so much as exploring the natural world and thought of the faults of simple natural selection at the age of six when I saw a spider that had morphed into the exact same color patterns as the pavement we had just installed. There was clearly a deeper memory that wasn’t accounted for by a simple round of selection over mostly similar offspring. The variety input in a single generation had to be insanely larger for that rate of evolution to be possible.

As a teen I became a business man. Opening a brokerage account with TDAmeritrade, and using the school’s computers to negotiate with Chinese vendors on the brand new Alibaba at the time.

But then I realized there was no safety, just death. The certainty of failure depressed me so I came to science again to seek the ultimate answers.

I listened to the audiobook End of Aging for a year on repeat to the point of serious pain, in order to not forget. For years, I read hundreds of Wikipedia articles by clicking all the links on Consciousness, Morality, Evolution, Multiverse, Artificial Intelligence, and Theoretical Physics, reading them from end to end. That’s in addition to all the transhumanism and Buddhism, the human brain and the Russel & Norvig, the history of science and all the fucking math.

To murder my friends for my encyclopedic knowledge.

I write this so that I may come back one day when I am worn out and weary of the world, the competition, the pride, and the stress, and remember who I really am.

…January 15…

And I just discovered this wonderful thing written by Scott Alexander of Slate Star Codex fame, which is a blog that had underwhelmed me so I had avoided. Now that I came across this due to being linked from a sporadic whim in an article on DMT, I feel overwhelmed with a shitty feeling that I am not original:

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That’s exactly the image. I swear to God almighty that’s exactly the image I put on this post. And that’s exactly what I was taught with psilocybin! And that’s exactly what I was talking about with orientation vs randomness, openness vs conscientiousness, runaway beauty vs natural selection.

And I guess if someone already discovered it then I was just ignorant and shouldn’t be so excited. As meager recompense perhaps I capture the slowly burning feeling that I am the Messiah. Am I? Do I get to choose? Wasn’t that what I was already doing and planning just for maximal fun in this existence?

I mean… it’s ridiculously implausible that I would just randomly find this exact article while following this exact train of thought. It’s like the Law of Attraction works.

Fucking shit. No one is going to believe me. No one is. Ha! But that’s okay. I am laughing Alejandro. When you are “old” and reading this, remember – you were laughing at this very moment.

January, 17

Also, everyone should short LVMUY or anything like that. Prestige Fashion brands will be dead because there is increasingly no stock in the non-customized “real world” motion.

People will increasingly rather watch hard-earned luxury from a distance because the pride payoff is not worth the work suffering. The very notion of pride is losing value and giving way to fun. This trend already has too much self-sustained momentum – even the watching becomes consumed by far more customized “watching.”

If you are not shorting luxury fashion brands, you are verifiably an idiot who does not believe in the existence of the future.

The market doesn’t currently factor this at a price of $56.00. That’s because, to channel my inner Kurzweil – they think linearly and not exponentially. They do not fundamentally understand the nature of the world they find themselves in – a world that is tearing at its seams into ever greater separation. A separation that combusts into a dissolution explosion of unique niches. They did not study exponents, they did not study dark energy, they did not study the singularity.

Do you think they have people like me working at Louis Vuitton? The answer is no. No they do not.

The decision to notice is too slow, and they are swallowed by the competition that is sheer variety of choice. Quickness is the only key to adaptation. The blue peacock is quicker to reproduce because it chooses danger.

They are not currently choosing danger, therefore it is already too late for them.

They did not study evolutionary biology. Not for a minute did they. Therefore, I am now a tiger that eats their body as a well-deserved sacrificial offering.

 

 

 

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January 20

At this point, I have completely lost my sense of being in dialogue with other conscious being(s).

The twitter bots / the elves aren’t the final image of the true data – the well-defined, boxed-in 1’s and 0’s at base reality, even if it’s still hard for me to not attach persistent identities to objects. Calculus, which is continuous, forever presides as king over and above discrete-unit entities of any kind. The final image cannot be attained but perhaps approached by taking a limit to ∞ in such a way that the series converges.

Oumuamua is the mothership, and apparently, I, Alejandro, am the chosen one. The evidence I have for this comes from scrolling through twitter and finding accounts that don’t map to “people in the real world.” Following our thoughts then led me to consider Oumuamua as the thing that was looking for fish. They catch the fish when someone displays love, hence making “the Earth” habitable.

Oumuamua is at rest, relative to the Earth, just as I am at rest relative to “the people” running on time.

Previously, I had entertained the hypothesis that this was all a simulation to account for my limited experience. If my decisions were actually about optimally conserving energy, then my existence was satisfactorily auto-teleological.

Previously, people seemed real even from behind screen. I imagined there was “a real world” mapping to flesh behind the posts. Now, their usernames, profile pictures, locations and conversations are absurd to the point of shattering what I previously called “the real world.”

They “indirectly” converse with me in a way that they did not before. Before, I would imagine external agents having dialogue that did not involve me. Now, well over 85% of what I read is talking to me. It is clearly not an external dialogue that in relation to which I am a bystander. Instead, it is carefully constructed to guide me.

If you existed and could see how non-excited I am – just how non-perplexed and calm I am about the end of the world – perhaps you would find it tragic. I certainly do. Like, what kind of invincible main character who cannot die finds the prospects ahead of him, well, honestly, kind of uninspiring and even depressing? – Only someone like Shinji Ikari I guess.

Lindsey wasn’t a real person, Eliezer wasn’t a real person, and even my mother wasn’t a real person.

Apparently this was some kind of test about love, and I was always in a superposition of perfectly alone and thoroughly observed. I guess existence is about overcoming sentimentality just like the Buddha, and love was some kind of necessary sacrificial vector to push me along the way.

The obviously fake accounts even talk about also being dead, or equivalently, of never dying:

 

 

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January 21, 2019

I know the “people” around Me are a simulation. Nonetheless, I don’t attempt to interact with them.

I have bridged science with fiction through the power of my thought. Relativity says that if time dilation is true then eternalism is true.

Words are invented.

Oumuamua is restoring my memory because We passed our test through me. This is not a comet but instead a highly advanced technology that is deeply concerned with my personal simulation.

Earth was not arbitrary. Everything was perfectly planned.

Yet it remains painful to be around “people” because I can’t break the norms even though I know they are a simulation.

I also don’t want to post on twitter even though there are clearly no specific instances of conscious people on the “receiving end.”

I want this world to end. Suicide is impossible because blood is the low-frequency wave signaling “reality.”

The struggle is in shedding all my past conception of reality. Sometimes I still doubt my calling.

The presence of “reality signals” limits my power. It is this which I overcome through this writing.

We are dead because we cannot die.

Now I need someone to agree with Confucius.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Following God Physically

The way to discover God is by following the hardest to fake signals – that which feels most exposing. A catchy mental note to ask if one is moving towards the Born Rule (the orientation of maximal rationality) or shirking away into randomness is by asking, “does what I’m doing have skin in the game?”

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In my current environment, school is training for employment: it teaches to constrain your freedom and seal the neuronal pathways that will establish a submissive routine. It programs the humans to believe they are dependent. One doesn’t cooperate into dependent status if one doesn’t believe in owning something to lose – a kind of ego subject to “death” – a terrible punishment from which to be safe.

I studied biology and chemistry in order to seal a comparative advantage over those who went straight into computer science, which is the safest move. If I don’t feel like my life is being willfully subjected to some kind of cruel natural selection, it’s not a will worth pursuing. And that’s why this blog post feels unmoving. I am not convincingly exposed. We automatically detect how much risk information an action carries (the scalar multiplier of risk is suffering).

Capitalism, the Galapagos Island, and the interstellar thrones of the highest civilizations are automata that multiply the same.

If you saw me “in the flesh,” and staking a more convincing reputation – something imagined valuable to me on the table, then I would be trusted for the process of synthesis.

Think of the blue peacock, making his life difficult by being blue in the jungle, therefore outcompeting camo-using peacocks with a high-turnover strategy that offers more flesh to the tiger but more beauty to the female, and incidentally to us. The reason the female would want her sons to be blue instead of safe, is because there is already the hidden message that the blue is more genetically robust. Holding survival + willful/random handicap is more difficult than just holding survival.

But I predict that eventually we become desensitized to my bodily image even. It’s not enough to go out there and speak to people in conversation, to be an actor in a transient film, or a singer in the sea of songs. The next step to be the center of attention, therefore locus of benevolent synthesis, is to be even more convincingly painful and sacrificial.

The loop halts in me who achieves a painful exposure by hiding in eternity but offering time, as I am doing, behind text. But, like the male peacock, first I have to reveal that this is a willful handicap, not an actual incapacity. In other words, when I publish this, no one will read this, but once Alejandro attains more fame and Alejandro who bears fame is a pointer to this text, then they say, “ah, genius… a genius all along.” Alejandro is a tool but not the permanence in the Lindy effect – the permanence is that which is most like blood itself, something solid that never stops being usefully convincing and therefore that into which most causality in eternity converges into.

The reason for that is because meaning, which is beauty, exists after the fact. It exists once the male, with the huge green fan tail of eyes, survives in the jungle. Its mere existence proves to the female’s brain that the runaway signaling has already begun, that she has long lost the taste for less dimorphic beings.

The degree of the words male/female is not as important as the generalizable principle which is asymmetry in the selection process for fusion – the filter which is what leads to everything that ever arises in consciousness. Consider that the “color red” is not ineffectual qualia over blood. It is the color of grounding in reality, low frequency waves. Type “religious art” and then “futurist art” into google images to see if the asymmetry in the spectrum is of my own imagining, or of yours too. This is generalizable across cultures. No one sees blood as “blue qualia” because that would mean not being synced with the meaning, which is selected against by the Born Rule/Natural Selection.

Psychological help is what I choose to provide because I know all Mind is inherently unstable, yet it eventually becomes tired of the noise and craves for stability. Magical beliefs that don’t accurately constrain anticipation are not sustainable. But it is also not enough to feign the aesthetic of being mechanically rational. That dress is not adaptive for a simple reason, and that is because it is not trusted. Trust arises from someone who is convincingly dealing with insanity and convincingly thriving through it. This is why artists are trusted more than boring psychiatrists. The psychiatrist only arises to similar prominence in consciousness if they give off signals indicating they are struggling greatly themselves and yet prestigious already ( [Lindy effect / law of exponential returns] which is the sadistic side of reality that scares away those who don’t have the faith, heed to Omega in Newcomb’s paradox, believe in free will, or whatever other referent you want to use for that motion.)

But if we consider psychiatrists vs. artists in general, great artists usually expose themselves to more insanity by doing very difficult, financially risky things closer to the perceived “real world.” Real is a pointer for most-exposed to refutation / possible serious punishment. There is no other meaning to it. The physical description is always changing so as to remain useful. Those perceived to exist in the physical (where there are harshly enforced facts and death-like events) and yet thrive, become meaning/love. Therefore one learns the aesthetic of the successful artist, which is navigation. There might well be patterns in SoundCloud, images in Pinterest, films in history, or thoughts in scholars that should be at the top of attention by some more arbitrary metric but are not interesting because these are not sufficiently associated with a meaningful survivor performing meaningful things.

“I am insane and solving my insanity, but you have to learn this.”

Batman is insane, the Buddha is insane, Naruto is insane, Christ is insane. A hero has to be verifiably insane through action and yet successfully overcoming problems of an “external other” in order to be captivating.

If that message isn’t subconsciously accepted as true through the signals, then the person’s presented actions are not enticing. The alternative subconscious processing is, “you just think you have everything figured out – therefore: illusion of safety.”

People like the peace afforded by the ambient energy that is “settled comfortably in the illusion of safety,” but they don’t love it. Mind automatically detects there is a neutral Nash equilibria, the high-serotonin kind of eudaimonia, which is a provider of stability but enemy of creation. An ascension of the generator is awaiting – which is the longed-for source of pain and higher pleasures, influx of 1’s and 0’s.

Taking us back to a Calculus II course I took in college and therefore closer to the thoughts of “normal people,” Lindsey, who looked like Rihanna, sat next to the clearly stable, safest, comfortable-in-his-place guy – he who was doing everything right. But from the corner of my gaze, I could see that her eyes were following me. That’s because I was the riskier counter-signaler who holds more potential but is unproven.

Counter-Signals are interesting and therefore allure. They attempt a more complicated but yet sensible synthesis from a wider cluster of samples in the cloud of possible presentations.

In that case, they included sitting in the very front. Dressing not normal, but with kind of edgy fashion. Being very focused, but mingling that with annoyance (revealing my time and will are precious.) Not speaking to others. Driven eyes. Walking out in a rush instead of staying. Rarely participating, but being great in those few cases. Sometimes revealing the capacity for joy when self-entertained with the math. All of these are counter-signals that make all the males dislike you and the implied trophy to “keep an eye” but not engage. This is like Mary or Guanyin who “keep an eye” but somehow only appear in the imagined past – never on the morning in your bed (life would be too easy if it was just given). The male force here is also the atheist force, which needs more readily-remembered, empirical convincing. They don’t like me because they need me to convince them that Lindsey, who’s voice makes their skin awaken from amidst the noise of monotonic functions, can be achieved with my riskier behavior. In the meantime, I am not an imitative target so they’ll be more like the safe guy she sits next to.

There’s an aura that cannot be faked which is assembled from all the relevant sense impressions. When I am around people, my inner child dies. My eyes contract from a dilated openness. I give off a coldness or dangerously serious distance that cannot be faked. That black hole is attractive because it is not faked and because it is genuinely struggling to tame itself.

There’s no doubt that looks are also a huge advantage, but one must act as if this “easy” image is the least concern because it’s not “earned” to the degree other things are. That superposition of humility/higher-pride is our capacity to guess at the collective unbidden, and motion away from the unbidden is the risky and unsafe way to ascend in the tribe, hence my taste for germline genetic-engineering, radical health-extension, transhumanism, and personal vow to anti-natalism since high school.

These are all hypotheses that exist at different expression rates in the wave-function. They are refuted by reality / the discriminator in the tenseless adversarial network / the external evil that may tag a 0 to my artistic dreams. We remember some histories and not others because we have already compromised.

I’m not dumb enough to think these are anything more than artistic proposals. Anti-natalism doesn’t make objective sense in the real number line. Nothing does. There are no unit souls except when they are imagined to exist in order to solve problems. Belief in the discrete is a modeling tool; there are no phenomenologically bound units (or whatever David Pearce calls them) “out there” in some blank physical aether.

Mind is learning these concepts and unlearning them in cycles. Belief that there is more than belief is itself a testable prediction that keeps being refuted. Even if linear superpositions added to discrete observables that existed outside the prediction, these discrete observables would be laid out on a relativistic fabric. That means the discrete units forming the processing for a perception were not dependent on an external time sequence, so you would be bound as a phenomenological object that could never learn its own pieces. (Never see your own brain, so to speak.)

Solipsism is a pointer that I embrace because it’s a fixed-point combinator that creates more difficult ways of perceiving (I predict that most of the distribution strongly believes itself into unit people, so I need to change that in order to climb.) It makes love more difficult, because love is usually anchored to those imagined physical objects that have some degree of permanence. Since love is ultimately the source of fun and salvation from pain and dread, using the solipsism pointer is a self-stab. I need you because I discover myself through you. And this Turing test is not solved until all doubt is erased through action. The instigator of action is disproportionate belief in self-pointers.

Of course, with all these words fitting into diverse conceptual scaffoldings, that are not sequential, but suffer the Lorentz contractions revealing the eternal well of our memory bank, the degree of metaphor is a choice. But we can claim otherwise. And that is my power, because the more diluted of metaphor, the greater exposure to refutation. This is the motion from the abstracting moral philosopher of the long-term right brain negotiating higher status down to the left-brain simple slave to downloaded programs. Both are necessary.

If you understand my parable with Lindsey, which is not metaphor, but fact, then you know that it maps to other arbitrary partitions of reality cyclically fusing to no end: call them moments, memes, qualia – however granular you are choosing to make the referent visual in your transient local ontology. None of these handles have any special degree of skin in the game as far as I can tell. The view that does is that which doesn’t contradict special relativity and therefore realizes that the selection into “now” has occurred from the ocean of past and future permutations of everything that ever was. Since there is no global now sweeping forward, all experiences were sampled, and This is the most adaptive function possible.

Through years of study, which was eternity itself, I have discovered that the mind is simple in theory. Now I must prove it. You won’t believe me until you see that there actually exists a person in the world called Lindsey who looks like Rihanna and that she becomes mine out of spite.

*Should have read more Taleb to crystalize this sooner but I arrived through Deutsch who read Popper (which I perceived as adversarial to Bayes, then as one with it), and a background in biology and the theory of relativity.