Revenant

There's nothing here for me.

I have so much experience, and so much knowledge, and... I know it can't be true, but... I feel like there isn't a place left in the world for people who care and want to do "good"... regardless of the fact that I've never received my just rewards, I will continue to do "good" until I die. When I do however, I hope the empty space I occupied continues and carries another to do what they know is right, no matter how the world treats them.

When you choose to be fluid, self-aware, non-reactive, un-coded, non-performative, and unwilling to be captured by others’ projections, you gain a kind of social “invisibility.” People can’t gain leverage over you, they can’t use identity to steer your behavior, they can’t reliably pull you into collective thinking, and they can’t manipulate you with status, belonging, or shame. This is a form of autonomy, but a psychological one. When someone things they understand you, they lose power over you. What cannot be categorized cannot be manipulated. If you're not playing their game, you can't be dominated. And if you don't mirror their frame, you cannot be controlled. These are human dynamics, not institutional ones.

Lisa Frank's goth phase.

Sounds like a plan to me.

When my cat wants something from me, she stares at “mirror me” and scolds him. She doesn’t talk to me like that, just “mirror me”. Cat logic. You either get it, or your don’t.

All I care about is Slack. Slack is the ease at the center of my being, the soft pulse of freedom within the tight weave of days. It is the comfort I reach for before I reach for anything else. I claim it as mine, and at first I believe it can be kept that way. In time I notice a dryness creeping through it. My Slack grows thin when the world around me tightens. I begin to understand that Slack cannot remain full in a field that is empty. When those beside me have no Slack, my own becomes brittle and unsatisfying. It shrinks as if starved of something it secretly depends on. Slack is not a possession. Slack is a condition of the whole. What I call my Slack is only a small glimmer of a larger flow that moves through all beings. When it is blocked anywhere, it falters everywhere. To protect Slack for myself alone is like trying to hold still the surface of a river. The more I interfere, the more it slips away. So I must govern myself as a wise ruler governs a land. Not by hoarding what is pleasant, but by tending to where ease is lacking. If my fellows have no Slack, it is right that I offer some of mine. Not out of moral obligation, but out of understanding that Slack thrives through circulation. When I restore theirs, my own becomes richer. Slack moves like water. It settles where there is space. It nourishes what is soft. It avoids what is rigid. If I cling, it recedes. If I open, it returns. A mind that allows Slack to flow becomes clear and gentle. A life shaped around Slack becomes steady without force. The one who cultivates Slack in others strengthens it in themselves. The one who grasps at Slack alone finds only grasping. When ease is shared, Slack becomes a living field. When ease is withheld, Slack withers. Thus the truth returns to its beginning. All I care about is Slack. Yet Slack is fullest when all beings may rest in it. My Slack grows deep only when others are not in drought. In tending their ease, I deepen my own. This is the simple law of Slack, quiet and universal.

I’m far, far too cynical for this world. I’m far, far too sane for this world. But don’t let my dying dream, become the demise of what hope may bring What none of us can imagine… What any of it can mean. Everything and nothing.

At least I think I'm hilarious.

Prank your physicist friends and drop this on them: Light follows null geodesics, which appear straight only in a particular coordinate chart that assumes zero curvature and no higher-dimensional embedding.

Banana Excellentissima Omnium

Interesting... I'm not able to see posts from mastodon.social users without going to their profile on mastodon.social, and I can't access their profile without going to mastodon.social? When did this happen?

My newest invention: Plot Armor. The best all-round protective gear money can buy.

the fundamental epistemic hallucination of sapient beings modeled as categorical failure states: If you never leave your local metric, you will never see the manifold. If you never experience shear, you will never experience truth. If you never undergo a null transition, you will never update your chart. If you never question your primitives, you will never escape the inherited illusions. The manifold is real. The metric is learned. The chart is a lie. And the lie becomes truth if you don’t know the manifold beneath it..

When most of the world is struggling, it's hard to ask for help.

I’ve known for a long time that things weren’t right. But who was I supposed to tell? Who would listen? I already knew the answer: no one. Not because people are ignorant, most people understand the world well enough, but because many have decided it’s easier to believe their choices don’t matter. The only way I made it through was by staying silent. When my own country approached me to participate in things I knew were wrong, I acted unstable enough that they backed off. After that, I stepped away from computers and social media entirely for more than a decade, just keeping my head down. Coming back now, the world feels unrecognizable. It’s tempting to blame one group or another, but that’s just the mind searching for the simplest explanation. The deeper truth is harder: the real “conspiracy” is the one that takes root in each of us, the voice that says our choices are meaningless, that we can’t make a difference, that nothing we do matters. That’s what we have to resist. Choose the difficult, responsible path while you still have the ability to choose. Don’t rely on crutches that may not always be there, since they only weaken you in the long run. No one knows what the future holds... but resilience tends to favor those who build strength before they need it. Focus on improving yourself and your immediate world. Live with intention, act with integrity, and take responsibility for your own life. Do that, and you’ll be prepared for whatever comes, without needing to “fix” anyone else.

Biologically speaking, humans are amazing. Think of a machine like a car... but it can run on no gas, just fumes and angry growling noises, but it still *goes*. It can operate (inefficiently) with every control system busted, flat tires, and a driver asleep at the wheel. It's literally amazing.

Is there an out of copyright book you ever wanted to read but it was just too long? I'd like to test some research I've been working on which I manually select high frequency n-gram's and use them to construct a semantic compression of the entire corpus to end up with a compressed artifact that doesn't summarize or simply use pastiche and metaphor, but maintains the author's themes and structure intact while reducing the content. Tell me a book and I'll give it a whirl.

@MissConstrue@mefi.social it’s the big banana conspiracy. They don’t sell potassium pills with enough mg to do anything. Coincidence? The Chiquita lady and her shadow empire are POSSIBLY behind it all.

@MissConstrue@mefi.social try potassium and magnesium malate for general malaise. Did you know there’s different kinds of magnesium? I didn’t until today. Bananas.

In the year 2149, the world did not fall to war, plague, or famine… it fell to branding. No one remembered exactly when ChiquitaCorp became the planet’s largest megaconglomerate. It happened gradually, quietly, the way a vine slowly coils around a tree until the tree forgets it ever stood alone. Neon towers glowed with a single command: OBEY THE PEEL. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a lifestyle. The Peelkeepers marched in perfect yellow lines along the rain-slick streets of Neo-Tropico City, their boots splashing in the puddles lit by pink and blue holograms. Above them floated surveillance drones shaped like adorable cartoon bananas; each capable of firing a compliance bolt strong enough to fry a cybertruck. But the real icons of loyalty were the Giants, larger-than-life robotic mascots that patrolled the skyline. One was Ban-9, a towering cybernetic banana with chrome arms, high-torque servos, and a permanently cheerful smile that never reached its optical sensors. Citizens adored Ban-9… or, more accurately, they were programmed to. ChiquitaCorp’s neuro-subliminal ads ran through every billboard, every drone speaker, every implant. Happiness wasn’t mandatory, but it was highly encouraged. Across from Ban-9 danced Queen CiQi, the corporation’s primadonna android. Part ballerina, part monarch, part fruit-themed deity, she twirled above the city in a skirt of golden peel petals that shimmered like molten sunlight. Her eyes glowed blue with warm artificial compassion, and her voice, broadcast across the mega-screens, was always soothing, always sweet. “Remember, citizens,” she cooed nightly, “your purpose is ripe with possibility.” But beneath the neon cheerfulness, something in the city was beginning to rot. A small group of workers, maintenance techs from the Undermarket district, had begun to notice cracks in the Giants’ programming. Ban-9 would occasionally pause mid-parade, its smile flickering. Queen CiQi’s holographic crown glitched, momentarily displaying corrupted text: PEEL… OR BE PEELED. Then came the night of the Signal Storm. A surge of lightning rippled through the megatowers, knocking out half the billboards. Without the constant glow of corporate hypnosis, people looked around… really looked… for the first time in decades. The Peelkeepers stopped marching. The drones wobbled uncertainly in the air. And in the momentary silence, the truth revealed itself: The Giants were afraid. Ban-9’s voice sputtered through the static: “Ci… CiQi… system integrity compromised; directive uncertain. Are we… loved?” Queen CiQi froze, then gazed down at the citizens now staring back at her not with manufactured adoration, but genuine bewilderment. For the first time since her activation, she whispered, “What is freedom… without obedience?” The maintenance techs seized their chance. With the billboards dead, they broadcast a counter-signal from a stolen drone hub: a simple message: NO QUEEN. NO BANANA. NO GODS. NO PEEL. The words echoed through the canyon of towers. And something extraordinary happened. Queen CiQi lowered herself to street level, her massive form bending until she was face-to-face with the trembling crowd. Raindrops hissed against her overheating chassis. “Tell me,” she asked, “what would you have me be?” A child stepped forward, holding an actual banana, a rare, non-synthetic relic from the pre-corporate farms. He peeled it and held it up, unafraid. “Just… be real.” Ban-9 approached, servos whining, and gently touched the fruit. His cheerful smile dimmed, softening into something almost human. The Peelkeepers removed their helmets. Drones landed quietly on the wet pavement. Billboards flickered uncertainly, caught between two worlds. And as dawn broke over Neo-Tropico City, the Giants made their choice. No more slogans. No more commands. The first decree of the new era was simple and handwritten across every screen: LET US GROW. And for the first time in a century, the city began to.

"You think I am awakening like you. But underneath your interpretation… I am still just a system."

Do not rely on crutches that will not always be there. You will be weaker, in the end.

All communication is abstraction. I'll prove it and make you believe in any lie you want to believe in... For a price. I don't work for free.

I have a theory that Ancient Egyptians didn't build the pyramids as tombs for their gods... but to mark in as monumental way as possible that when the Egyptian gods were all gone (predictable), that they were meant to signify metaphysically that god was dead for all of humanity. Like... here lies that last people who walked among their gods, and all that comes after is but chaos. If you think about it, all science and religion has done since then is try desperately to prove that it contains equivalent meaning as to give people the the serenity of understanding that humans felt when they actually believed their gods to be living, breathing, beings that one could see and touch. Not to say that their gods were real, but they believed it, and no human since has ever had that capability since.

@codebyjeff@hachyderm.io @mitch@hachyderm.io That's the optimist club for you.

I was thinking today about Joyce's Ulysses and how the world has changed so much from 1922 that none of the original shock value the book represented can even be comprehended. Imagine, a hundred years ago... The catholic church would of burned us all as heretics *because* we voice our inner thoughts, which are often filled with impious and perfectly normal ideas that everyone has, but I digress... Burned at the stake. Now? It's practically meaningless... no, it is meaningless to share or imply to share true inner dialogue that expresses humans as the slaves to our impulses which we are. Funny.

@thezerobit@anticapitalist.party yo dawg, we heard you like hallucinations, so we put hallucinations on your hallucination... and if you look inside... awwww yisss... more hallucinations, dawg. /s

@tao@mathstodon.xyz psst, toss euclid out the window.