death

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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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Yes, I am not a ray of sunshine

Well, here I go again, doing a blog post again, this time on a Tuesday morning.

I guess it’s mildly amusing that today, a Twosday, has a day number that’s twice the month number:  7-14 (or 14-7 in European style, but it doesn’t really matter, since either way the one number is two times the other).  It’s not exactly amazing, but as I said, it’s mildly amusing.

I meant to note yesterday that yesterday was a combination of the two most “popular” prime numbers: 7 and 13.  It’s not a great coincidence, which probably explains why it didn’t stick in my head as well as it might have.

It did make me think about other, more interesting dates, and I realized that this coming October 13th will have a fun pattern (if that’s really the right word):  the numbers of the month and day, when doubled, will give the year:  10-13 and 2026 (in this case the European ordering of the numbers slightly dampens the fun).  I know someone with this birthday, so that makes the coincidence slightly more amusing than it might be otherwise.

Geez, I’m such a weirdo, talking about date numbers and their coincidental patterns, which don’t actually mean anything at all.  I’m sorry.  At least I don’t delude myself that they have any true significance.  They are merely coincidences, of which there are potentially limitless numbers; a pattern-focused person will just tend to notice them.  In this (and probably only this) I have an advantage over Newton, who wasted a lot of energy on things like Bible codes and so on.  Then again, I have learned from Newton and from the oodles of other people who learned from Newton and added to his work, so I have some unfair advantages.

Of course, we hope that people later in history will always tend to have advantages over their predecessors, including us.  Unfortunately, this isn’t always nor automatically the case.  There have been numerous and lengthy periods of human existence‒even in historical times‒in which there was merely stagnation and even regression.  For much of history, and perhaps still, most people wobble between lives that are “nasty, brutish, and short” or are merely ones of “quiet desperation”.  I guess it’s up to each individual’s judgement which of those two lives would be preferable.

Right little rays sunshine I am, am I not?  Yes.  I am not.  I’ll paraphrase Jacob Marley as I have done before, saying “look not for comfort from me‒it comes from other regions and is bestowed by other ministers on other kinds of persons”.  It goes something like that, anyway.  These words, the ones I used, are the words I want to use, so if the original doesn’t match, well…I did say that I was paraphrasing.

I don’t know what else to write today.  I’ve hinted at how it’s good to feel appreciative of the fact that we know so much compared to even the most brilliant people of times past, and that hopefully our descendants, literal or figurative, will have even more advantages over where we are now.

It’s useful, I think, to remind oneself of the fact that one did not create the good or the bad that exists in the world into which one is born.  I may know much, much more about the way the universe works than Galileo or Newton or Laplace ever did, but it’s not because I’m smarter than they were.

The block at the top of a pyramid would not rest there at its current height, in midair, had not the blocks below it already been placed.  And if the current top block is subsequently part of the base of a larger structure laid atop the previous one‒a larger pyramid with the first as perhaps its corner or core‒then subsequent “blocks” should realize (if blocks are capable of such a thing) that their elevated position is what it is because of what came before.

Each block achieves roughly the same gain in height, whether placed on bare ground or on the top of a tower.  It’s how high their base is that determines how far they can see, ceteris paribus and exclusis improvisis*.

It’s also good to remember that it’s possible for edifices to crumble.  Indeed, all edifices will crumble unless maintained more or less constantly against entropy.

Whether entropy itself in the long run can be completely overcome is unclear, but it seems unlikely.  Still, if there is a way around the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics (perhaps the deliberate creation of new universes) that way will only be discovered by those at the top of a pyramid greater than the current one, of which we will be lower, supporting stones.

That’s not ignoble by any means.  The top of a tower cannot stand without the foundation and the support beams and every floor that lies beneath it.  There are no skyhooks.  Everything has to be built from the bottom up, ultimately, unless time is somehow cyclical, and the far future eventually becomes the distant past.

I’m not aware of any reason to suspect that is the case, but it isn’t entirely implausible.  So, if that’s the case, I guess the past follows from the future and everything is built on nothing, since, as Luna Lovegood noted, “A circle has no beginning.”

Oy.  I’m quoting Luna Lovegood now (though at least I know this quote is accurate).  I think I should probably call it quits‒for today if not more completely.

I really do want to call everything quits.  I’m very tired.  And I’m quite weird, and I’m pretty much alone.  Whatever contribution I was destined to make to that pyramid, if any, I think I’ve probably already made it.

It doesn’t matter, I guess.

Anyway, I hope you have a good day and then more good days on all the days thereafter.  Why not?  There’s no law of physics that says it’s impossible, even if it’s unlikely.

Though, that unlikeliness is itself a law of physics, so don’t take too much irrational comfort in the “it’s not impossible” argument.  Likelihoods matter; someone will occasionally win the really big lottery jackpots, but I can confidently say, “It won’t be you.”  I could bet my life on that, in fact, and I would probably be safer than I would be when flying on a commercial airliner.

That’s another subject.  I’ll discuss it another time.

*Barring the unforeseen.

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“With the lights out, it’s less dangerous”

Well, I’m writing today on the lapcom, not for any particular specific reason, but just because, as of yesterday afternoon when I was preparing to leave the office, the various strengths (or magnitudes) and directions of the vectors in my brain came together and produced enough impetus for me to pack and then carry the lapcom with me.  After that, there’s much less of an energy barrier in the way of actually writing using the lapcom in the morning.  If I have it with me, I prefer to write using the lapcom rather than the smartphone.

As for the subject/topic of this blog post, well…I don’t know.  I have no idea what to write or what to say, other than to say whatever comes out of my (figurative) mouth here.  I don’t know what I’m going to write ahead of the actual writing any more than you know what my next word will be before you read it.

I guess that’s how conversation happens in real life as well.  People (at least, neurotypical people) don’t tend to script their conversations.  They just start talking, and the process of talking is identical with (or at least part of) the process of forming the ideas in the first place.

You don’t think about that to say before you think and say it, nor do your think about what to think about and say before you think about thinking about and saying things.  One cannot in any literal sense fully plan ahead what one says or thinks, because it would imply an infinite regress.

No, most of the time, expressing one’s thoughts is the first circumstance in which one formulates those thoughts (though of course it might well not be the first time one has had the same or similar ones).  Ideas, and even memories, do not exist fully formed within the brain, as if on some SSD drive; they must be reformed every time they are brought up.

This is part of why memory in humans is so malleable.  All memories bring out not just information from the past, but also color it with whatever information is leading to the memory being recalled at a particular moment.  This feeds back on and can alter the memory over time.

The things that happen with neural nets/deep learning systems/LLMs is teaching us at least some things about how thoughts and minds work in non-linear ways, though it’s important not to draw too many or too literal parallels to actual brains.  For one thing, brains are vastly more efficient than any kind of software/hardware we have.

Though your brain is certainly the most energy-hungry portion of your body, using about 20% of all the calories you burn, this still is only about 20 watts or so.  That’s less than your typical lapcom uses, and far, far less than any LLM or similar system uses.

The brain is also more complex on many levels.  Synapses are not simple binary switches, like transistors; they are more or less continuously variable in the amount of neurotransmitter they release into a synapse, and the number of receptors in the receiving synapse, and the degree to which activation (or inhibition) of those receptors affects the functions of the postsynaptic neuron and how that interacts with other inputs and the basic metabolism and chemistry of the next level of nerve cells.

Those functions are also affected by hormones of various kinds, from peptides to steroid hormones to things like histamine and glutamate that are neurotransmitters and hormones and (some of them) even amino acids.

Then, of course, there are the inputs from the many and various “glial” cells, which are not neurons, but which “support” neurons in the brain, and which (among other things) create the myelin sheaths that allow nerve transmission to happen much more quickly in “white matter”, and so on.  These things can alter and tweak the “weights” in any particular neuron “node” in ways that are more complicated than the nodes and weights in neural nets.

And of course, the scale is daunting.  You have about a hundred billion neurons in your brain (give or take), and each one has connections with 1,000 to 10,000 other neurons, making the total number of synaptic connections in the brain on the order of a hundred trillion to a quadrillion.

Just imagine if every star in the Milky Way galaxy had some kind of hyperspace links to 1,000 to 10,000 other stars.  That would be a complex galactic network.  The brain is this scale of network.  And the synapses, again, are not binary switches like transistors, but are more or less continuously variable within a given range.  Likewise, the impulses traveling down an axon, though binary in a sense (each nerve impulse either happens or does not), actually vary continuously, because it’s the rate of impulses arriving that affects the release of neurotransmitters.  But it’s not the only thing that affects it.

Anyway, this is all interesting stuff, I guess.  Learning about neural nets is fascinating, and is yet another use of linear algebra, matrices and the like (which are also good for General Relativity).  And learning about how gradient descent works in machine learning and so on is interesting and thought-provoking (an amusing coincidence, not an irony).

I’m reading some things about this and trying to pick up on it, just for general understanding.  I doubt that I’ll ever do anything with any of it other than maybe “talk” about it here (which is nearly the only place I talk about much of anything).  But at least it’s interesting.

It’s futile, of course.  But nearly everything I do or have done is or has been futile.  And that’s not just on a cosmic scale, but on a human, day-to-day, interpersonal scale.  Almost all my efforts are either wasted or fully counter-productive.  This is the outcome of something like me trying to do and be good as much as he can; it just tends to be pointless or worse.

None of it matters, though.

Anyway, as often happens with the lapcom, I’ve written too much of nothing today, and that’s irritating to me.  I can’t imagine how annoying it must be to my readers.  At least, the rest of your day will probably be less annoying by comparison with this post, right?

Right?

I guess maybe it doesn’t really work that way.  It’s all just irritating, isn’t it?  It’s irritating that I don’t catch a terminal illness, some kind of deadly but not-too-quick infection or cancer or something.  It would be good to be able to have people know that I was dying, so that if anyone out there is mad enough to want to see me or greet me or say goodbye to me before I die, they could.  I think I would appreciate that.

Odds are, though, I’ll just disappear and be gone someday, perhaps very soon, and almost no one in the world will notice.  Those who do notice will only do so vaguely, because there is practically no one to whom my life is integral or even very strongly connected.  I’m just background static for the most part.  When I go, it will just be good riddance to bad rubbish, as they say.  There’s really no sensibly available better alternative of which I am able to avail myself.

As Kurt Cobain sang, “Oh, well, whatever, never mind.”  He had some good ideas, did Cobain-sensei, and he carried them out.

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What do you call an infinite number of finite and separate beings? Maybe just “reality”.

I don’t really have much to say today.  Not that such a thing usually prevents me from running off at the keyboard (or the smartphone in this case) for stupid lengths on any given day.  But I think it may do so today, because my energy is flagging, and it’s only just very early in the morning.

I suppose today’s date is mildly entertaining:  it’s 7-7-2026, and that is the same in either the USian or the European way of ordering the day and the month.  But that’s pretty unremarkable.  Any day of a month in which the ordinal* number for the day is the same as the ordinal number for the month will produce this.  There are, thus, 12 such days every year, and they are the same days every year.  So, they are not very exciting.

I guess it would have been better back in 2007 (07-07-07), or even better, in 1977 (7-7-77).  But then it would only be fun if you drop the two digits for the century (i.e., 20… or 19…).  It’s not great, is it?

I don’t know.  What should I talk about, here with my shouting into the void and gazing into the abyss and jumping into the conclusion?

That latter expression almost sounds like a euphemism for dying, doesn’t it?  Is it like skipping to the end of a mystery novel?  Probably not, because I’m very close to being certain that, unlike the end of a mystery novel, nothing will be revealed when one dies.

By that, I don’t mean that the truth will be revealed and it will be that there is nothing.  It’s more subtle than that.  I mean nothing of any kind will be revealed to you, because that to which the revelation might occur is what will cease entirely‒in a way, that happens every moment, but not in quite the same way as it will (I suspect) at the time of death.

Of course, I could be wrong about this, in principle.  But I am not “agnostic” in the usual sense of simply not having any inkling one way or another about a question.  I think there are good, strong reasons‒based on all we know of physics and biology and mathematics, and on how many different mythologies there are about “life after death” and how much they stink of desperate human fear and wish-fulfillment, how anthropocentric they are, when clearly the universe is not anthropocentric‒to think that death is simply the dissolution of the four-dimensional pattern that was a person, a sort of re-annihilation of “virtual particles” back to the vacuum state of the quantum field.

In a spatially infinite universe (or in some other version of a multiverse) it seems to be that there will exist other versions of you, both identical ones and nearly-identical ones, as well as quite different ones, including ones that inexplicably have all the memories of being other versions of you.  But they will not literally have been you, and there will be a much higher proportion of “you” that will have random memories of every possible kind of nonsense.

Of course, none of these versions of you can violate the laws of physics**.

And they aren’t really you, are they?  If they were, you might be experiencing everything any version of you is experiencing now, and you are not.  There are strong impediments to such a simultaneous experience of infinite lives, not the least of which is the relativistic impossibility of information traveling at infinite speed, as well as the incoherence of the concept of “simultaneity” for objects with spatial separation (if this is not obvious, I encourage you to look into special relativity).

So, yeah.  You are the state of your being right now, and that state is always changing (not randomly, though a lot of it does seem to be stochastic).  There is not a much better description of “you” for accuracy, though there can be more precise and thorough descriptions of the details.

There could be a billion or a googol or Tree-3 number of “identical” copies of you, but each one would be just a separate “you”, no more a literal part of your being than would be your former womb-mate if you were one of a pair of identical twins.

Reality can be disappointing, though that’s really only if you think you have any right to expect it to be otherwise than it is.  And you don’t have any such right.

Have a good day if you can.

*I think it’s ordinal, not cardinal, in this case, but I’m not too sure.  I’ll look it up.

**I truly despise expressions, usually found in clickbait headlines, such as “this or that finding breaks physics” or “this shouldn’t happen, according to physics”.  No.  Nothing breaks physics.  Nothing that happens “should not” happen according to physics, because physics is what describes what is out there in reality.  If something seems to defy physics, that just shows that we don’t understand physics well enough.  Such things are not generally frightening or worrisome to physicists (and other scientists); these things get them motivated, for they reveal places where we can learn new things about the universe.  Scientists, ceteris paribus, love finding things no one understands.  Science knows it doesn’t know everything***, and what’s more, science kind of loves that it doesn’t know everything.  That’s part of the excitement, the challenge, the possibility of growth.

***If it thought it knew everything, it would cease.

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Imagine whatever headline you want; I don’t care

Welcome to the Monday of the first full week of July in 2026 CE (or AD if you must).  I hope that those of you in the USA had a nice Independence Day weekend.  There are no more significant holidays (that I recall) until at least September, now.

I didn’t do anything to celebrate the holiday‒unless you count trying to burn some kudzu‒because holiday celebrations generally involve other people, family and friends and such like, and I did not have any such group with whom to celebrate.

It’s probably just as well for such groups that I am not a part of them; I’m a serious downer and an unpleasant person* to be around for very long.  This used not to be the case; in my default or older settings, I’m naturally more hyper and sometimes rather silly (that too can be irritating, I fear).  Since my chronic pain began, however, I have become a much grumpier, angrier, more irritable person.  Things that I would have laughed off in the past, or about which I would have been more “philosophical”, easily get my ire up, even tiny little, minor, innocent things.

Using the seven dwarfs as personal descriptions, I spend most of my time these days Grumpy, rarely if ever Happy, frequently Dopey, quite Bashful almost always, from time to time Sneezy, not Sleepy nearly as often as I would prefer.  But I’m always Doc.  Take that for what it’s worth, which is probably nothing.

Anyway, yeah, I didn’t do anything pleasant on Saturday, nor much on Sunday, though at least I did talk on the phone to my sister.

I toyed with the notion of “celebrating” the 4th by making my way to the front of the Palm Beach County courthouse and making a fireworks display in the style of Thích Quảng Đức.  However, it was not only a Saturday, but it was a federal holiday; no one would have been there.  Also, I don’t know that I would have the courage to go through with it.

I need to do something though.  I cannot keep doing what I’m doing.  But I don’t see many options which I’m capable of embracing, given my dearth of personal energy and motivation.

I’m sorry I’m not being more positive or interesting, or at least quirky and strange in a less negative way, today.  Actually, I don’t really know if I’m ever interesting.  But, anyway, I just don’t have the energy right now to pretend not to be depressed, like I often do.  Maybe I’ve been pretending all my life that way**.  They do talk a lot about “masking” in neurodivergent people, and it has struck me as a very accurate and apposite notion since the first time I encountered it.

But, of course, there’s not necessarily any identity underneath such masks.  There’s certainly nothing very consistent, since “who we are” at any given moment or stage of our lives is but a three-dimensional slice of what is actually a four-dimensional being.

In case that sounds weird, I just mean that who we are at any given moment is true for just a point in time, a snapshot of a being that has not only spatial extent but also has a beginning and an end in time and which changes with every moment of that time, taking in and losing particles, maintaining that roughly constant but always altering configuration from frame to frame of of the movie that is a person’s life.

So, a question like “Who am I, really?” is perhaps best answered by saying, “I am the being who is asking that question.”  There is probably no deeper answer, at least not any much more specific one.  There is no “character description” in some Platonic realm that lays out who we really are, or if there is, I’ve encountered not the slightest intimation of it, and I would be very surprised if it existed.

Anyway, enough gobbledegook.  I’m just tired already, and it’s only the very beginning of Monday morning.  I’m so very tired.  I really ought to go before I spoil the party, to paraphrase a good Beatles song (see below).  I fear that I will just be a black cloud for everyone around me today, and probably in general.

I can’t even seem to find a book I can stick with reading right now; I shuffled through several different genres, let alone books, in my Kindle library a few dozen times in recent days, weeks, whatever, trying to find something interesting.  But after a brief time reading each thing I lose momentum and interest.  Even The Noonday Demon, a well-written book about depression, loses me after a bit.  Even Physics isn’t interesting to me, and that’s a bad sign.  Ditto for music, or movies (or shows) or what have you.

Everything is just a drizzly, insipid gray‒metaphorically, and sometimes also literally.  And I sometimes don’t have the energy to keep pretending that I can see anything else.

Like Ed Deepneau said in Stephen King’s Insomnia, “…sometimes the world is full of colors…but now all the colors are turning black.”

Enough, this has gone on too long already.  I apologize.  I hope you have a good day and a good week and a good remainder of your lives.

*More than one person has told me this, and they did not compare notes.

**Probably not.  It would be very bizarre indeed to be born depressed, though the tendency thereto can certainly be congenital, much like both forms of ASD that I have/had.

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Your dates are numbered

Okay.  Well.  It’s Tuesday now, and it is the second day of June in 2026.  That’s a borderline almost mildly fun date to write out:  6-2-2026.  It has sixes and twos, mainly (though there is a zero in there, which I’m not sure my mind will let me discount despite its lack of any magnitude), and it is almost palindromically arranged when in the US format of date writing.  There are even three twos, which add up to six, and that might be cool…except for the fact that there are two sixes, so if we’re thinking that way, we would need six twos.  That would also be a more pleasing number of twos, given everything.  Unfortunately, I don’t know if there will ever be such a date.

Let’s see…2-22-2226 has six twos but only one 6, whereas 2-22-2266 has two sixes but only five twos.  I guess 2-22-22,266 will be good, but that is quite a long way in the future.  I doubt very much that I will be alive 20,000 plus years from now.  I’m not sure of 20,000 minutes!  Actually, again, let’s see…there are 24 x 60 minutes in a day, so that is 1440 minutes in a day, and so 20,000 minutes would be only around two weeks.  Okay, so I will probably still be alive in 20,000 minutes.

Let’s see (a third time)…20,000 hours would be about 833 days, so a bit over two years.  That’s quite a bit more doubtful than two weeks, but still not a crazy possibility.

As for 20,000 days, well that’s getting quite unlikely.  That’s just under 55 years, which would make me almost twice my current age.  Again, that’s quite unlikely, and I’m rather glad that it is.

20,000 weeks is not really worth considering.  If I were to live for centuries, it would only be because of astonishing medical advances* that presumably would have cured or at least ameliorated my many dysfunctions, so I would probably feel much happier than I do now or have felt for many, many years.

Speaking of many, many years, 20,000 months would obviously be well over a thousand years (20 being well over 12, as I’m sure is obvious).  If we’re going to consider that, then we have to invoke the same kinds of pseudo-miracles as we did for 20,000 weeks, we just need around four and a half times more of them, so to speak.

How the hell did I get onto this subject, or topic, or whatever it is?  Oh, right, I was noting the numerals in today’s date and how they came teasingly close to being fun, but don’t quite make it.

For those of you who might be puzzled by my use of the word “fun” when dealing with simply pointless patterns or lack thereof in things like dates, well…I like numbers.  It’s similar to the way I also like words.  I like words when they’re used to convey interesting information, and when they’re used to tell interesting stories, and when they’re combined and juxtaposed in beautiful and/or amusing ways to make poetry‒and I also sometimes like nonsensical wordplay and puns.

Also, of course, while “fun” may or may not have some manner of absolute scale, like temperature, nevertheless, as with temperature, our experience of fun is a relative one.  Tepid water can feel quite cool when you’re coming out of a sauna, but would feel nicely warm if you had just come inside to escape a bitter winter storm.

Fun can be similar.  So, if you’re used to having a goodly amount of fun in your life, then noting patterns and relations within ordinary “numbers”** can seem rather dull, even if you’re fond of numbers.

But if your life is as pathetic and irritating, on a day to day basis, as mine is, why then even simple, stupid, pointless things can seem somewhat positive.  The value of the function at that point is still well below the x-axis, but it’s not as far below, for that brief moment in which one notes an amusing numerical coincidence***.

That’s all theoretical today, though, because as I noted, today’s date doesn’t quite measure up.  It’s somewhat disappointing, but at least I was able to write an idiotic little blog post about it.

*I can, of course, think of various horror story scenarios in which someone could keep living for centuries and yet continue to deteriorate, but not be able to die.  These are probably quite a bit less likely even than the “medical advances” scenario.

**Why did I use the “scare quotes” there?  Because dates, even when expressed numerically, are not really numbers.  They are more of a code or a location marker, just a kind that uses numerals as its digits because they are memorable and at least correlate with some physical externalia.  “Phone numbers” are even less to be thought of as true numbers.  Their digits don’t even signify anything logically or arguably numerical.  “Phone address” would be a more accurate term.

***Yes, yes, I know, the specific placement of the x and y (and z, etc.) axes is arbitrary, so one can shift one’s target axis down‒lowering one’s expectations, perhaps‒and not need to change the shape of the function.  That may be true, but one does change the integral and the absolute value of the function, so it is not the same, unless one throws in a constant that exactly corrects for the shift in the axis.  In which case, what the hell are you doing wasting our time with this crap?

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“Nothing to do to save his life, call his wife in.”

What a strange night and morning it has been.  I had a terribly disjointed sleep, which itself is not surprising‒in fact it’s more or less par for the course‒but then I dozed off for a bit just after 3.  Then I almost overslept for my reserved Uber to the train station.  I reserved the ride to make sure I wouldn’t be tempted to walk any part of the way to the train, since my knees and hips and everything else are still bad, and I have taken significantly less naproxen than usual, so I am very stiff and sore.  But I didn’t set my alarm, because I’m almost always awake anyway.

I was able to scramble and even to shower and then make it for my ride without any penalties, though that wouldn’t have been too horrible an outcome if it had happened.  Indeed, I might have then bit the bullet and gotten an Uber all the way to the office.  That would cost a lot more, though.

Anyway, I hate the very notion of being late for something, even if it’s not really important and was a deadline/time semi-arbitrarily chosen by me.  There’s no one really in my life for me to disappoint, other than myself, of course, and I’m already almost always disappointed in and by me.  Still, the notion of being late is mortifying to me, and I really need to struggle to resist as much self-loathing as possible, so it’s best not to fail at one of the few things at which I usually succeed.

So, here I am.  I made it to the station and I’m writing this post.  To that degree, at least, I am successful.  I am, of course, a failure at pretty much everything else.  Certainly I have failed at nearly all the things that have been truly important to me.

C’est la vie, I suppose.  Some people succeed through no credit of their own, and can thereby develop a sense that they are special and divinely protected or some such stupidity, when in fact they are some of the least impressive humans around.  Other people‒many more, it seems‒fail and fall despite having done everything they could, in the ways they were told they ought to do things.

They keep trying to be and do good, trying to achieve success and stability, maybe even trying to have a family and a career.  But they end up seeing everything fall apart, feeling it crumble in their hands even as they try to hold it together.  Indeed, often their attempts to buttress and repair things seem merely to speed up the destruction and exacerbate the decay.  Then, finally, they die alone, surrounded by no one (or at least by no one they know, no one who loves them, if such people even exist).

C’est la mort as well, I guess.  The universe makes no special deals.  It makes no promises, either, other than its implicit “promise” always and only to proceed by its own rules, though we only incompletely know what all those rules are.  It certainly never said, “If you do everything right according to these very human-invented and evolved and imagined rules of behavior, I will ensure that you have something at least approximating the good life you have been told to seek and to expect.”

The universe doesn’t actually say anything at all, come to think of it.  Well, it “says” stuff in the sense that people are part of it, and they say various things, but they in no sense represent the intentions and thoughts of the universe (these do not appear to exist, so people could not represent them).

The universe, as far as we can tell, has no larger scale intelligence and intentions.  It merely is, if the concept of “mere” applies to something that may well be infinite in spatial and temporal extent, and at the very least is much, much larger than anything humans evolved to grasp directly, and also much, much smaller and more finely grained than humans ever evolved to grasp directly.

I guess “mere” is in the eye of the beholder.  And joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks, as Foamfollower often said.  Though I doubt there is much, if any, joy for anyone anywhere in “hearing” my words.

It’s hard for me even to say that I have joy in writing them.  I certainly feel internal pressure to write them, and going with it does relieve some of that tension, and that relief could be called joy, I suppose.  But I don’t think that’s what poets and plasterers and everyone in between really imagines when they speak of “joy”.

Still, we can only take what the universe gives us.  It’s not offering any exchanges.  And it’s not as though we can just go somewhere else to see if they have a better deal.

So, I guess we do what we can with what we have where we are and try not to let ourselves get distracted by foolish notions that the universe owes us some reward.  As far as I can see, the universe “promises” us only one thing, and‒also as far as I can see‒it never fails to deliver this, sooner or later.

Anyway, I hope your weekends are starting off more auspiciously than mine is.  Of course, my weekends always have the major drawback that I am there, and so far, it is certainly a drawback today.

Please take care of yourselves.  I hope you have some joy this weekend that isn’t just a dishwashing liquid.

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Wotan can KEEP this day as far as I’m concerned

Okay, first off, to begin with‒or should it be “with which to begin”?‒it is the 6th of May today (a Wednesday, though that fact is not terribly relevant) and to continue the Star Wars related references, I will note that today is the date of the Revenge of the Sixth.

Get it?  It’s a bit tortured, I’m afraid.  I don’t think anyone would have come up with the notion had it not been for “May the 4th be with you”.  That, at least, is a more straightforward play on words, and is specific to this month and that day.  “Revenge of the Sixth” doesn’t specify the month; one could, in principle, use that line on any 6th of a month.  But one would not, because this day is “celebrated” only in reaction to Star Wars Day on May 4th.

It’s sort of funny and fun, but it reduces the Sith to merely a perverse notion, existing only in reaction to the Jedi, like a whole order of Force users acting out the parts of rebellious teenagers.

Of course, probably that was sort of what happened in George Lucas’s mind when he came up with the Sith:  They were the anti-Jedi, a parity-violating, distorted reflection of the “good guys”.  But, of course, a whole philosophical movement that sprang up only as an enemy to another is intellectually and narratively vacuous.

It’s somewhat reminiscent of the moronic religious people who seem to think that if one does not believe in God, then one must worship Satan.  It can be very hard for some people to get around the whole “if you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy” notion.  Only in this case it’s not even a philosophical enmity, but is merely a reactive enmity.  Also, it doesn’t take too much thought to realize that such a situation would seem to imply that whichever of the two sides came first would be assumed to be the “good guys”.

But one doesn’t look at any random patch of spacetime and think, “if there’s no electron in this spot then there must instead be a positron”, or vice versa.  As a matter of physics and of logic, this is a pretty glaring error.  Just as indifference, not hate, is the complete absence of love, the default state of reality is not the opposite of some particular presence, it is simple absence.  In physics, that means all the quantum fields being in their vacuum states, with minimal energy (it’s not zero because of the uncertainty principle).

In the Star Wars extended universe, the Sith have a background that is separate in origin (I think) from the Jedi.  I think they began as a race of Force users.  I could be wrong about this; I’m not all that much of a Star Wars nerd.

Ask me questions about the backgrounds of things in the universe(s) of my stories and I could share some serious lore with you.  But no one is going to ask me about those because essentially no one has read them.

Boy, it would be cool to have someone write fanfiction based in the worlds of my stories.  I remember reading a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction while waiting for the next book(s) to come out, back in the day.  Some of it was bad, of course, but not much of it, and some of it was really quite good.  People who love to read and feel the urge to write an homage out of love for a work and its characters tend to be at least somewhat okay at it.

Some of it was downright brilliant.

Of course, humans being what humans are, some of it was smut.  There’s nothing really wrong with that, when you get right down to it.  Members (ha ha) of a sexually reproducing species are going to tend to find sex…engaging, to say the least.  Every human alive (and that has ever lived) comes from a long, unbroken line of ancestors who had sex at least once*.  That includes your parents and your grandparents, by the way.  You’re welcome.

In a species like humans, those who are more into sex and more driven toward it and obsessed with it are, ceteris paribus, going to have more offspring.  It won’t take very many generations for any genes that make one less interested in sex to fade out of the gene pool‒again, and very importantly, ceteris paribus.

All other things are essentially never equal, of course, and there are complex tradeoffs in all such behavioral tendencies, but that’s a can of bees I really don’t have the energy to open right at this moment.

I’m in a truly terrible amount of pain this morning, I’m afraid, continuing from last night and yesterday and so on. and it’s making it a bit hard to write, though that somehow doesn’t keep me from running off at the figurative mouth.

I think it would be harder for me not to write right now, though.  I don’t know for sure.  I haven’t tried.

Even thinking about not writing at all makes me feel squirmy and cringey and quite strange.  It’s not quite as bad not to play or listen to or sing any music‒which I haven’t done for weeks now, alas‒but that does also feel bad.

But I think if I were to stop writing, and at least every week sharing my writing‒particularly now that I don’t have access to Facebook or Threads‒I would pretty rapidly feel that I didn’t even exist.

I have no real life here from day to day.  There is no joy, there is only (attempted) distraction.  Other than my episodic interactions with my youngest child (which are distinctly good and real and joyful to me, a real oasis in the desert) everything in my life from day to day feels less real than the events of the most banal video game.

Yesterday, I started searching eBay and other online sources for used ECT devices (they are out there) and looking up whether one can legally buy insulin over the counter (one can, to some degree), or what medications are prone to produce seizures.  The idea was to see if it would be possible for me to induce a seizure in myself and hopefully treat my depression.

I know it can’t help my underlying ASD, but ECT and other kinds of induced seizures have consistently been shown to work against even highly treatment-resistant depression.  I have tried every class of (legal) medication and many different types of therapy for my dysthymia/depression.  I think most regular readers can tell just how well that arsenal has worked.

Of course, pain complicates everything.  It taints everything, it erodes everything, it corrodes everything, it corrupts and desecrates everything.  I really want it to stop.  Sometimes I want it to stop at nearly any cost (at least to me, though I can’t in good conscience invoke avoidable costs upon other people).

If I thought inducing seizures would help my pain, I would probably just do it.  I know how to make such things happen‒the research I did yesterday was just to indulge myself so I could more realistically fantasize about the outcome if it were to work.  It was one of those distractions I mentioned above.  But having seizures would probably make my physical pain worse, since seizures are not easy on the body.

They could also kill me, but that would be far from the worst outcome.

Death‒not necessarily seizure-related death, but death generally‒will probably be the only thing that relieves my pain.  Well, “relieves” is not really the right word.  But could death be what ends it?  Yes.  And thankfully, no one is dependent upon me or is very close to me or is really used to having me around, so the collateral damage would be minimal, no matter what all the simple-minded (but well-meaning) Instagram videos try to tell you.

Maybe I’m just as well off not to be able to go to that site anymore.  Everything there would be irritating.  Though, that’s just like more or less everything else in the world, to be fair.  Right now, I could almost wish for everything else in reality to cease to exist so I could just enjoy some silence.  But that would be unkind and terribly presumptuous.  It would be better to go back to the nidus of the pain and pluck that out.

Have a good day.

Though I suspect Mr. Smear would disagree with me:

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What’s that distress call that pilots use again?

It’s Friday again, at long last, and I should have tomorrow off.  I think I might take tomorrow off, even if they asked us to come in.  I barely wanted even to move at all today.

Of course, “want” is a tricky word in this case.  I don’t ever want to go to work in any kind of “terminal goal” sense.  But in an “instrumental goal” sense, I do want to go to work.  However, there are many conflicting pressures within the system that is I, and the vector magnitude of the “go to work” sum is sometimes not very large at all.

I’m going, though.  I’m not yet literally on my way, but I will be soon (and as I edit this for the last time, I am at the office).

Oh, I almost forgot to note, today is May 1st, 2026 (AD or CE).  Happy May Day, or whatever that holiday is, if it is one.  According to Camelot, May is a lusty month, a time for every frivolous whim, proper or im.  I’m not too terribly sure of the truth of all that, but it’s an amusing song.

Oh (again), I almost forgot (again) to note, I’m writing this on my mini lapcom today.  I haven’t done that in a while, but then again, I haven’t even picked up a guitar in over a week.  Of course, I haven’t played any keyboard (other than computer ones) in a longer time than that.  I also haven’t drawn, nor have I written any fiction.  I haven’t gone on Brilliant dot org this week, either, though I did do some last week, if memory serves.

I’m just very tired.  My various bits (ha ha) of literal hardware that constitute part of my extended phenotype are also getting a bit sluggish and erratic.  My lapcom here, and the lapcom I use at the house, and my smartphone, are all showing a bit of lagginess, a bit of evidence that they are past their prime.  Hey, they’re not alone in that, at least.  I’m so far past my prime you could call me a super-composite number, like 60 squared or something*.

There is an impetus—and there almost certainly would be recommendations, if I were to ask someone—to get a new lapcom and a new mini lapcom and of course a new smartphone.  But I really don’t wanna.  I look at the lapcoms available on Amazon just for fun, and there is a bit of enticement in looking at them, but honestly, I feel like I want to let them go the way of motor vehicles for me:  just to be gone when they’re no longer workable.

I have the vague hope that I will die before I am forced to replace any of these, my three main personal computing devices, which are my only local friends (of sorts).  It’s not so much that I actually feel a personal, sentimental sense of connection with them.  It’s more that I cannot conceive of finding the energy to go through the process of getting new ones, since that seems especially futile in this case.

I currently have no plan and no desire to live long enough to be forced to replace my personal electronic devices.  It just seems valueless, without any reward other than the things that I would buy, themselves, and these really don’t appeal to me.  Maybe someday they might start to appeal again, and I might feel the desire to get new ones.  I don’t know.  But there’s certainly no logic in trying to invest in my life right now.

Okay, sorry about being melodramatic.  I wasn’t trying to do that, honestly.  I don’t feel dramatic about this stuff.  I just feel resigned and tired and even kind of bored.  Nothing is gripping enough to distract me for long from pain and depression.

Though, I have to admit that I’ve recently discovered the YouTube channel “Yee Yee Life”, which basically is just this guy and his cameraman in Texas who (more or less in their own words) take various things, shoot them with various types of bullets, and see what happens.  The shooting part is mildly interesting in itself, but really the draw is the hilarious deadpan comedy of their interactions and the apparent idiocy/lunacy of the host.  This is all clearly deliberate, by the way.  I am not watching people unwittingly make fools of themselves—they are doing it on purpose, and they do it very well.

But, of course, one can only get limited value out of such things at any given time.  It ain’t exactly Carl Sagan’s Cosmos or the BBC’s Planet Earth.

I still do at times watch the YouTube channel PBS Space Time, which has great videos that are nicely informative, but they lot are less interactive with mere YouTube watchers than they used to be, focusing now on their Patreon supporters.  This makes sense for them, of course, since they get more money from them.

I used to support them on Patreon myself—briefly—but I had to let that lapse, since I never really took advantage of the Patreon perks, if there were any.  Why would I want to go to yet another website to be able to enjoy learning the stuff they discuss?  Also, I had to get off the slippery slope of supporting Patreon accounts of people I followed elsewhere.  It ended up threatening to be a serious combination of monthly expenses.

I already subscribe to YouTube premium, which means I am giving money to the people whose videos I watch (the ones that are monetized), and I cannot simply lavish even more money on these various informative and thought-provoking channels.  I would love to be able simply to do so without worry, but I cannot.

Anyway, that’s enough for today, and for this week—but presumably not for this month, since the month has just begun.  I hope you all have a very good weekend, and then a very good week next week, and I hope you then repeat the same pattern but with each new iteration being incrementally better than the last.  If anyone deserves such a thing, surely you do.

Of course, the whole notion of “deserves” is very much an artificial, orthogonal-to-nature concept.  It’s a human invention.  That doesn’t make it not “real”.  But it is not essential, and it is not necessarily even coherent.

Whatever.  Take it easy.  Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.

*60 squared, or 3600, may be one of the “anti-prime” numbers.  It has 45 (!) positive factors!!!  That’s not as cool as being a prime number, but it’s pretty close in the coolness measure.

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Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and blog will have his day.

Hello and good morning.

It’s Thursday, the last day of April in 2026.  Tomorrow we meet a new month, same (more or less) as the old month.

I’m very tired, despite the fact that it’s the first thing (or nearly so) in the morning.  Of course, morning doesn’t necessarily mean you got any rest last night, not if you’ve got chronic pain and chronic insomnia.

The latter problem started for me several years or more before the former.  It has not escaped my consideration that my insomnia may have contributed to my chronic pain.  I am, after all, a trained physician and scientist with a fervent desire to understand…well, everything, ultimately.  So, I know a lot about both chronic pain and insomnia since in addition to my education and my curiosity, I actually am afflicted with the two things.

Don’t get me started on depression.

Actually, it’s a bit too late for that.  I am feeling the gravity well dip of worsening dysthymia that seems to be heading toward a full depressive episode, though predicting these things is unreliable.  But this morning, I felt I didn’t even want to sit up in bed (well, in futon) let alone get up and do anything at all.

That’s unusual for me.  Usually even when I’m in a bad way, the stress‒the anxiety, I guess‒associated with possibly not doing what I’m “supposed” to do, of letting people down, is too strong to let me just lie around, even though I am frequently exhausted (in the figurative sense, at least).  But today, even that almost didn’t show up, not enough to do what it usually does.  It was only really my sense of routine, of habit, that gave me the energy to get moving.

It helped that I wanted to feed the cats, but I know that they can handle themselves, at least for a few hours.  Still, it’s a positive.  I even did five pull-ups, which is not as many as I usually do, but at least I didn’t just not do them at all.

I often wish I could hibernate, or perhaps more precisely, to have a long sleep such as what some bears do during cold months.  I don’t want to go into true suspended animation, because that really doesn’t do anything for you except to let you skip forward in time.  Any period of true oblivion, however long it is, feels instantaneous from the inside.

If you pause a game, for instance, you can (in principle) come back a year later and pick it back up, and for the character, no time has passed at all.  If you were to experience things from their point of view, you would experience an uninterrupted flow of time.

What if you pause the game but never restart it?  Then the character’s experience just stops.  It’s a kind of death, of course, but it’s not a death caused by anything within that game universe.  It’s just, in a sense, that universe coming to an end.  No wailing, no moaning, no gnashing of teeth.

If you stop playing a Blu-ray in the middle of a movie, and then you break the Blu-ray disc, the characters don’t “die”, but for the purposes of that iteration of that movie, they might as well have died.  They certainly cannot continue to perform their parts.

It’s a bit like what it would be like for our universe to undergo vacuum collapse.  The wavefront of collapse would progress at essentially the speed of light.  Everything you know‒everything you are‒would cease to be at all, and it would happen far too quickly for you to experience the process.  The stuff with which you experience things would be deleted before it could begin to experience its own erasure.

It doesn’t seem like a bad way for an individual to die, but it seems a shame to lose everything in a whole universe.  Also, it’s just kind of daunting to think that everything in existence would get wiped out and turned into a hot soup of elementary fields and their “particles”, much like what happened near the beginning of “our” universe when the inflaton field (if inflation happened) collapsed.  It feels worse in some ways than other manners of death because there is literally nothing you can do to avoid it or to flee it or even to know that it’s happening.

It’s deucedly unlikely, though, so don’t fret about it.  And, anyway, if it happens, there’s literally nothing you can do about it.

That’s enough for now.  I won’t get into the news of me falling out of my seat yesterday afternoon (really, it sort of rolled out from under me as I was trying to sit down, but I ended up on the floor on my back no matter how one characterizes it) except to say that it happened, and that I have worsened stiffness today at least partly because of it.

I hope you all have good days.

TTFN