There’s nothing to fear but fear of fear’s fear in the volume of a tear

In the Committee meeting this morning, I asked a question that I had no ready answer myself (a rarity):

“Why don’t we just let Greece collapse and contain the contagion there?  The ‘Race to the Bottom’ that is our our current market model will be exposed more readily and allow us to implement the next market model, eliminating all this teeth gnashing and fingernail-scraping-on-chalkboard overemotional response.”

The Committee members nodded.  We reconvene this evening to give a thumbs up or thumbs down, in classic Roman coliseum fashion, to giving Greece the finger.

Is currency exchange rate management the problem or one of many solutions??

Long after we solved the riddle of DNA restructuring, creating enzyme processes that helped manufacture biological nanobots that currently form the entity you would think of as an advanced version of your own body in “our” species (note to self: spend future blog entry defining or redefining the concept of species), we ended up here — autonomous “cells” that can communicate faster with each other than the former central nervous system and blood vessel network with which you’re intimately familiar.

I am doing my best to translate our communication symbol set into one of your common languages so that others who come after me can more readily study the moving boxcar average of changes from one communication method to another in 1000 year increments.

We do not use terms like nanobots or cells to describe the building blocks which morph from one in/organic entity to another as needed to accomplish a task here in the outer limits of the solar system where we gather and harvest comets in the Oort Cloud region, some of us in the Hills Cloud region as needed to support inner solar system operations.

We also solved the problem of our species’ former tribal habit of dividing into altruistic and self-serving individuals by allowing the formation of what you would call organs to carry out the self-serving function within a single body (the body’s current morphed shape, that is), developing an automatic method for all individuals to display primarily altruistic functions through their desire to find a useful niche and perform duties at maximum, optimal rates without jeopardising the nanobots or cells within the current morphed version of a self in operation.

The ability to search the network and “find one’s place,” as you say, has given freedom a whole new meaning.

Self-governance has removed the inefficient method of hoarding that our species once displayed, from crowding living quarters with loads of unusual objects to filling electronic banking records with billions of underused investment/labour credits, which led to the uniting of citizens, police and military units around the world to overthrow despotic dictatorial totalitarians and overpriced capitalists (as well as their overvalued offspring).

During this time, scientists, rarely interested in politics unless it interferes with their publicly-funded pure research facilities, accelerated their development of autonomous nanobots that form networks of interconnected beings which, as many of you can read now, became completely reconfigurable entities that resemble you and think like you but are nothing like you at all.

It was an exciting but chaotic time in our history.

Every individual, no matter how seemingly isolated from others of our kind, contributes to significant changes in our local part of the universe.

Of course, I could bother you with details of the ebb and flow of violent reactions by entrenched leaders interested in maintaining the status quo.  However, let’s save that for a day when news is slow and you want to take a leisurely detour down the backroads of unimportant historic changes since, here in our time, the unnecessarily disruptive behaviour associated with war, social strife and governmental upheavals is no longer considered worth studying.

Now, the fully-meshed network of interconnected nanobots changes to meet the wants/needs at the network, subnetwork and node (that’s you/me) level on a nanosecond scale, readily moving resources to areas where they’re needed most, thus eliminating the “survivalist” hoarding behaviour that dogged our species for millennia.

Those of you whose descendants chose to become plants will want to find out how that branch of science turned out, I’m sure.  They certainly changed our perception of consciousness.

But we can talk about that later.  It’s a beautiful “day” out here.  As I corral some comets using my trusty sidekicks, E-stache and E-crab, to herd the comets together, I’ll spend a few yoctocycles to translate more of our history into this language and record it later in a format you call a blog entry.

Candle Wax

The issue then becomes one of explaining to the full range of age groups and belief subsets how every data point, although unique, is made of the same ingredients as the set in total.

“But if we are all the same, how are we all different?”

Well, you see, we are all connected.

“But my subculture is diametrically opposed to yours.  We do not feel connected.”

Emotionally opposed, yes, and thus connected by emotions.

“We would never participate in any of your activities.”

And, therefore, we complement each other, one performing the tasks the other would not.

“It makes no sense.”

Observe the candle.  The wick is not the same as the wax.  However, both react to fire, one feeding off the other, giving light as a heat byproduct.

“Or heat as a light byproduct.”

Precisely.  It is the observation point from which one finds one’s place of understanding.  ‘Who am I?’ becomes ‘I am the collection of states of energy that detects heat and light.’

“Or hot wax.”

Or carbon with which to record symbols that represent your subculture.  You are the stuff of stars.

“I don’t know…  My elders say I am a gift from God.”

Stars.  God.  I am telling you they are the same.

“We do not practice pagan religions.  Stars are not living beings.  Only God can create people.”

Religion I do not know.  I only know states of energy, atoms, molecules and the like.  And their connectedness.  The teachings of your elders are your guide to follow freely as you wish.

“So why am I sitting here with you?”

And I ask myself the same question.  Why do two states of energy such as ourselves choose to interact using sound shaped by our vocal chords and other movements of our states of energy we call bodies?  It is what it is.  Questioning it prolongs the next moment of discovery between us, adding to the wonder of the universe that is us, our states of energy, in momentary synchronisation.

“Are you not wise, then, as they told me you are?”

I am wiser than the trees, they say, and yet I cannot sprout a single leaf.  This hair upon my arm cannot convert sunlight into energy yet, like bark, it provides a modicum of warmth against a winter’s cold.  Wisdom is application of one’s knowledge of one’s ignorance.  What I do not know tells me more about what you and I will say next to each other more than what I know says about what we can say to each other.

“So you can’t tell me if I should eat this bowl of ice cream, Great Uncle?”

A container of frozen cow’s milk and other ingredients… Does it taste good to you?

“My tongue says it does.”

Your tongue is not a separate object.  It is you as much as these words we have left behind.  Including the rest of you, not just your tongue, does the ice cream taste good to you?

“I don’t know.  I’ve never thought about it.”

Precisely.  Look at the object you call a bowl.  Look at the object you call a spoon.  Look at the object you call ice cream.  They are connected, their function and form, their origin and destiny, all one.  In reality, they are not separate objects.  Imagine they and you are all part of the same universe, created, as you say, as a gift from God.  Is the place where the cow came from, how it was raised, how it was milked, how its milk was sanitised and mixed with special ingredients to make ice cream, and how the spoon and bowl came into being also a gift from God?

“Of course.”

Then tell me without putting the ice cream in your mouth, does the ice cream taste good to you?

“Wow!  Uh… that seems like a lot to think about just to decide if I should eat the ice cream.”

But don’t you already have an idea what the ice cream will taste like?  Don’t you already think the ice cream tastes good?

“Yes.”

Then, in the space before you smell the ice cream with your ‘nose’ or place the ice cream on your ‘tongue,’ in that moment when you cannot stop the ice cream from hitting your ‘taste buds,’ I tell you the ice cream will taste like motor oil and burn like hot lava, can your thoughts switch to disliking the ice cream?

“Yes.”

Are you sure.  This moment I describe takes place faster than the speed of light, an imperceptible split second before your thoughts can travel from one neuron to the next.

“Then I guess not.”

Your life is made up of all those imperceptible split seconds.

“Which means…”

Taste is a deception.

“Which means…’

All the imperceptible moments up to now have already determined whether you’re going to eat the ice cream within that bowl, which, by the way, has melted quite a bit since we first started talking.

“And I hate warm ice cream!”

There you go.  You have your answer.

Derivative cultural artifact of the day

Your fifteen seconds of fame — three times longerWait, it’s just a bloody cultural war, isn’t it?

Overconsumption of hot-air-filled news articles won’t save your planet, silly peopleRather, it’s the bully pulpit of leaders that’ll end your freedom!

Russian dolls in Russia or CyprusNo, but we hear Arnold Schwarzenegger is laughing in his soon-to-be-autonomously-Terminated sleep.

Enough with the links.  Let’s get back to what the reluctant leader has to say next…

But first, we’ll leave you with this gravity nondefying videoView these photos with one eye while you half-listen to the video’s soundtrack.

Then ponder why the U.S. President is not so favourable in India after his SOTUS.

And, finally, the French know a good source of warm mineral spring water when they see itEven if they aren’t sure whose clothes history are fashionably whose on which head of state’s family.

Well, almost the last.  See, the Internet is just the offspring of VHS tapes (or is it Betamax?  I forget).  There’ll always be the next technology that makes stealing it so much more inviting.  Right, my cadre of hackers?

Like the person said in response to this post:

And most meat-eaters would be disturbed if they saw how their steak was killed…, most sports aficionados would be disturbed if they saw lung scans of the women coloring their Nike shirts, etc ad inf.

Yes, I do not want to work under these conditions, and I would be happy if nobody would have to (I would also be willing to pay a premium, but most people won’t or simply can’t). Still, people come to the Foxconn (and other, worse) factories from thousands of miles, because work and payments there are still better than what they could get elsewhere. Suicide rates are lower than at US universities.

None of these companies work for Apple exclusively, they work for almost every major brand (Dell, HP, Microsoft, Toshiba, etc.). None of them does even try to change the conditions and investigate them properly. Apple does. Not saying this is enough, but it’s a start. China’s industrialization and structures match what the US and Europe had in the first half of the last century. OK, we did not commit suicide, we were shot by the Pinkerton Agency.

Enjoy our planet – it’s the only one we’ve got to use as our main home…for now.

I’ve got some profit to siphon to my hidden offshore accounts, as usual.

Au revoir!

Any Wonder, One Hit, Two Hits, Three Hits, Four

I was told yesterday that the Rutles are getting back together and recording a new studio album.  Rumour has it that they plan to name their album “Minus One for Tea – Before It Becomes Minus Two,” releasing it in either audiocassette or 8-track tape format exclusively.  One band member allegedly insists that publishing the album in parlour pump organ sheet music is the only route to eternal infamy, but not necessarily success.

Also, protesters have assembled their own list of the Seven Wonders of the World:

  • The world’s largest potato chip
  • The world’s largest open pit mine
  • The world’s smallest inbred dog
  • The world’s most inept government because it actually operates at a profit
  • The world’s least useful technological achievement that still made its inventor a gazillionaire
  • The world’s longest running protest movement that doesn’t achieve anything worthwhile, nor plans to
  • The world’s most creative business card that still did not generate any new leads
  • The world’s first bullet point listing the eighth wonder of the world which does not exist because eight is seven plus one and, as you know, one is is the loneliest number…

When my three parents had three parents who came from three parents who…

Today I celebrate the birthday of a person dear to me so my observations of your world from 1000 years later will wait until tomorrow.

Therefore, here are your two data points and that’s it:

You get your bonus, too!;

Best comment of the day, in response to this post:

  • HandandShrimp25 January 2012 8:40PM

    Mildly surprised that “Do you want Scotland to be an independent country?” was chosen over Labour’s preferred “Do you want to recklessly break the Union and give everyone leprosy?”

And people wonder why Kingsport is…

…the butt of jokes told about the Tri-Cities.

Pardon me while write a little joke of an angry rant about a place that I hope time will forget.

I grew up near a town that belched stench, polluted rivers and ruined fishing waters.

Sure, some of my schoolmates live there with their children.

My parents live not far away (take that back – they were recently annexed into the dirty industrial town).

However, little has changed in the fiefdom.

Kingsport still stinks.

The Model City has no respect for rural landowners.

Like no many other towns in which I’ve lived in or near.

Who’s there to protect those who prefer the rural life from the flood of city/suburban dwellers with no respect for pastoral peace and quiet?

As always, I wish the fleas of a thousand camels to infect anyone associated with the government of Kingsport, especially those who impose their expansionist beliefs upon decent farmers and their families not wishing for industrial estates, interstate highway fast-food stops or other such “civilised” dis/interruptions.

May Kingsport remain the forgotten stepchild of upper east Tennessee.

May tornadoes and floods destroy the town.

May misery and disease beset the people who live there.

May Eastman Chemical Company find some other worthless place to park its enterprising headquarters.

May any chain/franchise that opens a business in Kingsport suffer bankruptcy and scandal.

May crime and drug abuse attract the children of Kingsport.

May God forsake anyone who dares step foot onto Kingsport city limits.

And if that’s not enough, may door-to-door salespeople sweep through houses and apartment buildings 24 hours a day, nonstop for years, until whole neighbourhoods are abandoned and house prices collapse precipitously because the residents have all entered the funny farm, their backs laden with magazine subscriptions to help young salesmen and saleswomen live their dream of traveling overseas.

There, I feel better.

I guess you can guess that I’ll never move back to Kingsport or anywhere near where its malodorous/cancerous fumes can reach.

Pic of the day

Across the street from me, workers walk the roof beams of a new house under construction.  If I hold my fingers up and sight a worker between them, the worker is about ant-sized from here.

The house wasn’t there a week ago — the walls and roof are going up quicker than seeds in the former farm field took root.

Years have passed since the last time I heard an AgCat swoop in and out, spraying the fields full of soybean, corn or cotton.

Instead, row after row after row of suburban tracts spread east of here.

When, 1000 years from now, while we’re sitting here discussing this blog entry, will we understand the concept of suburban living?

Will we perceive a period of growth of our species when two-dimensional plans for living space were a common norm?

When did it become an uncommon norm?

Tiny bricks-and-sticks castles members of our species once called home.

I stapled sheets of galvanised metal mesh over holes under the eaves of our house to limit attic access by raccoons.

Although I didn’t mind watching the raccoons come and go, my wife couldn’t sleep at night when the baby raccoons bounced and chased each other above the roof over our bed.

Silence fills the space where the raccoons once played.

I’m sure the broad-headed skinks and bats will return to the attic and chimney, much quieter occupants that my wife will not know about — out of sight (and sound), out of mind, as they say.

When did people think grassy spaces were the preferred method of landscaping around one’s domicile that was most acceptable?

Sitting here on a celestial body devoid of ants, spiders, moles, trees, snakes, algae, fungus, ferns and mold, I wish I could explain why my ancestors let their yards grow wild.

You don’t appreciate what you had until it’s gone.

Sure, some of my workmates have found ways to play games once popular on Earth — golf, tennis, futball and such — but the dust they kick up tells the story, doesn’t it?  Nothing living that disturbs which we destroy to accommodate our leisure gamespace.

That’s the thing about living here.  No competitition against other species to keep us busy.  No insect/rodent exterminators, no crop insecticides, no preservatives or other means of fighting back nature’s way of seeking equilibrium, inertial or otherwise.

We’re not completely sterile, of course.

We’re so integrated with each other, though, that we detect the start of pathological infectious disease infestation in one of us so quickly that we can redirect resources, both internal and external, with the tiniest of thoughts, repairing and adding telomeres as long as we want to stay alive.

At 503 years of age, I’m older than most here on this colony but still younger than some lifeforms on Earth, both mobile and stationary.

Am I wiser?  I don’t think so.  Ubiquity of information makes all of us as wise as another.

Well, it’s time I revert back to your chronological space and share my mortal self with you, observing your ignorance and suppressing a smile at how antiquated everything you do seems to me and others 1000 years in the future.

Don’t think of this as time travel.  Think of it as me immersing myself in your historical records, becoming one of you virtually while parallel thought processes of mine live in my time, too, “earning” my place in our mesh-network society.