Tag Archives: poem

In The Age Of Information

In the Age of Information, the Age of Reason has been surpassed, signaling the return to finding meaning —confused as “knowledge”— in mesmerization, fad, hype, snake oil and data as snowflakes, moldable in any shape one desires, and quickly diffused, convolutedly, in the blinding Sun. In erotic dance this Age of Information copulates with the Age of Sharing giving its offspring heads to bump in shared gaseous dogmas.

                           ---animasuri’22


<< My Tree and Me >>


Does the tree knit together into a neat picture of life when branches broke off and leaves foliate the roadside into palettes of yellow-brown-greens unintended but nonetheless 

taken by pedestrians and urbanites to slide along in their newly seasoned vehicles: “look, I took a memory of what we’ll do again next autumn” some things will never change as mistaking cliches for the good life

Does the tree flip on its side and show its underbelly when veneered into that couch to pouch on as a bag of past virility 

and the calling of brevity of stride bent to the longevity of a crutch and stride of a walking stick postponing the cane into the grave 

Does the tree ring a year around its waste when eye-bags appeared and chests sagged 

relentlessly climbing downwardly as roots to death. 

periods are made of wood or ash spread across the soil of cycle not change. And yet there we are not the same while encroaching communal dust 

Does the tree freeze when winter is upon it 

as the mind’s breezes between birth and that circulated last breath over and set in repeat

Even at that last moment he taketh and does not give it; he breaks the bread, the cane, the sled and kisses the wooden floor he decades had tread 

Does my tree, planted at birth, and hashed to utility across a life time, remember me diffidently when our frost already set in?

—animasuri’22

perverted note-taking of Rothman, J. (2022, Oct 3). Are You The Same Person You Used To Be? In Annals of Inquiry, The New Yorker. Print edition October 10, 2022.

thank you for the hint Dr. WSA

<< Morpho-Totem >>


Decomposition 1

my hammer is like my_______
my car is like my______
my keyboard is like my______
my coat is like my_____
my watch is like my______
my smart phone is like my______
my artificial neural network is like my______
my ink is like my_______
my mirror is like my________
my sunglasses are like my______
my golden chains are like my_________
my books are like my_________

Decomposition 2

my skin is like a_______
my fingertips are like a_______
my fist is like a_____
my foot is like a_______
my hair is like a_________
my bosom is like a________
my abdominal muscles are like a______
my brain is like a__________
my eyes are like a________
my genitalia are like a______
my dna is like a______
my consciousness is like a______

reference, extending
to the other desired thing
not of relatable life

—animasuri’22

<< One Click To Climbing A Techno Mountain >>


A Rabbi once asked: “Is it the helicopter to the top that satisfies?”

At times, artistic expression is as climbing. It is the journey that matters, the actual experience of the diffusion of sweat, despair, and to be taken by the clawing hand of an absent idea about to appear through our extremities into an amalgamation of tool- and destination-media.

The genius lies in the survival of that journey, no, in the rebirth through that unstable, maddening journey and that incisive or unstopping blunt critique of life.

That’s clogs of kitsch as blisters on one’s ego, sifted away by the possible nascence of art, the empty page from the vastness of potential, the noise pressed into a meaning-making form as function.

Artistry: to be spread out along paths, not paved by others. And if delegated to a giant’s shoulder, a backpack or a mule: they are companions, not enslaved shortcuts.

That’s where the calculated haphazardness unveiled the beauty slipping away from the dismissive observer, either through awe or disgust alike, ever waiting for you at your Godot-like top, poking at you

—animasuri’22

<< MENSCH >>


“Was ist der Mensch?” triggers a distinctive set of sensations away from “What is Man?” 

In further retrospection of these fleeing sensations, the first set feels more elegant, and yet also possesses an attribute of melancholy as if sustained in the attenuation of the noise band with which the word ‘Mensch’ exits via its last uttered phoneme; hushed into silence. 

Could it be before the play starts? The dance erupts? The pinnacle found in a last aria sung? 

As shampoo mixed in fluidity of waters, too busy bubbly, Mensch washes over, leaving certainty in shambles. 

—animasuri’22

thank you Dr.WSA for subtext, context, and text text and for guiding to J. Brian Hennessy who offered text.
thank you J. Brian Hennessy for the space to cycle back

perverse note-taking of Hans-Georg Gadamer‘s 1944 by the same phrase as title, as published in Phainomena’s “The Covid 19 Crisis”. 30 | 116-117 | April 2021, and a recent bbc world interview with a famous South African visual artist (who’s parents were famous anti-apartheid lawyers) and who uses charcoal into animation…

Header visual: playdoh sculpture by Aiden H. Photograph by animasuri’22

<< Wise intelligence-wise >>

While many of us strive for those around us to be less complete and complex humans,

we equally strive for our artificial output to be more anthropomorphic and life-like.

Is the place where both processes will find their nexus the singularity and a desert of the real we should yearn for?

—-animasuri’22

—-•
contexts:

https://garymarcus.substack.com/p/nonsense-on-stilts

<< World is a Story >>


what world do you live

with hawk-eyes on her
safeguarding she
does not create disorder

what world do you create

with yelling in her face
taking away her words
doing so she cannot speak

what world do you hide

convincing her being the barer
of chaos and fear.
then as much:

she will bring the change

—animasuri’22

thinking of Albert Woodfox
passing August 4, 2022
Woodfox, A. (2019). “Solitary. Unbroken by four decades in solitary confinement. My story of transformation and hope.” New York: Grove Press

<< Contextualized Decompositions >>

“ be headed” . digitally photo-edited digital photo . —animasuri’22

PART IIIIIV: prologue

In the world of research and application, there, lies the inflicted “AI.” I, as a flâneuring lay-person, have noticed what seems as polemics, between those experts vehemently promoting neural networks, and they staunchly nuancing any infallibility the latter camp claims, (back to / toward including) symbolic AI.

These authors, researchers, engineers, evangelists and some true believers have, surely unwittingly, poked me into considering a non-AI, digital and uneducated series, slowly collecting my interpretations on this intriguing topic. In simple terms: this is how I have been learning about your field for the past few years. Learning, as a non-machine, non-child, deems not to follow methodological institutional systematic rules, at all times and in all spaces. And then, it also does.

This process, and such output as this one here, is possibly befittingly, or overfittingly, a decomposition on (the) matter; if you will.

This exploration has been going on for a while. At times it was hidden, at times it was an openly trying to be hiding my fear to utter where the (claimed) expert giants roam.

Here, with the seemingly simple entitled photo above and among this text, I nurture a more defined trial. It is intended to be mushroomed over time. This one here, is a poem for you, Giant of Machine and Artifice.

Part IIIIV: perilogue

Where are sets of meaning in the above visualization entitled “ be headed” —- if any meaning at all (to the receiver), while many to its creator and perhaps very different ones to yet other humans or other transforming transcoders?

is it to be found liminally, there in between the words (and the visual) where the artificial space separates “being” from “heading” towards something? be headed is not as be, headed not as be…………headed there.

OR-AND, is it to be found liminally at a dimension unwritten of one word hinted at, torn apart into a conjugation of being and head? Nnnnyes.

Can a network delicately unveil this and other nuanced or simultaneously parallel, hidden, yet to be unveiled or contradictory meanings? Can analysis via formal logic do so and get there?

Can the analysis unveil the unknown unknowns in possible meaning and must these then be accepted as a new ontology to unquestionably submit to?

OR-CONDITIONALLY, under the flag of pragmatic clarity and universal understanding, will an irrational broom be used to batter meaning into convenient consent? Descriptive, imposing, non-negotiably?

There is beauty in plasticity (ANDAND also as a process hinting at ambiguity + yes, don’t be afraid, at some texture of non-transparency) of meaning ANDAND metaphorical neurons ANDAND pragmatic Pierce.

This perhaps to the surprise of the initiated: beauty is sensed even by some of the uninitiated who are not (yet) seeing the enlightening covenants, enabling one seeing beauty whispered in Mathematics, while taming pedestrian and bland math.

Yes, I still lack enlightenment. Mind you, Enlightened One, so do the majority of your fellow humans. What does it then say of your dataset, if your outliers outweigh your desired sample?

The opposite, where one ridicules the other for not seeing one’s aesthetic, might, in its act of debasement by pretending to behead the other, contradict “solving” complexity. Constraining awe is then perceivable as anti-awe.

Is this our collectively carried child’s play at the highest order of human intellect; well-beyond the sphere where I and many more are to be headed? One might wish to circumvent it as such. Though, simultaneously, it might be less intelligent, yet wiser, to remember that debasement is likely the expression sprouted from unrecognized ignorance, imposed on the willingly disagreeable other.

It’s somehow thought so much easier to deny an other any consideration; deny meaning; even among they who unlocked beauty in Mathematics. Where is one’s enlightened insight then? (there, I intuit, lies a delightful paradox).

ANDYET, meaning keeps festering as long as consciousness blooms its spaces, well beyond the visualized linearity or sanctioned connectivity of a (written) syntax, (hierarchical) grammar, semantic (net), and (formalized) logic. Such as any other meaning by any other name is quickly binned, calibrated and celebrated as nonsensical.

Part IIIV: paralogue

Penrose and Hameroff hinted at a transitional in-between. A space where quantum physics and Newtonian physics are “transcoded” (for lack of any hint of substantiated understanding on my part; I am confidently lacking yet open to learning).

Is this what they call a microtubular space; is it a non-computational space? Or so my feeble mind wants to find one simplified meaning, among many more as if vectors upon vectors: pulling, pushing, stretching and contracting. How does pattern AND-OR meaning sprout there; perhaps metaphorically, as a mushroom, screaming relations in subterranean spaces.

If non-binary quantum computing and complexes of computation were to ever be-come com-bined, will logic or metaphorical representations of neural networks be able to be AND not be? Will they then be headed where all possible meaning lays to be captivated, as low hanging fruits, as if possibly decapitating any outliers be-yond reach, and which do not fit their fruity model?

Part IIV metalogue

Meaning is re-imagined, decomposed as a withering mycelial fruit of unknown origin. Beneath the fruits, the networking of “meaning” crosses species (“meaning” is what I anthropomorphically attach to it).

It is a truism, which is possibly hiding further depth, that the signaling occurs across and via the networks themselves. The transitioning of information signals occur in between, and perhaps because of, the negative spaces which tautologically lie outside the recognized held space, and which the physical attributes of the network occupy.

I imagine (and only imagine) the previous as if where space is itself explicitly an informational and meaning-giving, metaphysical, intentional non-architecture. I continue to imagine that this non-architecture is evolved via subtractive and additive synthesis over space and time.

I go deeper down the rabbit hole of my imagination and indulgently give self-satisfying meaning: this non-architecture is imagined as if a medium between quantum physics and the ever so slightly more tangible world.

PART IV: epilogue

Do I *know* and *understand* what I am writing about here?

Answer: no.

I do know and understand that I do not know nor understand. And yet, writing is learning as a snapshot in a process of becoming, if the reader is willing to be informed (or rather: willing to value assigning meaning) as such. This might be what still distinguishes the machine from the human; it does not know that it does not know nor that it does not understand.

Reverting this state back to humans, some who are not knowing they do not know that this could be given meaning to. Meaning as being imitating, inconsiderate, flippant, with pretense, pretentious, delusional, arrogant, having hubris or plainly being (un)intentionally dangerous.

Yes, a human can want to not know what they don’t know. Machines can neither offer this type of deceit. A machine cannot not want to register an input.

As much as their respective opposites, I also imagine this not-knowing and this not-understanding are relational, contextual and adaptive. I find in these meaning by relating back to myself, via self-reflection (however flawed), and (the unwitting) others.

The machine, as a human derivative, is at this stage neither able to express such a verbalization of imaginative meaning-making processes. It is derivative cleverness and hence incomplete and not nuanced to sensibly represent the fullest in-between spaces of human potential meaning-making.

In analogy, we humans are derivatives of the stars, calling a human a star does not make it so ANDYETNOR make it so any less.


PART V: pentalogue

Will the artificial net or the artificial logic, each as a model of the universal “rules” (though what with rules for the non-computational?), then be enabled to identify the (imagined) ability to be, ANDNOT be, contained in one place only, or would we rather loose our heads over this?

while the mathematized DALL-E mangles meaning and defaces human heads into seas of blurred humanization, we humans are sanctioned for playful or surreal or other (un)meaning-making, or exploration thereof at other more or less (costly) dead-ends, leaving serendipitous futures beheaded of meaning to be-come. It does not have to be if we keep our and more so others’ heads on.


Intentionally blurring and poetically yours,

—animasuri’22

post scriptum: I decided not to reference any text implied with (and in between) the above visuals and words.