Wednesday, 23 May 2012

Pictures at an exhibition (white cube)

And Damien Hirst and damien hirst and damien wamien samien hirst and damey wamey amy samey damien hirst and damien hirst and booky wooky pleasy looky damien hirst and damien hirst and this is my bed and this is my head and this is my tent and the shaggers Ive said and damien hirst and damien hirst and telly all day and night all day it's as they say they're out we play and damien hirst and damien hirst ho hum te tum he had a hum and damien hirst and damien hirst you're fired no deal the lottery wheel and damien hirst and damien hirst and saddam is worsed and damien hirst and blair and cool and cameron clegg and facebook jobs and gates so beg and damien wamien samien hirst the bubble has burst the bubble has burst and damien damien damien hirst

And damien hirst tried drawing.

What a fantastic day! Read the Guardian.

And the judges said

You're black and you're shite at football. Give up life.

Now that gets you 100 hours up Scotland, prison Wales. The person in question was black, and shite at football. These we may loosely term facts. The author and the 'recipient' were both men. But you didn't ask for that did you? Your prejudice was sufficient.

Unless it was Stevie Wonder, the first fact would not be a surprise. We'll try not to worry too much that he was inner fact brown. It's done by shape not colour, as you know.

When OJ murdered whoever it was, 'anti-racists' complained that his picture was being made 'blacker', and that this was wrong because it was more 'sinister'. You may want thinkers like this in charge. I would prefer them charged. By rhinocerousesises. White, of course. They're much better, because they're fewer.

Pretending to be Welsh, I find it confusing that someone can in fact be not-shite at football. I'm afraid it's not my area of expertise. All I know is Posh Spice takes it up the arse. That is the democratic verdict from the terraces. We don't have terraces. Anyway, I'm guessing 'his' team has not just won the tartan cup or whatever it is, and 'he' did not score a hat-trick.

You're shite at football because you're black would be something different - mainly hilarious - but now we are pretending we are dealing with a literary genius. Perhaps it wasn't Tolstoy.

But then we only have ten words, unpunctuated, uncontexted. But that's enough for us isn't it? We can prejudice the meaning automatically unthinking. I can give you ten different meanings of it. I can even make it nice. But I agree with you, it was intended as nasty. I decide this from his ineloquence elsewhere. Which you haven't checked.

Give up life. Now is this a command or a suggestion or a somethingelse? A comma after up would make it interesting. But as I have said, it was not by a hand that knoweth the comma.

At what rate were the keys - if keys they be - pressed, and at what pressure? These important facts are not recorded. I'm not going to tell you why they are important. Because I already know, by magic, that you won't get it.

Let us colour it blackest.

Who is required to read it? who is required to parse it? who is required to act on it? who is required to distribute it? who is required to comment on it? Must the orders be obeyed? We are in very dangerous territory here.

Now since we are dealing with humans - unfortunately - we have before us not Oscar Wilde, but David Irving. Minus the cunning. The scary/clown dependent on the audience.

Zuckerberg tells us a lot can be done by reflex. We do have free will, Mr. Harris, at this level of self, once informed. We do have response ability. It can be learnt.

Teach this.

This law enshrines a sinister infantilism to poison future generations. The diffusion of responsibility is the most dangerous facet of the self delusion.

Poem for the day

A man put on a silly hat
And waved his arms, and things like that
And thus made how a billion breed
Be careful now, the voice you heed

A man said 'Hands up if I'm blond'
It worked just like a magic wand
And off they toddled with their hair
To other fuckwits over there

A man (note women do it too)
Reflected as Norwegian Blue
'They're coming here! To kill our kids!'
This time it's mozzers, then was yids

When someone tells you what to do
It greatens them and lessens you
When someone tells you what to think
Your soul dies wreathed in other's ink

REJ:- How many divisions has the REJ? 

Tuesday, 22 May 2012

Lit Crit

Ok, homework is:- take out the forced Wenglish, remove clunky etc. There's one acceptable couplet 'They gathered now...'. I shouldn't have to tell you that. Make good (lazy engineering slang) the rest. All couplets 50 syllables and under to be site run (draughtsman skive). etc

Add further 'observations' - pick base universal ones = cross-cultural. etc etc. And you'll have a wee pome. I can't be arsed, I'd rather read Burns - he's better, and he's already done it for us. But don't be telling me he had to try. Look at the output, look at his 'distractions'. There wasn't time. It was automatic for him. How annoying. But do note - going to Grayling's unseen university is not going to help you. He is the bland leading the bland. He says nothing, and charges a fortune to say it. Also never do economics somewhere the boss can't differentiate between cost and price. And the less said about Krauss the better.

Now I'm on tour up Scotland. That's yr Alban to me. Some of them think it's Alba. I prefer the N word. Note I do not test syphilis on them like Americans. Pixel-police try not-saying cancer. You are dull as fuck. That one for every fucking library in Strathclyde that blocks REJ as 'pornographic'.

Another thing you haven't noticed, is that if you see these as words, rather than pixels, or indeed numbers, then later compositions in your minds may be open to remote manipulation. Be careful what you read now. The true vampire requires no invitation. Let's hope he's a very lovely vampire.

Now if the damned lies be believed, the prettiest get 1000 views, the funniest 200, and the cleverest 5. Eventually. This gets on my tits enormously. More than the LHC. That is a lot of tit-gettingon. They've gone all eldritch. Now you wouldn't like me when I'm eldritch. You don't like me uneldritch.

Now click back to my 'eurodisney'. What's that then? Prescience or fucking obvious? You tell me.

An ant is a moving plant. A human is an ant with emotional rendering. A zoologist will be 'unlikely' to tell you this. Even though Charlie said it in 18-whateverthefuck. Don't ask me, I wasnae there. Ask Max Boyce.

Theology is ethology. Experiment with e. Sophisticated ethology is fuck all use for the ants. Now you can only see contrast. Yaffle tuned the wrong end, the wrong accent - birdsong - for the dummies. He can't even see he wrote the individual delusion. This is because he is in synchrony. And we can only see contrast. As I may have said.

Now what is required is a non-human perspective. Very luckily for you - that's both readers - I have this facility as I am an intermittent. That is not quite the same as supernatural, Mr. Sheldrake. No.

Now humans have, on average, the perspective required for being humans. Cats make rather better cats. etc. Now when you look at say the trivial food search algorithm for ants, you should not declare 'By thunder, dose ants is clever'. No. You should, in fact, declare 'By thunder, dose humans is as dumb as ants'. Yes.

This minor aspect of the self delusion is thinking you are better than you are. Hence the disappointment of performance related pay. etc. It's a very healthy thing, within boundaries, to over-estimate rather than under. Eeyore sulked in the hole, Tigger bounced out and bred more. Overall. Do stop seeing individuals. They are illusory.

Saturday, 19 May 2012

Capel Mair

In Capel Mair young Marged prayed
An elegy to one who strayed
With words that were beyond her years
But not alas, another's ears

The sweetest heart, the fairest rose
Cwm fynach carved her careless toes
And splendigedig high the hill
Sun caught her hair and fired her will

As honest as the raging sea
As timeless as yr hen allt tree
That crowns descendants tenderly
She was a painted treasury

Y Parch sipped at the mountain dew
He dreamt of blossom 'neath the two
A bluebell moss'ed lair depicted
His God descended heart constricted

Y Parch lit up his sodden prose
With tinder tears of never knows
With kindling barren soulless womb
His children filled the lead-lined tomb

All eyes on one, and one on all
A crease, a smile, a crumpled shawl
It was the hour! It was the dawn!
The Devil finds unwary yawn

As ants so sugar laden nest
She clutched her bounty to her breast
A scarlet lock root-torn from rest
- And love is e'er the highest blessed -
Y Parch passed round his silver test

If it's y Diawl that you would draw
Twas never dark when he was fore
By sunlit dawn and God's good grace
You'll see the one within the face
On close reflect his time and place
As children know the best was then
Tomorrow devils ride again

They gathered now, they gathered then
Together Truth confounds all men
And righteous Twm was raised on high
And offered to an empty sky
This is triumphantly to die!

And Marged conquered life the same
Divine ears deaf the insect game
In like proportion bore the blame
The Somme, the fire, th'eternal flame
Humanity! for shame! for shame

And high above the mountain cwm
The wind chimes song of Marged Twm
Now pray to love upon that hill
And breathless, windless, hear them still.

Monday, 14 May 2012

QBI = DVD>1?

Ok. You've spotted what I'm doing. You haven't. Never mind, I have. I've gone and got all bored with Yaffle - lovely one for him later - let's do Mr. Deutsch, he's very deep. The most interesting. He's made Everett testable. We may disregard string theory. It isn't one. There is nothing to regard.

Mr. E did something very simple. He said the micro/macro split is arbitrary, don't be giving me that consciousness bullshit, let's see what happens if we make the Schroedinger universal. From then on, he's fine. And Mr. D has riffed on this. They're both starting from an incorrect datum.

Ok, he's not really fine from then on, he went MAD, did the silliest probability horse-shit ever, and pissed himself away to nothing. Didn't really do much for Elizabeth, did it? But that's parenting, not physics. They are different things.

Now I've put Mr. D in ten graphemic ideograms for you at the top. Just to save you from going all googly-eyed like him. But that 2nd chapter - that is how to write - if you ever feel like having a pop at it.

The only line you need from that book is:- (attempt gist) - 'If a calculation is performed that would have required more processing power than that available from all the atoms in the universe, then there will be some explaining to do'.

Indeed there will. The calc for how many atoms in the universe will be wrong, but we needn't be worrying about that. Because, if correct, his qcalcs will be rather spectacularly large. Of a whole different order.

Any moment now. He says...

Saturday, 12 May 2012

The Selfish Gene (random riff)

Now I like finishing Yaffle's books off for him. Annotation spoils. It is over-polishing. Atkins does exposition. So he puts the poetry on one page, hints on the other, notes in the back, and who cares about biography. Now look if you wrote this:- (attempt memory)

Her lips were red, her looks were free
Her locks were yellow as gold
Her skin was white as leprosy
The nightmare life-in-death was she
That thicks men's blood with cold

- then I advise not spending decades afterwards annotating like the saucer-eyed opium-eater. I expect he was wondering how he did it. Who gives a fuck? That's one we may call 'acceptably finished'. Do not change marinere to mariner. A child can see it fucks the rhymes. That is over-polish.

Now, take it on faith, I could topdownstepwiserefineeditmake this one formally correct. I just don't think you're worth it. I could do the 'computing' correctly too, believe me. I just find it funnier making IT types wince. They're all only doing hyper-binary-creole translation. (Sh!).

Ok, we'll get to the selfish gene later. I can scrawl on my own page, I think Yaffle may have meant for others to get a go over at his place. Lovely one to end on anyway. I did tell him to switch me off his end, but there's a boy who'll never be a nun. You know, strident. Too nice by far to do the nasties. He can't model them anyway - the little 4D printers, the sophisticated theologians. That's why they continually surprise him. He almost fell off his perch the other day when that Australian catholic said whatever he did. Dawks writes in analogy and metaphor pretty. I'll do one for him in his native language another day.

Now SamIam annoys me, because he reminds me of Gavin Henson. I forbid people to piss it all away like Henson, when their primary function is, rather obviously, to entertain me. Reading Sam these days is done with the same trepidation, - fear and trembling, Mr. Blake - as one opens the 'Western Mail', to see what Gavin's gone and fucking done this time.

Now look, just stop it, Sam. I forbid you to continue to annoy me. I give you the mens rea. No faults this end, I think you'll agree that possibility is quite implausible. Why did you write that ridiculous book? Wel, you said why. It's because you are surrounded by lunatics. You are now achieving, 'better than lunatics'. I think that's a Henson. 'Piously parroting' ace btw. That one's a corker. I hate it when a word-witch wastes them on bollox. And what's this 'free will' horse-shit you're on tour with now? Absolute horse-shit. What a fucking waste of time. No, it won't affect the law. And stop contradicting yourself mid-exposition.

Oh yes, TSG. Right, let's stop fucking about. The metaphor's fine, the ending's fine. I refuse to mentally delete anything. Meme is a dullasfuck word. Memeplex just confuses Blackmore. With her magenta not-a-real-colour hair. It masquerades as explanation. Don't be telling me, meme is a new word. I know what words are. It may impress young boys, it doesn't impress me.

Now there was something in the book about selection being at the level of the gene. Did you spot that bit? The immortal gene. Don't be worrying about metaphor. People who can't read metaphor, can go fuck themselves. I believe it was Epicurus who said that.

TEP's a riff on it. That book's spoilt by being 3/4 correcting duffers over what a gene is. Don't be giving me any obscure epigenetic punts now. You'll only be confusing yourself. And if you annoy me enough, I'll correct you. Go and do an infinite calculation, and get back to me.

I went to see Rupert, because I'd only glanced at his front page, and because of his background thought he might present an interesting puzzle. But he was just all over the place.  Btw - guess what they've got on there next? - 'Meet the faeries workshop'. Do check, I can't do them as funny as that.

Now Yaffle, you like Singer. I think he's a bit odd. But he says do Wissenschaft. Now you're not going to be able to do that if you keep being 'unqualified to comment' are you? You'll have to step out of your field. Or rather, step into the whole field. There is only one field, old bean.

The cosmogonists are making it up. They contradict each other. They are mutually exclusive theories. Straightaway, you find yourself qualified to comment that the subject is, at very best, 90% absolutely incorrect. Tarot has a far better hit rate. It's the Wigner, old bean, the Wigner! They're all smitten.

Ach! I got distracted again. Wel, if you want to retro the title, because of idiots who can't read, then perhaps give it the correct title. The whatitmeans. The correct title is, of course, 'The individual delusion'.


Friday, 11 May 2012

Remote scan opponent


'I have faith in the scientific method'
'I have faith in the peer review process'
'I do not understand physics'
'I am not qualified to comment'


Check opponent inputs.

Deutsch. Smolin. Hawking. Cox. Krauss.


Refine odds

Win = certainty

Interlude for larks (Game already played out in advance - much easier that way)

Open letter to God:-

Dear Hitler/Stalin comboweave ultimate social darwinist projected transcended superperson. (Sir). I think you're a cock. Your reported preferences - I'm sure you can handle the PR - are for genocide, torture, and human sacrifice. Tell you what, I think I'll do something else instead. Something you couldn't quite manage. You omnipotent telepathic book creator, you.

Oh yes. While I'm handing out free will, do 'Come and have a go if you think you're material enough'.

I remain, Yours etc.

Someone a bit cleverer. Than God. Christ! must He be a twat.

The Concept of Concept Compression (Dr. Bendi's Rosetta Archetype for Zip-Meme Basic)

None in a century

Templeton Prize

Science:-  'God is impossible'
Religion:- 'God is impossible'

Wednesday, 9 May 2012

The very naughty letters (for Terry Jones)

Once upon a time, there were some very naughty letters. Numbers really, but don't be worrying about that sortofthing. They seemed to be more somethingthannothing. The very naughty letters wrote a humans. Roughly about ten. 'How beautiful are these letters'. Said the very stupid humans. Which was a funny way to spell 'What a jumbled pile of mish-mash, let's shoot the editor'. One of the letters said biscuit a lot. More heroica than eroica. Ooops, I dropped an aitch. I really must be more careful. But then they they really are very, very naughty letters.

Monday, 7 May 2012

The Concept of Concept Compression. (Dr. Bendi's little book of Zip-Meme Basic)

CRE = 0=1

Check Ruperts. Check Friedrichs. If no Ruperts or Friedrichs


REM:- I bet they read Wonderland...

Sunday, 6 May 2012

The Greatest Flea on Earth (tribute art)

Fun bit coming presently. Perhaps with a touch of the future, but not quite prescience etc you later compositions, you. *riff your ends* (naughty?)

Modelling complete. Slight 'short-cut' via archetypes. Perhaps a bit of 'cheating'. Could you tell when? I'd love to know how. Then again, go and tell Rupert instead. But do it nicely, as he's a rather straightforward schizophrenic. Dials fucked. Take note Cox.

Brief awards ceremony:- Yaffle held out longest, Atkins close second, Friedrich 1/2 hr, Rupert 1 second. But to be fair, I was doing other things at the time.

Do you want to watch? Have some Free Will, Sam. If you ever snuff it, please could I have your eyebrow.

OK. Board 1 match. Actual opponent's presence not required. Have you ever seen a telephone?
REJ vs Yaffle. Quick odds calculation. Only I know the odds. That looks rather super. I am going to cheat.

Slight hint for slowies. Yaffle brain rather big, REJ brain rather small. REJ is going to use billions of brains. Like what as if there was were some kind of intersubjective manybillion brained hyperperceptive cheating possibility thing going on.

You are 'invited'. Comments neither read nor required.

Saturday, 5 May 2012

For Hein

How odd that God
Gave us Free Will
He should have asked
I'm asking still

For Heller, who has?

Look at Elvis. Can you do that?
Or can you but say he was fat?

Look at runners. Some are fast.
Can you just comment, that they've passed?

Look at helpers. Some are poor.
I like the ones who can, do,


Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Staring at the ceiling, waiting for the muse

Did you have a go? Did you polish, and see your own magnificent multi-faceted reflection? Your beautiful mind?

This is called sculpture.

Now Will, yours is going to look opaque, Michelangelo rather lovely, Hancock not there. Art is tourettes you see. There are different levels.

I would describe Beethoven as looking 'particularly arduous'. Know when you're beat, and try something else. Put the CD on. The correct attitude is not resentment, it is 'Thank fuck I can't do that one'.

Now that ceiling I would call 'The most magnificent prank ever played'. I see the comedians the easiest. Monkhouse was a faker, WLC if you like, Sellers wasn't there. He was an actor.

Look Damien! What's he pointing at? He used to do anatomy. You can't.

Now I do requests for the muse. I find them odd. If she were to say do Burns say, it would translate as 'Walk a long way, learn an accent, then photocopy this poem, that I've already got in my hand, in order that I may read it'.

But I don't mind at all. I can breathe her. She gives me life. She can breathe life into me. Without her I am clay. We are in align. Without her I am dead. She gives me the kiss of life.

This is love.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Uncut Diamond

Ok Will, - and pretending people are watching, we call prayer - I'm going to give you one uncut. You play polisher. The bit you can't do is see the words. Hear them. Breathe them. I'll give you the stream, you freeze it.


Here is the secret. Man is clay. Mind models. Minds are in man. Breath is life. On reflection. Now you can breathe life into clay. It is not genius, it is forgery. As Venter forges life. You have to be able to see unichromatically. Then you can make the rainbow. It's one brush. There are no separate colours. You think there are separate colours. That's why you look them up. Collect the names. You will never paint. You can carry no light.


Now look. The word doesn't make the colour, the colour makes the word. In the beginning was the colour, and the word wasn't there. That is why there are more words for colours, than there are colours for words. But there is no colour. That is why there is only one language. If you can't read it, you can't write it. Thus it is written.

Now listen. How could there be separate colours? What could separate them? Only I. How could Beethoven hear when he was deaf? Because he was never deaf. In heaven no one hears.

Random. Geist is a lovely, pregnant word. It has triplets. Add Zeit and you play abortionist. Hit the anvil too hard and the sparks will fly away. Faster than the glitter-fly, buzz to see the compound lie, I could make this unify.


Now polish. Polish for the NewtonKeats combo-weave. If you over-polish you will gain the world, but lose the soul. That's what that means. I'd say you should be able to put that 4 second stream into 4 lines. Do it right, and you'll see beauty. See if you can do it. I lied when I said I was going to do it for you. It's all plagiarised, but there are no marks for noticing.

The Free Will Self Delusion. A fragment. To Yaffle via prism.

Now Yaffle! That was a bit strident of you. Don't be asking me who Yaffle is this year. Again. It's not real. It's stop-go animation. The other one's a woodpecker.

Look at that, I can do stand-up. Hawking can't. You should be able to do these instantly.

Now watch this, I'll hop over the page.

The crow's a theologian
The Scarecrow we call Dawks
And both are but Creationists
Cos they can't see like Hawks.

Squint! Squint at the screen, Will. The words will be more obscure.

That crow story was true. They do it all the time. I clean the windows you see. I try to stop them doing it.

It's all cut and paste, Will. There's only one book. It's not that one. I want to paste people, not to cut them. They need only be in align. It annoys me this is so simple. All Caddis and stones. Good book Yaffle! I give you full marks for that one. Nicely downscribed.

Now in the next one, I'll show you beauty. Let's leave it as a 'boast' for today. It's a very simple trick. I shall show you the heaven-taught athiest.

You cannot do this.