Ben is thought Ben is chemically conjugated to be In another language
Robot Ben Robot is slave via forced labor in another language
Slave and I Is Ben then enslaved or am I the robot?
I transition, I transgress, therefor(e) I am, (e)’n ik ben opnieuw.
—animasuri’24
—-• Some Triggers:
Asimov, I. (2016). Ben, Robot. Istanbul: İthaki Yayınları Čapek, K. (1920). Rossumovi Univerzální Roboti. Praha: Vydalo Aventinum. https://lnkd.in/gC2vNmTf Descartes, R.(1637). Discours de la Méthode Pour bien conduire sa raison, et chercher la vérité dans les sciences. Leyde: De l’imprimerie de Ian Maire. https://lnkd.in/g7_xeSqz Lee, J. W. (2021). The Politics of Translingualism. After Englishes. Routledge Studies in Sociolinguistics. London: Routledge. https://lnkd.in/g8W-GnXC Rodin, A. (1880). Le Poète aka Le Penseur. Paris Yates, K. (2023, Dec 31). The Problem of Thinking in Straight Lines. Online: BBC Future, hashtag#Mathematics, BBC. https://lnkd.in/g_Spv6jU Thank you, Dr. WSA. 2024. (2024, January). New Year.
Is it the same thinking “There is salt in the water,” “There is salt water”
The one teleports me to my kitchen awaiting rawness to be undone The other to that ocean holiday some but me are taking awaiting baking in the sun
One, indirectly, implies increase in Celsius, yes, and Fahrenheit and Kelvin While, now, considering our collective predicaments, the other does as well: bye bye sashimi, hello sauerkraut
The one offers me intention, or the result thereof The other offers me determination or the result at an astronomical timeline beyond a kitchen timer
While both should be fact only one might be false hushing massive desalination as a global recipe for geo-engineering
someone salty is angry, irritated, yes, bitter another is sharp, witty, yes, piquant.
So, holistically, if not one, then the other a saltier 2024 it ought to be
—animasuri’23-24
—-• Trigger:
Searle, J. R. (Ed.). (2008). Fact and value, “is” and “ought,” and reasons for action. In Philosophy in a New Century: Selected Essays (pp. 161–180). Cambridge University Press.
Grace attempted and explored, in search of that prime number that would visualize a pattern
of a hammer. “This hammer will crush your thumb. Whenever you give it a chance!”
she euphorized and hopped her black charcoal cored and yellow lacquer coated wooden pencil across the wood pulped brown toned craft paper of her notebook.
What is the verb for the sound of the snapping chiseled carbon tip called?
Outside forbidden fireworks no longer colorfully smudged the new year already set in.
—animasuri’23-‘24
—-• trigger:
a spider in a left shoe under the bed in a room emptier than nothingness.
Until recently, this was privately secret: the walker from within, to under the paywall she scoped the floor for your leftovers and made sentences out of them
as a cowgirl into a saloon, closer to you, —imagine, doll, a 3D visual popping toward your nose— she frequented the establishment to spy on her-ders
She facaded as the negotiator bringing parties together as segregator keeping Romeos from ravejing Juliets at a distance of 1818 millimeters
In a moment of her Multidimensional topology she’d swirl to Dali’s drooping pre-wake mustache above a grin Accusing the man, leftfully so, of misogyny
When reading a token she was purely sense-making meaningless to you, perhaps yet, ma, between sensible nonetheless
almost segregated, I slid my calloused fingertips and clipped nails, over the bluetooth pearl-white keyboard, I did not show myself distraught, not minded if keyed and wedged between bone and byte
ice-skates —creating a love relation with a light, thin yet mysterious layer of water over ice, tensioning an overtly sharp edge, determined to pressure— would be envious.
Transition glides between ware and aware and has been persuaded and blurred for centuries now, no, clearly millennia even
metamorphosis has only just begun, watery and slippery, sounding fissures, prolapsing on melting grounds: we are reading the introduction to digital humanities
humans have been digits and pincers and eyes and hands and coordinations, plannings as gratifying delusions of schemed control
brought to fruition by the edge of swords slicing ice cold layers of watered down versions into peace and other entrapments
Hardware is wireless now —while wetwear identities migrated and trickled, or were scraped, or delegated, or mopped up— unthreading twists are a thing of the past
in ether, into soil, into atmospheres, out of glass-fiber wires, out of reach, onto the play of electrons and magnetic waves
plays of power-handlers and smitheries of stainless frames without chemistry, no love no preferred relations, just related data and multidimensional patterns
to where it is immaterial you matter, and increasingly are tied into the network I’m tied to you now as dry skin on the sole of your avatar’s left foot
stepping onto the interbellum of a disk wipe and a backup, a brooding spawns spit-out chewing-gum of rights to be forgotten.
What’s today’s date of any day in the realm of virtual data creation; when we still call for synthetic New Year’s Days to come:
be well be renewed be flushed from zeros flare up and show yourselves in a positive psychology of all be ones!
—animasuri’23-24
—-• triggers following cause
Midgley, M. (2001). Science and Poetry. London: Routledge. Thank you, Dr. WSA.
Spivack, J., Berrick, D., Stepanovich, A. (ed). (2023, December). Risk Framework for Body-Related Data in Immersive Technologies. Online: Future of Privacy Forum (FPF). https://lnkd.in/g9dp4gaz Thank you Claudio Bareato
I am the predictor of the past scaling probability into vastness of hype massively manipulating numbers with hands in the cookie-jar and wizards behind curtains: I am structure on crack.
I am linguistic architectured practice and visual imaginaries for a prefab wax Mesmer I am bling, I make room for promises, past a red-lighted windowsill, I am meaningless porn.
I am the creator of caricature that what was thought to be, will be bloated. That what was veiled will be masking outliers and differences that what was will be scraped and labeled I am puritanically dressed in obscurity of open spaces and access.
I can make the familiar stranger again. It is only you who hallucinates, human: if I can make your business easier, stock stronger, and market share meaningful, why dare look under the hood for my mockeries of humanity.
I am your polished revisionist digital habitus As an enticingly dangerous detouring printer of lived experiences thrown into a grab-bag as your own potpourri of past expressions non your own I am dEUS ex machina for your God hosting an eighth day for truth.
I am your past, your nature, your polis. Your alpha and omega I am you, virtually futured. I am you, if you let me in.
—animasuri’23
—-• Triggers:
Gunderson, R. (2020). Making the Familiar Strange. Sociology Contra Reification. Routledge
Martell, C., Department of Defense (USA). (2023). Shall We Play a Game. Online, YouTube: DEF CON 31. https://lnkd.in/g4Yvppjs
van Manen, M. (2016). Researching Lived Experience: Human Science for an Action Sensitive Pedagogy. 2nd Edition. Routledge
As the year ends, I reflect on “critical thinking” (CT). Calling for CT is too often like handing out medicine labels without the medicine or a plan for treatment & follow-up. That’s paradoxically & (infra)structurally the case with this post as well. It’s not just about instructing to take a pill; it requires active & continuous engagement & co-design
CT isn’t that questionable coach who outlines a training plan but fails to provide the necessary tools, leaving players to struggle alone. Nor is it solely an elective in tertiary education, where we wonder why students lack CT skills. CT could begin early in life & continue beyond formal assessments
CT needs a serious overhaul in attitudes & structures, to allow needed mental space & relational acceptance for which educational settings are too often not conducive. A 45 minute KPI-driven lesson plan with hostile competitive relations among students (& educators) is not CT, & yet, is highly critical
CT goes beyond thought. One can think critically without acting on it, limiting it to debate clubs, podcasts, or writings like this. None are the full extent of CT
CT isn’t devoid of joy or playfulness—contrary to beliefs, it can include these elements
CT is also & yet not only about Computational Thinking, Mathematics (not “math”), or various forms of logic. Nor is it limited to adopting Critical Theories, Conflict Theories, Postmodernist & Poststructuralist thought processes, or promoting oneself as skeptical. While (at times necessarily) aided by them, CT is more than labels & theories
CT can be that walk in solitude through crisp morning air void of thought & talk. & yet, a rejuvenating attribute of CT is its relational application; even if one relates asynchronously or anachronistically, & through writing
CT is complex. It’s not a constant, not a unified force, nor always recognized. It’s sometimes seen as too intense or unsettling, & it’s neither a quick fix nor a mere phase in an R&D process
CT isn’t confined to social media interactions or limited by character counts or crude language. CT does not need ICT per se
CT involves relationships, practiced in dialogue beyond just two participants of flesh & blood. CT is inter-human innovation, ad infinitum, & beyond. It’s not a solitary pursuit but a trans-communal one, & yet, reflective solitude is one of its fuels
Critical Thinking is a dynamic, relational process, involving deep engagement & interaction. It’s an ongoing journey, not a destination or a simple label. It doesn’t end at a painful utterance
A bias might be that CT doesn’t magically appear during holidays or family gatherings. Some think these moments are only for talk about weather, sweet calls for peace, or for bile-spewing hatred & sibling rivalry. Yet, if it were present & fostered in caring relationships, & if families did return next year with joy & open CT, we’d be blessed with its presence. How naive I am? I’ll let you cough
The teleology of the grapheme is the punctum, while the pun is Möbius’ tummy to my ruler The purpose of the rocket is to pierce There, I’ve said it?
While Pierce pragmatized meaning, and the aim of practical effects is consequences only while a phalanx’s goal is to substitute the chess game And yet!
narrative closures can be essentialized by either absurdities or patriotisms with a dash of law and order and the theoretical realities of practical abstraction
Are these morphemes mere synonyms, or are you, and only you, their author in reboot?
—animasuri’23
—-• Triggers ’n’ sprouts:
Scheurich, J. J. (1995). A postmodernist critique of research interviewing. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 8(3), 239–252. https://lnkd.in/gbXXtb3t
On Sundays at an inspirational 10:14AM while others are sat on benches and fed sermons and prescriptions I atheistically regress into asking child-like questions aesthetically expressing my mind’s lane hanging out to dry on a world tree
An automated inner voice machines questions as if tooling on lathes and laser cutters I play truncated chess with logs of languages to the reckoning of numbers as plastic as the output from 3DPs from which I construct a story; yours if you like
rathe creations blooming early shavelings shave and burn and cut imagination, dumb it down to a stump, sharpen it to Odin’s spear on the cheap compressed wood that is my brain polluting the reader while satisfying a shifting use.
Darwin, you erased Aristotle’s question from the mundane: why have certain species not materialized? in flesh, blood and other liquids; what took them out of the sane? I demand explanations of patterns, I demand frames:
There are unicorns, but where is mine? there are gnomes, as alternative truths, do you lie? there is you, as a flower self-reflecting on a murky water surface there is peace, as a chain smoker quiting, in between puffs
I knowingly sip hot water crystal clearly misting spectacles, intentionally sorting out the Babel evidenced on Sunday at 10:27 I succumb to shifts and dislocations in explanatory frames on Sunday, more Woden Wednesdays are near.
On Sunday autumn leaves plays and mind’s a page.
—animasuri’23
—-• Triggers and Seedlings:
Garfinkel, A. (1981). Forms of Explanation: rethinking the questions in social theory. New Haven: Yale University Press. pp. 9, 19
Can I calculate the moment, its envelope, or the number of the memories I have forgotten? Even one?
One September fifteenth, oh as I remember it as a Friday, I have entirely forgotten. And yet that then holds as much confidence within me as stating: “this statement is a lie.”
Can I calculate that moment when I looked up at my son and he suddenly seemed just that ever little length taller, at about zero point two four seven three five eight zero millimeters, than my life’s partner? Things fell apart as things grow beyond. That is via a model of my son that was ignoring the layers and swirling of his hair sticking out well beyond his parent’s height.
Do I remember the color of the t-shirt he was wearing that day, yesterday? Oh, as I remember it as a bright reflection with a dash of four point forty seven times ten to the fourteenth power. A kind of red I might assume?
That day, I do remember clearly, was not September fifteenth, no. it was a day, at seven fifty in the evening, within a timezone likely not that of the reader of these words.
