Tag Archives: poem

<< 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.


<< Hygge >>


I concede. I felt a memory reminiscent of hygge, Gemütlichkeit or gezelligheid. That feeling of my childhood when we used to eat around a table somewhere in a private garden on the Flemish flatlands. 

abbey beer and red wine, cheese and thick pea soup with thicker slices of bread. Fish still sizzling from the smoke box with oyster mushrooms plucked from in between the bushes behind us. 

surrounded by trees, grapevines, grass, birds, elephant hawk moths and white butterflies. A peacock or two irritating the neighbors. There, that’s my mother’s trained sparrow. Throw a piece of bread. it will swoop it away; mid flight. 

Laughter and loud speaking with multiple conversations occupying the same space. If I had to compare it to a rawness I would call it a feeling of dark crunchy wood and thick grey woolen socks. 

I felt this gezelligheid when my children were trying on some plastic shoes at the department store; here in Beijing. We sat on a bench peacefully void of rush trying on sizes 36, 37 and hopes for soonness with 38. 

Knowing that the plastic of their shoes would one day end up in my and their bloodstream, was strengthening our bond and togetherness, for they too shall carry on and own their share of memory. 

—animasuri’22 

—-•
Long form:

<< cyberhyperhygge in a plastic world >> 

if “hygge” were one of humanity’s highest aspirations, would we have to (commercially) cling on to it —or on its translated variations— as if it were the last of the relational and relatable imaginations, not yet delegated to the transnational automated, measurable, artificial, virtual or synthetic? (or has it?) 

I wonder, how will “gezelligheid” translate into a measured metaverse, gulping energy as dark red wine? Will it be transcoded into customizable statistical models and (in)discrete crudeness of alienated interaction?

Were Second Life or WoW any hint of what to eagerly continue to expect (as to human forms of interaction rather than the techno-centric innovations alone)?

Will we gradually prefer elaborations based on the interfaces suggested in “Existenz”, redefining the plasticity of “Gemütlichkeit”, its ecosystems and its seriously human and nomadic play? 

And, or, are these opportunities for re-informed reinvention, for wonder (as too often masked and forgotten by confrontations with overwhelming complexity), and for exploration, toward an acknowledgement of the unwavering grittiness of shared joy of shared life, even when the odds might not seem in one’s (collective) favor? 

The future, as I agree with some, remains open. 

I concede. I felt a memory reminiscent of hygge, Gemütlichkeit or gezelligheid. That feeling of my childhood when we used to eat around a table somewhere in a private garden on the Flemish flatlands. 

abbey beer and red wine, cheese and thick pea soup with thicker slices of bread. Fish still sizzling from the smoke box with oyster mushrooms plucked from in between the bushes behind us. 

surrounded by trees, grapevines, grass, birds, elephant hawk moths and white butterflies. A peacock or two irritating the neighbors. There, that’s my mother’s trained sparrow. Throw a piece of bread. it will swoop it away; mid flight. 

Laughter and loud speaking with multiple conversations occupying the same space. If I had to compare it to a rawness I would call it a feeling of dark crunchy wood and thick grey woolen socks. 

I felt this gezelligheid when my children were trying on some plastic shoes at the department store; here in Beijing. We sat on a bench peacefully void of rush trying on sizes 36, 37 and hopes for soonness with 38. 

Knowing that the plastic of their shoes would one day end up in my and their bloodstream, was strengthening our bond and togetherness, for they too shall carry on and own their share of memory. 

—animasuri’22

<<γνῶσις>>


I seem to be against all institutionalised, ritualised, and mediated forms of religion. 

and yet,

“G*d” is a Pythagorean cup for everything I don’t understand
I’ve been given an endless supply of this ambrosia

and then,

When rising toward in-sight
I become flushed

—animasuri’22

the three visuals of seemingly “antique plates” were created in the liminality between text and tech: artificially with craiyon by using the above humanly-composed poem as input. Of the latter, and preceding feeding it to craiyon, the first line was perversely, yet with a human in the loop, substituted with a paraphrased version, artificially iterated with quillbot .

<< Erudite >>


Don’t talk to me about things you understand
anything less is a lack of imagination
anything more is self-conceit.
Silence erupted on public spaces

Democracies crumbled
church towers, temples and minarets tilted leftward, crosses and symbols dangled
children lost their nighttime stories

Humans tasted freedom with bitter aftertaste
understanding became underrated
rating became irrational
merit meant even less: understanding swallowed

The erudite felt oppressed with their tridents made of words, words that lacked understanding beaconed as
the mean, beaded with speechlessness

even though never experienced,
it is a happiest moment in memory,
words eaten in clarity of acid subtext
destroying the clean surfaces of white confabulation

people becoming erudite, in silence
people understood, when unheard
people dehumanized, in enlightenment
passing off learning, before speaking

Their facility with understanding:
hesitant, discrete and halting,
disassociated with their taste for life
remaining meek, submissive words

leaving numbers as plots graphed for truth
startling moments of tenderness
leaving immigrating meaning inwardly:
the more we knew the quieter we became

—animasuri’22

Perverted note-taking of Ma, Ling. (July 4, 2022). “Peking Duck.” Online: The New Yorker. Fiction July 11 & 18, 2022 Issue. Thank you Dr.WSA for pointing out.


Visual output created with DALL-E by inputting the first stanza of the above poem.
Visual output created with DALL-E by inputting the first stanza of the above poem.
Visual output created with DALL-E by inputting the first stanza of the above poem.

<< contraContext >>

Hushing until we no longer see each or one self is the ultimate silencing of an ego. Though not one of spiritual enlightenment, more one of imposed dilapidated zombification. And yet, and yet and yet then there is one or other hidden stage, squeekingly behind, in-between, a digital seamless door, which one can identify and carve open, with screams of surprise or a kind whispered silence of the written rapprochement and of that what needed no restoration: the Viennese Barbarian. — animasuri’22

<< Wàzi's Chinese Sock >>


Why is it that some words
can make me
uniquely not
feel their meaning?

‘Nonesuch.’ It sounds as Narcissus,
while withering his last beauty,
looking out onto
a dried out river bed

of a father and his nymph passed on
A bed that is echoing back
forward-thrown dumped waste
from all such passerby’s: sanitation

A bed not for sleeping but
for wasting away;
nonesuch place to hold
one’s head high

‘Salivation,’ on the other hand,
smoothly
runs off the tongue
onto the paw

It does not make me
anticipate any thing
but no food
for thought.

Does salivating have meaning
for nonesuch dog
smelling,
the roses : salvation

lifting a leg
to the head-hanging
white and yellow
flower: salvation

reminding some
of Zappa and Huskies
pulling one’s leg
into a shade of nefariousness

Relating there then
‘Gregarious,” sounds
dangerously lurking,
unraveling the social fabric,

Readying the claws
to whisk
into the snow-bright
yellow light

capturing pray:
that presumptuous
once-littering
pedestrian: deliverance

a ‘scrumptious’ meal
of meaning
eaten away: ‘manducation,’
is not a man’s learning feast vacation

in pleasure and yet
sounding
unsoundly
distasteful,

preferably exited
rather
than ingested
undigested rather than indigested

So too is ‘but’
not as ‘and yet’
and yet it is somewhat
euphemistically so.

Why is it
that some words non-orderly
do not feel
their meaning?

—animasuri’22

<< The Unreadable Book >>


The sixteen from Jiǎhú qìkè fúhào wallowed into the bedraggled barn my attention is. It’s a small barn, often void of substance never emptied on spirit. The sun does shine there.  

Through the cleavages spectating the revisioned bordered off sides of this devisioned thought outbuilding: yellow ray’ed air, specked with other’s memories as floating dust particles. Now I count sixteen rays. I recognize them yet so not understand. Read lite unread light. 

She shines as non eating down on my physical skin here today. There are many new suns in my life. Each are unreadable, pages as bursts, negative space as shadows, cyphers as rays. Non are nonentities. They have mass and then not. They are only absent if imagination falters as the last of the dimming fireflies. 

That vastness of unspoiled scapes, I neither escape from, nor into, are a set of bodies beshining the promise of hidden enlightenment in plain sight. I know you mean something. It is I who cannot read you. You call out, you beckon as if lushly willing to undrape meaning, I know you won’t. The obsession with literacy is a mouth eager to gush control onto these burning words. 

The sixteen from Jiǎhú will ever last. 

—-animasuri’22 

thank you WSA

thank you, “贾湖契刻符号”

<< Ubuntu & "(A)I" >>


there seem to be about 881000 “registered” scholarly “robots.” It seems not that obvious for them to be intelligently understood, and accepted as robots, by the one that rules them all

…perhaps lack of (deep & wide & fluid & relational) understanding could lead to undesirable impositions?

—-•
“Ubuntu & (A)I” | “I am a robot” . digitally edited digital screenshot —animasuri’22

—-•

ai #ailiteracy #aiethics #totalitarianlogic #wink #ubuntu