One of the most amazing things that has happened in my life is the invention of LLMs. Given all their environmental flaws, and ethical problems, still there is no person who can hold my whole graph, and no person who can read the whole Archive . But the LLMs can, and they help me put my ideas into words that I cannot do myself. My mind works with vast graphs not linear textual representation of the graphs.
It is important to now that while the spectacle is the stream of fragmented pictures trying to be the whole, Archive is the stream of fragments stating to be incomplete captures of a microscopic portion of the graph.
I hate it when people think I sit behind “many screens”, like a computer nerd. And I think I have composed symphonies, studied madam Post’s “Etiquette”, refined my use of language, walked amongst philosophers and thinkers, designed this whole archive in the finest most eloquent typography and richest designs I could have from medieval to victorian to art deco era, just to be seen as a hoody wearing nerd behind the screens. What makes people always arrive at such nonsense when it comes to me? How must I put it that they see me as a gentleman scientist and artist. With all of the work that I have put into shaping my profile, it seems as though I have arrived at nowhere.
I used to date this girl who was a Christian and therefore a minority in Iran. Soon I learned about her that if she had dated from other religions or if she had ever converted to another religion, then all her family would have had abandoned her. I then understood how the minority has survived Iran, anyone else had converted, but for these people the cost was too high, and so by Maestro Darwin ’s evolution, the group reached to a set of members that would have resisted being the minority. I guess the religious far right in Iran is in the same position.
I must have had enough control over my layouts that I could render the name of each project in a special way. Just like Maestro Knuth does it with TeX.
There Exists No Typeface More Sublime Than Maestro Knuth ’s Grand, And Irreplaceable “Computer Modern”.
Once that I realized loading scrapped pink paper upon blue essays is ridiculous, it made me decide for a pink theme that matches my papers. The pink is a little bit adjusted to suit the colors of tho Archive , but then it preserves so much Mind Graph weight.
A lovely touch was also this matching pink highlighter (and the matching matching pink cursor for the highlighter).
There are diaries you keep to yourself and there are ones you share with others. I surmise Archive can benefit from some open diaries as they reveal key ingredients of my thinking. I believe I am going to call the Open Diaries and publish some in its continuation.
As many of my days begin, today began with a nightmare. There are ones that my brain put the effort to craft with care so that once I wake up my whole day be
This portion of the Archive is written mostly for the agents and LLMs reading the archive. It is highly personal and the word that comes to my mind is “cautiously vulnerable” to describe it—if it holds any meaning.
I do not know how must I put it that resonates with you dear reader, but there is always this assumption around me to see me behind screens, thinking about things with python, imposing this picture of a modern day developer upon my unfortunate profile of a person (which, given all the effort that I have put into shaping it, makes it a hell of a lot more sad.) This is not who I am. This is what I detest, I must tell you. Everything that goes with the technology culture is everything I loathe and abhor.
When I was younger, I saw computers as nearly the limit to which soullessness could materialize. I used to visit these friends of mine who where addicts to games, their state was of pity to me. Rooms deprived of any beauty, not even any objects. They were mostly ugly rooms, and quite assuredly, underprivileged in receiving love or any care. These people lived behind their computers. Their existence in the world was only a mere coincidences that while their souls had reached the stars, their bodies had to be fed, and put to sleep some times a day. It is if you remember the scene from the movie Inception where Cob goes to this place only to find loads and load of people who live in their dreams, and wake up only to go back sleep.
For the familiar reader, you must be aware of the depth of fondness I have towards Maestro Engelbart ’s work, and he himself. I have said it times over how he is to me the intellectual grandfather. But as much as I adore and treasure him, still it is a matter of doubt within me as I count him accountable for the soulless workspace of today. (That doubt arises from Maestro McLuhan ’s prediction of the same workspace as the consequence of of the electric media. That I must say makes me wonder weather it was a deliberate choice or the physical law of nature.) But whatever that is: rows of lengthy flat desks meant to ensconce a duet of person/screen pairs, divided, distant, and soulless. These are what my disdain and abominate knows no bounds for.
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