(something I wrote – see this post – for the word “Code”)
She looked up from the floor momentarily as an idea took hold of her. She acknowledged the thought, put it away for easy retrieval at a later time, and looked down again, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, her eyes soft and looking inward.
For another 35 minutes she sat quietly, breathing steadily, her mouth set in a neutral smile. Then she got up and walked over to the stove, where she lit the burner underneath the water kettle.
If the world was a computer simulation, then there had to be a code that lay behind everything, like a translucent shadow. If there was code, then there had to be a bug in the code somewhere. And if there was a bug, she would find it. Every code had a bug, a mistake, an extra command, an errand line… and she was very good at finding bugs.
She put two fingers into the wooden tea jar and pulled out strands of green tea that she dropped into a small pot. The water was hot enough by now, just showing the first steam of a low boil.
The code would not be visible on a screen, she realized, and there would be no terminal she could access. She sipped her tea, using her teeth to strain the tea leaves, the way Chinese peasants drink tea – like her grandparents, she thought with a smile.
She had to access the code some other way. She was the code, the bowl of tea was the code, the hot liquid in her mouth was code, the green and fresh flavor detected by her tongue and translated by her brain, was code. Meditation would be the only way to find the code.
(inspired by a Guardian article from 2016, which states that Oxford University’s Nick Bostrom published a paper, in 2003, titled “Are You Living In a Simulation?”. In this paper Bostrom suggested that members of an advanced civilization with vast computing power might choose to run simulations of their ancestors in the universe. According to a profile in the New Yorker two tech billionaires are secretly engaging scientists to work on breaking us out of the simulation…)
For the last several years, scientists have taken an acute interest in her nose. Milne, after all, is also able to smell diseases. People with Alzheimer’s smell to her like rye bread, diabetes like nail polish, cancer like mushrooms and tuberculosis like damp cardboard.
The sign says One World One People.
I got up early and left the hotel by 0615. The streets were already lively with people. After securing sufficient amounts of caffeine I walked five miles under overcast skies. I love visiting the Banyan trees en route.
The original Blade Runner took place in November of 2019. I am sure grateful that I don’t live in THAT reality.
Which metric is used to justify “Chile Capital of the World”? I mean hello, what about Szechuan, Thailand, Indonesia?
It’s the “e”.
What do you mean?
In NM we use the Spanish spelling of chili, which is chile. If they’d claim “Chili Capital of the World” they’d be lying, obviously.
Oh, that’s twisted.
…it is that everything worth doing is worth doing well and that doing something well takes practice and that the sooner one embraces the idea of practice the better it is.
My first taste of practice was playing guitar. Nobody had to remind me to practice because it quickly became clear to me how it worked: the more time I put into the instrument the more familiar it became. The more familiar the instrument became the more I enjoyed the music I could make.
The second taste of practice was meditation. My mom was very skeptical of meditation. If she had spoken English she might have called it Eastern Mumbo Jumbo. She soon had a change of heart, however. One day, several months into a daily practice of meditating for twenty minutes before school, and another twenty minutes before dinner, she asked whether I had already done my evening meditation. I told her I hadn’t and that I might not have time for it. She suggested I should do it now. I looked at her the way a teenager looks at a parent when they think “what do you care, mom”… she picked up on that unspoken communication and said, I can see the difference it makes when you meditate. Really, I asked, surprised that this could be. Yes, she replied. So I sat down and meditated, marveling at the idea that meditation was changing me, perhaps in a subtle way only my mom could detect, but changing me nonetheless.
A recent example of practice has been making bread. I started baking at the end of 2013 and started writing down what went into every loaf on 12 January 2014. For six years I have made between four and eight loaves every week I was home. That means I have made between 700 and 1,000 loaves of bread. Dough is becoming familiar in the way that the guitar is familiar and meditating is familiar.
Everything worth doing well is worth practicing. My girlfriend and I started a writing practice this year, which I love because I would like to become a better writer. We switch off choosing a word that we have to write about. On go we have 2 minutes to think about the word and then 23 minutes to write something. We have each written 82 of these pieces so far. Some of them are stories and some are little essays.
I am looking into selling the FETE CD and Flash Drive Card via mail-order, from right after Thanksgiving until the second week of January. At present I am figuring out packaging and shipping solutions for these two items. I will probably sell through Bandcamp because that seems easiest. I will make an announcement when I have more details.
This is just a little and insignificant blog but you wouldn’t believe how many emails I receive every day offering advertisement or guest posts (likely linking to ads) or links to other posts (which probably also carry ads). Don’t bother, I say. This Diary is not for sale, not for ads, not for posts, nor for links.
I am listening to four loaves of bread cool down, fresh out of the oven. I love the tiny popping sounds they make.
I think I mentioned that I used a recording of this at the beginning of the song “Where the River Flows” on the album Fete.