“emotions”
54 posts under this tag.
Sarah Manguso wrote a short memoir on her 9 years with a strange, terrible, Guillain Barre -ish disease: The Two Kinds of Decay. There’s something about her style—short paragraphs, understatement, detachment—that compels me, and though on occasion she can be clumsy with metaphors, she can write fragments of simple, unexpected poignancy:
I waited seven years to forget just enough—so that when I tried to remember, I could do it thoroughly. There are only a few things to remember now, and the lost things are absolutely, comfortingly gone.
I studied math in college because I didn’t believe it. Never could understand how or why someone would come up with the stuff we were being teached. Thanks to some innate verbal ability and motherly discipline, I was thankfully “good” at it though, good enough to realize that what we were “learning” was nothing but mindless regurgitation.
Just that, an emotion. Often sudden, arbitrary, and against our (as opposed to our gene’s) best interest. Not a revelation nor the distillation of reason nor its conclusion—whence this fancy that reason leads somewhere? “Gut feeling” is, you guessed it, nothing but a feeling. Just as we have unique emotions about concrete things—say, lust—, we have unique emotions about abstract ideas and statements—say, certainty. Emotions, concrete or abstract, are enzymes, catalysts: they shortcircuit dillydallying, they trigger action. Ruminating all day without acting makes as little evolutionary sense as ogling all day without fucking. Hence lust, hence certainty.
That, in a nutshell, is On Being Certain’s premise, and though I have but skimmed it in one of my epic B & N skimming marathons, I was certain of its truth the moment I read it.
National unity? The whole point of America is that we’re the country where dissent is welcome. We’re a country of dissidents and fighters and university dropouts and free speech people.
When out of dumb luck I found myself the owner of an advance-reading, not-for-sale copy of Cory Doctorow’s new novel, Little Brother (Amazon, Facebook, Cory’s reading), due to be released this April the 29th, I knew I’d have to gulp it down in one rapt, sleepless night. Cory’s a writer worthy of that, but it was also, well, my first “scoop” ever.
It’s past 6am and I’ve done just that. And before crashing into bed I just want it out that it is Cory’s best novel yet. Science fiction about our present, with our current, unevenly distributed future only slightly jiggled. A novel about America after a terrorist attack bigger than 9/11 and the young hackers who rebel at the idiotic police state that ensues.
It made me feel I belonged to San Francisco, to California, more than ever. It was stomach churning and exhilarating and fun. Yeah, it can be a tad over-educational and preachy at times but just a tad and to its great merit it makes security topics accessible and immensely interesting. The teenage voice of the main characters is a gem (Cory has always shined in dialogue, the more technology mediated the better) and their sexual fumblings are so masterful and eerily accurate (to me, at least) that wistfulness tore me apart. It made me want to hack a new world.
An important book, sure to change many lives.
Believe.
and no one suffers more injuries than sportsmen
and no one bankrupts more than entrepreneurs
and no one hurts more than lovers
and no one cries more than those who seek happiness
no one fails more than those who try
This was a couple of weeks ago but I had to write about it because I was so happy through it: Steve Omohundro’ s wonderful talk, AI and Transhuman Morality, organized by the Sillicon Valley transhumanist meetup. I brought Mauro with me and I was very nervous because I didn’t know what to expect. A couple of days ago I had gone to an AI meetup in the same room (in the wonderful TechShop) and it had been confusing and somewhat disappointing: we watched an overly long video, had some haphazard if interesting discussion, and it all ended up abruptly without me being able to make up my mind of the strange event (where these people quacks? mad geniuses? autists? were all meetings this awkward?).
Anyway, we went and I’m happy we did because I enjoyed Steve’s wonderful two-hour presentation so much I was smiling like an idiot the whole time (at one point, I even clutched Mauro to tell him simply, “I am happy”—and it was true). As I said, it was more than two hours long but I honestly didn’t want the presentation to end, particularly when so many of the interventions where, wonder of wonders, relevant and interesting of themselves.
The presentation was divided in 2 halves. The 1st for reviewing what we know of human morality, the 2nd for contemplating what AI morality will be like. Both were fascinating and chock full of surprising, cutting-edge ideas (and book recommendations!), but it was the 2nd where I was truly overjoyed, for, you see, it was when Steve plunged into how an AI’s morality might be structured.
I was struck by how the utility function ethics he considered for AIs were exactly the kind of ethics I had chanced on one day, not long ago, when in my desire to clarify how and for what I wanted to live, I thought, wrote, and rewrote about ethics with the most honesty and rigor I could muster. Heck, we even used the same examples! You have no idea how good it felt to finally find a fellow freak who not only understood and care about my conclusions but who had arrived to them through entirely different paths (conclusions like how ethics hinge entirely on purposes or goals and how we’re in for an ethical ride when these become much more varied and malleable than they’ve ever been before). Back in Guadalajara I talked about this all the time but no one ever really got it (or much cared).
Ah, this kind of stuff was why I came to the bay area! (Mauro liked it a lot too, saying afterwards he had felt as one should feel after going to mass—full of awe and excitement.)
Finally! I’m in San Francisco, for at least two weeks, in what should be my beachhead for a longterm stay!
No offense to the big apple, but San Francisco is just so much better. If New York is Mexico City, San Francisco is Guadalajara: prettier, classier, cleaner, ampler, prettier peopled…
I’m amazed by the huge number of Asians everywhere (Asian women never fail to transfix me…), by the opulence and beauty of the city, by the overwhelming wealth and retail saturation of America (one forgets it so easily in the 3rd world), by the beggars, by my cool hostel, by how it has rained all day long, by how the swankest part of town (Union Square) can be right next to the seediest one (Tenderloin), by how stereotypically rural Mexican where most of my flightmates (rarely does one get to see so many cowboy hats, boots, and rebozos), by how happy I am…
La cultura del terror/4
Fue en un colegio de curas, en Sevilla. Un ninho de nueve anhos, o diez, estaba confesando sus pecados por vez primera. El ninho confeso que habia robado caramelos, o que habia mentido a la mama, o que habia copiado al vecino de pupitre, o quiza confeso que se habia masturbado pensando en la prima. Entonces, desde la oscuridad del confesionario emergio la mano del cura, que blandia una cruz de bronce. El cura obligo al ninho a besar a Jesus crucificado, y mientras le golpeaba la boca con la cruz, le decia:
—Tu lo mataste, tu lo mataste…
Julio Velez era aquel ninho andaluz arrodillado. Han pasado muchos anhos. El nunca pudo arrancarse eso de la memoria.
Eduardo Galeano, El libro de los abrazos
The culture of terror/4
It happened on a school run by priests, in Sevilla. A boy of nine years, or ten, was confessing his sins for the first time. The boy confessed he had stolen caramels, or that he had lied to mother, or that he had copied from the neighboring desk, or maybe he confessed he had masturbated thinking on his girl cousin. Then, from the darkness of the confessional emerged the hand of the priest, brandishing a bronze cross. The priest forced the boy to kiss the crucified Jesus, and while he punched his mouth with the cross, he said:
— You killed him, you killed him…
Julio Velez was that knelt Andalusian boy. Many years have passed. He could never tear that from his memory.
Herbal Essences has always been one of the prettiest shampoos out there but their new color me happy line is something else. Not only is the industrial (blobjectyWP) and graphic (modern art noveau) design stunning, their personified, casual copy is like nothing I’ve seen before. Fascinating.
The others cast themselves down upon the fragrant grass, but Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder. It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured for ever. He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful.
Have I mentioned how much I love wet, crisp, brisk mornings?
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