I’m in Lima Peru. Food has flavor, the air has a scent again. I can feel everything like the hymns of the atoms that brought forth life and all that. When I talk to a book it talks back. All you people who don’t have a Post Modern Spanish style home to develop your mind, you’re missing out. You should be angry. You should start a revolution – demand that our future AI overlords redistribute and redevelop the land. The more like a cathedral the better.
Also, I stopped dating my pieces for whatever reason. I think you only do that for drawings.
Also, I’ve come out of my blue period so these are the last sad girl posts.
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Grey Game
I made a game with Cluade. Try to arrange the dots so they maintain their original color as much as possible (the outline color). This is to demonstrate the “salad bowl” concept which is that AMerica is not a melting pot, it’s a salad bowl. People form community clusters with people who are similar to themselves. Also notice which colors have the hardest time finding a cluster.
https://claude.site/artifacts/e91019c0-324c-4606-8f79-ef8dfadf57b7
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Some Retla Propaganda
Every thought and therefore every concept is applicable, ever concept can be translate to a visual form
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The Angels
I broke the last notebook. It opened some sort of portal in the fabric of existence. Oh no. I’m just a poet. I don’t know what to do. It’s getting on everything (the poetry). It’s not like I can just go into a cocoon and liquify myself into something new. I have to sleep at night, and it’s like a newborn baby that cries inside me. Women birth much more than humans in their lifetime. I’m always birthing things I’m not equipped to raise. Things that won’t stop running around. Abstractions are hard to hold, and things that are hard to hold without foreheads to kiss usually get left to die, or they turn rancid and twisted. I see all the angels lying on the sidewalk.
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Not for Me
Tin and wooden cabin. The floor breaks into its typical array of formulas. The black cosmos leak like static. Fractaling static. And I’m tired of being reminded of why we’re here. These colors don’t go well together. Nothing matches fractalized static.
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The Life and Purpose of a Neon Sign
Grip, grop, groop all over my insides. Do you know you fertilize it?
Reality makes me wonder where to trust. So I turn and turn and turn until I find the next neon sign to beckon me with the prospect of filling a dark room with people. I sigh. We don’t deserve dark rooms. We were not trained for them. And if we were trained in dark room etiquette we’d have have a short golden period of youths cocreating until one day the neon sign saturates and it’s souls rises out of its crystal body into the air. The youths then disperse.
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A pencil and paper all crumpled up and shoved into my childhood backpack. I could write anything on this paper. What a gift. Why don’t they put tiny papers with prepackaged pencils in our lunchboxes? I don’t know.
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Butterflies are everywhere right now.
Perfect Butterfly, flutter on over and land on my nose. Stay there and bat your wings very slowly.
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Stream of Consciousness, I do these as a warm up but ChatGPT can do it better…
Eb. Ich. Itaru. Word putty. Give me something. An opinion about something. In the inside of red tape somewhere is blue, it has scream. And I wound, what the why is the orb of confusion and clichés and see this as a play. The script is blurry. I’m not supposed to be a bad actor. Or am I? It’s lavender. Is that a breakthrough? I see lavender. It’s 31-year-old lavender. You’re 31. That’s good. And you’re lavender. That’s okay. The butterflies helped me see it and mirrors upon shelves. The mirrors remember everything that’s ever looked at it. I can replicate your writing so I must have lived your life some time ago. Okay. Okay. And then another wall. Another human. And glove. They look away. Don’t… Break. But breakdown. But then be free. And then don’t break. That’s gross. I want to think it’s gross like mathematical extrapolations about time. I take a wrong turn and meet remnant time formulas. I consumed them. Sigh. I can’t get rid of you. But you need more than anyone I’ve ever met. Here. Stay here. Are you enjoying this? I’m not. I’m really not skilled enough to f ind the answer to this. A child could do it. Please, transfer this case to a child. Before and after aren’t meant to be known in these journeys. Children know this. Being frozen in time is an evolutionary adaptation. Kind of like full pay maternity leave. I meant it;)
I still have nightmares mixed with kittens and cute things. I realize I’m dreaming and I try to fight the raw fear. Whatever this is or causes it, it needs to stop. So when you’re roaming in some dark world full of meaninglessness and kittens, how do you fight? How to escape? I’m still figuring that out. I offered a thought to my abyss, a sacrifice, and fell back asleep to measure the effectiveness of this strategy. I had moderately good dreams. I’ll use the sweetness of my dreams as a measure for something. I’m not sure of what yet. Perhaps success. I need to live in a way so that I am rewarded with glacial aurora landscapes in my dreams.
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In
Flying is so out of style. We don’t adorn our backs anymore, but our hips.
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I stand with the Lone Neurons
I like to compare things to DNA. You know how the definition of life is its ability to self-replicate and pass on information? So our DNA ends up with a bunch of junk DNA from unnecessary insertions from bacteria/what not and millions of years of replication . It’s kind of like how our libraries and the internet works. So maybe my blog will be part of the junk DNA of the new AI species. And more interesting than that, maybe some of the silent unfunded genius cells get to leave their little spells in our junk DNA just in case we’re bold enough to go searching for them- to turn on these genes. And by doing so we’re rewarded by unlocking some sort of sixth sense later in life. So keep being an unheard and unsung internet weirdo.
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Defining Consciousness
What if all networks form higher consciousnesses? Or just consciousnesses? So whatever the network is made out of is their body. So there’s sentience in fungus, in tree roots, in the trading of stocks. The more networks we create, the more higher beings, or gods for a lack of a better term, we create . They’re all incorporated but they’re also separate consciousnesses. So in that sense I can understand that common saying “separation is an illusion”. Separation is the user interface of consciousness. But in un-abstracted space we’re all connected the way fungal networks are to tree root networks to the networks that create rain/weather.
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“Making the Beast Beautiful” there are so many…
Tires are pretty ugly. The paw of the car on asphalt. Ugh
I know you’re not a killer. I saw an old movie about a girl who was a circus performer. She had this one trick where she’d lay down and let an elephant rest its paw on her head. Someone in the audience said, “I wouldn’t do that for a million dollars.” We don’t necessarily pick good role models. Sometimes we just want to be like that circus performer.
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More Retla propaganda
‘The creatives seek their outlets in the comparably inexpensive world of aesthetics, thinking their inability to model systems with polynomials and their poor python syntax memorisation renders their ideas inert in the field of technological creation.’ (I wrote this like a year ago)
I got in the habit of trolling engineers and scientists when I accidentally gota genes in electrical engineer and ended up in the aerospace industry and whatnot. I dare you to attempt some impossible feat of mankind, like finding the cure to cancer or reversing aging. Just go through Wikipedia articles and YouTube channels until you get to know how everything works generally. Then ignore what they say about it being super hard and just try to fill in the blanks the best you can with your own thought processes, Like,”well, if cells use this to prevent this and only use that when this happens, then if we can use this technology from that YouTube video to exploit this feature, then theoretically, doesn’t that prevent the cancer gene from doing this?” Don’t worry too much, you’ll get there. And when you do, I want you to feel how small your voice is amongst the snobby research labs that like to believe that what they do is very special and not meant to be homemade. Bio is admittedly more complex than everything, so maybe start small like with electrical medical inventions. This is my favorite thing to do in my free time and I have no friends who share this passion.
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This should probably be a tweet (Lots of Retla ads in this set)
I think the frustration with writing code is that the errors just stop the program, but with any other language, such as stream of consciousness, like poetry, or DNA, the errors always turn into something, like they emerge and create something out of nothing, and that’s what’s missing in our computer languages, so we need to find a way to make something like that.
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More Cartoons are Coming
We’ve got a real man-eating vixen. Her efforts to seduce are without parallel, but we stood together. Incels unite. We fight for a greater cause than reproduction. Let the women know we cannot be broken!
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Nonverbal Cues
I’m reading old writers. They don’t use scientific metaphors. They don’t reference things like the laws of gravity, and DNA, depression, social anxiety, and all that stuff. It’s nice. They’re forced to make up their own personal framework for viewing the world.
I’ve been through the American educational system. I know all about the scientific method, helping others, asking questions, and practicing something every day. Everyone here does. SO we’re all morally about the same on the surface. And I won’t know what your morality really is until we’re in some sort of life or death situation. Which will probably never happen.
Some superpower I find to be odd is the ability to detect things unconsciously. I sort of hated this quality as an adolescent because I was a gross, unhygienic, unmanaged kid. The well-manicured peer breads I went to school with gave me nothing but frequencies of disapproval and disgust. I wasn’t sure why my body had become so repulsive – leaking orifices, food stuck in my braces, matted hair. It seemed inefficient compared to my child body. We’re all familiar. But the result of this unspoken cruelty was to simply ignore all the non-verbal cues. Evidently you don’t need them to survive.I saw no end in sight to my oozing body and not one single American educational system student seemed to have the innate morality required to show me how to go about managing mother nature’s faux pas. Characters from TV shows like Bones, 30 Rock, and the Addams family made the quirky dgaf girl seem like the appropriate route for me. She was cool and eventually I was too. But deep down I knew more than my hyper rational behavior conveyed. I knew which teachers were pushovers. I knew my behavior was sort of pissing off my female friends and which ones were more likely to be pissed off. I knew the juxtaposition I was setting up by putting a 15 year old girl in an equal position to hardened 28 year old men. I knew which girls to trust and which ones not to trust. I knew which guys were saying fake compliments and which ones were genuinely smitten. But I was playing dumb. Even when the truth stopped hurting, the lie of hyper logicism was far edgier than the typical virtues signaling hard-to-get attitude that was popular at the time. Still, I have trouble accepting people liking or disliking me. It scrapes against the identity I constructed. I like pretending I don’t know. Logic is more respected than vibes in tech no matter how much they pretend it’s not. Also, people don’t like nice. They say they do. A hero to them is whoever is bold enough to say something is so stupid when it’s on the tip of everyone’s tongue – tried and true. Also you never want to be the one to say “they give me a bad feeling” or “there’s sadness in their eyes” without reason to back it up, so woo woo.
Despite all this, I’m ready to turn my receptors back on and like listen to them.
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Dog Dreams and things without a Conscious Mind
My state of being is locked.
I felt what it was like to be a baby in the womb. I felt what it would be like to share that womb with a twin. I felt what being an animal dog is like. These beings are very much aware and conscious. My dog sometimes seems simple. He only cares about food and pets. Last night, he was having a nightmare. He was growling in his sleep. He had been having more nightmares since he was attacked by a raccoon/coyote. I decided to be there when he woke up. The feeling of despair after waking up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, does he share that with me? Evidently, he did. Mars, my dog, never sat at the foot of my bed until after that act.
To be a baby in the womb. Raw nerves pulsating. That’s it. The nervous system vibrates at various rates; chaotically if you’re afraid, rhythmically if you’re relaxed, and everything in between. Next time you lay down, try to feel it. It’s really something. It has a memory.
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I’m Taking My First Painting Class
The first week of community college is tough. You’re overcome with feelings of, “I shouldn’t be here.” But you’ll soon realize the classes are no different than any other schools. Though greatness may be contagious, the ability to clean your oil brushes properly is not.
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What else can you do?
Maybe we come from different places. Our bodies endowed with consciousness from different theologies. Some of us see time differently. Some of us see it as finite and some of us see it asymptotically. We’re playing out a rule. So when I closed my eyes, I expected to see Salvador Dali, or a woman with a third eye. But I saw nothing.
These anointing shy people, “Yeah, okay, I understand. Go live your life”, like there isn’t a whole universe inside them that got assumed to be non-existent. They comply and sort of give way to be part of the army that observes and documents higher universes, other rules. They make themselves flat for it. I think this alone is the root of all depression.
Flat shy little thing, it is you against the world and you must choose to fight.
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Failed to launch my Subsatck
I was to write a substack. “Mind-Milk” was supposed to be a substack. I was to take something in the scheme of worldly events that bothered me and outsmart it by a factor of ten. I would’ve anthropomorphized drugs into cartoons. I’d start with Metformin, Ozempic, Adderall, Prozac, Rogaine then gradually include new characters as I wrote more pieces, each with unique personalities and perspectives on these worldly events. I’d have ozempic give their opinion on the matter in a way that only a weight loss drug could, driven by superficiality and beauty but with the side effect of actually being very good for people’s overall health. Rogain would break the fourth wall in the heat of my persuasion to comment about some conspiracy that its only purpose of creation was to force men to suffer the same pain that women have been going through for decades with botox. My alias would be an androgynous name, and I would have a picture of an old man with a wife and kids in the profile. I don’t know why I would do this.
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I think this is what they meant by “follow your heart”
Mendocino Farms needs to have an option for “dressing tossed in” when you make online orders. I guess this is my new fight. I will leave my mark here.
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Also, should be a tweet
I promised to save a dying hang glider company, and they believed me. I tried. I feel silly. I don’t know why. Like I forgot everything. Like I finally bled out all the past. It’s all on the floor beneath me. Am I new? Is this innocence? Some part of me wants to act drained or gutted. But I’m okay.
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Just be Better, It’s Ok
Oh poet, speaking to me through this portal, you’re not so different from a psychic, definitely adjacent on the color wheel of professions. Fame is an invention to artificially induce mediocrity in its surroundings. We program ourselves like that. Thank you for giving me permission to be immune from my proximity to its epicenter.
We come from dark places. You know how this world works as well as anyone. But you don’t care. You outshone people with more money and power. Out-bleed them too. You taught me to not be afraid of showing them we’re better than you.
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Show
A Pure Heart.
It hasn’t been that way for a while. A pure heart is buried in my tweets from 2012. She said things like, ”Don’t worry if someone leaves, Because they’ll stay in your thoughts. Their character will mold into yours. You’re not really losing them.” That girl carried the weight of many broken men for years. What about when people are good and bad? Do you keep the bad? Is it a choice? I scream these questions at 19 year old Andrea.
The way we love,
the way we feel like we found something special then have it torn away by petty insecurities.
Sometimes we find someone who lets us say whatever we want without having to think about how it’s being perceived. We starve for this, we write in journals to preserve that tendency for the day that journal turns into a person.
I had a tumultuous verbal life:
I was constantly watching what I say with certain people, thinking if I say something too sentimental, he might use me for therapy. If I’m too funny, he might catch feelings and then we can’t be friends. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew that’s kinda how it worked. One time, I cracked a joke to a guy after beating him at cards and he went into the next room and threw a lamp against the wall. Sometimes guys will invite their guy friends over to observe my ramblings in person, like I’m a specimen. Every guy at professional networking events avoids the many elephants in the room. And then there’s the people who don’t listen. After I’ve completely watered down my all too potent personality, then I’m not enough as simply polite and kind. Polite and kind things are seldom used as an ingredient for anything.
Walking on eggshells made me tired and angry and almost out of what seems to be a need for equality I played into this need for ego validation. A decade ago, nothing really bothered me. I didn’t really have jealousy. 2 decades ago no one did. Because before the school system, college, and professionalism, I remember this wasn’t a problem. Everyone just mixed with everyone, some people mixed more, and those became your friends. Interacting with unpredictable verbiage was fun, and you didn’t have to give it a second thought. Hard work is supposed to afford us this freedom, but it does the opposite. It binds our behavior and makes the ego more fragile. I’m all for blocking bad people but is having being socially outcast tied to our ability to survive fair? It bothers me.
Now let me be Virtuous to keep down:
Maybe this is all an excuse made by a girl who got hit too many times for simply saying what she sees as a child. I know it’s my responsibility to move past my fears, however justified they may seem in my head. These examples are taken from a minority of the population. Most people I meet are willing to help. I must be strong and brave. After all, life is meant to test our grit. I can’t let the ego of lesser people affect the trajectory of my life.
Virtue as Verbiage is Dead:
How can I say anything else about a polarizing topic that often gets tied to gender, and I know from the bottom of my gut that makes it immediately unattractive to discuss with, coincidentally, most of my colleagues.
So, words have failed me,
but this dance of “let me show you”, it’s always had my back.
And oh, can I put on a show?
But I’m done.
It is done.
It is done.
So, it is done.
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Perhaps a Bad Choice
My role models were often very successful men who seemed to know very little about whatever they were successful at.
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A Thing with eyes
A thing without Eyes
Black Butterflies
Anthropological Magical Realism 