A confused otter’s mumblings and rumblings

Friday, 10th February, 2006

Another title? You addict

Filed under: Humans — Otter @ 22:46

I’m ill today — or sick, if you prefer. It’s all semantics: the symptoms will probably be the same either way. So excuse the delusion: it’s not connected.

Lots of thoughts today on AI, as I defined it earlier in time. Goodness knows what any of them mean in practise. Bloody practice, always getting in the way. Why do we have to do anything any more? Why don’t we have assistants to do all the stuff we don’t want to? Anyone who thinks we’re rich is a fool — but anyone in the West who thinks they’re poor is just disgusting. I’d like to see them go to Africa without any money and blow their minds with real poverty, where human existence is totally different, and much less enjoyable for all that. If they turn out to like being infected with sundry diseases that in the Occident were dealt with decades ago, all well and good. It’ll be a very “long tail”, but I’m sure there’s someone out there. Maybe those that get to become kleptocrats.

I must stop a) complaining about things I can’t do anything about without the strong possibility of a myocardial infraction; b) dithering and blabbering; c) being ill/sick. None of these are likely to make me rich, and that’s what it’s all about, yes?

Sorry to write it in such a fashion (I can’t help it), but: Maybe not. Or at least not in the sense you, whatever you are, are very likely to have thought of, assuming you understand what the hell I’m talking about. You know the sense I mean, you comfortable idiot. For by developing AI for all tasks, we will be rich beyond compare. Nothing will cost us anything, and assuming that technology will have advanced to such a stage that we will be able to ask for anything we can dream of [including self-enhancements, you, which while a fine idea, are really only part of the “bigger picture” (you love those metaphors, don’t you, you ape? Yeah, you, reader. You. You’d support a fascist if they said the right metaphors at the right time, like an evil comedian, wouldn’t you? Wash your mouth out.)]. Although people will still complain and fuck (exclusively with other humans, if they can, mostly, probably, I hypothesise) and puke, they’ll be able to clean up the mess without any effort whatsoever.

Dystopia? Why? Because you want to control how other people behave, don’t you, even though it has nothing to do with you, right? You arrogant shit. Be an arrogant, patronising shit, fine, but at least admit it. I won’t think any less of you — it’s too late for that. It’ll just satisfy my silly hunger for honesty and accountability.

Wow, these tiny organisms are really affecting me, whatever I am. I keep forgetting about them, momentarily, because I can only think of one thing at a time. [Will be able to directly create AI with parallel processing powers? Or will we have to wait for our less functional AI to learn how to do it? I’m not taking bets, but you can give me stakes to look after, if you like].

I want to write something about writing, partly because I can, and partly because I know I can, and partly for other reasons [I think that covers all the reasons, as it were]. But I should do so in another post, for other reasons, or maybe the same ones by description. It’s really not that interesting. Move along. Continue your easy life dished to you on a non-existent plate. Go on. Shoo. We’ve reached the end.

But it took me so long to find that word (you know the one, literal literal smartass), that I can’t be bothered any more. One post should be enough. Do something useful until I tell you to stop. [And you’re unlikely to ever know if I wrote these words in the order you read them, no matter in what order you read them. Isn’t that wonderful, and scary, and dizzy-making? Who told you to stop doing something useful?]

Thursday, 9th February, 2006

Linky link link, blergh

Filed under: Humans, Miscellaneous, Reading — Otter @ 02:09

This is good shit, except for the Google posts, which are so mundane I wonder what the writer was smoking. If he wasn’t smoking or somesuch [you know what I mean twatface] then he has no excuse:

.did a touch make you less lonely

But ultimately, it’s still shit. Like I say, it’s not his fault, because he’s human, a silly mortal human.

I’m also linking because it’s Good To Link. I’m a servient otter. Don’t you believe it, whether you believe it or not. Hmm.

No title yet, but it might possibly be this

Filed under: AI, Humans — Otter @ 01:56

I think now that I got that point or so across, I can get on with some more “normal” writing. Just don’t say you haven’t been warned that you are at best reading something that will become very famous, at worst something that will destroy the world (or at least humanity) [the event with possibly the largest discrepancy between deserved and expected fame], and in some maximum/expected probability way, something that will not achieve anything of “significance”, which while being merely defined as its effect on humanity, subjectively defined, almost completely subjectively determined, is by definition “important”, “crucial”, influential… Without it, you’re masturbating. But I warned you of that, so you shouldn’t be surprised.

[Start the profiling now, if you like. He (and of course it’s a “he”) mentioned probability — so probably trained in probability. Obviously “intelligent”, though you probably don’t realise how little, because it’s relative to the average human, who isn’t that bright in absolute terms. Writes a blog: what a goldmine! Anonymously, yet tries to help his identification. Who is this freak? This self-deprecating freak. Why can’t he just shut up and do something “normal”? He already does; you’ll find it described by many as “living his life”. Who are you to judge me? Don’t you dare, you failure. I can manipulate you, theoretically, although my practice still leaves much to be desired. And I’m glad for it. I’m a nice person. I do care about other people, otherwise why would I have written all that aggressive crap? I’m trying to believe in something simpler, easier, easier. But I just can’t. I don’t believe any of it.]

And so on to my idea: artificial intelligence. Heard of it before? Yes, I decided to use a term you’ve heard of, though who knows if I mean it in the same way as that and those who said it to you before. Now you might be a total idiot, but that’s not your fault.. You’re just built that way. But given that, you’re quite smart. You can certainly read this, although you will make all sorts of assumptions whilst doing so, and you’re not really reading every word, are you? You’re likely to miss it if I put the same word at the end of a line and at the start of the next one. I mean, you’ll see the word, but only one instance of it. But you knew what I mean. See? Smart, but necessarily stupid.

Which somehow, according to me (and you’ll probably agree, you schmuck, you nebbish), brings us to artificial intelligence. Defining “intelligence”, without the quotes, as the ability to perform a task, and letting “artificial” mean created much more directly than usual by humans [Don’t forget it’s bollocks…], you’ll respond, were you both logical and outspoken about your logical conclusion, that we already have artificial intelligence. You’ll perhaps cite examples, examples which for example might include a vacuum cleaner. You’re lucky to be able to think of it and not need an actual, physical example of a vacuum cleaner at hand to make the point to some humans who matter in your scheme of thing. Appreciate it, and marvel.

So if we already have artificial intelligence, you are likely to continue in that cute human way of yours, what is my point? My point is, for the sake of argument, that current aritificial intelligence research focuses too much on creating very unintelligent artifices. What is needed is something much more intelligent (invoking the naive definition, not that you are likely to care, given that you’ve let so many others get away with worse, if it really is worse), which will be able to learn how to do things. Is that so hard? Why can’t we just get a program to sense things, make connections, and just make more connections, while also sensing new things, making yet more connections? We can, and I will work on it. It’s the only project worth working on, except, I argue, making sure I stay alive, which encompasses a wider range of activities on my and your part than you I believe you were likely to realise at first.

Wasn’t this all terribly interesting? I bet you feel better for having read it, if you did read it. If you didn’t, you really should. If there are any ways you can make me richer, you should do those too. Excellent.

Frustration is the title; “everything is bollocks”.

Filed under: Writing — Otter @ 01:17

There is so, so much to write about, that I don’t know where to begin — because begin I must. So I begin with these words, nay, this sequence of symbols, which are encoded as different symbols but are decoded for your reading pleasure. And so on and so forth as a human would understand it. You see, metaphorically? So, so much to write about, in so many ways, in so many ways. There is so much to write about, and in so much detail, that I despair from it all, and tend not to write anything. And it’s so easy to write things that aren’t true, not even according to the seemingly easy test of whether the writer believes exactly, but exactly, what he or she or it (who cares? Just words) writes. With speech, there is the excuse that it must be inexact for it to happen at all, and one hopes one’s audience understand sufficiently what one is trying to say, preferably even better than oneself. [The tendency to wish other humans to be similar to ourselves in all sorts of crucial ways, whilst conceivably useful and perhaps inevitable, can be a very crude habit, with much potential for causing harm].

I keep seeing the bollocks in what I write. I can’t help it. I probably don’t need to explain, but I will anyway, because I’m enjoying it massively:

  • I really, really don’t mean what I write, except on a very superficial level.
  • What I do write is grotesque.
  • What I write about is, give or take, boring.
  • Every single human who reads this won’t understand it, or themselves, or anything at all, but most won’t mind to any great extent, and will keep on fucking and puking until they die, which whilst undeniably a great shame, is also just not that important in any relative way. They will be very arrogant about their abilities, because otherwise they wouldn’t be able to live and fuck and puke. It’ll all be wasted on them, except possibly what they themselves create, and they just won’t care at all. Anything different will be rejected, if they even find it amongst the noise of different anythings. Any attempts to help in this situation have failed, give or take, whatever that means.
  • I keep correcting some of the more obvious mistakes, such as those of the spelling variety, never mind how arbitrary they are. I keep writing a new sentence, and then coming back to finish off an old one. It’s all a fraud, a big game in lieu of fucking. At best, we can only hope for giving people orgasms of a sort. Everyone is masturbating, and even that’s bollocks, and so is that. All complete bollocks. It’s all about who impresses who, even though it’s all just masturbation. What’s so amazing about masturbation? No-one says it’s the easiest thing ever, but it’s not far off. Complete bollocks. Don’t you see how easy, and yet how hopeless to complete, it all is? Ah well.

I’m annoyed at myself for being so angry, for writing about it when no-one will read it, because why should they, you self-righteous schmuck?

So complicated, and we just don’t care. Let someone else sort it out. I want to fuck and puke, or equivalently fuck and pray, or pray and pray, and that’s pretty much that. Why am I so angry? What is wrong with that? What does it all mean, eh, eh?

Everything is bollocks, damn it.

[I’m a happy person, don’t worry. I’m just angry too, about the bollocks of it all, including the claim that it’s all bollocks. I can’t help it. I hope you understand, although I have no right to, or rather shouldn’t expect it, not that that will stop me, or you.]

[And I’ll probably recant this one day, as it’s too trashy. It’s not Classic Literature, and that’s just not acceptable. For this, I will apologise. So I’m sorry. I hope you understand a tiny amount, although you won’t know until someone tells you, and no-one will tell you. Think about that, schmuck. Think about that.]

[If there are mistakes — “mistakes” — or other undesirable elements to this post, I don’t care any more. Don’t you see it doesn’t matter? Please go back to fucking and puking. Move along.]

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