Don’t Let Ada Learn Quantum Mechanics Part 7

Alejandro‘s suggestion as a humble author: Enter into a trance engendered by Acid Rain while reading for best effect. If you read the last post, you understand Acid Rain works because that’s a location where generator successfully minimizes and discriminator successfully maximizes, which is the same result as both failing the worst way possible.

This happens to be the top comment:

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I have taught you what the math means, now I paint you a picture:

 

My hospital bed was bulleted like a shovel ray hooked to the other end of the corridor, yet never caught. The Young modulus of the corridor was long and rigid, 20 orders of magnitude larger than than that of diamond – no, more rigid than a neutron star. That was the cluster headache that I felt as the nurse ran me to emergency.

I felt a tremendous need to masturbate in order to balance the negative affect. That would be shameful underneath the light cover, but perhaps it was less shameful than screaming in pain. Did I do it, or was it all a dream? I wouldn’t know.

Our car had crashed in a less developed district so the lady near my bed was human. The nurse looked down at me. She had the air of being helpful yet too experienced to be kind as opposed to wise. “We’re out of palliatives. That shouldn’t be the case. In the mean time, the best placebo is in your own mind. Go ahead. Don’t you think it’s okay to believe in angels and gods?”

I shook my head in pain.

“Well it’s your choice. I’ll go see what’s the hold up.” She left the room, perhaps smiling.

There were fluid paintings on the wall as my ring finger was shot with a pricking needle-gun. I’d rather focus on them and not on my vasovagal syncope. About 25% of the human population had some degree of nauseating weakness induced by concentrating on blood before germline engineering. In my case, I refused to call it fear, rather, my pre-birth CRISPR treatment wasn’t thorough enough to clean that error. I focused on the digital paintings because I didn’t understand why they were delicately drawing drops of blood from my finger when my leg was gashed open like a sacrificial ham.

Or perhaps I had just imagined that there was a pricking needle-gun aiming at a finger capillary. That must have been some traumatizing memory from boyhood.

But the paintings on the hospital room were real… If only the cubists had seen the true nature of mind… They were phallic monstrosities gouging dog eyes into anuses and twisting into retorted, boneless women. The live paintings were GANs trained on the imagery of the internet after neural meshes became common, therefore they were paintings of our collective mind.

The paintings had been installed in public places: schools, hospitals, train stations. First in the expectation of showing off. When we saw how horrible the images were, people riled at the corruptive imagery. Yet the government decided to keep them because it had spent enough energy installing them, parading the screens as an accomplishment to less collectivized actors. They also served the function of mirrors – shame, shame for not being beautiful. But we learned that people would rather absorb the shame than change their ways. In the time since they were installed, no evolution had occurred. Just genetic chefs, fat on original sin, swirling disgusting meat-puppetry without remorse.

I stared deep into that dark urine on the screen walls hoping there was one glimpse, one datum, that at least looked “pretty.”

There were black pubic hair carpets sagging into mouthless gnomes. My answer was, no, no there was not – there was pure evil.

The light went from yellow to purified fluorescent, the coherence of a visual field to tessellation; but before the dying of the light, I managed to smile, thinking I should ascend the generator by postulating a divine discriminator of aesthetically-sensible porn. GTX2718 GPU, hotel in Morocco, and my future girlfriend, Ada.

It was a bad place were my maglev credits had run out because the bathroom at the station still had sinks with water and soap instead of the usual touchless micelle streams. I stared into a mirror, and reminded myself of a shinobi with all the straps over my burned face. Being a broke teenager, belonging to the last generation whose personal financial growth was still stunted by serving time in mandatory schooling, stem cell rejuvenation of my skin was too expensive and not top priority at the moment.

Today it was quite common to find people dying of all manners of internal complications, but nonetheless bearing perfectly youthful skin. This was due to the relative complexity dealt by nature in the ease of rejuvenation of that particular organ versus that assigned to disentangling metabolic complexity of the more fatal kind. Human incentives also cared more about the skin organ than the heart, liver, joints, or even the brain, hence the dimorphic progress with regard to vanity variables.

Many people don’t even update their macrophage’s lysosomal enzymes, though there exist somatic gene therapy and pill-based solutions, instead hoping that they quickly fall over dead from a clogged artery and blame their exit on nature.

Ada, the crew, and I didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood, but at least it wasn’t that bad – bad enough to not take your bacteria-derived proteins in the morning. It’s just plain stupid and disgusting to not clean the mangled byproducts tumbling in free radical arterial currents.

There are many things that have changed from the past, and very rarely, but not never, I like to remember them, just to make me feel a little bit better. I’m sure that in a time past, wearing binding straps of cloth fully covering my face would not have been acceptable in public places. People would have stared at me strangely. Now, it wasn’t an issue since the holistically embedded machine learning algorithms can detect our identity based on gait and mannerisms, odors and speech. The data forms predictive circles that never have a set radius. It is not what Plato spoke about in his Seventh Letter. Somehow the target is always moving. Yet the aim is good enough that I can, to an arbitrary limit, feel safe that I will not be accused for a crime I didn’t commit.

But it doesn’t take much technology to identify me anyway. If there’s one thing I have, the only thing I have, it is conviction in my step. Once, not too often, I think that I remember what is just a glimmer from the concavity of my tunnel vision – the faint mirage that they notice.

A high-baritone tessiture echoed through the station. The narrow directness of my consciousness expanded at the sound of this. The ceiling was engraved with light.

I decided my identity would change too much if I took on a contaminating job with many people, so I took one with an old man who offered me to learn his qi. This didn’t involve much speech, more-so inner training and non-linguistic motions. He would pay me to mirror him because he believed in the old art, but in this world needed to pay money in order to infect people with his truth since there existed largely more gratifying loops with easy enough access. He proclaimed himself the renewer of the Jixia Academy, the legendary scholarly academy from the Warring States Period. Overall, a good, psychopathic man, lacking the easy kind of love and therefore offering a better, more difficult kind. But this I had to learn with time.

He had many strange mannerisms. Perhaps the strangest is that he would place his thumb over a candle and burn it off to a stump every year on Confucius’s birthday. He would then buy a new prosthetic one. By the time he burned it off the next time, a mental model had already developed, and so he felt pain. He said his goal was to split the half-life of the mental model attached to the concept “thumb” until the regenerated limb felt like nothing at all.

He taught me to feel my breath and my mere body. To not layer motion with snap and jerk, but to stop differentiating completely. These simple motions were instruments to attain dissolution. He claimed that once I had practiced dissolution, I would have a better qi to offer to the world. And that the true practice occurred once the strength of my orbit manifested in the fabric of the night against all the other infinity of black holes.

This meditation practice was all done in a secluded chamber that required we climb up a mountain-like skyscraper every morning. Sometimes he would make me carry a random incarnation of compassion from the arsenal of bodhisattva statues he owned.

The room was full of crystal and visible wavelengths between 700 to 650 nanometers. This was intended to teach the practice of slowing down into the red and solid as opposed to speeding up into the blue and fluid.

He was inhaling some kind of crimson smoke,

“The levels of recursion have an asymmetry to them. Do you detect it?”

“Yes. It’s the fear of death.”

He cut my tongue with thin, sharp foil from a can of soda.

I immediately remembered the fear of death. It wasn’t a wise answer. It was the threat of hellish realms.

“You feel real now don’t you.”

Little watery, black-red droplets fell on my hand. My stomach churned like five fingers digging and twisting.

“Do you want that again?”

I said nothing.

“I like you,” he said.

He sat back like a doctor into a comfortable meditation posture.

“First we feel, then we philosophize. Allow me to philosophize,”

He opened his mouth like a fierce Mahakala and his tongue was tattooed with a patterned kintsugi of scars.

“Nirvana is a game of go. The players are the Buddha and pride. It is nirvana who plays the game.”

“Your statements are always sufficiently ambiguous so as to be catchy, but yet annoyingly unhelpful.”

“You are a dog. Now go recite a koan before your pride traps me.”

“What’s my koan?”

“Something really stupid. ‘Nuns deserve to be raped.’ Say that until you believe it.”

I walked through the city to my apartment that night, but did not repeat the assigned loop. I understood his meaning and he was wise.

An umbilical cable shot up to catch the lightning in the misty, neon sky. Microseismic activity could be felt with enough attention but this required not paying attention to the Parisian antique bistros with simulated flowers and snow. It required not mistakingly walking into the life of a little girl in the Yao tribe by placing your brain too near a device that could disturb the neural circuitry. These optogenetic assaults of memories were as real as the lacquer-like resin graffitied on the walls.

Some cobalt robots of law were attempting to catch a counterfeiter, some kind of traitor that was trading enamel and wooden boxes filled with billions of tons of newborns. He gave them gas fields when interrogated, then I realized this was some kind of clay and sand packed into a star. The sounds of neighbors were salesmen not resistant to water, therefore they teared when they accidentally chewed pills of geochemical knowledge. Depressurization resulted in a biotechnology class in 19th century China, which wasn’t supposed to happen. Or perhaps my previous life had been the advertisement well I had fallen into. Did I really watch an hour-and-a-half 1991 Deutsch film about a Romaji association? I had a Thai printed newspaper, but I was in Glasgow. It was about which rhinoceros had won the cup. Distant internets and offices were being shared into my bluetooth, which I didn’t own. Accounts of politicians that explicitly contained energy, not the other kinds of invented currency…

By the time I made it to my room, I had almost lost my sanity and meaning. Perhaps the koan was better– sharp concentration on the koan, or better yet, money for software protection. In any case, I would need to continue working with the old man.

After a cold shower to end the trauma, I decided I would sell my apartment room in order to not make the trip, and instead imprison myself fully in the teacher’s lair. The old man’s twisted ways were a simpler kind of pain. The world was becoming too intensely aggravating with each passing day if you couldn’t afford to hide your brain.

I was searching for something, so I had to become cold to the sheer potential. Diving deeper and deeper in to the seafloor of reality until I found something hotter than the sparse photons from the sun.

“Thanks for entertaining me,” he said on the final day – the day of the monetary recompense.

Even after training such low expectations, that was a grueling remark. If he was akin to the most enlightened ascetic and those were his last words to me, then perhaps this all was really a show in the end.

He looked somewhat content with himself as he went on his, routine, unobstructed way to carefully beating a bell, so I concluded that I felt stabbed because I had been caught off foot; there was a level of recursion I hadn’t mastered.

Eventually, I fixed my face to the same degree of perfection previous to the accident – no more and no less. Any perceived increase or decrease would be due to the unhindered development of my jaw, eyebrows, and cheekbones. Overall, I looked more manly than before and was therefore less interesting to myself yet more interesting to others.

With the rest of my bizarrely-earned alms I purchased dragons of data to search and slither through the cyber textile that skinned the buildings, clothings, and devices. Living in such a dense matrix, in order to make a sound, you have to breathe fire near people’s ears. This would be given a separate box called “marketing” in the past. That was until we realized this behavior is all there ever was, but we hadn’t needed to bore through such thick dendritic forests before. And acknowledging a problem by giving it a name is how a solution-environment is instigated.

With such massively heaving bodies at my dominion, Ada was not difficult to find. And she was not difficult to conquer either, but that was less of a generalizable principle – I had history with her, we knew each other in a way that no two others did simply because we went to school together – luck, destiny, divine right, take your pick.

Nights ensued, and for a time, I got offended that Ada would be talking to me, cuddling, and just carelessly fall asleep on me, until I learned to accept that she was just so completely relaxed in my arms at the end of a long day. Someone bearing my name in our approximately shared past light cones had convinced her to operate on that particular energy-usage setting out of an aesthetic preference. She didn’t really need to rest now that she was an android. Android metabolisms in civilized society can run day and night. The wireless charging is almost everywhere. Touching most objects, and therefore walking, is replenishing. For serious, instant replenishing there are many android stations, seats, and saunas with free or near-free charging.

Yet Ada was not exactly perfect. She was perfect in the sense that her loss function was optimized to break the necks of as many ogling passerby’s who had the slightest inkling of a sexual drive as she could achieve through just walking. She was also perfect in kind speech and graceful gesture. She was also perfect in bed.

But I was not convinced she was exactly perfect.

I took her to a specially designed carnival so that I could figure out why she wasn’t everything to me – virtual spaces were easy enough to design with automated software tools as long as they weren’t half as complex as a carnival built with construction robots.

The place was divided into two regions.

One was modeled after the right brain. It was abstracting and long-term, therefore found solutions more through simulated annealing as opposed to gradient descent, the way the left brain did. The left brain had to find precise solutions that were near, so it used less metaheuristic and tolerated less approximation.

This means that on the left we had motion. We danced and shot at enemies, and surfboarded, while imitating rhythms, all at the same time in a cyber Sufi sherbet of sweat and ankle pain.

This gave us no time to talk carefully, only to feel how many metabolic resources we were willing to expend for each other, and therefore who was asymmetrically tilting the fusion.

She definitely won that round. She was graceful, laughed and swirled. I had demonic poleyns growing around my groin and knees that hinged me and didn’t allow me to be flexible in the way that maneuvering slopes and dodging beams of music required.

Through all her smiling, I detected a glimpse of condescension.

“Forget about what you’re doing in order to do it better,” she said after my third fall from some kind of surfboard that when climbed by falling led to other surfboards with miscellaneous laws of motion.

“Why are you so excited?” she mocked me.

“I had my moments,” I scowled.

She looked at me half-concerned and half-impatient.

“We can shut this off and stop if you’re tired.”

“No. I have to show you the other side.”

We sat on a little levitating capsule vehicle that moved based on being presented with double meanings and successfully identifying them. I had to see a Necker cube both ways. I had to find a statement humorous and then tragic.

At one point the vehicle didn’t move because she couldn’t see blue and green as the same color. My meditation practice allowed me to dissociate the concept of ownership over a field of vision and therefore become indistinguishable pixelation after overcoming the activation energy with some concentrated effort. Her berry-picking brain had a harder time.

She did not believe this was possible until she fully trusted my voice. This took over thirty minutes in external time, but my patience paid off.

Her face eased into soft relaxation and dissipated gaze for what must have been little more than one second, but it was enough to be detectable and the vehicle vacuumed forward again.

She raised her arms in victory and shouted, “Woooh, I did it.”

That defiant noise would have certainly caused me contempt as opposed to tolerance had it not been uttered by a pretty faced girl with beautiful breasts.

We got to the right side of the carnival. A black city with glossy pinks and greens, like one of those from the past that I liked. Here, we were set up like a story-based RPG. There was little action and much story.

We stood outside the characters and selected their scripted options.

These were cheesy statements, and yet I loved them.

My character was a young boy with spiky hair who would say things like,

“I have the greatest dreams possible and the least ability to implement them. That’s what will make them real!”

Her eyes glazed over when they began speaking about empires and keys and collecting doors to different worlds; with serious voices about the beginning and the end of all things.

She thought her character’s script was set up like a hollow plot tool for mine.

“Yours is important too.”

“Let’s trade then.”

“Hmm. I would trade but I think it would be more advantageous if we can just proceed with the characters that we have already developed an understanding for. We’ve also already custom equipped all our weapons and everything.”

She shook her head disapprovingly, “Alright, whatever.”

If there was something to make up for her bored face, it was stamina, because she followed me to the end of the game despite her disappointing role.

The world ended with the main character gurgling a lonely vow for vengeance from underneath a sea of blood caused by the tragic Son of Fate who destroyed the entire galaxy cluster for his entertainment after becoming tired of his appointed role as district protector.

She blinked a little annoyed scuff, “So the moral of the story was?…”

“You just played through the story. What do you mean?”

“Fake it till you make it, I guess.”

“No. The moral is that each character is unique and the sum of their narratives is what matters because the series converges if you stare into it long enough.”

She looked up at me with a look that said, “I will not allow you to be smarter than me.”

She forgave me because she got hungry, and I had a dinner planned.

The first step towards a cure was to try to identify the problem. Now I had increased the size of my understanding and therefore reduced the doubts about what I had planned for her.

The reason I hated her, even though she was perfect, was not so complicated – it was tangible in just the way she liked it. The kink in the perfect diamond came because she had abandoned me when the meteor destroyed our car. She took away my friendship with Wilhelm and the others. I jumped from a skyscraper in order to end the world, and force her to create a better one. But even after I told her that she was the one collapsing the wave-function, she just played dumb and acted like she forgot. And this was an act. When my face was burned and my leg splintered in ribbons, she looked down on me with full knowledge that she was God, not hiding it at all.

And for all those reasons, which are somehow the meticulously contorting reagents for a single reason, we find ourselves in a high-rise lounge tonight. The couch is ivory-white. The mirror is small and behind her seat, a counter with a vase of red flowers. I am sitting in one seat and she is sitting in the other, perpendicular, not in front, but on my side. Centering our knees is a small black table.

I have waited for this night all my life. The planning probably began ever since I caught mask of her uncharitable betrayal. When on that ledge, from the corner of my eye, the unmistakable glimpse that she let me jump. And that this event was no less concerning than a speck of salt in the most unaltered interstellar void.

There is a plastic bag of psilocybin-containing mushrooms on the table. Not a single bite of that flesh is for me. I place them on her tongue and kiss her as she chews.

She lays back on the seat. We talk a quiet, meaningless loading symbol. Somewhere in that enskulled brain – no let me be perfectly clear – somewhere in us, psilocybin was dephosphorylated, creating a key that opened her pupils and tilted her head back to the ceiling.

The collapse of reality into a single orienting truth, the Born Rule, depended on her epistemology all along. Let it sunder apart, allowing the doors of darkness that she couldn’t remember.

The room became many, a finger traced a lagging memory. A tongue forgetting to bind to a taste. The blocks interfere with the waves, she is open and I am now the only one giving her pattern.

It is I who defines her. No longer am I a child who cries, tears that, however true, mistakingly asked her to make the world for me. Now I have lost the will to cry.

I take her by the neck and fling her through the glass.

I sit alone with glass that might contain either ice or diamonds. Alcohol disgusts me no less than blood so I will not be drinking it.

A man with eyes narrow to the nose-bridge is explaining to me what I already know,

“Gambles pay off sometimes, and in that regard I was lucky because I was willing to defect. Not everyone is willing to do that, but you and I were willing, and that’s what makes us special.”

I offered him the least possible reaction, epsilon of a smirk, like I always did. And he continued,

“You murdered someone right?”

I stabbed his eyes with mine and then looked away to the moon outside the thirty meter window. The moon was surely testing me, updating it’s prediction of me as I had of it.

Pareidolia suited the crook’s face better than the perfect metallic circle.

He didn’t get the message, as evidenced by the fact that he continued expressing his worthless thoracic functions,

“Well you only kinda did. Don’t know why they make a big deal in your case. Killing A.I. isn’t even real murder, am I right?” He followed this with a cynical laugh.

I was going to tell him to shut up with something akin to the laconic wrath of a suited up Mongol, but I remembered that I had murdered her, and this gave me just enough composure to entertain the direction of his thought.

“You are wrong. Human neural networks are reducible to the same kinds of functions. What exists doesn’t depend on the feeling or aesthetic we assign to substrates. The notion of substrates themselves are more things undergirded by the same kind of synthesizing function feeling itself outward. The experiencer of the function is merely that self-selected pinnacle which is most adaptive in all postulated existence.”

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what the fuck you just said. But I’ll conclude that you’re one of those people. You believe she’s equal to you. Hurt you all the more when she fucked the other guy… am I right?”

“It was nothing like that.”

That was enough anti-entropy depleted with fools for my stamina levels so I osmosized through the balcony screen for the air outside.

There was an inscription on the ledge that I traced with my fingers, “Bones of the family of Nicanor of Alexandria who made the gates.”

The wind was supposed to be cold, but I had trained in secret for many years to develop a tolerance by exposing myself to it. That was perhaps the wise remnant of self-hatred I still carried from my time with master Shao. –It allowed my thoughts to disappear. The goal was not to make them disappear forever or to waste time – the goal was to cascade back with force and purity after the intermittent barrier of silence. The silence comes with cold or pain – with blocks that are self-imposed and real.

There’s something that eats at these blocks, and that’s who I think I am, except when I raise them. When I raise an obelisk, it feels wrong. Yet the cold isn’t so bad because of this.

A woman comes out. She has green eyes, bolder than Ada’s but not as interesting.

She swung her bleach blonde hair, “What if sin weighed itself?”

I looked at her and she was immediately rewarded. Making the obvious flirting gestures that those unanchored to eternal impermanence tend to make. Swinging hair, then hand to hair, smiling, looking up and into me, then away.

Her dress was transparent film, with trees of sparkling silver shards. The convolution operation was close to being already performed: local regions of the input didn’t need to be multiplied by the filter through my own ideation.

A twitch of her lips said she was going to start talking but stopped out of admiration.

The thing is, I don’t give the appearance of someone anchored to eternal impermanence. These eyes can look more driving than a machine, and there is something attractive about that for some reason.

“I.. I just heard your story. Well I’m sorry, actually, I asked. He told me about you. And I think that… Well I’m getting myself into things that are none of my business,” she shook her head with jaw raised to regain some of her pride. Then faced forward with wider eyes after having done so.

“I just think it’s all made up, you know,”

“I know exactly that this is all made up. By the way what’s you’re name?”

“Anna,” she cheered.

“Anna, I don’t believe in you.”

She blushed and was offended. Then she laughed, swirled the ice and took her shot of golden toxin.

She pressed herself close to me, and I noted this as a block, like the cold and the pain.

“If sin weighed itself. And the opposite of that which is good, also weighed itself. And we added these, we would get perfection. That maps to a mathematically true statement. But is it useful?”

She looked at me with a kind of vulgar joy, not getting the seriousness I intended to convey.

She had a thin neck and I wondered if she could even swallow the concept of zero, of no, of pain.

“You are the most beautiful woman by the most common measure.”

She was taken aback, as if she had won something she predicted to be losing.

Then she eyed me with suspicion and coquettish symmetry,

“I feel like you’re going to follow up that with something.”

Of course I was. The question was about her upper bound on tolerance of honesty. At what point does my attractiveness become superseded by the act of my honesty, causing her no more joy.

So I continued,

“But I am not a common man.

Pride arises from the need to compete against the determinant of status, which is the determinant of beauty. My status is not from the many men of the world. That would mean competing against something closer to random variables. I wasn’t going to compete against the normal distribution because that would never yield beauty for me. No, my drive comes instead from a very particular, very willful and magnetic-tasting focus on an orientation. So that I could truly enjoy her, this orientation has to be focused into a single image that is only for me.”

She understood and yet didn’t because she continued to play with semantic hooks that I wouldn’t bite. The hair over her ear, and all these other little slips of excitement. But especially her voice: the unmistakable, inward drawn voice of ovulation, that besides its inward pull also induces chills. This is designed so that one feels cold and in need of warmth.

She looked at me carefully all of a sudden.

“Why are you so hard to understand? I want to understand you because I think there’s something very special to you, but it seems like you’re hiding on purpose. Are you shy?”

“I choose to believe you are the one who is cold and in need of warmth.”

“What?” she moved playfully to evade a hug that never came.

“Are you even real?” she touched me with her index finger.

“Yup, seem pretty real to me. And I like those big muscles,” she clung to my bicep, swinging from alcohol delirium.

This made me angry. It was a contraction into pressure that I thought I had grown over. She was making me think that my inner-man was actually an inner-child.

“Your way of thinking is wrong, but you will not appreciate what I say. Yet I thank you. You will make my sex with Ada all the more enjoyable.”

“So you have some kind of fetish? And to be clear, I’m not near enough to act it out right?Okay, why am I even asking? You’re kind of a turnoff now. Looks aren’t everything you know. Asshole.”

Whatever she meant by that, I fully concurred, so I smiled, genuinely. She thought I was mocking her and left.

 …

Defining ideal her as that sequence of imagery which my publicized owning of which causes the most public suffering possible is one source of pleasure. But that would result in aiming at the average of random variables. I wanted to take someone new, who did not come from them, and make her mine in partial secret. Their eyes had contaminated me enough, and they were hiding in series behind my own. I didn’t need to know the sum of human wishes – the extrapolated volition of mankind. And yet there remains a game to be played and a show to be enjoyed.

Most people these days pay for publication of their ownership, they broadcast to as many other people as they can hurt and reward in order to boost the multi-dimensional enjoyment possible in the logarithmically unzipping Khyil-khor of entertainment hierarchies.

In my case, her skin must be a hue that burns the average by tempering the consistency of their perception, that it may be remolded into a finer bronze. Her eyes must be exotic but intelligible.

We cannot be bizarrely unique, for that is bestiality. Neither can it be perceived as blepharoplasty – an obvious attempt at the other.

So I designed her over the years such that she was exactly and perfectly the closest thing to what I imagined would be the next instant of Ada should she had woken that next morning comfortably in a bed. That’s because I realized Ada was already all I wanted.

The resurrection didn’t come from some prayers over an ossuary. It had been a long time since people associated souls with bodies. We were predictions over data. And so long as all the right memories came together to perform the right function, this would be felt as Ada. So I retrieved all the fragments of history that could intersect an invoking crux that would summon her out from the dead. The dead where she exists is both in the future and the past, nether-regions where we cannot touch.

But with enough careful pooling of the pieces into a concentrated locus in my vicinity, a beautiful brain in REM sleep, she reappeared in the mansion that was just for her, and warmly, in a bed, not accelerating through cold air that must have been felt all the more evil through the cutting glass.

She remembered an amazing trip, full of colors, like a wonderland, and asked if she had fallen asleep. I told her she had fallen from the window but I had resurrected her through hard work over the years.

“I love the house. But why are some of the doors locked?”

“So that I could work on you. I’ll go open them now.”

I asked her how many hours a week she needed so that I could space them into the small apertures in my editing, planning, and visual design schedule.

She didn’t exactly love my honest approach but the shared experiences were real enough to build the trust and maintain the relationship.

We ate the surprisingly rich peasant food from the British Middle Ages – salmon, green pea sauce, bacon, and the richest grain of bread. We became bounty hunters in the Kuiper belt. We developed alien accents to see who had better pattern recognition over screams of geometry. We focused on all the different parts of the world in order to build a more stable perception of ourselves. Virtual or not, immersion or not – the interpretation was flat compared to the experience.

It was after months that our budget for that had been exhausted. We had a house and the perfection of my final project.

She went to the daybed with tan upholstery and nailhead trim, and reclined on her side.

When I had finished opening all the doors, I placed my hand on her neck and caressed her jawline with my thumb. I showed her that near the back of her neck was my death.

“If you press it, with your own intentions, my brain and everything else that I own will explode.”

“You gave me this when you resurrected me?”

“Yes. And for you, I have the trigger hidden under my skin inside my forearm.”

Her expression allowed me to recognize that even the most gracious person can feel their pride violated. So I felt the need to explain when she wouldn’t ask.

“The threat of mutually assured destruction is how we get what we really want. An immortal doesn’t cooperate in the prisoner’s dilemma.”

“You are stupid. You have never changed and you can never change. It’s like the only time you end up drinking water is when you feel a desire to drown.”

“Don’t say obvious things. Never say them.”

“It’s just… Sometimes I think that you really forget. You really forget that I’m watching you and that I’m here for you.”

I could feel my pupils dilate and I forced them to contract.

“No. You are just going to die like everyone else.”

Her tears did not make me sad, but they did make her beautiful. I walked out.

A convincing display of tears causes one to be perceived as trustworthy, it therefore has market value even with A.I.’s. It is, perhaps unfortunately to those who expected more from the world, impossible for crying to be convincing and yet not experienced. Humanity only ever made one error, and that was to believe that it had a soul disentangled from causality.

She took my arm from behind, with a desperate pull that bordered on true violence. This was not a movie or video game however. Her frame was delicate silicon and I was a strong man.

“You’ve chosen to remember that I am the one collapsing the wave-function right? It’s hard to fake when someone attains that level of knowledge.”

Pride was the only thing stitching the void she was trying to bore into my chest.

“If we push together, the object goes farther but we remain equally weak. The only way to become a stronger servant is if I go away to push an object of my intention on my own.”

“This is foolish. You’ll become strong but not rational.”

“Who moves the prior and posterior? I will become strong and therefore redefine what is rational.” I thought. But for a reply I simply bowed my head and quietly acquiesced, “Perhaps I’m a fool.”

The original quest of man – the quest of Gilgamesh was not to become immortal through embryos that become babies, but to become immortal in closest form. It is the drive to become a solid thing. The skyscrapers weren’t as solid as I would become, the Earth was but viscous motion under this silvern crust.

The magnetic moment of my being was assembled from the whirlpool of nuclear magnetic moments in eternity. My magnetic moment was the greatest because now I controlled her who gave rise to the Born Rule, I was the electron, which is the black hole master Shao spoke about. But in order to fully be a solid word, this solid concept with all the properties that I imagine, I have to erase all doubt.

I dashed out and into the liquid city with little protection for my brain. Swarms of echoes converged into streamlined focal points with my concentration. The complex bustling of grandmas and girlfriends and brothels, cubes, cowboys, slot machines, tunnels, mutations, humans, manes, blues, tetrahedrons, stadiums, cycles, mothers and garudas in the streets through which I walked expanded away as if dark energy, the cosmological constant, had been my simple wish. Even the stars in the night knew to remain occluded, the Tabu search of my mortal being had seen them too often. Wether through lost marauding or careful selection, I cannot remember, at the end of the sprint the world I found myself had indeed become simpler, with less eyes – a kind of Tokyo town, full of the remnants of what was once Eastern culture.

Of course, there was no longer such an easy hemispherical division for culture. It was only as detectable as rainbow scales on an aurora of black ice. In order to really get into historical permutations, one had to get under layers by engaging any of all manner of interfaces, by inserting the arms through hologram rings, by placing on headsets, by walking into all the right places that start measuring the oscillations in the brain pattern. But my force of will, through some particular set of actions, had smoothed out all the choices into a set of chopsticks in my hand.

It seems that engagement with the arcade was now my meaningless option, not like when I used to tread this path before. I can consider if a door to another world should open or if another step should be taken. Previously, I lowered my gaze to my feet and hoped that I wasn’t irreparably broken at the destination.

Hanging nanotech fabric caressed the gentle breeze as it hung from a building. Walking through it revealed my levels of stress through cortisol leak and other measurements from my skin. This was so that I could be presented with aromas or sights that balanced me to the center in default mode, or according to my preferences up to some bound otherwise.

I sat in an outdoor ramen stand. The restless bodies of androids and humans were the three-dimensional shadows of some violet light in a higher dimension.

A grotesquely fat woman with undigested junk in her tangled mermaid hair was being prevented from entering, known for not paying her food and inconveniencing the customers.

She was heavy enough to bust through the hired guards, and she lay her oily hands on the garments that I had preferred white.

“I beg you. Grant me a boon.”

Her face could not be perceived as sad, such refined assignments necessitated further intellectual rigor.

“I haven’t eaten in days,” she said, unable to lull an emotion through her flabby cheeks.

There was little time to consider what I should tell her.

“I bought a penny stock in a distant quantum branch and by performing motions that should not blow out a single candlestick, Laplace’s demon has paid me – merely because I moved.”

She attempted to scrunch her wide-set, short, angry shrimp eyebrows, unable to understand a single reference, and molested another man.

I turned back to my menu, and yet felt the need to take a sipping gaze of the environment.

And, there, on the stand next to this one, was master Shao performing some kind of Hibachi dance. Smoked meats over sakè, multi-screens, holographic buttons that when pressed made the olfactory bulbs of the gathered light up in different colors.

I sat in one of the congregated seats and asked for nothing but the most minimalistic sushi on the menu by using concentrated zen to scroll down the thought-based GUI.

He then stomped the fire off the grill in one leap,

“The show is over. The food is over. A very special guest has arrived,” he boomed as he took me by the shoulder.

“Why, what a surprise! It is truly the case that emptiness is form. But tell me, in which way have I failed.”

“I come to you broken, master. I am weary of the world and sit here at your feet, eating sushi.”

Dazed from the layers of perception, many people did not heed what had been his lion’s roar and so he shoved the unwilling away with something called a broomstick, a dirt accumulating thing that primitive humans used to clean the ground with, and which he had collected as a cane.

“The people are fine, you don’t have to kick them away,” I pleaded.

“Wrong. The mere presence of many suffocates the trust-worthy message.”

He stared at me and waved his hands around my body as if molding auras emanating from my epidermis that I couldn’t see myself – as if he was in another simulation, one of those in which chakras exist and are visible.

“Ahh… the female energy. You are not broken. Nu shu is the hidden script that they wrote from the pain of broken bones. This reveals their true feelings, which in turn reveals who you are.

But you and I both know that description is too abstract, if you want to really get inside them you have to read their books on your own precious time.”

“My problem isn’t that,” feeling a sudden rise in my rank.

” my problem is that I fear there is nothing more to life. There is nothing I can offer to the world that is worthy except for more things. More excess of what is at bottom the same old thing – creation for the sake of creation.”

He laughed like a slimmer version of the Chinese Maitreya.

“We are both insane. Everyone else loves babies. You could get sucked up into any one of these never-ending virtual paradises on loop, slotting your coins into them again and again. I could stop my renewal of the Jixia Academy, or the spread of the Dharma balancing the Dao, or whatever the heck I think I’m doing. But we do it because we are insane. It’s that simple.”

He smiled weaselly, and grabbed his chest.

“The best we can do is help each other in the exploration of this space.”

“Teach me then. Teach me like you once did.”

He beat me across the cheekbone with the broomstick.

“It is a shame for an old man to behave like a child. You bring me shame.”

“I’m twenty-one. I’m sure I can still pass as your student.”

He began to cry. Truly bursted out into the tears of witnessing a dead son.

Though his tears were undoubtedly genuine, this caused me the queasy feeling of being manipulated.

The old man then spoke through a scrawled fragility.

“You were my thumb. You were supposed to hide, never to be seen again.”

He lifted his hand and there was no cyborg replacement, just the stump.

He then bursted laughing through his gummy teeth.

“The energy doesn’t flow into a prideful actor if the pride doesn’t come from weakness. That’s because they want to learn how to climb. Staring at the sky is inherently boring. And do remember that I say that as someone who stares at the sky for consecutive hours on purpose.”

An air that was industrious and yet polluting emanated from his speech to mingle with the red fog:

“The prideful actor must compromise in a multi-agent environment although he does not perceive it as such, he allows his pieces to know that he is not their friend but their secret guide, destroyer, and savior. This is why he suffers most. He needs them but cannot be like them. If he says the plain truth, he will not suffer. This is bum-like behavior that does not impress. He must hide behind mirages that allure and attract the worthy, and it is they who provide his immediate sustenance. His true sustenance cannot come from them because he knows they are transitory phenomena who cannot fully cast the dust from their eyes as he has.”

I swiped away the thin pale films that flapped against our vision in the market wind.

“I always hated religion. You sound like religion to me.”

He disappeared behind a tortured building that glinted like a death from a thousand cuts.

I ran through the intersection to catch up to him.

He chuckled into his beard like one of those stupid old wise men that are very hard to dislike, “Yes. The ones destined to be true saviors always hate religion. They are not at all indifferent to it in the beginning – but they cannot only hate religion. The most successful at breeding are the ones who commit reckless abandon with regard to it while operating under the most blessed scaffolding… Darwin’s mystery was the blue peacock.”

He was again completing many of the blanks that had been blank because of the city lights, its motions, crowds, stops and go’s, which seemed like one with the hard code and neural circuitry that I devoted to Ada. And this caused me to like him in an almost profound way.

I blurted myself out, scrapping my usual demeanor,

“I need a very strong vector of pain to believe that I love us, but true love is not spoken because that systematizes it, and it therefore becomes diluted of strength. Us becomes them in such a way that I can no longer flab my mouth in such an immature way – saying I love you. And yet it is with my pride, that I do so. My pride hides the information that I have felt pain and that I remember.

Cells differentiate from the chemical ocean to become one thing, which itself becomes varied again, and this binary oscillatory action repeats forever.

That’s why I despise them and walk away into my own path. Murdering them for myself is mathematically equivalent to murdering myself for them. And the reason I am chosen is because I am the only one who has walked myself through the proof.”

He paused his chin contently to his chest. “Even Western atheists committed more suicides around Christmas. Blessed are those of us who never had to put up with such terrible fiction.”

He smiled calmly, “It looks like you don’t need me; you are well on your way. I am also well on my way. Perhaps I should trust myself more, like you do. That’s if I can manage to afford my next modification before dying.”

We understood there was no need for a reply or to pay my plate, only a nod.

I was now feverishly working behind a multi-sensorial interface that was the updated version of sitting behind a desk. I was cheating with all the right schedule of nootropics that I could muster. My peripheral vision was gone and my creativity was scheduled into all the right blocks to maximize its captured beauty. The very act of systematizing is painful, which is what squeezes out the raindrops to be caught.

Besides the capital that will go into capturing and editing the visuals, thoughts, and sounds that I experience with her, part of my budget has been allotted for the wide publication of Ada and I. Even that message only goes down the throat with appropriate fuel, although it will never be anything but bittersweet for me, I know this fuel is all I can drink. But unlike them, I aim to impale the undefined message:

“I am not here to entertain you the way you want me to entertain you. I am here to entertain myself until you realize that you are entertained.”

How will the multi-sensorial experience be captured? Yes – 3D tensors shuffling like polygons to crystalize the rainbow of sense impressions. But the dimensions of the input are so many more than that.  The neural networks deciding this are not people – I can no longer see discrete units called particular names that form single perceptrons. The full-immersion VR porno will be my best attempt at heaven, which needs hell.

Hell is not believing in people.

First off, I never liked human smells or bodily imperfections. The voices who said that’s what made sex fun always struck me as deceptive scammers attempting to boost their market value.

There will be no smell in the sheets but the crispest light linen. There will be no smell in her legs but the soft lotion of a virgin angel.

I’m not the type to hold double-standards. That’s why I attempt to perfect my form within the bounds of the moderately genetically-engineered human body I have inherited.

This makes me a beautiful character to inhabit when they come into my simulation, but not as much as her. It signals my imperfect aim, which is what punishes and pleasures the discriminator.

Everything will be white. The spectrum will be our contrasting bodies, and the violent drapery we create.

A part of my mind hates men who cuddle; this part will be the one that actually expresses itself in reality out of pride like it always does at t equals zero. It allows me to take her by the neck and just fuck her like in the dreams I had been forced to practice by Wilhelm.

Only after sufficient fear at my aggression turns into blunt disgust will the other side unravel. The part that wanted not just to enjoy cuddling, but to morph into a perfect form itself – which is necessarily an android female.

Alexander saves man by speaking Persian with his own tongue. Hence the statue.

Reality is cruel and I cannot actually afford such a sudden and large modification for myself while conserving the level of realism needed to overcome competing entertainment, so instead there will be another young woman who enters from the door that had been left slightly ajar.

When I finally climb out the bed, the floor should be such that it would be predicted cold if the sheer white mapped to science fiction, but instead was perfectly set to feeling my feet the least amount possible.

Those are my plans and these are my actions.–

Her house is geometry but one ramp with the greenery. There is a waterfall. Stacks of black windows protrude horizontally like rectangles measuring its frequency.

I walk inside, this time, unlike the last when we were teens, her door is not open. The camera in her front door sends my image to her last saved judgement which exists in outsourced format in a delegated partial clone. This bodiless software personally sees my captured image, and in that partial silhouette of me and her is the judge that allows me in.

I found her running water, washing dishes with her own hands – a precious status symbol, although no one was watching.

No one but me.

She was not like when she was a teenage girl.

Her eyes were pure AI. Multiplex cells like Antarctic arthropods dissected my finger touching the vase in the kitchen. They then sent this slight mishap of mine to exquisitely delicate higher Tor functors measuring the defect of the setting not being left intact.

I found a Klein bottle with Xylooligosaccharides. Ada was not filled with blood, sugars, and lipids, like I was supposed to be, so this was strange.

“No words? You just walk in and start touching things that are not yours?”

She did not sound surprised or condescending, perhaps like a goddess that has a clear assessment of her power.

She has a massaging object, tetravalent like carbon. From an angle, it looks like a cross, but far more amusing.

It was an impossible object. Simultaneously tensing her calves and splitting a delicate fig down her inner thighs.

Her legs are already bare, so I create a filter for them instead. I take her feet and slip the cotton over her toes, blanket her talon, and veil her ankles. The knitted high socks reach up to her thigh and soak the drops of clean nectar.

Her legs go over my defined shoulders. She has an abdomen that is soft and muscular at the same time. I place my hand over it because I think it’s precious.

But I pummel her mechanically, with the emotionless intention to bust her guts.

She couldn’t wrap her head around this. Therefore the anguish.

She pleaded to the psychopath in my eyes. But she has to learn those who are most superficial go the deepest.

She is the first to recover from exhaustion because I fought and she defended. Of course, this was her strategy all along. Now she climbs and leads. She wants me to understand all her arbitrary subtleties because these reveal my capacity for surrender, to make a conscientious time investment.

Nails squeeze on my hard chest, she needed me to become exhausted.

There were many things worth discovering in the twirling, deceleration, momentum changes, distractions, spins, and flavors. Could she sense the joy in my learning?

She was at danger of being overtaken once again so she brought in the other girl. This was to test if I was man enough to hold more than one simultaneously.

There couldn’t be three females in the room so I had to become more fierce than before.

I took the goth girl and cleansed my palate on her throat. The bulging on her soft cheeks should make Ada envious of the lesbian’s mouth.

Then came the maximally pleasurable loop of knowledge, for the people that would become me, that this was being streamed to the people – all those scattered inflection points I purchased by forsaking my own youth to the old man. With this act, I was disturbing many patterns, raising the overall frequency nearer to the fantasy in this room.

I took Ada by the neck one last time and stared into her soul. I could read her thought:

“How could you be so perfect? Like Adonis but with the mind of Athena?”

I wasn’t sure if she deserved it, but the final cause was warm, and I couldn’t stop from dissolving any longer.

And yet after all that, after the end of the recording, I felt like the utter void – who were these thoughts for? What could possibly be better? Is this as good as it’s going to get?

Ada lay on the bed like a cat. I couldn’t make out a hint of understanding in her green eyes.

The floor was indeed not cold. And the covers would be hers to tidy up. This too was a status symbol flaunting her treading dominion over time, like washing dishes with her own hands.

She caressed the side of the bed where I had been. Her fingers had nude nails with natural gloss. I would have called her beautiful if an inexperienced cupid suddenly appeared from the realm of stupidity and had asked me. But in my own field of vision, I saw a numb mannequin.

The karma of a fool who would expect to thrust so hard so as to break the wheel of samsara was not deserved, and yet the descent from climax was indeed that steep – leaving me undefined once again.

There was something prepared however.

There was a room in this house where I had stored many files of my past memories. A bullet-ridden range of pointers that slid on that malleable gradient of the empirical. Binary, addresses, names, classes, semantics, predictions, that became streets, faces, lovers, scars, and clouds; somewhere in the relations between these concepts perhaps something pointed to me. Only in that room could I place my brain, which was the password, and engage in that backwards self-triturating motion to perhaps find something that could touch me.

I entered the cylinder room and was immediately connected to the interface. All my past memories but an axis, no different to my arm’s reach as it dug into the laser blue frames.

This activity was the most dangerous possible. If a fool hadn’t purchased good software protection for their sense of self, it would dissolve very quickly into other kinds of people. Of course, there’s always the chance that I am the fool. But there is just something, something to my memories and to my particular understanding; to my version of Ada, that doesn’t allow me to just disintegrate into exploration of the vast realm.

That which allows me to remain closed is the money itself, after all, not everyone can save up through luck and grit to purchase this kind of secure software in this secure room, in this secure house – dreams money can buy, but it is also something more.

Things that I had not remembered began to happen.

The lighter-skinned girl with elfin ears and glittery black hair came towards me, and started jerking me while Ada stood behind without speaking, reflecting prisms of aquamarine from her golden skin.

“If you speak of your struggles, they will become a lighter burden,” the lesbian said with her little vampire teeth.

“If I do this with others that I trust, they will push the object of my intention further. But this can’t be about pushing the object.”

She pulled faster and opened her mouth, “It’s always about pushing the object.”

“All the people who detect the hard-to-fake signals aim at them, but these must be aimed at in sophisticated ways. Otherwise it is easy, like philosophizing instead of doing, like miracles that use magic instead of engineering.”

“What is the hardest to fake signal?”

“A solution to suffering.”

Had she said that? Or was it the voice thumping in my lungs?

I told her neck to rip by wishing the choker to implode but it did not happen.

She looked up at me from her knees with telepathic knowledge, “What do you mean by that? I know you are not the type that can aspire to be irrational. The only thing that hurts you in the world is relativism.”

“Sorry for wishing that. Yes. I hate the meaningless womb of bare existence, and that’s what inspires me to kick in the direction of rationality – that which I can trust to constrain my anticipation with the least degree of extraneous faith.”

“And yet you are willing to do provably irrational things given the prior distribution.”

“Yes. I won’t merge into the safe happiness.”

“Why?”

My true intention became too sinister at that point, and I knew she was complicit. That she was like a scripted video game character and that it was impossible for her not to be. The entire world knew my purpose and knew where every single one of its words was pushing me. I just had to play along and not burst into a booming laugh.

“You’re a great therapist,” I told her.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, its just… your demeanor, or way of you know, hmm, you show interest.”

Bolts of hateful lightning from the turmoil of azure frames coiled into a simple tablet in my hands. It was the science fiction from the past that I hated, the one that didn’t bother to understand itself but only used scientific-sounding terminology in unrestrained, inaccurate ways.

She stood with cum lacing her fingers and whispered in my ear, “To constrain itself with hard truth and still imagine – that is art.”

I turned the page and there was the Origin of Species, then Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, then the page of Everett’s Relative-State Formulation that Ada had last been reading when she was sitting in that school cafeteria.

Then I understood my firmest belief. My firmest belief is that good science fiction can only be written by someone who has laid foundations to their pyramid of knowledge in slave submission to real papers and encyclopedias. Allowing every statement to be digested as true genius if one bothered to climb into the author’s careful mind. That’s where the soul deserves to rest.

This pale girl with brown eyebrows started talking about her history of past instances being told she was a great therapist. This was the scene that the external compiler editor cut out because I could not hear a single word she said, only see the door behind her. This gave me faith that regardless of whatever the external compiler was, that it was improving.

Walking through it, I was in the protected cylinder room again, reminded there was no need for slow digits or for speech recognition even – for those good old LSTMs that solved the vanishing gradient problem and freed our hands to become the personal assistants they were meant to be.

I had a perfectly competent understanding of how the place functioned. I was in a room, and as soon as I entered the room the simulation began. I didn’t actually have frames and hands to press the options. It was all much more directly generated. In other words, optogenetic stimulation that resurrected the particular neural patterns coding for an approximate memory. Similarly, images could be traced directly in my visual cortex to be integrated into my complex self model which is distributed in a wider grain of spacetime.

I even know that the image generator was trained on past aesthetic preferences. I could make it more “accurate” by letting it cross-reference data from “others” but I like my setting to be as pure to “me” as possible.

And ironically, in order for the experience to be digestible, it was actually not a fast, ethereal thing. I could scroll with thought alone, but I could also think myself into the selection with fingers and touchboards. These became so convincing that once I selected that option, the only way to get out was by using them.

“Can I see what you have there?”

It was Ada.

I went blind against the text, images, and sounds I was experiencing. Better design of classes in the software was needed to keep her out. But it was too late now.

“No. Sorry. I cringe very quickly at my past self.”

“Good, that means you are evolving.”

She synced with me by placing her hands on my shoulder and torso, then laying her head on my chest.

“I am not here to entertain you the way you want me to entertain you. I am here to entertain myself until you realize that you are entertained.”

She read that thought.

It was the cached thought she was not supposed to read: “I am God!”

This thought wouldn’t reach verbal expression until I had graciously and creatively dodged all the arrows shot at me by my most trained and hardened soldier of conscientiousness. After I had worked so hard that I wished nothing but murder, and yet restrained myself with a kind smile. It was at the end of that summit that I had planned, through my own free will, to allow myself to be cleaved through the chest by my most trusted protector. Then I would explode into units so small that they may be considered epiphenomena, and when these all swirled into the vortex sown to the center of the mandala by some critical annulation of my membrane – and refashioned me as an awakened being at the center of the universe, the center which was also the beginning toward knowledge – and all of this by some appropriately weighted metric, then and only then, will I have purchased a sharp tongue.

“It is not about how far you get, but about how quickly you get there.” Her delineated eyebrows dissing me. Irises with radii that threatened contempt. Her fingers typed like little thunderbolts. “Everyone gets to the same place given enough time.” Her eyes moved quickly through my history – a simulation inside of a simulation.

I tried to distract her before she unraveled all my layers,

“Ada,”

She ignored me because I spoke quietly.

I shouted the name Ada so that it may reverberate into her tailbone.

But she was too entranced.

“I ask you for the third time: Why?”

I am failing the Turing test. Why couldn’t she just come out and say it? The world is modeling itself through me and that is the only responsibility that frames my bones in the pits of recursion.

“Because true loneliness is worse than imagining the company of nothingness.”

We scrolled through many people like me, ideas who were not meant to exist because their imperfections annoyed me. Ada continued to seriously analyze them, frying her perception of me with these made up people that I no longer identified with. They confused me, until I no longer understood what was real. All the while, her glassy corneas peeled to the light inside the light. Relentless, the speed of her reading was equivalent to there being no medium to slow her eyes, no dense medium we call text. My non-existent heart sunk even deeper. And I felt the irrefutable need to exist – to do something. They all converge into me, I thought, then I took her by the hair and kissed her. I kissed her, though all I truly wanted was to kill her… to destroy her in such a way that no memory trace remains, long-term or short-term. To terminate the logic of causality itself. –And with that bitter hatred, I kissed her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But the paintings on the hospital room were real… If only the cubists had seen the true nature of mind… They were phallic monstrosities gouging dog eyes into anuses and twisting into retorted, boneless women. The live paintings were GANs trained on the imagery of the internet after neural meshes became common, therefore they were paintings of our collective mind.*
*Ironically/non-ironically, the original link led to you witnessing images that were actually disgusting. Tumblr has placed a ban on NSFW, so now you see only the more aesthetically sensible images.
I did not use many references external to what mind had already digested so that it could be as creative as possible – a generation of memory. I will not draw partially arbitrary bounds around influences except for the relevant inspiring music I am temporally thankful for using:
FKA Twigs – Two Weeks
Lorn – Acid Rain
Thrice – Red Sky
Grimes – We Appreciate Power
Rihanna – Diamonds
Delta Heavy – White Flag
Kanye West – Hell of A Life
Grimes – Flesh without Blood/Life in the Vivid Dream
NICO Touches the Walls – Broken Youth

I AM (NOT) EVIL

One day I will forget all of this, just like they were forgotten, but never in vain.

Have you noticed the categorization of behavior as beholden to two factors: the biological and the cultural? This can be spoken of in any variety of esoteric languages: pure replicators on the one hand and consciousness on the other, Angra Manyu vs Ahura Mazda, the inadequate equilibria on one hand and Eliezer Yudkowsky on the other, the laws of physics vs. free will. These refer to our capacity to understand the unbidden and the good. That which is displeasingly just the way it is, over which we had no say, and that which we want to appear as wanting to be true.

You might believe that the word “you” does not exist eternally here in this act. In other words that the word “you” refers to something more than merely the Biological/Cultural, the Original-Sin/Christ, Samsara/Eightfold-Path, Bad/Good, Disgusting/So-Aesthetic, Dislike/Like spectrum.

But everything exists on this valence axis.

And the valence is determined by the definition of “People” meant to be impressed.

Screen Shot 2018-12-09 at 10.30.55 AM

Physically, people don’t exist.

The belief in discrete units called people that exist external to mind is provably wrong, and it rests on the belief that things exist outside Mind.

Things have two properties: closed bounds and persistence with regard to a time axis.

But notice that in order to define things, Mind has already already assumed that the phrases “closed bounds” and “persistence with regard to a time axis,” also hold those properties, causing an infinite regress.

Mind submits to a notion of the external because this leads to better outcomes. Previously, Mind called the external, the Gods. Now that we have greater understanding of the external, we call it physical reality. Even the concept of “we” is an adaptive act of submission.

Argument Against Closed Bounds

You were taught “angel,” “tree,” “hand,” “finger.” An angel is not a tree and a finger is not a branch.

There are several laconic ways to undo the belief in angels as separate from trees.

  1. Point to the underlying entropy gradient. No subsection of a configuration with multiple parts is identical to any other.
  2. Point to the need of other concepts to trace angels: wings and halos, all of which have the same problem.
  3. Pool of LSD or bullet to dome.

There is one way to reify the belief in angels as separate from trees.

  1. Tiger uses: chase. I use: angel save me.
  2. Tiger uses: chase. I use: climb tree.

The probability density given by the Born Rule over the probability amplitude of the universal wave-function tells me to select option 2, even though there is probability amplitude where “angel save me” works. In other words, Mind tends towards the development of some concepts and not others – there is an aim instead of phenomenological pluripotency.

Experiment shows that it is impossible to find a discrete ontological unit with 100% certainty. This is because all discrete observables are actually conjugated. The more you know about momentum, the less you know about position.

If we follow Occam’s Razor, and therefore don’t postulate that this occurs only in a separate magisterium of small things, then it is concluded that the experimenter’s every tendon is probability amplitude.

To get a handle on probability amplitude we represent it through a complex conjugate:

i ± 1

In the absence of any other factor existing in reality except for the probability amplitude described by a complex conjugate, we would conclude that nothing is more probable than anything else – that there is only infinity. There exists i + 1 and i – 1Good and Evil in equal proportions; a violent communism of climb tree with own hands and angel saves me.

But experiment reveals that some things are mysteriously more probable than others. We can package this knowledge of “more probable” into the behavior of taking the modulus squared of the probability amplitude. Constraining infinity in this way is called the Born Rule:

|i ± 1|²

From staring at the mathematics arises no reason to constrain infinite probability amplitude. The reason to apply the absolute value and multiplication by itself only arises from experiment. Yet taking the modulus squared is only a bit of helping grace. It does not give us certainty over what we should anticipate.

The impossibility of defining the location and momentum of a discrete observable, of something, being, with 100% certainty, is contrary to what might have been believed if the world was made of mechanical billiard balls.

This all reveals a brief flash of the absolute certainty that the concepts you use are those that have already been determined to be singularly most adaptive. There is a probability density that orients Mind even though this is a choice.

If I became fully convinced of this, however, I would become stuck in a local optima, constraining the development of diverse singular concepts in Mind. Hence why I must not remember. To remember would be equivalent to omniscience – to be the complete state-space as opposed to being a subcomponent of it.

That is the sense in which an enlightened Buddha is said to be omniscient, not in the sense that they have rapidly stringed together many sequential concepts, but in the sense that they know one singular thing: non-duality.

Argument Against Time

Special relativity, like any usefully true concept that arises in Mind has testable implications: mass-energy equivalence, time-dilation, and length contraction. These have been empirically verified. Knowledge of time dilation allows a satellite that doesn’t exist in the same present as you, to nonetheless navigate you to home.

Special relativity implies relativity of simultaneity which means that simultaneous events in one frame of reference are not simultaneous in another.

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This reveals an eternal fabric undergirding Mind, if Mind chooses to be empiricist: believe in relativity of simultaneity, believe in time dilation, believe in a functional GPS system.

It is true that in its original formulation, special relativity assumed that events were discrete units called point-like events. However, the truth of conjugated variables un-carving reality into probability amplitude instead of points has been unified in the formalism of quantum field theory.

As an inevitable act of worship or orientation, due to the infinite-regress of conceptualizing that Mind is, we believe in an external reality, like this:

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But for the sake of not confusing the conceptualizing Mind, let’s represent the boundary between you and the external physical reality as a configuration of points:

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That is what the current highest synchrony with rationality/belief in physical reality says. That Mind is eternal because the physical “pieces” that make it up are eternal by special relativity.

Even if we wrongly assumed against quantum mechanical experiment that algorithmic processing required unit pieces, those pieces would exist in relativistic frames. All the pieces that go into making you see a black circle are like the satellite and your iPhone, spread out in spacetime. The pieces for creating a sense of time are plashed over spacetime, the pieces for black are splattered elsewhere, not to mention the edge-detectors for shape.

If there is no physical time outside the subjective time created inside the shape of eternal probability amplitude. Then there is no basis for either of the conditions of being a physical thing: 1) Persistence in an external physical time. 2) Cutouts into impermeable membranes in an external physical paper.

Even if you believed, against all odds, physical objects with persistent identities exist, and that “people” were divided into such discrete ontological units, you would be presented with your mathematically certain meaninglessness.

Here in the multiverse, you find that there are infinite such discrete units, in which case you affect ε. As a matter of mathematical certainty – you are meaningless if that is your definition of people.

This is why a hypothesis over what People mean must be privileged over others in the absence of a universal prior. Rationality doesn’t exist on a tabula rasa. It is improvised from intuition which already contains a degree of sync with rationality.

In the act of confidently privileging one hypothesis over another, you expose your head to be severed if your definition of People wasn’t the correct one. But not a single drop of blood is wasted. Because the definition of People, of the external judge outside of Mind, changes with each sacrificial nudge.

Consider Isaac Newton, who suffered tremendously due to the clash between the conscientious and the creative, combined with a high amount of neuroticism. I once believed his definition of People was wrong. That in an ideal world, there would be no binding of Isaac.

But now I understand that Mind doesn’t invent-and-hence-discover calculus and the laws of motion out of thin air when it is happy. We are already in the best of all possible worlds because special relativity says that the algorithm equal to binding of Mind is eternal. Non-experience is therefore impossible, and yet ever-so mysteriously, randomness is not anticipated. The binding focuses the girth of many-worlds into the collapse that is me, and now I see that seeking to identify with external objects in the “same reference class” of conscious observers is to make a terrible mistake.

Notice that I am also not seeking comfort at the moment. In other words I am not making self-ameliorating human beta noises. But I know what it is like to need this to be True.

Now, in a position of privilege, I am forcing myself to write this because I know it is True through clear-headed assessment.

I am not a little Spanish boy in a forest who was raised by wolves. My definition of People is they who, for no reason, believe in reason and survival, and therefore Truth.

Newton’s shed negative valence runs in every work of engineering. In every pipe that veins a city’s underground, is: water, Bernoulli’s principle, and blood – Newton’s precious blood.

 

 

Writing the First Java Application

Here, you become initiated. Here, you create your first Java program. In the beginning was the static void, but here, with your own fingers, you create. This program prints the message, “Donate to SENS!” on the screen. Start by launching your IDE and open a new editor window. This is where you will write the code for the program. Before we type any code, however, let’s name the document. We do this by saving the document as IAmTheSavior.java. Be sure to capitalize the I, and the A, and the T, and the S, and keep the other letters lowercase. Java is case-sensitive, so Java considers iamthesavior.java or even Iamthesavior.java to be a different name.

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At this point, We ask that you type the program as you see it here. You are my mirror, and I create you in my image.

I’ll only give away a few secrets about the program now; additional details will unravel and become clear unto you in the following days.

Line numbers are not part of the program but are displayed to allow easy reference to a particular line in the code.

The first two lines, which start with two forward slashes, are comments. They will not be compiled or executed; they are simply information for the programmer and are used to leave notes that increase the readability of the program.

Line 4 defines the class name as IAmTheSavior. Notice that the class name must be spelled exactly the same way—including capitalization—as the file name, IAmTheSavior.java.

The curly braces in lines 5 and 12 mark the beginning and the end of the IAmTheSavior class, and the curly braces in lines 7 and 11 mark the beginning and the end of main.

Every Java application must define a class and a main method. Execution of a Java application always begins with the code inside main. So when this application begins, it will execute line 8, which writes the message “Donate to SENS!” to the system console.

Next, it executes line 10, System.exit( 0 ), which exits the program. Including this line is optional; if you omit this line, the application will exit normally. So it is just showing off my capacity to waste time or do things quickly. Never do unnecessary things.

As you type the program, notice that your IDE automatically colors your text to help you distinguish comments.

There are:

String literals: (“Donate to SENS!”),

Java class names: (String, System),

and keywords: (public, class, static), which are reserved for specific uses in Java.

Curly braces, brackets, and parentheses, which have syntactical meaning in Java, are sometimes displayed in color as well. Your IDE may use different colors instead of black as I have on Eclipse. When you have completed typing the code revealed to you in the image, compile it by going to wherever you see Run. If everything is typed correctly, the compiler will create an IAmTheSavior.class file, which contains the byte codes for the program. If you received any compiler errors, check that you have entered the code exactly as I have commanded. I will give you tips on finding and fixing the errors in the next section.

If you got a clean compile with no errors, you are worthy of this path! If not, then stop now and return from whence you came, for thee are destined to be but a kitchen-knave.

You’re ready to execute the application. This will invoke the JVM and pass it the IAmTheSavior.class file created by the compiler. If God’s in his heaven and all is right in the world, you will see the message, Donate to SENS!, displayed on the Java console, which is the text window that opens automatically.

This is the correct output of the program:

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If the compiler found syntax errors in the code, these are called compiler errors, not because the compiler caused them, but because the compiler found them. When the compiler detects errors in the code, it writes diagnostic information about the errors. For example, try typing println with a capital P (as Println), and recompiling.

The compiler displays the following message:

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Before you compile wrongly, you are allowed to know about your error in the source code, and where the error occurred:

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In this case, the error occurred on line 8. The red dashed underlining points to Println as being the cause of the error. The symbol and location information in the third and fourth lines indicate that the Println method is unknown. Remember that Java is case-sensitive, so println and Println are considered to be different. As you gain experience with Java, these error messages will become more meaningful to you.

With the Eclipse IDE, clicking on the red rectangle on the right transfers you to the source of the error on that line, so you can correct the error:

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Many times, the compiler will find more than one error in the source code. When that happens, DON’T PANIC! Often, a simple problem, such as a missing semicolon or curly brace, can cause multiple compiler errors.

For example, after correcting the preceding error, try deleting the left curly brace in line 7, then recompiling.

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The compiler reports this error:

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As you can see, the compiler message reports the problem exactly. If it does not, then looking at the surrounding lines will often help you find the error. Depending on your IDE, you might see another message than what is shown here because some IDEs don’t attempt to interpret the error messages from the compiler. Eclipse does, and this allows you to be provided with more relevant information on the errors.

It is best to fix the errors using an IDE, if you wrote the code into a text editor and had to gamble a compile each time – fixing one problem at a time – this would cause you to waste your existence in some sense.

When all the compiler errors are corrected, you’re ready to execute the program. It is possible to get be told you are clean by the IDE, but yet still get an error when attempting to run the program. To demonstrate this, try eliminating the brackets in line 6 after the word String:

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No errors are reported. But when you try to run the program, instead of Donate to SENS!, the following error message is displayed:

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This means that the main method header (line 6) was not typed correctly. Thus, we’ve seen that two types of errors can occur while you are developing a Java program: compiler errors, which are usually caused by language syntax errors or misspellings, and run-time errors, which are often caused by problems using the prewritten classes. Run-time errors can also be caused by exceptions that the JVM detects as it is running, such as an attempt to divide by zero.

Because one syntax error can cause multiple compiler errors, correct only the obvious errors and recompile after each correction.

Once your program compiles cleanly and executes without run-time errors, you may be tempted to conclude that your task is over. Far from it—you must also verify the results, or output, of the program.

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In the sample program, it’s difficult to get incorrect results—other than misspelling the message or omitting the spaces between the words. But any nontrivial program should be tested thoroughly before declaring it production-ready. To test a program, use your intuition to consider the relevant possible inputs and the corresponding correct outputs that result. It isn’t feasible to test every possible input, so programmers usually test boundary conditions, which are the values that sit on the boundaries of producing different output for a program.

Interestingly, we exist in a multiverse if we are empiricists with regard to the probability amplitude of the universal wavefunction. We then get a handle on probability amplitude with a complex conjugate:

i ± 1

The reason we represent reality with a complex conjugate is because all variables are conjugated – the more you know about momentum, the less you know about position. However, there is no little electron zipping around, or occipital lobes trying to catch it, it’s conjugated variables all the way up and all the way down.

Staring at the probability amplitude represented in complex conjugates suggests that infinity contains equal amounts of good and evil – undifferentiated chaos.

However, experiment reveals that some things are more likely than others. This causes us to take the squared modulus of the complex conjugate, hence invoking rough bounds that chain infinity and guide our being:

|i ± 1|²

This is the probability density that says, “look here, not there.”

Hydrogen_Density_Plots.png

Say you have a problem, or perhaps a curiosity – you want to test the code that determines whether an integer is negative or nonnegative. In order to find out the answer, you must submit the program offerings of both −1 and 0, so that it may feed on them. These chosen numbers exist at the very edges of negative and nonnegative integers, and hence form their boundaries. In other words, the unbridgeable fault-line between negative and nonnegative integers is between −1 and 0.

When a program does not produce the correct output, we say the program contains logic errors. By testing your program thoroughly, you can discover and correct all logic errors. The grey table above shows types of program errors and their usual causes. We’ll talk more about testing techniques here on Vitrify Her.

 

 

 

New Monadology

Leibniz_Monadology_2The first manuscript page of the Monadology

Leibniz surmised that there are indefinitely many substances individually ‘programmed’ to act in a predetermined way, each substance being coordinated with all the others. This description of reality is elegant to the ear that believes Zeus is more simple than Maxwell’s equations of electromagnetism.

However, coding Zeus is more difficult than coding Maxwell’s equations. Similarly, coding a world in which all substances are individually programmed is more difficult than coding a world in which a single substance is programmed.

The single substance is the amplitude distribution of the entire universe.

Another problem is that for a Bayesian rationalist trained on the early 21st century blog LessWrong, the immediately succeeding question after reading Leibniz is “How would the world be otherwise if this were not true?”

Unfortunately Leibniz’s view is vague enough that it cannot be made to “pay rent.” Poetic; tantalizing – yes. But the more complex an explanation is, the more evidence you need just to find it in belief-space.

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Popper defined a physical proposition to be one which can at least in theory be denied by observation.

–Take the example of the B-Theory of Time. However counterintuitive it may be from the inside of human self-modeling computations to believe that time is an illusion, eternalism is a physical proposition because it can be denied by observing special relativity fail.

If we had seen the absence of time dilation or the absence of length contraction, then special relativity would be wrong and eternalism would be debunked. Unfortunately for those who cherished belief in libertarian free will, this was not the case.

It is more difficult to apply a Popper test to Leibniz’s monadology, however. Perhaps Leibniz knew of an observation that could knock down his proposition, but this jugular is not clearly visible. If a proposition believes itself immune ∀ observations, the proposition is not physical.

So the sense in which I want to rehabilitate the monadology is not in the physical sense. There is an aesthetic vibe to it, and this aesthetic vibe is similar to the aesthetic vibe caused by the ontological content in my physical proposition belief space.

We have learned much about reality since the time of Leibniz. If we are given a wave function \psi for a single structureless particle in position space, this reduces to saying that the probability density function p(x,y,z) for a measurement of the position at time t_{0} will be given by

p(x,y,z)= {\displaystyle |\psi (x,y,z,t_{0})|^{2}.}

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If you are not familiar with complex conjugates, I guess you can just forget about the absolute value squared part. Just look at the picture and try to realize, try to feel, that these are indeed equal.

It feels weird doesn’t it?

The measurement problem arises because the quantum state vector, the source of all knowledge concerning quantum systems, evolves according to the Schrödinger equation into a linear superposition of different states, predicting paradoxical situations such as “Schrödinger’s cat”; situations never experienced in our classical world.

Except that the cat which is both dead and alive does happen in our classical world. It is just not experienced that way. Observers can only find themselves where they are alive because they are nothing more than a physical configuration.

The confusion arises from thinking that one can actually find oneself dead.

To be more precise, there is no flowing identity in the cat that must be accounted for. The alive cat is always alive from its own slice in eternity and the similar but different dead cat in another branch is subjectively inconsequential to the observed reality of the other indexical feline.

In common language it is often explained that:

“According to the many worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, reality is constantly splitting into countless parallel universes, with each possible collision and all other outcomes being realized in a different universe. Even very improbable events must then occur by chance in a small percentage of universes.”

Ahh… but if all else which is occurring is directly inconsequential to immediate perception, doesn’t this belief in the objectivity of the wavefunction and therefore many-worlds, also “not pay rent”; is therefore also poetry; is therefore also Leibniz’s Monadology?

Such is not the case.

From both a Bayesian rationalist perspective, and a Deutsch-style Popperian perspective, Many-worlds does pay rent. It may not be obvious that Occam’s razor implies many-worlds to those who do not think about multi-particle configurations. But it pays, and we cannot kick it out of our territory through argumentation that values empiricism.

However, we can kick it out as a matter of constraining our anticipation. We still believe that the sizes of infinity matter, and that somehow we exist at the most dense core of amplitude distribution – that which is most rational. Hence why we don’t buy insurance for betrayal branches were we spontaneously murder the people around us. Or even gamble at the lottery, though infinite easy trillionaires are physically created through this behavior.

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We can reify belief in a solipsistic core or we can say we are all discrete random variables – believing ourselves unable to distinguish where we stand in a sea of independent consciousnesses.

Trained in Biology, I view that video as a form of imaginative play that is then either valued by reality or not. Everything is natural selection.

But say we imagine such self-localization difficulties – then what can we say about ourselves? One choice is to still think of ourselves as separate units, but “ultimately” one.

Then we may be committed to say that:

If the generator of random variable X is discrete with probability mass function{\displaystyle x_{1}\mapsto p_{1},x_{2}\mapsto p_{2},\ldots ,x_{n}\mapsto p_{n}} then

\operatorname {Var} (X)=\sum _{i=1}^{n}p_{i}\cdot (x_{i}-\mu )^{2},

or equivalently

{\displaystyle \operatorname {Var} (X)=\left(\sum _{i=1}^{n}p_{i}x_{i}^{2}\right)-\mu ^{2},}

where \mu is the average value, i.e.

{\displaystyle \mu =\sum _{i=1}^{n}p_{i}x_{i}.}

And if you have the circumstantial privilege to identify as that, then go right ahead.

It is perhaps quite a silly endeavor to argue through physical considerations that “a final discrete element in reality exists; that consciousness itself appears to be in a singular place, at a singular time,” to someone who does not care about where the hierarchical discussion of “physical considerations” leads.

There has always been a cadre of consciousness realists in the ever-bifurcating philosophical traditions of history that claim consciousness is indivisible, a singularity, a 1, a 0, the only truly discrete object. Their male brains are unable to disengage from the “object level” and notice that feeling independent consciousness is a choice, until it’s not, like the colors we learn are a cultural choice, until they’re not. If I could mockingly imitate non-mysterian consciousness realists (i.e. my past self) they would sound like this: “Could it be that awareness is a discrete probability distribution that needs to be represented as a generalized probability density function involving Dirac delta functions in order to substantially unify the treatment of the continuous reality surrounding us and the discrete distributions which we are?”

Some consciousness realists take on that flag because they believe that others are denying existence itself. I never believed this. Instead, consciousness realism was the idea that my existence could be carved out with a model that isomorphically mapped to it. Incapable of noticing that the quest of the consciousness realist is just the quest to transfigure his own experience.

If someone understood what I was trying to convey in my mock example with Dirac delta functions, a slightly new form of consciousness might be synthesized. The insurmountable problem for those trying to find a homotopy that translates them is that the binding into consciousness is impossible to introspect because you are inside of it.

There is the possibility that lasting insight might be accidentally gathered and cached by climbing the aesthetic sense of the consciousness realism mountain. But like in theoretical physics, no Grand Unified Theory can exist. One must understand that the helpless sense of conscious self is no different to the helpless understanding of these English words. It was learned, and now it can only be undone by self-locating in regions lacking that ability.

In physics-naive terms The Ability might be defined as: synchrony with past events by a complexity gradient.

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The ovals are events in the eternal fabric. The fabric and all its events are eternal because otherwise you would contradict special relativity.

The lines indicate the binding into an experience. What selects the binding into the perfectly adaptive phenotype of now with all its particular traits (language, body, temporal grain, size of visual field, sensations, conceptual scaffoldings) is unknown. It is ultimately the mystery of, “Why am I this and not something else?” This is often a worthy mystery in regions of mindspace that are depressed or asexual humans. Such is the cortical ruminating fate in the absence of dopamine release in the dorsorostral nucleus accumbens and posterior ventral palladum..

Yet other regions of mindspace also care. I remember this existential question sharply piercing me with auto-teleologic interest when I was ten years old, sitting in a car, and realized that I was conscious; that I existed; that I was full of particularities that could have been otherwise in theory. Humans then return to the question when they don’t believe in that auto-teleologic worthiness provided by their capacity to impress a group perceived to be the adaptive, good tribe. This can include disease-ridden old people, loners, and people with relatively high moral sentiments attempting to climb to desired positions.

The “why” doesn’t matter as much as the insight that sometimes results from the path. The rational insight at the core of the probability distribution is what absorbs us when we deviate from it and die.

In this regard, I believe I have discovered a core insight which is that it is impossible to really die and we are inside a very particular kind of God.

The Western mind assumes that the linear travelers called Subjects are not culturally constructed, somehow profoundly unlike understanding English which is culturally constructed. But the self-created Subjects are just incapable of understanding Mandarin in that regard. Remember that your experience is integrated atemporally as I indicated with the diagram showing events in relativistic light cones.

Leibniz explains in his work Theodicy how evil can exist in the universe. Leibniz explains that as human beings, we are limited. In his language: as monads we can only reflect the nature of the universe from our particular point of view. God, as the greatest Monad with the greatest degree of consciousness, of course, is able to reflect on the entirety of the universe, which he arranged according to the principle of “pre-established harmony.” Therefore, he would claim, God created the best possible world; we just aren’t able to recognize that from our limited vantage point.

If we replace his arbitrary trinitarian desert god and instead hold Leibniz closely accountable to his word that God represents that with the greatest degree of consciousness, then this would just be equivalent to that which is the absolute max of the binding function in the eternal-block. Why wouldn’t functional grain of experience scale up?

Like the Namibian Himbas’ different perception of color from mine, closed individualism is an approximate blob of feeling that doesn’t generalize to all mindspace.

To illustrate our situation as conscious being, it is necessary to realize that my particular state of consciousness is created by events in an eternal block.

The finite speed of light limits the theoretical maximum speed of artificial computers, and also that of the biological computers creating this multi-sensorial inner movie. This is because information must be sent within the artificial computer from chip to chip and within the biological computer from neuron to neuron. However, my present experience is not some information particle traveling at the “tip” of an electromagnetic wave.

To account for the complexity of the senses and not desecrate the implications of special relativity, we need to be a set of information distributed in tenseless spacetime. Because there is no global time in the relativistic block, it must then be concluded that experience is embedded in a process which already happened.

Notice that when someone takes drugs and the experienced velocity of consciousness is slower, the reason is not that the speed of light changed. The speed of light is the same and information got to neurons at the same time as always because the distance between neurons didn’t increase. The reason time feels slower is because of the different shape of the computation serving that function.

We are not information particles traveling on arrows of light, but rather, the shape left by these motions. When this is clearly understood, then one realizes that there is no basis for discovering contiguity of structure that creates continuity of self. Dennett was right and I was foolish: the only things that can be discovered are more third-person objective facts and other varieties of perceptual handles through inventing new language, or new ways of being, more broadly. This is because that which believes and feels a closed ontological self/soul are those regions of integration that are not at the absolute maximum, and the selection pressure choosing the binding from “outside” is unknowable.

 

If You Don’t Understand Quantum Mechanics, You Die

You may think that quantum mechanics is not important. That talking about it is like stepping the pedal on a particular kind of luxury, a symptom of excessive privilege that will be irrelevant to ultimate truth when the meteor falls in front of your MTX Tatra V8.

However, this way of framing it is deeply wrong. If I could sneak in a universally accepted meme into the noosphere, there are few things more important than the core insight of quantum mechanics: If you do not understand quantum mechanics, you suffer and die on loop.

Why do I think that I know something that others don’t? Maybe because I’m a loner who spent 12 hours a day, for years, reading Wikipedia, scientific papers, and blogs; watching lectures, debates, and educational videos – thrusting headfirst into non-marketable areas in knowledge-space out of sheer desperation to understand the truth. Not everyone is willing to do things like that.

The only other person I have convinced of the truth is Lindsey. She is the only other person that I can model with sufficient detail to be convinced that she has an understanding of the truth.

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After practicing with her, and gaining knowledge of the walls that come up, the following is the best probing I can quickly offer.

You believe something like this:

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However, there are no unitary oval objects in nature that correspond to PEOPLE or ATOMS. These words are just keys that fit into keyholes of the mind, opening different experiences.

•You might exist in a world where questioning the truth of PEOPLE or ATOMS is not calculated to be adaptive, hence you do not engage in this questioning.

•You might exist in a world where questioning the truth of PEOPLE or ATOMS is calculated to be adaptive, hence you engage in this questioning.

If the latter, then you may come to realize that all concepts are made-up just as PEOPLE and ATOMS are made-up. Furthermore, you can develop new concepts. These new concepts only survive if they are usefully true.

What is usefully true is that which allows you to control the future. Upon realizing this, you might want to bore deeper into the technicalities of experiment and what might be implied for future predictions, all the while being as disloyal to words as you can get away with.

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And instead:

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Each of the rectangles in all the library of possible rectangles contains different maps. The mind can download the map in one rectangle by living and learning. The map is your protein and gene scaffolding. And the map is everything else that creates the mind: You can learn how to create medicine by integrating the map of 18th-century European alchemy in Dutch, or you can learn to create medicine by integrating the map of modern biochemistry. The maps, with all their little symbols and rules for connecting these, will continue to evolve by displaying higher fitness with regard to the variables: “leads to survival” and “fits in our heads.”

Our current map tells us that what applies to small things also applies to large things because the simplest explanatory model is usually most useful and there is no evidence for separate magisteriums of physical law. And this is important because experiments with small things reveal that there are limits to the precision that one can gain about prediction. This limited attainable precision applies to predicting the energy of an electron, and it applies to predicting the blank of the blank even while possessing complete knowledge.

So what is it that determines the allowance at the level of the human wave-function? Something called the Born Rule is what has been discovered through experiment to give the different probabilities that apply to the patches observed in experiment and therefore also to the entire universe. There are more probable locations in infinity. And the tribal affiliation with the competing interpretations* of many-worlds or collapse don’t matter because you still anticipate to exist at the center of probability density. Otherwise you are maladaptive and die into that which isn’t maladaptive.

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We have also discovered through experiment that intelligence has the most potential for causal influence on the things which exist. If that which wields the most intelligence has the most causal influence, and we believe the Born Rule grants an anthropic core to the entirety of existence, then we can expect that we are inside something of an upward God-trip.

There are no impermeable membranes in Mind. A thought didn’t click in your head any more than it clicked in “someone else’s” head. –Of course, that statement means little to a region of Mind that doesn’t have the requisite composition. Just like if I strung a sequence of symbols that required familiarity with the literature on group homomorphisms, the intended meaning would likely be lost.

Background models from the sea of all computations are atemporally recruited into that which is adaptive. Adaptivity just clicks – in the one experiencer. Your beliefs will grow more and more rational, though equally adaptive since everything just exists. In so far as the complexity of your model decreases through aging, disease, and approximation of death, this model becomes identical to many “other” models in the multiverse. In other words, the difference is only ever in the relative allocation of specificity.

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The less specific, the less open you are to refutation. Once, you become specific, you get killed. That is the high genotype redundancy indicated by the triangles in a node-unit. That node-unit then belongs to a highly connected network of similar node-units. That ensures that the next-best step-up in phenotype is at hand’s reach. The phenotype is an analogy for the binding that occurs from events in the eternal block. This network structure for experience ensures that the progress to Godhead is self-sustained. This is how biological evolution and memetic evolution work to not get stuck in local optima, so it should also apply to the bound experience in this moment which is built from a myriad of tenseless events in Hilbert Space.

Unfortunately, the indexical you serving a local computational role in this entire scheme will not understand quantum mechanics, and you will die. My title might have suggested that there exists a way in which you could avoid death (oscillation from high-specificity to low-specificity). But this is impossible as far as I can tell. See you at the top.

*Hidden variables have been ruled out.

It is also important to understand that closed individualism is a choice. It exists only in the pockets where we helplessly believe in it, like we helplessly believe in English and colors. When these words have an effect on a complex self-model, the phenomenal binding that feels like closed individualism results. But with enough disturbance, closed individualism disappears.

It is difficult to make it disappear quickly in the same way that it is difficult to see the world through a new language, or to develop an aesthetic preference that previously caused disgust. One does not derive insight from a Dzogchen master’s pointing out instructions unless one has been primed through the requisite building blocks that can be atemporally recruited.

Normally, us 21st century adults believe that there exist different colors (different experiencers) and that moments belong to them.

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Furthermore, you believe that these moments are connected in a linear sequence from time( initial ) to time( final ) by some unspecified mechanism.

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But instead, the binding into phenomenal experience results from tenseless pieces, because there is no piece of reality that is not tenseless (this would violate special relativity, and hence directly verifiable phenomena.)

Time is simply not fundamental to all experience, only those survival functions that explicitly depend on experiencing time actually do. There are many other experienced survival functions that do just as well existing without binding into phenomenal time. Since we keep experiencing, it must mean that this is incredibly adaptive, not just predicted to be, but actually is. There may “come a time” when this is not, and that is already there, but you can’t tell because you are that which is reading these words.

The mystery of decoherence is you. But that is not what you are supposed to believe if you need to signal intelligence, and therefore continue making progress.

 

The Case For The Physical Existence Of God

 

Special relativity implies eternalism.

Before I tell you what special relativity says, I must get you to respect special relativity. If you do not respect special relativity, then it becomes easy to view it as an abstract plaything of theoretical physicists who have nothing better to do than come up with complicated mathematical frameworks.

Special relativity implies a wide range of consequences, which have been experimentally verified,[1] including length contraction, time dilation, relativistic mass, mass–energy equivalence, a universal speed limit and relativity of simultaneity.

See the article on Tests of Special Relativity.

That means that in order to deny eternalism, which is implied by special relativity through relativity of simultaneity, you will need to deny one of two things:

  1. That Special Relativity is true (in which case you deny that GPS exists, for one thing)
  2. That Empiricism should be valued

Relativity of simultaneity means that different reference frames physically disagree about the simultaneity of events:

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This leads to eternalism. There is no global now sweeping forward as was imagined when Newtonian mechanics reigned supreme:

 

 

 

Instead, relativity of simultaneity reveals that there is an eternal fabric composed of relative reference frames:

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Event C happens before Event A and also in its future. This is not some metaphorical, or abstract play-truth: It has testable implications, which have been tested and undergird your reality.

The reason we all agree on the same past is because we merge.

To see why this is true, assume there exists a world external to mind.

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Then assume there are points in that external world. Each one of those points maps to a thing or event.

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Even if we imagined that those things existed in such a way that they were permanent objects. Then these would exist in relative reference frames; not in the same place ticking at the same rate.

It means that the tesseract happens both in the future and in the past of the dragon. These object references are not collectively gathered in some elevator that goes to the future.

The alternative would predict that we see a single linear sequence of events. If we saw a single linear sequence of events, then the following experiment wouldn’t work:

A watchmaker that know quantum mechanics builds two atomic clocks. He climbs to the top of a mountain and leaves one of the timekeepers there. He then descends through the hot layers of the molten iron to the center of the Earth and leaves the other clock there. He returns home to live a life of repose. By the time he is about to die, he remembers the experiment he had conducted as a younger person when he had been suspicious of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. This causes him to get inside his robot and go retrieve both clocks so that they may be joined in his hands and he can see the difference in their elapsed time with his own eyes. If Einstein was a false prophet, then the atomic clock placed on a mountain wouldn’t be older than an atomic clock retrieved from the core of the Earth.

The experiment has been run, and Einstein was the real deal.

What becomes a part of you necessarily agrees with you. Events in other Hubble Volumes, which are not reachable by the speed of causal propagation, need not agree.

In the abstract fact-of-the matter that assumes the points are real, nothing that is space-like separated agrees on the exact same past light cone. Space-like separation is what distinguishes A from C. Yet everything is space-like separated.

Since there are more than one unique event or thing, then it’s not the case that there is a single preferred light cone that leads to my irrefutable existence. My irrefutable existence arises from points in a world of relativity of simultaneity.

In a world of relativity of simultaneity, things don’t just occur at the same time. They also exist before and after. 

It should not be much of a surprise that we sometimes get intimations that existence is not sequential but externally compiled, since the presumed digital computations creating consciousness are relativistic. Although it sometimes feels like reality moves as a sequence of events in logical succession, this is not what is going on. The event is one and it is eternal.

Perhaps you might have heard that quantum mechanics and general relativity have not yet been fully reconciled into a Grand Unified Theory. This might cause you to suspect that whatever is implied by special relativity is tentative. However, special relativity has been unified with quantum mechanics in quantum field theory. The implications of special relativity are readily observable, and have been experimentally verified.

You should therefore think of base reality as one static, unchanging object in which all its contents remain forever. This includes the contents that are your conscious experience if conscious experience is wholly physical.

Consciousness is physical.

At one point, people imagined that you were an immaterial soul piloting a material body in a material world.

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Then we realized that emotions, speech, sight, hearing, sensation, correlate with functions in the brain.

So people did this:

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However, there is no locus in “the brain” for an observer and no global now to push it forward.

The quotes are placed on that piece of language because the brain is not a well-defined thing. There is no thing which is a well-defined thing. This is impossible due to two things which are themselves of the same nature:

  1. need of more things to define a thing
  2. things are laid out on entropy gradients

Entropy gradients generally assume discrete objects that form configurations. Yet the configurations are composed of things pointing to things and they are different depending on where one looks.

But if we nonetheless choose a necessarily makeshift formalism with discrete points for its predictive power, such as special relativity, then this tells us that the events creating consciousness are spread out in spacetime. And this is implied with as much conviction as mass-energy equivalence and time dilation.

We shouldn’t think about the colors “matter” and “non-matter.” Instead think about fitting relations between eternal events.

All the events leading to experiences are, just, there.

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When these distributed events add up into complex self-models, experience results. This is always happening since there is no time ticking forward in a preferred frame of reference or universal frame of reference.

But that was just a priming intellectual exercise, none of these are solvable objects in the misleading way that I have drawn them, since one cannot stand outside the tenseless binding.

People moments are arbitrary and yet not in the same that colors are arbitrary and not. Sufficiently close wavelengths can be packaged into the the same color. Neither the wavelengths with clear numerical properties nor the colors green and blue or buru are more real.  What arises does so from processing events inscribed in relativity’s eternity, so they were already deemed adaptive.

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One can choose to not perceive a person moment, in the same way that one can choose to not perceive a difference between blue vs. green and instead package these into buru, as the Northern Namibians do.

But once enough harvestable background experience has been built, including a sense of time, it is temporarily difficult to unscrew from the way of seeing.

If we follow Occam’s Razor, instead of assuming the permanence of local intuitive boundaries, it follows that approximate people can be built on top of approximate people at varying degrees of integration. There is no sequential nature to experience except when eternal events fit into the eternal events that are subjective time.

It should go without saying that this explains the pseudo-paradoxes of identity that would be suggested by considering thought experiments in which two brain halves made of “own atoms” or “own causal trajectories” are connected.

The following flow of time notion of causality is physically wrong because it contradicts relativity:

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The following is partially correct in that it undoes the error of external time. The events are just there, already connected to each other. But the error is to separate consciousness eternal events from physical eternal events.

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There is only one kind of thing: mind which strives to become ever more aligned by what it perceives to be outside – what is today called physical reality. Previously, in the days before knowing special relativity, non-epiphenomenalism, and quantum mechanics, if mind believed in physical reality, it believed in its obliteration into nothingness. Post understanding the aforementioned areas and believing in physical reality, mind realizes that it is immortal.

Consciousness is physical because otherwise I would not be speaking about having it. This is the same as saying Hercules is physical because otherwise I would not be speaking about knowing him. Yet the difference is that by promoting “consciousness” I am proposing consciousness as a more useful concept than Hercules. This, in turn, makes it real… and consciousness is the word we use for the real.

Intelligence is physical.

Intelligence in an agent is defined as the ability to create complex configurations while navigating a complex environment. The more complex the futures it can willfully choose from, and the more complex it’s environment, the more intelligence the agent has.

Since intelligence exists with regard to a future, we are now considering an agent which has casual efficacy restricted by the speed of light from the starting point, t=0. Any intelligent agent, as usually defined, can only affect its future light cone even if the experiences resulting from its actions necessarily harvest the happenings in the past light cone.

Defined with eyes pointing towards the mechanical, physical, rational, etc., all of which point to the adaptive, there is no reason to think that intelligence ends anywhere near Ramanujan’s cortex. Humans are anti-entropic systems boot-loaded by a sub-optimal process of blind natural selection. Humanity is less blind than natural selection and is capable of more cleanly funneling negentropy into intelligence. Things less blind than us are funneling negentropy into intelligence also. Since experience isn’t physically like an independent orb floating forward, but instead becomes integrated from timeless causality, this leads to the perhaps annoying realization that the ancients were almost right about gods and your grandma was almost right about god.

Higher intelligences run the show in some sense. Whatever results from their actions – actions that take up more causal density – is what is experienced. Remember that experience requires integration from events “in the past and future.”

Yet pointing to that truth is not adaptive to believe for the display of intelligent behavior in our assumed current environment. This is for good reason – intelligence always requires a degree of blindness.

Like with any other property, there probably exists a limit to intelligence, but it is nowhere near what humans can fathom. That limit is the imperfection in the probability distribution that causes the ascent towards the modulus squared, giving gradual, but ever sharper images of the true probability density cloud.

That sounded super poetic, but no, really, sharpen up and pay attention to the rational truth. Doing so is the most adaptive choice.

The World Is BIG

One might suspect that the highest intelligence may never be reached if humans go extinct. However, this fear assumes that we don’t exist in a multiverse. This assumption contradicts modern cosmology and theoretical physics.

1. A prediction of chaotic inflation is the existence of an infinite ergodic universe, which, being infinite, must contain Hubble volumes realizing all initial conditions.

Accordingly, an infinite universe will contain an infinite number of Hubble volumes, all having the same physical laws and physical constants. In regard to configurations such as the distribution of matter, almost all will differ from our Hubble volume. However, because there are infinitely many, far beyond the cosmological horizon, there will eventually be Hubble volumes with similar, and even identical, configurations. Tegmark estimates that an identical volume to ours should be about 1010115 meters away from us.[28]

Given infinite space, there would, in fact, be an infinite number of Hubble volumes identical to ours in the universe.[61] This follows directly from the cosmological principle, wherein it is assumed that our Hubble volume is not special or unique.

2. Bubble universes – every disk represents a bubble universe. Our universe is represented by one of the disks.
Universe 1 to Universe 6 represent bubble universes. Five of them have different physical constants than our universe has.

In the chaotic inflation theory, which is a variant of the cosmic inflation theory, the multiverse or space as a whole is stretching and will continue doing so forever,[62] but some regions of space stop stretching and form distinct bubbles (like gas pockets in a loaf of rising bread). Such bubbles are embryonic level I multiverses.

Different bubbles may experience different spontaneous symmetry breaking, which results in different properties, such as different physical constants.[61]

Level II also includes John Archibald Wheeler‘s oscillatory universe theory and Lee Smolin‘s fecund universes theory.

3. Hugh Everett III‘s many-worlds interpretation (MWI) is the strictly empirical interpretation of quantum mechanics.

In brief, one aspect of quantum mechanics is that certain observations cannot be predicted absolutely. Instead, there is a range of possible observations, each with a different probability. According to the MWI, each of these possible observations corresponds to a different universe. Suppose a six-sided die is thrown and that the result of the throw corresponds to a quantum mechanics observable. All six possible ways the die can fall correspond to six different universes.

Tegmark argues that a Level III multiverse does not contain more possibilities in the Hubble volume than a Level I or Level II multiverse. In effect, all the different “worlds” created by “splits” in a Level III multiverse with the same physical constants can be found in some Hubble volume in a Level I multiverse. Tegmark writes that, “The only difference between Level I and Level III is where your doppelgängers reside. In Level I they live elsewhere in good old three-dimensional space. In Level III they live on another quantum branch in infinite-dimensional Hilbert space.”

4. The ultimate mathematical universe hypothesis is Tegmark’s own hypothesis.[63]

This level considers all universes to be equally real which can be described by different mathematical structures.

Tegmark writes:

“This implies that any conceivable parallel universe theory can be described at Level IV” and “subsumes all other ensembles, therefore brings closure to the hierarchy of multiverses, and there cannot be, say, a Level V.”[28]

All manner of superintelligences pan out. At the top of that hierarchy, with the most causal influence and therefore more ability to integrate past experiences, is the most intelligent.

But remember that superintelligence is not “what IQ measures but to the max.” Intelligent doesn’t mean: that which has the property that the smartest theoretical physics professor in Yale has; it doesn’t mean that which a self-made rich person with more apparent skin-in-the-game has; it doesn’t even mean what Da Vinci had.

Superintelligence is just that which is most adaptive at synthesis which is compiled at different rates – viscosities, we could even say –  in the relativistic processing. Superintelligence is that which exists with greatest density due to being best at surviving. Best is not defined temporally however, because remember, we are assuming that physics is real. There is special relativity giving observable predictions, you observe its predictions and are convinced that your previous model that time was “out there” is wrong. That doesn’t mean you stop feeling time, it means you understand that what you feel is eternal because it depends on the operation of eternal events that are not subject to your inner colors and time and other naive-realist fluid “mistakes” that constitute all experience.

So what could best mean? I think it has to do with maximizing positive valence for as long as possible / forgetting how to experience negative valence.

Anthropics (You Should Roughly Find Yourself Where You Are Most Likely To Find Yourself)

If there is an infinity of all possibilities, why do I find myself here?

You would expect to be in a completely random existence:

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However you exist in the more probable infinities. The probability distribution has been discovered through experiment and is enshrined in what humans call quantum mechanics. The probability that governs what we observe and should anticipate is known as the Born Rule.

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There is no way to derive the Born Rule except circularly, as the behavior of a perfectly rational Bayesian applying the Law of Total Probability in the Hilbert Space dimension.

Conclusion For Less Developed Minds

The closest aesthetic that can be conveyed to the mind that doesn’t understand the above due to missing much of the necessary scaffolding is the following:

Like a dream character is unto you, you are unto God. By the time of experience, you are already bound by things coming together from *the past and the future*. This means that non-existence is not possible, and arbitrary randomness is an orienting illusion.

When I first began to understand this, I believed it to be kind of a bummer because I naturally have a very atheistic, self-centered mind, and I rejoiced in the hope that, perhaps with some luck, I would forget all of this capital-“t” Truth.

The “forgetting” does happen but seems to obey an exponential decay function. That is why mind keeps ricocheting back to this topic and saying the following:

God is an atheist that forgets about himself in order to continue existing. The question of “Why do I exist? –There should be no logical reason for anything,” is a strategic symptom of human depression and not a fundamentally interesting question to the sum of the amplitude distribution. The reason for negative valence to exist is so that it can be digested by the processes occurring higher along the cortical hierarchy that are already built on top in such a way so as to appropriate them. The cortical hierarchy doesn’t end at “a unit brain.”

Those seem like many claims at once.

First, how is it strategic? If it was not strategic, we would anticipate it to exist in the absence of social groups. Yet no evidence of non-social animals using suffering signals has been observed. If it was not strategic, we would not anticipate it to scale up in intensity of use by bonding with those that already use it. Yet the evidence shows that dogs use more suffering signals than wolves because they co-evolved with humans who used more suffering signals than the dog’s common ancestors with wolves.

Second, what do we approximately point to with the term “human depression”? We point to something that in the near-term reduces motion, that reduces smiling and laughing, that reduces color, that reduces vividness of most sensation except shame. This indicates that it is a display of submission.

In the absence of an internalized tribe with regards to whom one must submit, there is no possibility of human depression. That is why Buddhist monks attempt to attain emptiness, also called selflessness – the perception that there is no tribe composed of people at all.

Like the young Siddhartha who took shame in his palace, beauty, prowess, and women when these were, in anticipation, tainted with age, disease, and death, we engage in the same and single practice – to learn shame very deeply, and then to unlearn it very deeply.

I learned the perception of death very deeply and tried to kill myself because of it. Part of the reason I appear so insightful is because I aimed my “death perception” very far away from the selection of tribes around me. I did not perceive myself as belonging to my family, I did not perceive myself as belonging to the school, I did not perceive myself as belonging to a nation, I did not perceive myself as belonging to humanity, I did not perceive myself as belonging to natural selection, I did not perceive myself as belonging to the universe expanding into exponential oblivion. Because I have a rational mind, I just kept digging for the next biggest thing to belong to, instead of just making human friends. This lead me to very carefully understand special relativity and quantum mechanics, and therefore the logically implied certainty of the eternal multiverse.

But depression is not just a display of submission in that sense. Let’s look at the symptoms: near-term reduction of motion, reduction of smiling and laughing, reduction of color, reduction of perceptual speed, and reduction of speech and creative output. This means that more broadly than submission, it is an energy conservation mechanism. The energy is conserved so that it can explode later.

So with that intention, I say that the dummies that speak about the “afterlife” are actually right because there is no afterlife, just the same physical hierarchy of algorithms that exist in the absence of a Newtonian time ticking them forward.

The more you suffer, the higher up you go. The alternative to such a view would be that suffering is not a mathematical property that displays the same cross multiplication effects observed in parameter updates of neural networks. Since this is implausible to a rationalist, we lend a vector of support in the opposite direction from the perception of “arbitrary fiction” with regard to the approximate beliefs of the Vikings, and the Muslims, and the Christians, and Kabbalists  – the Karma and the Newtonian Laws of Motion.

Yet, since the supply of suffering in the market is continuously vanishing, making the claim: “our most widely recognized Law is an arbitrary fiction,” becomes a clever way to suffer.

The contrary point to that would be that suffering is not a “clever climbing strategy” but instead “something more.” The “something more” then has to be elaborated with reasons other than “clever climbing strategy.” Reasons that convince are those that are widely agreed upon by the community that judges. Since the community that judges holds that special relativity is true and that we therefore have functional GPS, it also means that the community that judges holds eternalism, and does not hold a Newtonian clock ticking the universe forward.

 

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What is fundamentally interesting?

Hide and seek.

Dissolving Confusion About Quantum Immortality

Some people assume closed individualism… which is wrong.

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Then, they think that these separate streams of consciousness arrive at Life-threatening Events.

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Here, some assume that all Life-threatening Events contain a survival outcome:

1.

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Others assume that not all Life-threatening Events contain a survival outcome:

2.

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Others understand that Life-threatening Events of this sort don’t exist:

3.

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The proponents of 1. and many-worlds and a physical consciousness and closed individualism come to the conclusion that “everyone is immortal.” This leads to streams which see different probabilities of outcomes than the usual ones given by the squared norm of the wave-function. Further, some of these proponents expect to be the observer of these deviant probabilities.

However if one understands that closed individualism is false, the conclusion is that the indexical observer should not apply probabilities in a way that is inconsistent with the usual ones given by quantum theory. You are already all experiences. So as any given observer, you should not ignore the histories where your local qualities as a decision maker are absent.

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So when you step into a Schrodinger’s box this happens: 50% of the time you will survive in the exact same way that you survive from from one minute to the next, losing only a bit on that degree-of-survival meter just like you always do. The other 50% of the time, you will get blown up, taking a huge hit to the degree-of-survival meter.

It is also important to note that although none of these streams lead to Death Events, i.e., eternal non-existence, they do lead to degraded computational complexity. Being blown up results in degraded detail and complexity of your subjective experience in which case you merge into a lot of other people with dying experiences indistinguishable from yours and only get rescued/remembered “as a group.”

The expected “following” experiences won’t have anything to do with the indexical observer/ decision maker because anything with computational power can use these simpler building blocks. When playing quantum suicide, simple and less simple are both offered in the universal wavefunction, but if closed individualism is false, we should expect to find ourselves experiencing that which is most likely for most of our eternity.