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The good, the bad, and the ugh-ly

Ugh, again (I think I began a blog post with that word* earlier this week or some time last week, but I might be misremembering).  It’s Wednesday, and it’s just after 4 am as I start writing this, but I’ve already been awake for two or three hours.  I’m pretty tired (but not sleepy) and I’m feeling under the weather.  I mentioned that I think I have some manner of virus over the last few days, and my throat and upper lungs** feel raw.

Also, yesterday I started having some signs and symptoms that made it appear that I was either dehydrated or having kidney or liver issues, or perhaps an infection.  This was quite surprising and developed rather suddenly, and it really unnerved me because of all the NSAIDS and so on that I use.

So, I haven’t taken anything but plain Tylenol since my main dose of Naproxen yesterday morning.  I don’t know how badly this will affect my pain overall; so far I feel generally achey, and my thumbs are stiffer than before.  But given my kidney stone history, I want to be particularly careful‒at least, for me.

Again, I’m a bit under the weather (as are all non-astronauts at the moment) but I need to go to work, because we’re starting some new processes at the office, and today is also payroll day.  We’ll see how it goes after that.  I’m drinking lots of water, at least, and I haven’t done much wandering around outside in the heat and humidity, to try to avoid sweating too much.

I’m mildly nervous about what, if anything, is going to happen regarding my health in the near future, but I’m too tired to be very nervous, honestly.  I just want some rest.

At least I did play guitar some on Monday and Tuesday morning.  I rather foolishly also did some singing while playing, which has not helped my slightly sore throat, but I have a very hard time not singing when I play.

Anyway, I don’t have any science or philosophy or even psychology subjects chewing their way out of my brain this morning.  They’re in there, but maybe they’re like lazy xenomorph embryos, ones that have decided that they like the warmth and safety of where they are inside a humanoid torso, and so they’re just going to stick around.  It’s probably a bit like just chilling in a sensory deprivation tank, which seems like a nice thing to me.

Okay, that was a weird stream of thought.

Oh, here’s another weird thing:  I’m finding it really hard to find any book to read to keep my interest.  Fiction, nonfiction, books I’ve read before and books I haven’t read, it doesn’t seem to matter.  I even went to the crazy extreme of getting the book Damage after having mentioned the movie the other day.  That is not my usual genre of book.  I’ve read about five chapters (they are very short) but I don’t think I’ll continue.

The YouTube algorithm is falling down on its job as well.

Maybe I should really do a pseudo-sensory-deprivation thing and just stop reading or watching videos or anything of the sort.  I’ve done it before, of course, albeit against my will****, and it wasn’t as horrible as one might expect.  Anyway, I can generally, when my mind is quiet, replay movies and books and shows and whatnot that I know well.  That’s good, because even reading my own stories is getting lame.

Oh, well.  I’m going to call this enough for today.  I suppose I’ll write a post tomorrow, if I go to work, exclusis improvisis.  I hope you all have a good day.

*Is it a “word”, really?  I guess it’s really more of just a syllable of disgust or frustrated exhaustion.

**By which I mean “the upper portions of my lungs”, not “the highest set of what are presumably at least two sets of lungs”, because that latter one wouldn’t make sense.  I have only one*** set of lungs, like all other vertebrates of which I am aware.

***I suppose if one were really pushing it, one could argue that each lobe could be counted as a lung, in which case almost everyone would have three right lungs and two left lungs.  But that’s a rather unnatural division, or at least an asymmetrical one.

****Jail and prison, don’t you know.

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“Every year is getting shorter; never seem to find the time…”

It is time, once again, for me to write another blog post‒though, actually, for you reading this, that time has already passed; for you, it is time to read another blog post.  That temporal disjunction is mildly interesting, and I have probably long since dwelt on it beyond the level of anyone’s but my own interest.

Still, it does illustrate some of the weird directionality of time, for while the time between when I write and when you read can be, in principle, limitless, it is always and only in one direction.  You will never read one of my blog posts so much as a single Planck time before I write it.

This is the character of causality, and its speed is the real speed limit that we narrowly think of as “the speed of light”.  It is actually the speed limit of causal influence, and that’s a fundamental part of the restrictions entailed in special relativity.

There is, though, the longstanding question of why time is not merely one-dimensional but unidirectional, since at local scales, the laws of physics don’t appear to have an inherent directionality but are time-symmetric.

Spatial dimensions don’t work that way.  You can go up or down, back or forth, left or right, however you please, with equal ease (don’t be a tease).  At least…you can do all that provided there are no strong influences nearby.

One such influence might be, for instance, a planet.  I just happen to have such a planet, right here.  It’s called Earth, and it is quite dense and so produces quite significant curvature of spacetime (time more than space, interestingly enough) in its vicinity.

This has the effect of making space asymmetric locally.

So, near a strongly gravitating object, space acquires directionality.  That directionality is actually spherical, so it’s not a simple kind of one-dimensional directionality, but in local regions it looks linearly directional.  Wherever you may be on Earth, odds are you can move any combination of left-right and forward-backward with equal ease (more or less).  But the difference between up and down is quite another matter.

That difference would be even more pronounced near a much stronger gravitational source.  If you were near the surface of a neutron star, your capacity to go any direction but down (i.e. toward the surface of the neutron star) would be more or less nonexistent.  Space would have a profound and irresistible directionality.  Things seem to become even more inevitably directional beneath the event horizon of a black hole.

And, analogously, when one is not far from a highly energetic, very low-entropy region of spacetime, like our Big Bang, time is forcibly constrained to be directional, since change can only really happen in the direction of lower entropy in such a region, as dictated by sheer mathematics, if nothing else.

I’ve written about this before, about how, in principle time could have more than one dimension, like space, but be so forcibly constrained by the very strong local effects of the Big Bang to be pseudo-linear, just as space is pseudo-planar at the surface of the Earth or a neutron star, with free movement in only two of its three dimensions.

I won’t get into it too much now; I think there are posts both here and on Iterations of Zero that address it.  I will just quickly point out that, in the distant future‒much like when one is much farther from the surface of a gravitating body‒as entropy approaches local maxima, time will lose its directionality and forward and backward will be identical.

The fact that it takes so long for that to happen may point toward the geometry of time being less than three dimensional.  Three dimensional influences fall off as the square of the distance.  So, twice as far from a source, the influence is one quarter as strong, and ten times as far away, it is one one hundredth as strong.

The directionality of time doesn’t seem to be falling off at any notable rate since the Big Bang*.  It doesn’t even seem to be falling off linearly, as would be the case for a two-dimensional process (the circumference of a circle increases linearly with the radius, whereas a sphere’s surface area increases as the square of the radius).  Based on a fairly straightforward interpretation of this, it does seem to point to time being one-dimensional.

But we don’t know the scale of the thing.  We may be, compared to the scope of any higher dimensionality of time, vanishingly close to the Big Bang, still.  We may be like tiny, tiny mites on Earth’s surface (or that of a neutron star), unable to sense or travel a significant height to be able to detect even the local curvature of the planet, let alone the drop-off in the directionality of space (i.e., gravity).

Maybe the nature of time is similar.  Maybe we are too small, moving through time too slowly, too close to its local source of directionality, to be able to discern that it has more dimensions.  Certainly, spacetime around us appears “flat” as best we can measure.  But we recognize that, at much bigger scales, it may be curved.  And time, at those scales, may have more than one dimension.

Or maybe:

Maybe if we can wait long enough, it will be obvious.  Or maybe not.

Have a good bit of time over these next 24 hours if you can, please.

*Though there is the current significant question of the nature of the “Hubble tension”.  Maybe it’s a subtle change in the strength of the directionality of time itself that leads to the seeming disparity in the Hubble “constant” when measured by CMB as opposed to by supernova data.  Hmmm.

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It is a far, far better thing I did than anything I did that was far, far worse

Heavy sigh.  Here we go again.

It’s Monday.  I am heading in to the office very early because I hardly slept last night and don’t feel that I could sleep.

As you probably guessed‒if you thought about it at all, which may be unlikely‒I did not work this weekend.  Instead, I finally got to hang out with my youngest, and we went to a big arcade kind of place whose name I forget, where we played a lot of crane grab style games.  Then we ate at Sbarro and wandered around the mall for a bit before seeking out a comic book store I had recently found out about.

So, all in all, it was one of the best days in more than thirteen years.

Unfortunately, it can be rather dispiriting to return to my illusory life after enjoying most of a day with my child.  Not that I’m complaining about spending that time; I most certainly am not!  But apparently this is one of those ASD* things that happens, when even very positive and uplifting interactions take a toll, especially if they involve a lot of noise and people and such.

Though I must say, in the comic book store, I felt almost instantly at home, and didn’t feel any of my usual awkwardness in asking if they had anything related to the role-playing game Gamma World.  These were my people, after all.  And it was a good comic store, not one that overly caters to “normies”.  Though I daresay all were surely welcome there.

Anyway, the usual friendless and familyless (that’s not really a word…might “afamilial” be better?  Apparently not, based on Google Docs’s reaction to it) days of my peudo-life from day to day don’t seem even as good as usual after such a day.  Also, I think I’m fighting a mild cold, which probably is something that happens fairly easily after playing games that many other people have played.

Though, come to think of it, I don’t remember that being a big deal back in the day when arcades were much more common.  At least I never remember tending to get sick after going to one.  But honestly, I did not go to them very often, so my sample size is very small.

I suspect I am often low-grade inoculated by very small doses of many pathogenic viruses because (among other stims) I bite my nails almost constantly.  I used to bite them more, and even picked at the skin around the base of my thumbnails until it peeled off a long way; my thumbs would sometimes bleed from the picking and get quite inflamed and irritated.  Occasionally, that still happens, but I am able to resist picking at the skin so much.  I have other things that I can do with my fidgeting fingers that are less painful.

Anyway, the nail biting may help prime my immune system against a lot of things.  I occasionally wonder whether it’s a trait or tendency that has been‒or can be‒selected for by evolution.  If it does happen to give one’s immune system a leg up, it would make sense for those with the tendency to have selective advantages.

This may also relate to the tendency of very small children to put a lot of things in their mouths.  I don’t mean to suggest that habit developed because it was good for exposing the immune system to very small doses of things.  I suspect it has more to do with the mouth being highly sensitive and having multiple modalities and more dexterity at an early age than the hands, and so it is a useful primary means of exploring much of the world for an infant.

Still, I think the immune priming is a useful side-effect.  Also, the modern tendency for people to be hyper-fastidious about not allowing their young children to touch things and taste things and expose themselves to tiny amounts of pathogens probably contributes to the surge in (hitherto almost unheard-of) allergies to rather ordinary things in the latter few decades.

I’m going to draw to a close now, because I’m having trouble focusing on my screen.  I don’t think it’s anything related to a sudden worsening of my vision, and I am wearing reading glasses.  It’s more as if my ciliary muscles are just tired, and they don’t want to do the work to make my lenses (the ones in my eyes) focus.

It is what it is.  Hopefully they will recover a bit of their endurance soon.  In the meantime, I hope you all have as good a day and week as you possibly can (which, as I’ve pointed out previously, you will, because whatever happens, once it has happened, is immutable, and was inevitable, and so you have the best‒and worst‒days you could have, every single day).

Dickens wasn’t just playing around with words in the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities, I guess.  No, he was writing floridly because he got paid by the word.  But that’s another story.

*I will indulge in a little sophomoric (and accidental) humor here:  because the S and the D are so close together, especially on the smartphone, I at first wrote “one of those ASS things”.

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Work, pain, fear, compassion…let’s call the whole week off

Well, it’s Friday, and this will be the last blog post of this week, exclusis improvisis.  By which I mean, I am not scheduled to work tomorrow, and I will not work tomorrow.  I suspect even if I were threatened with rather severe consequences‒which is extraordinarily unlikely to happen‒I would not work.

After all, I have lost most of what mattered to me already, and though some things (people), important things, have indeed come back, and are cherished, I know that I can either survive whatever might be used to threaten me, or that I am not too frightened of death in such circumstances.

As the line from the famous movie (and book) Damage goes, “Damaged people are dangerous; they know they can survive.”

Of course, that does depend on the type of damage and the nature of the person in question, but still, it is a valid point.  Indeed, as all of you who read this regularly may know, my biggest question is not “How can I survive?” or “Can I survive?” but rather, “Should I survive, and why?”  I’ll avoid getting into the whole Myth of Sisyphus discussion, since I think I’ve done it nearly to death, but I suspect you get the point.

I don’t mean to imply by the above that I think I am immune to threat and pain and torture and so on.  That would be quite unrealistic.  If nothing else, my experience with a kidney stone made clear the fact that, despite chronic pain for roughly a quarter of a century, it is entirely possible to visit upon me further pain so severe that I literally can think of nothing else but trying to get help and to stop it.

Actually, despite those 25ish years, it’s not as though my chronic pain isn’t gripping and debilitating in and of itself.  There are many days in which a lot of my time in the office is spent trying to do my work while writhing and contorting, trying to stretch, banging on my thighs with my fists to try to loosen their tension, sometimes even deliberately hurting myself (sometimes in ways that would frighten other people, I suspect, and that can involve very sharp things and/or very hot things) to distract from the other pain.

I’ve said it before, and I’ve encountered no convincing counterargument so far, but pain is not evolved for one to be able simply to ignore it.  And while I am admittedly rather weird and atypical, and often have felt that I was not the same species as the people around me, I am by no means a different enough organism not to share such a fundamental characteristic.  Pain‒at least, the capacity for it‒is a necessity for long-term survival.  And fear, as the 12th Doctor pointed out, is a superpower.

Of course, we must be careful to distinguish true and useful fear from pathological fear states.  As Gavin deBecker points out in The Gift of Fear, if your fear is of something real, you will be able to discern its cause eventually, and it will be fairly focused and reasonably specific:  a particular person makes you feel uncomfortable, something about a particular car or driver seems erratic or reckless, that sort of thing.  Whereas just general anxiety is often vague and nonspecific.

I know of people who felt afraid to take a bath after they saw Jaws!  Now that doesn’t make much sense.  If your bathtub is big enough and deep enough to have a great white shark in it, then you’re probably ultra-wealthy and the shark is your pet.  Probably you keep it well-fed on captured British Secret Service agents, so it is unlikely to bother you.

Anyway, what was I talking about?  Oh, yeah, not working and being unsusceptible to most ordinary threats.

Certainly, it would be rather ridiculous for someone to say they would ruin my future prospects, that they would put a black mark on my resume or some such.  How hilarious.  A major point on my current CV would be “Three years, Florida State Prison, West Unit, working as an inmate in the Education Department”.  I’m already not competitive for many positions I would have the skill to fill, just as I would no longer be allowed into many nations I would like to visit.

I am, actually, far more susceptible to cajolery and appeals to kindness, or rather “niceness”, than to threats.  I guess it’s because I want to try to be a good person, a kind person, a compassionate person*, despite my tendency toward darkness of various kinds.

It’s an area of insecurity and conflict on my part, because there’s always part of me saying, “You don’t know the power of the Dark Side.”  And I am not always sure, especially when my pain and my depression and my sense of otherness are at their peaks, that it would not be preferable.

But when I am clearest and calmest, I recognize that compassion and at least attempted kindness are better.  They not only may help other people, but they tend to be better for one’s own sense of well-being.  It’s an almost archetypal win-win scenario.

I guess that’s probably a good and somewhat positive place to end this post and this blog week.  I hope you all have a nice day and a good weekend and a good beginning of next week.  I will probably be back on Monday‒again, exclusis improvisis**.

*These are not three different people.  I’m not trying to be like Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor.

**Yes, I am trying to apply that expression frequently to see if I can get it into (relatively) common use.  So, please, do feel free to use it when it’s appropriate, and tell people what it means.  And, what they heck, tell ‘em where you first encountered it.

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These our bloggers, as I foretold you, were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air

Hello and good morning.  As you probably know, it is Thursday.  If you’re reading this later, however, I guess it might be useful for you to know that the 23rd of July in 2026 CE was a Thursday.  Maybe you’re an anthropologist or an archaeologist, and it’s a thousand years from now, or more.  If you’ve forgotten how to convert your year-numbering system to CE (AKA AD) then I am sorry, but I cannot help you.

Oh, wait, maybe I can:  the last time comet Halley passed through the inner solar system was 1986 CE, so 40 years ago from the year in which I write this.  Does that help?

Maybe you need a better description of comet Halley.  Well, it’s a big ball of ice and some rock, and when it gets close to the sun, the heat causes a lot of the ice to sublimate and become vaporous, and the vapor, which scatters light well, turns into a sort of aura and a “tail”, trailing away from the sun in a direction caused by the solar wind…

Oh, so you know what a comet is and looks like, you just want to know about this specific comet.  You want to know things to help you determine which comet it is so that you can get a clear guide to what I mean by “1986 CE/AD”.

Well, I can only tell you a little more than I already have.  It’s a short period comet, orbiting eccentrically (as comets tend to do) from well inside the Oort Cloud or even the Kuiper Belt*.  It is quite regular, as things in orbits that are not frequently significantly perturbed tend to be.  The period of its orbit is, if memory serves, about 76 years.  That ought to help you a lot, at least if you have astronomical records and keep track of such things at any level.

Years, of course, are a natural time increment, being the length of time it takes the Earth to go around the sun once “exactly”, returning to the precise spot in its orbit relative to the sun.  Mind you, the solar system, and the galaxy, and the local group, and all that other stuff are constantly moving, so in fact neither Earth nor comet Halley ever truly returns to where it was before.  But the solar system moves as a whole, more or less consistent in its internal motions despite the fact that its all orbiting the center of the Milky Way** about once every quarter billion years.

Of course, far enough in the future, the period of comet Halley will change, and eventually it will basically evaporate.  Also, the Earth’s orbital period will change over time (though much more slowly, since it is much more massive and its orbit less open to perturbation by other quite massive objects).

And, of course, in about five billion years‒about twenty turns ‘round the Milky Way‒the sun will become a red giant.  It won’t be like flipping a switch or something, where the sun is just the sun one day, 4,999,999,999 years and 364 days (or whatever) from now, then the next day, boom, it’ll swell up and devour the inner solar system.

No, it will be a pretty gradual process, for as the sun fuses more and more hydrogen, there will be proportionally less available, and the outward pressure caused by fusion will decrease, and so the the sun’s core will contract and it will get hotter so that helium will begin to fuse, but that won’t last nearly as long as the hydrogen did.

Also, as the core of the sun contracts and gets hotter, the outer portions of the sun will swell due to the increased heat within.  Well before the sun is a full-on red giant, its increasing temperature will have made conditions impossible on Earth for life as we know it.

But if you’re still around, five billion years from now, I hope your technological advances will make my help utterly irrelevant.  You might even have made the natural life cycle*** of the sun as much a matter of historical trivia as will presumably be the natural lifespan of an average modern human.

Anyway, by five billion years from now, you’ll be seeing the close-encounter/merger/collision of the Andromeda galaxy with the Milky Way, and that’s likely to be quite a spectacle.  That is, unless you’ve developed technology to intervene in that scenario.  It seems implausible, but five billion years is a long time for scientific and technological advancement.

In closing‒just in case you’re even farther in the future even than that and cosmic expansion has caused all but the local galaxy to pass over the cosmic horizon‒I want to tell you that this is not the only galaxy in the universe.  At the time of this writing, within the visible universe, there were between a hundred billion and a trillion extant galaxies.

But the universe, which “began” much more compactly, has been expanding since nearly 14 billion years ago, and if that expansion is continuously accelerating, as currently seems to be the case, the distance to all other galaxies will have eventually become too great and the recession too rapid for light ever to reach the Milky Way from any of them again.  But they did and do exist, even if there’s no trace left of them that you can see.

I thought you might like to know.

TTFN

*Do you need me to explain what these are?  Let me know.  Oh, wait, I’m in your past.  You can’t let me know without time travel (unless I’m still alive in your time), and if you had that, you wouldn’t need me to try to give you clues to the date system used in my time.

**Other candy bars are available.

***Other personal exercise devices are available.

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Fictional birthdays, date misassignments, and the calendars of Caesar and the Pope

Hi, everybody.  It’s Wednesday, July 22nd, which means there are only two months left for you to buy something for Bilbo and Frodo’s birthday.  Though, actually, they’re pretty well-to-do hobbits, so it seems unlikely that you’ll be able to get them something they want that they don’t already have.

Oh, and also, hobbits give other people presents on their own birthdays, not the other way around.  This always struck me as odd, but kind of cool.  It’s almost like saying, “Here’s a little gift for you in celebration of my birth, just to remind you what a gift it is that I was born and that you know me.”

Well, at least that’s one way of looking at it.  Anyway, I don’t think you’re likely to receive a gift from Bilbo and/or Frodo, even on their birthday, apart from being able to read and/or watch The Hobbit and/or The Lord of the Rings.  That’s a lucky break for us all, when you think about it, and you don’t need to wait for September 22nd to partake of it.

I know, I know, why would one celebrate the birthday of a fictional character, anyway?  Well, it’s not as though mainstream culture doesn’t do it already, in oodles of major religious holidays.

Even if you’re convinced that Jesus really existed, biblical scholars agree (so I’m told) that he was not born on December 25th, but sometime in the summer, probably.  The later Church, never shy about playing free and loose with facts of reality (as religions tend to do), reset the date in order to appropriate the typical winter solstice-related festivals heavily celebrated by many cultures.  Such celebrations included Saturnalia (Roman culture‒you can tell because it’s got Saturn in it) and Yule (Norse, with the evergreens and mistletoe and holly and such like).  There were probably others.

The earlier Church cared more about Easter anyway, which makes a bit of internal sense.  That’s the purported miraculous day, when Jesus regenerated and flew to the heavens in his TARDIS.  Or whatever happened, if anything.

Of course, if we all wanted to avoid mislabeling Jeshua’s birthday, we could just celebrate Newtonmas on the previously celebrated day, since Isaac Newton was born on December 25th.  And he definitely did things that, while not literally miraculous, boggle the mind of nearly every mortal with knowledge enough to understand those contributions.

Mind you, he was, by all accounts, a serious dick and a born curmudgeon.  But he was effing smart, and his scientific accomplishments surely compensate for, say, his bloodthirsty reign as Warden of the Royal Mint, and even his really petty and childish vendettas against other scientists.

“‘A was a man.  Take him for all in all.  I shall not look upon his like again.”

Ah, but there’s a catch (or a rub, since we’re quoting Shakespeare):  Newton was born on December 25th according to the Julian calendar.  The Gregorian calendar* did already exist, but England did not adopt it until sometime after Newton’s birth.  They were sort of stubborn about going along with Catholic innovations, and it held them back.  I blame Oliver Cromwell.

Anyway, by the modern, “Gregorian” calendar, Newton would have been born sometime in about…January, something like the 7th, I think, but I’ll look it up (see below).

Why the disparity?  Well, as you may know, the Julian calendar does have leap years.  Earth’s trip around the sun takes 365 and about a quarter days, so the extra full day builds up and is added onto every 4th year.  Except…

…well, it’s not quite a full quarter of an extra day there in that orbital period.  So, over time, the Julian calendar gets ahead of the literal year a bit.  It’s a small bit, but it’s there, and it accumulates.  To correct for this, one of the things the Gregorian calendar does is to skip the leap day on any year divisible by 100**.  It also adds the leap day back on every year divisible by 1000, but I think that’s only applied once since the Gregorian calendar was created.

Anyway, by the time the Gregorian calendar was put in place in England, the Julian calendar had accumulated something like 11 extra leap days.  Maybe it was 12.  If January 7th was the Gregorian date of the 25th of December, Julian, that would be, let’s see…I think 14 days.  I suspect I’m off a bit in my recollection, so I’ll look it up and add a footnote***.

Wow, that was a weird, discursive post, wasn’t it?  I guess it’s probably more entertaining than hearing me talk about my problems with my mental health, at least.  Indeed, one might say that I am instead hereby demonstrating my problems with my mental health‒some of them, at least.  Anyway, I hope this was at least mildly entertaining and possibly informative.  It’s at least probably better than my previous two posts.  In any case, I hope you have a very good day.

*Named for Pope Gregory Peccary the Nocturnal Gregarious Wild Swine.

**I mean “evenly divisible”, of course.  Every number is divisible by 100.  Pi is divisible by 100:  ℼ/100.  “i” is divisible by 100:  i/100.  See?  But they don’t give integer quotients.

***Here goes:  Newton’s birthday would have been January 4th of the following year according to the Gregorian calendar.  This is ten days that needed to be skipped by the Gregorian calendar, or a thousand years worth of Julian calendar mismatch.  By now there would have been about five more extra days in the Julian calendar, so your birthday would be officially labelled as whatever day is 15 days before what it is, Gregorian Style.

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Is this blog good for MY mental health?

For the first time in quite a while, I’m using my mini lapcom to write this blog post.  The main reason for doing this is that my thumbs have really been bugging me lately.  Also, as I’ve often said, it feels more natural to type on the lapcom than on the smartphone, at least so far.  This shouldn’t be a surprise, since I have been typing far longer than I’ve been using a smartphone; indeed, I’ve been typing far, far longer than smartphones have existed.

How do you like them, Apple™?

Who knows, maybe someday I might get to the point where typing on the phone is at least as natural as on the lapcom.  I suppose if I wrote an entire book on one, that probably would make quite a bit of progress toward making it feel more natural.  But it isn’t as natural, and I don’t think it’s likely ever to be, at least for something like typing, because the scale is wrong; it’s too small*.  And of necessity, it either doesn’t have as many available functions as the desktop programs, or they are more difficult to access with any decent speed.

Okay, enough of that topic and/or subject.

I have, as you may know, been having somewhat worse than usual trouble lately with my chronic mood disorder(s).  I’ve been trying various personal interventions (nothing pharmacological at the moment), because it’s getting fairly bad and potentially very dangerous (to me).  Regarding those personal attempts, though, one thing I’ve noticed over time is a kind of internal barrier to certain specific interventions, and it’s kind of puzzling and a bit disturbing.

A long time ago—when our own galaxy was far, far away from where it is now**—I read a lot of various kinds of self-help and psychology books, trying to figure out, among other things, why I was so weird and how to get along despite that fact and such like.  In them, I learned about autosuggestion.  I also learned about a famous case of a proponent thereof who was ridiculed for encouraging people to try repeating to themselves on a few occasions throughout the day:  “Every day, in every way, I am getting better and better.”

Now, I’ve always thought that sounded quite interesting and potentially beneficial, especially since I tend to ruminate on and repeat things in my head anyway, and if I could make it something useful, then I might as well do so.  So, I applied it.

I never applied it in its original form, though.  I used to give myself messages about my mind getting stronger every day, or my will getting stronger, or my power (whatever that meant) growing, or me getting smarter, or me getting stronger in all senses of that word, those sorts of things.  But somehow, I always balked at telling myself that I was getting “better”.

I have tried doing the auto-suggestion thing again lately in various forms.  I think it at least gives me some mental focus, and at times at least makes me feel that maybe I’m getting stronger, or my will is improving, or whatever.  It’s a little silly but not without merit.  However, when I try to do the “better and better” version, it’s as if someone had cast one of those “langlock” jinxes on my mental tongue, and the phrase doesn’t want to come out.

It’s similar to the resistance I have to telling myself that “I love my life and I love myself”.

Interestingly, I was able to do that one while in prison, which feels sort of ironic, since I wasn’t loving life then.  But I knew that my situation was temporary—more so than life itself is, even—and I was able to keep looking forward to getting out and being part of my children’s lives again***.  Having something in the future toward which to look really helps keep your spirits up, or at least your fortitude.

I sometimes wonder if I fear getting better—not morally, I don’t think I have any issue with that.  But I do worry that some aspects of my personality could be quite harmful if I were to think too highly of myself.  I also have real internal revulsion (bordering on literal nausea) toward the idea of being delusional, especially about my own abilities and nature.

I guess it wouldn’t be too big a stretch to say that I fear it.  So many of the ills that I see in the world—current, past, and potentially in the future—are born of people who are too sure of themselves, too convinced they are right, too sure that they are exceptional, too convinced they know “better”.  I would hate to fall into such a banal and pathetic personality trap.  It’s all very silly, probably.  It might even make some of you laugh, or roll your eyes, or throw your hands up at my melodrama.

I suppose if I had anyone around with whom I could just talk about these things, I wouldn’t bother sharing them here on my blog.  They are, after all, quite personal.  But if I don’t share any of the thoughts I have, they are merely evanescent fluff inside my head that will never have any contact with other, external ideas, but merely have autologous impacts.  Of course, everything is like that (as far as we can tell), but I’d like to have some beneficial local impact on myself, at least.

And who knows, it may be possible, in the fullness of time, for the descendants of humanity, or similar beings, to break free of the nature of the transient and vanishing, and become, like the virtual particles near the event horizon of a black hole, real particles, things that endure indefinitely, and actually gain some degree of control over not only their own future but that of the universe itself.

When I’m being somewhat fanciful, I imagine myself contributing to such progress, and even being able to see it to its fruition.

See what I mean by getting egotistical?  I fear that tendency toward grandiosity, because it can be toxic all by itself, and because it is a frequent hallmark of more serious mental illness.  I’m more than a little afraid of that, because I often feel that manic magma of grandiosity rising up inside my mind.  I think it would be all too easy for me to lose my grip on myself entirely.  My mind, such as it is, is pretty much all that I have going for me; I’d rather not lose it if I can help it.

But the more time I spend on my own, the more likely it feels that it’s going to happen.  And I am not enthusiastic about it.

*That’s what she said.  Ha.  Ha.

**On a cosmic scale that doesn’t really mean anything, but time has passed, and the Earth, the Sun, the Milky Way, the local group, and so on are all moving.  From a cosmic scale they don’t seem to change much, but if you zoom in, even the surface of the Earth moves at nearly a thousand miles per hour (depending on your latitude) in its daily rotation alone.  Here’s The Galaxy Song to put it into context.

***It turns out that was overly optimistic and did not come to pass, but there was no good way for me to know this at the time.

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Warning: Reading this blog may be hazardous to your mental health

Well, it’s Monday yet again, though I don’t know why it bothers, and it’s the beginning of yet another thoroughly pointless work week.

Okay, I suppose one can honestly say that it’s not pointless at the local level; people need to work to be able to pay rent, buy food, get medicine as needed and so on so they can survive.  But that, of course, just kicks the can of meaning farther down the empty dirt road of reality, since why they should survive‒why they should want to survive‒is a debatable question.

There are empirical answers to that question, of course, but ultimately, it probably gets down to the brute fact that this shit just is.  There’s no sign of any kind of meaning beyond what people invent for themselves in their own (individual and/or collective) heads.

And that would be just fine, too, as far as meaning goes, if people could just own the fact that it is all artificial, it is invented‒any (and all) of our senses of meaning and purpose, any of the stories we tell ourselves and each other about the telos of reality.  But people have this irritating tendency to start to believe their just-so stories, no matter how absurd, because they would rather delude themselves than face the possibility that everything is‒on the deepest and largest scales‒meaningless.

I suppose it’s related to the recognized fact that the best way to convince someone that you’re telling the truth about something is actually to believe that you are telling the truth, even if you are not.  If you believe something, no matter how absurd, you are likely to convince others that you believe, and that might make it more likely that they believe you.  Of such bootstrapped fictions are cultures and civilizations made, at least initially.

By the way, my plans for meeting up with my youngest this weekend fell through at the last minute, so to speak, thanks to a prior engagement with a friend (theirs, not mine) who came in from out of town, and about which meetup they had forgotten.  These things do happen, of course.  I could hardly blame anyone for preferring to spend time with someone else rather than with me.  Not that I think this was the situation!  I’ve no real doubt that the conflict was true and real and regretted.  But even if it were not, although it would make me sad, it’s not something for which I could blame anyone.

Well, I guess I can blame myself.  After all, it is surely because of what and who I am that people don’t really like to be around me much, and don’t like to stay around me longer than they are required to do.  If I knew that there were some precise and specific, alterable attributes in me that were responsible for this, I would probably try to change those attributes.  But it’s probably the gestalt of me that is the problem.  I simply am that which I am, and this portion of my four dimensional structure seems to tend to repel other such four dimensional beings.

Even if I could fix myself, and with relative ease, I might not.  I don’t honestly feel that I deserve to be fixed.

I could, of course, fall back on the true words of Will Munny from Unforgiven and say:

But, while I can recognize that fact in my frontal lobes and other parts of my neocortex, unfortunately my basal ganglia hate me, and it’s hard to convince them otherwise.  They have tremendous neuropsychological inertia, and I don’t even know where to get a grip to try to move them.  But I sense that pushing them in just some random direction is more likely to make things worse than better.  I’ve gone into that general reasoning before, and I’ve encountered nothing to change my conviction on that count.

You know, it occurs to me that I should probably have some kind of disclaimer on my blog in general*, to the effect that people shouldn’t read this blog unless they have a pretty strong sense of self-worth and so on, and that people who have mental health issues should definitely not read it.  I fear that a person who is vulnerable might be inadvertently convinced to do themselves harm after reading my work.

Possibly I think too highly of my lowliness, but I’ve long since recognized that my inherent nature veers toward destruction.

So, yeah, I guess you can warn anyone who expresses an interest‒if such a being exists‒that if they so much as doubt their courage, they should not try to enter this particular Cave of Caerbannog, for death awaits them all here with nasty, big, pointy words.

Oh, and finally, let’s just take a moment to mark and to celebrate the Apollo 11 Moon landing, which took place 57 years ago today.  If you are one of the people who claims to think that humans did not land on the moon, well…I won’t tell you that you should end yourself and thereby raise the overall intelligence of the world by a small but measurable amount; that would be uncharitable.  But I do suggest that you please either get a vasectomy or a tubal ligation, because if there is any genetic component to such stupidity, we don’t want it to propagate forward in time.  Let’s put a bit of chlorine into the gene pool.

Otherwise, have a good day.

*I have put one in today’s headline, at least.

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Movie and comic book villains, some songs, weekend plans, and a slightly improving mood

Well, it’s Friday at long last, the end of the “official”* work week.  My mood is at least somewhat better than it has been previously this week; starting midmorning yesterday, my mood increased and I even became somewhat playful and a bit silly.  This was, hopefully, thanks to certain interventions I have undertaken, and not just because of some low-grade cycling of my mood.

As far as I know, I don’t have any form of bipolar disorder; certainly no therapist has even mentioned considering that as one of my issues.  Then again, none of them (to my recollection and knowledge) considered the possibility of undiagnosed ASD.  But I have, apparently, done quite a good job at masking over time.  Or so I believe.

Anyway, I’m not going to be working tomorrow after all (my improved mood long preceded my learning this fact).  In fact, I’m going to be getting together with my youngest to have a late Father’s Day outing.  That also came about hours and hours after my mood had improved, and after I had learned I would not be working.

That’s about as good as my life gets, and has gotten, in nearly a decade and a half, but it is quite good.  The only thing that might be better would be if my son were also coming, but I cannot get my hopes up about such things.  He does as he must.

I’ve lately taken to rubbing Aspercream™ with lidocaine all over the MCP joints and the interphalangeal joints of my thumbs, and it seems to be doing at least a little to ease the pain of my arthropathy therein.  This helped make me willing at least to try to play guitar (and sing) a little bit yesterday.  I was still a bit stiff, but it wasn’t too bad.  Mind you, I didn’t do anything particularly fancy; the Bach piece I’ve mentioned was the most challenging part of the session.

I have a whole repertoire of songs I can sing and for which I can play chords from memory.  It’s not a big playlist, but it’s there.  Ironically, it doesn’t include any of my songs, which I would have to relearn at this point!  That’s kind of sad, really.  But it is a weird thing that I’ve noticed, that once I’ve made and shared a video (or even just audio) of me doing a song, I tend to stop playing it at all.  It’s quite strange, at least to me.  Have any of you encountered anything like this?

This shouldn’t be confused with the general anhedonia I’ve been experiencing lately (not for the first time); that makes me not really interested in playing anything.  I also have not been able to find anything that I can keep reading for more than 10 or, at most, 20 minutes before getting bored of it**.

I’m trying to read something different now, so I downloaded some Star Trek and Star Wars novels from Kindle Unlimited, and we’ll see how they go.  Currently, I’m reading the novelization of Into Darkness, which I think was an underrated movie.  Did it play fast and loose with certain aspects of important characters from TOS?  Absolutely!  Even so, the surprise was fun, and the casting, I thought, was very good, as were the performances.

The book is by Alan Dean Foster, who is one of the most reliable science fiction authors out there.  He has written quite a few of the best novelizations of science fiction movies.

I also downloaded the novelization of The Wrath of Khan, one of my favorite movies.  I’ve read the book before (by Vonda McIntyre, who is at least as good, if not as prolific, as Foster), a long time ago, and it was good, so hopefully I’ll enjoy it again.

On a somewhat related note, as a very big fan of Doctor Doom, I am rather nervous about how he will be portrayed in the upcoming MCU movies.  He has been badly written so far in the movies that have featured him, though I thought Julian McMahon (RIP) was well cast and did what he could with the role.

But I’ve long said that if anyone wants to know how to portray Doom onscreen, there is a nearly perfect performance on which to model one’s acting, and that was Ricardo Montalban as Khan, especially in the movie (though the original Trek episode Space Seed is also great).  Khan is a lot like Doom, though he has a more sentimental, romantic aspect to his character (it’s the death of his wife that leads to his wrath in the movie, after all).  Still, the charisma, the brilliance, the arrogance (and, alas, the overconfidence and the tendency to be consumed by vendetta) match the best-written aspects of Doctor Doom’s character.

To be fair to Khan, he is kinder to his subordinates than Doom sometimes tends to be.  This, I think, is one of Doom’s biggest flaws.  Then again, I suspect Doom is “on the spectrum”, so he doesn’t necessarily really get how to manage people at a personal level, though as a national leader he is unsurpassed.

I know, I know, I’m being fanciful, but I really do love these characters.  They are bad guys, certainly, but they are not really evil, or at least not psychopathically selfish and shallow the way, say, Voldemort is.  I’ve said before, Doom and Batman are in many ways very similar characters.  Both have similar tragic backstories and are obsessively driven, implacable, indeed all but unstoppable, and neither of them has actual super powers (contrary to what was represented in the first two Fantastic Four movies).

I wish Julian McMahon had a chance to play a well-written Doctor Doom, because I thought he was an excellent casting choice (and I’m pretty sure Ricardo Montalban was not available).

Okay, I’ll draw things to a close for the day and for the week.  As a parting “bonus”, I’ll embed below some old audio files (NOT high quality recordings – lots of clipping and some flubs and occasional pitchiness) of songs I have recorded me practicing and singing, just for fun, in case you’re interested.

I hope you all have a nice Friday and a good weekend.  There’s a big sporting event on Sunday, I think; if you like those kinds of things, why not take that in?

Sore dewa.

Nothing Compares 2U – originally by Prince

Karma Police – Radiohead

Just the Way You Are – Billy Joel

Here, There, and Everywhere – the Beatles

Here Comes the Sun – the Beatles

Desperado – Eagles

Fake Plastic Trees – Radiohead

Julia – the Beatles

*I’m not sure what exact office might be involved in that determination, but whataya gonna do?

**Though I have been doing some exercises on Brilliant dot Org lately, focusing for the moment on vectors and working into matrices and related stuff, with an eye toward General Relativity.

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Blog thyself last, cherish those hearts that hate thee

Hello and good morning.  It’s Thursday (thus the “hello and good morning” opening), and here I am writing yet another blog post.  I don’t really know why.

I’ve been trying to promote my “stuff” the other day, at least in a haphazard way.  I shared several blog posts on various social media the other day.  Then I shared my “My Books” page, and then the entries for each of my books.  This was done over several hours.

Then, yesterday, I shared some of my songs, to X and to Bluesky, just to see if anyone checks them out.  So far, no luck.  As far as I can tell, no one has so much as seen any of those shares.  Certainly no one has “liked” them.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  I don’t exactly have a huge number of followers, anywhere.  But that just shows the poor taste and lack of discernment of humans, that they cannot appreciate ineffable and transcendent genius when it’s right there in front of them.

I’m kidding.  I wish I could be so egotistical; even if I were the most glaringly deluded person ever in the world, if I loved myself, at least I wouldn’t hate myself.

I’ve tried at various times through autosuggestion/self-talk to get myself at least to believe that I love myself (and thence, hopefully, actually to love myself), and I have at times been known to act as if I thought very highly of myself, though those acts were almost always patently in jest.  I think everyone who knew me knew that; they certainly acted as if they did.

Now, though, I have a hard time even saying that I love myself as part of a sort of mantra or summat.  That doesn’t just refer to saying it out loud, but even in my head.  It’s a bit like saying over and over to myself that I do not feel any pain; I’m not good enough at making myself believe the flagrantly counterfactual for it to work.

My mind is strange to me.  For instance, I have a very difficult time taking any joy, let alone pride, in accomplishing anything.  I don’t know why.  So, most of the things I’ve accomplished have not been motivated by any sense of expected satisfaction in the outcomes but rather by a sense of tension and anxiety about the possibility of not achieving it, whatever it might be.

It’s sort of, “Oh, you accomplished something?  Well, of course you did, it’s what’s expected of you.  If you didn’t, there would be hell to pay, even if it’s only the hell of your own sense of failure.  Now, it’s time to get on to the next thing, because you don’t have a right to rest.”

“Run, rabbit, run

Dig that hole, forget the sun.

When at last the work is done

Don’t sit down, it’s time to dig another one.”

Anyway, that driving fear becomes less and less motivational over time, especially after one has failed so much and so often, and one’s life is a tattered mockery of what one thought it might be and what it used to be.

At least if I believed that Lord Foul were doing this to me‒he’s prone to try to hurt people by ruining something they love and then returning it to the person*, it seems‒then I could admire his handiwork (or denigrate it, since he could have made things quite a bit worse than they are).

But of course, I don’t believe in any supernatural entities of any kind.  I don’t rule them out a priori, except by definition (since anything that actually exists is natural, not supernatural), but I find none of them remotely convincing.  I’ve tried to see if they can be, but no, really, all of them bear the flagrant hallmarks of ignorance and would-be wish-fulfillment and fear of death and so on.  They are just instances of humans’ desire to be, literally or figuratively, at the center of the universe.

This applies even to modern discussions about whether consciousness can be “merely” matter** or must be some other, extra, “special” kind of thing, because, after all…it’s humans, innit?  It surely must be something fancy and magical.

I’m being sarcastic, which I hope is obvious.  Things like panpsychism, and even the slightly more sensible notions that consciousness requires quantum events of some kind in the brain and cannot be a product of “ordinary” computation, are merely attempts to make anything we don’t yet fully understand into something woo-filled and magical.  They bear all the hallmarks of an egotistical, willful delusion that tries to make mere humans**** unique, in a unique way.

It’s rather sad.  But more, it’s rather pathetic and contemptible.  At least, I hold it in contempt.  People think they want to imagine magical and “supernatural” things, and while those things can at times be entertained as hypotheses, they generally don’t hold up even to minor to scrutiny.  Reality has tremendous wonders on offer, but because they are “ordinary”, they cannot be good enough for some people.  Unfortunately, as Eliezer Yudkowsky said, “If we cannot take joy in things that are merely real, our lives will always be empty.”

Of course, I cannot seem to take joy in the real or the imaginary, and I certainly have a hard time finding joy in myself.  I find me thoroughly irritating, a lot of the time.  And unfortunately, “No matter where you go, there you are.”  I cannot get away from myself, even by sleeping (see yesterday’s post).

Enough.  The more I write today, the more I seem to want to burn everything down.  I guess I’ll stop, at least for the moment.  I hope you have a good day.

TTFN

*Thomas Covenant said, about Foul’s tendencies, “How do you hurt a man who’s lost everything?  Give him back something, broken.”

**As if there were anything “mere” about matter***.

***Except matter that is part of a mere (which is a term for a shallow lake).

****Humans merit the adjective “mere” much more than matter does.