#Language Erosion

[tmarshconnors]

Destruction Of Words.

In an era where sound bites and social media blurbs often substitute for meaningful dialogue, it is easy to romanticise the past. We look back to a time when men and women communicated with a grace and eloquence that seems all but lost today. Figures like Sir Winston Churchill, Ronald Reagan, and Martin Luther King Jr. crafted speeches that not only conveyed their messages with clarity but also resonated deeply with their audiences, leaving a lasting impact on history.

Take, for instance, Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. In a mere 272 words, Lincoln managed to encapsulate the essence of democracy and the enduring spirit of the nation. His words, chosen with precision and care, continue to echo through the corridors of time, reminding us of the power of succinct and impactful speech.

Consider also the speeches of Sir Winston Churchill during World War II.

His rousing addresses, such as "We shall fight on the beaches," were masterpieces of rhetorical skill, instilling courage and hope in a nation under siege. Churchill’s mastery of the English language and his ability to galvanise an entire country stand in stark contrast to the often vapid and disjointed rhetoric we hear from many public figures today.

In today’s fast-paced world, communication has become increasingly truncated and superficial. The rise of social media platforms like Twitter, with its character limits, encourages brevity over substance. This shift has given rise to a generation of public figures who often struggle to articulate their thoughts coherently, let alone with the eloquence of their predecessors.

Sound bites have replaced well-considered arguments, and sensationalism often trumps sincerity. The art of debate, once a cornerstone of democratic societies, has been overshadowed by the spectacle of shouting matches and personal attacks. This decline in the quality of public discourse reflects a broader cultural shift towards instant gratification and short attention spans.

We have singlehandedly destroyed the beauty of words. It often reminds me of a quote from the film “1984” which goes like this “It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words.” However it’s NOT a beautiful thing. The erosion of language can and has lead to a decline in the richness of human expression and communication.

Words are powerful tools for conveying ideas, emotions, and knowledge. When we reduce their complexity, overuse certain terms, or allow language to become a tool for manipulation rather than enlightenment, we risk losing the depth and diversity that make communication meaningful and impactful.

[transingthoseformers]

Cybertronian culture must have things that have complicated and wacky origins. Like, in humans the love heart symbol comes from an extinct flower that was used as an aphrodisiac (and it's extinct for that reason yeah). the words nachos and nazis come from the same root word, same origin as the name Iggy. We're Still fuzzy about the origin of fuck. The color orange is named after the fruit, before it was just called Yellowred. Some english words are Exactly the same as they were in latin. There is a mountain whose name when fully translated is just Mountain four times.

They Have to have glyphs with weird origins or that evolved from inside jokes, especially since the great Cybertronian war happened i mean I'm just correct. So many glyphs had to have entered their vocabulary that come from different alien languages with little to no translation. Glyphs that evolved and gained innuendo solely through translation errors and misspellings. Glyphs that come from a pun about extinct animals and long forgotten races among the stars. Glyphs that originally referred to some long forgotten dude who's been offline since the original predacons were alive.

[pebblegalaxy]

Reclaiming Language: The Dilution of 'Awesome' and the Power of Words

What is a word you feel that too many people use? In the ever-evolving tapestry of language, there exists a word that has woven its way into the fabric of our daily discourse. A word that, like a viral contagion, proliferates with reckless abandon, infecting our conversations and diluting their true essence. This word, my weary compatriots, is none other than “awesome.” Once upon a time,…

[headspace-hotel]

gazing in wonder at the wikipedia page for meander

Out of all the terminological categories in the English language, geological terminology is the most intensely poetic; who could fail to be moved by metamorphism and orogenesis? There is something awesome and mythic about it.

Anyway as I was reading this article I recalled a dim, possibly inaccurate memory of Chinese mythology where four dragons transformed themselves into the four rivers that flow through China.

I've been taking walks beside the creek. The creek has "an erosion problem" as it was once described to me. I notice on one bank the creek cuts underneath the roots of the trees and threatens to collapse the bank, and on another it deposits a low, broad beach of broken stones and mud.

The recent history of humankind would mislead us to think that erosion is a linear process of degradation, but the article for meander tells me that rivers move, the loops in their channels steadily rolling along the river's length, like the slithering of a snake over a time scale of thousands of years...

A river is a kind of dragon.

[rocketbirdie]

YOU. You are correct about Cloud Strife. Everything you say about him is CORRECT

Hi I'm going to use your ask as an opportunity to go on an unhinged tangent about him below the cut.

I believe that EVERYTHING about Cloud Strife as a character makes total sense once you realize: it's autism.

Here's a character whose entire arc revolves around the erosion of his identity and his desperate attempts to adhere to an ideal image, at the expense of his own wellbeing; and how self acceptance is the thing that brings him back from the edge of despair.

Youtube theorycrafters waste hours of their lives trying to piece together Cloud's psyche, when the answer is just... autism. It really is that simple. I will die on this goddamn hill.

In Trace of Two Pasts, we learn that even as a toddler, Cloud really was just... like that. Unemotive and awkward. And the entire lifestream sequence in the OG shows us a young Cloud who behaves in baffling ways. Tifa and her friends invited Cloud into their group, but he rejected their friendship while simultaneously harboring a seething jealousy. How the heck does that work, huh?

Viewing this through the Autism Lens™️, his approach make way more sense. Fearing his own inability to read and reciprocate their intentions, he pushes them away, and the resulting loneliness crushes him. He mistakes that loneliness for anger. He turns that anger outwards and gets into fights. Because the other kids don't understand him, Cloud sees them as stupid and immature. It's the perfect recipe for disastrous distrust. The tragic result is that, when Tifa gets into her accident, Cloud is immediately blamed by kids AND adults. He's seen as inherently dangerous and unpredictable, even though he did nothing wrong. It's like they were already looking for the perfect excuse to hate him.

The worst part is, because he struggles to articulate his own thoughts and feelings, he starts to just... accept what other people say about him. He's a pain in the ass. He's a selfish brat. He could try being a bit nicer. Any attempt that he makes to argue, backfires and proves their points even more. He's being childish. He needs to get his shit together. Nothing's ever good enough for him. He stops fighting it and lets people drag him around and violate his boundaries, because no matter how loud he yells or how intelligently he argues, nothing he says ever reaches their ears. He trims away more and more of himself to try and appease others and nurse the constant emotional pain. (And that's not even addressing the entire traumatic *waves hands* everything that he's gone through by the time he reaches Midgar! That would have to be its own tangent lol.)

It's hard to watch as a player; the secondhand embarrassment of Cloud's social blunders is immense. Some people don't like Cloud as a video game protagonist, which is perfectly valid. But a lot of times, they justify their opinion by perpetuating the same damaging language. He's an asshole, he's a weirdo, he hates people. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating. I know Cloud is just a fictional character, he doesn't need to be defended from harsh criticisms. But I can't help but wonder what these players think about the "weird people-hating assholes" that they meet in real life.

It also makes me wonder if they were even paying attention. I think the games make it pretty damn obvious what's going on. He's an asshole because other characters treat him like one before they even get to know him. He hates people because he doesn't understand them, and they don't even try to understand him. He's a weirdo because he has a strange way of showing how deeply he loves and cares, and he's afraid that his love will be misinterpreted like every other emotion he's ever dared to show.

The autism is everywhere. It permeates his entire being. It's in his silly responses when he takes things too literally. It's in his painfully practical way with words. It's in the stiff expressionless look and the flat tone of voice. It's in him constantly adjusting his gloves, shifting his weight, looking down at his feet. It's in his questionable idea of what you're supposed to do with your body at a yoga session. It's in the half a dozen flustered high fives, it's in the motion sickness. It's in the contagious eagerness with his special interests in SOLDIER and materia and chocobos.

It's in the moments where the facade crumbles and we get to see the real Cloud, the one that Aerith knew was in there— the one that Tifa finds in the lifestream— the one that Zack gave his life for— the Cloud that cherishes the whole world. He's got so much of everything inside of his heart, and he doesn't know how to get it out. You'd be a weird asshole about it, too.

[novlr]

I've read your post on manipulative characters, and it helped a lot! Could you explain how to write manipulated characters?

Creating a character who is under the influence or control of another is a challenging feat for any writer. To effectively portray this dynamic, it’s crucial to understand the manipulator’s goals and the methods they use to exert their influence. Let’s explore how a character’s dynamics might change when they are being manipulated.

Behaviour

Behave inconsistently with the decisions they would usually make.

Second-guess themselves or hesitate before acting.

Gradually change their behaviours to align more with the manipulator’s interests.

Show confusion or self-doubt.

Rationalise or defend the manipulator’s actions even when they are harmful.

Suppress their true desires to please the manipulator.

A declining interest in hobbies or activities that they once loved.

Signs of stress or anxiety, especially when the character is around the manipulator.

Increasingly isolating from their support network.

Making excuses for the manipulator’s behaviour to others.

Interactions

Unequal power dynamics, with the manipulator often interrupting or speaking over them.

A lack of reciprocal communication – the manipulator talks, the character listens.

Physical touch that seems controlling or guiding rather than comforting.

They are asked to keep secrets or lie on behalf of the manipulator.

Receive subtle threats or backhanded compliments from the manipulator.

Show an obligation to tend to the manipulator’s needs.

Are willing to compromise their morals under manipulative influence.

The manipulator may use personal information against them to keep them in line.

Have other characters note changes or express concern about their changed behaviour.

Have moments of realisation or clarity that are quickly squashed by the manipulator.

Body language

Closed off, with crossed arms or averted gaze.

Physical withdrawal or flinching.

Display nervous habits, like nail-biting, or fidgeting.

Make themselves smaller or trying to go unnoticed.

Have trouble maintaining eye contact.

Forced smiles or laughter to mask their true feelings.

Physical tension that doesn’t ease, even in supposedly relaxing environments.

Mimicking the manipulator’s body language subconsciously.

Physical exhaustion due to emotional strain.

Contrast in how they act around the manipulator versus others.

Attitude

A gradual erosion of the character’s optimism or hope.

Displays unwarranted hostility towards others.

Is overly apologetic, especially for things not their fault.

A shift from self-assuredness to self-deprecation over time.

A sense of helplessness that they struggle to overcome.

A fatalistic or defeatist outlook on their future.

A growing reluctance to make decisions independently.

Show internal conflict between their beliefs and the influence of the manipulator.

Repetition of the manipulator’s opinions as if they were their own.

A lost sense of identity through a disinterested or detached demeanor.

Positive story outcomes

An eventual recognition of manipulation as a moment of empowerment.

A journey towards reclaiming agency and self-worth.

Forming new, healthy relationships that contrast with the manipulator’s treatment.

Using their experience with manipulation to help others in similar situations.

The development of stronger personal boundaries and assertiveness.

Creative or professional achievements as they break free from manipulation.

Gaining insight and wisdom from their experiences.

Finding support systems that validate and uplift them.

A renewed sense of hope and direction in life post-manipulation.

Finds resilience and new strengths.

Negative story outcomes

Continued struggles with self-esteem and trust issues.

Setbacks and challenges in the aftermath of manipulation.

Potential for downward spirals as a result of the manipulative relationship.

A lasting impact of manipulation on the character’s relationships with others.

A psychological toll, such as anxiety or depression, that may linger.

Becomes wary of future relationships, romantic or otherwise.

Inadvertently emulates manipulative behaviours learned from the manipulator.

Might sabotage their own success due to ingrained beliefs planted by the manipulator.

Struggling to regain autonomy and make independent choices.

Increased tendency to isolate themselves to avoid being hurt again.

Helpful vocabulary

Coercion

Gaslighting

Subjugation

Compliance

Devious

Subtle

Undermine

Exploit

Domineering

Manipulate

Discredit

Influence

Contrived

Obedience

Suppression

Dependency

Guilt-trip

Intimidation

Passive-aggressive

Psychological warfare

[linguisticdiscovery]

The unequal proportion between the number of languages and how many speakers those languages have

The median number of speakers for a human language is only about 5,000 people.

From the incredibly good book, When languages die: The extinction of the world’s languages and the erosion of human knowledge.

[lizbethborden]

Something I think is fascinating is the way predators have absorbed language around identity, psychology, self-help, well-being, and therapy, and taken it to convince people, especially women, that what we see, feel, think, and experience are not real. Because they don't come right out and say that rape is inevitable particularly for women and sexualized minorities, male desire is to be prioritized above all, crimes against women don't happen and if they do happen they weren't crimes and shouldn't be punishable and same for crimes against children, etc. their posts and writings and etc get circulated endlessly and any challenge to what they've said is painted as low, emotional, animalistic, "carceral," "fascist," "being a cop," and so forth. Nothing has changed in 3,000 years in the cultural schemas that ennoble and idealize the oppressor and paint the oppressed as base and brainless. Not only are emotions valuable and important sources of information and not to be discarded, but victimized/oppressed people can ALSO utilize their intellects to argue and theorize. Condescending efforts to infantilize and belittle only highlight the fragility of the dynamic between oppressor and oppressed and emphasize how that oppressor's inner security is built on this tottering construction, which they must shore up and shore up against the constant erosion of basic factual truth, to wit: they're not the only person in the room with a brain.

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. On your way home from work, you encounter an injured superhero. You have seen his secret identity. Now what will he do about it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, verbal abuse, parental abuse, severe injuries

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it 

Part One: Is that Trash or a Man?

There is calm chaos when working in the emergency room. You get used to the cacophony of beeps and alarms. Of moans, crying, screaming, and arguing. You get used to being on your feet all day and moving from task to task, from patient to patient. You get used to it because there is no other option. People need care and they need it now. You either step the fuck up or switch to a different unit. Or move to a calmer, cleaner, less crime-filled city. Calm wasn’t really my vibe. Maybe externally that’s what I portrayed, but internally my mind craves the chaos of the ER. It craves the chaos of Gotham. And the Gotham ER was an entirely different beast.

I finished nursing school about a year ago. A lot of my peers used it as an out. They went to more stable cities in New Jersey that had better funding and less chance of getting knifed in the staff parking lot. I was one of the only ones that stayed. I definitely was the only one that worked in the hospital. I couldn’t deny the demand for nurses was high, and the paychecks were even higher at Gotham General Hospital. And maybe some small pathetic part of my brain wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted Gotham to be a better place. Every day I worked. I convinced myself that how matter how shitty it got; I was making a difference. Even if it was only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things. 

I could convince myself that I mattered. That everyone mattered. That these people deserve more. They deserve better; they deserve a second, third, fourth, fifth chance. If I stopped trying to convince myself of that I know I would give up entirely. Seeing gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, mutilations, burns, crushings, poisonings, beatings, day after day is a lot like erosion of the soul. Little by little it wears you down. You become jaded and jagged with time. Empathy becomes blame. Hope becomes desolate. Love becomes anger. The only thing you can do is gaslight yourself into thinking you’re making a big enough difference. That you’re helping enough people. After all, the brain can’t tell the difference between truth and irony. You tell yourself so many lies, you can start to believe them, right? 

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago 

“Dad, when is mom coming home?” My small voice asked. I was scared to make Dad yell at me again. I didn’t like it when I made him yell.

“She’s got stage four fucking cancer she is coming out of the hospital in a body bag, y/n.” 

I fought the tears that burned behind my eyes. Dad would get even angrier if he saw them. It was stupid of me to even ask. 

I felt him turn to me. His eyes bored into my skull. Quickly, I looked down at his feet. 

“Have you tried again?” He asked. His tone clipped. I knew he expected a timely answer.

Involuntarily, my fingers ruthlessly picked the skin around my nails. The sting was grounding in a way. 

“No, sir. Well yes, I have tried, but I… I failed,” the last word felt like a hot poker being placed through my throat. 

“Look at me.” Breathing became difficult, but I looked up at my father. He leaned his face close to mine. I could smell Jack wafting off him. “What good are you? What good is having healing powers if you can’t heal your sick mother?”

The simple hangnail became a chunk of missing skin. I lowered my head. Fighting back tears. 

“Sir,” my traitorous voice wobbled as I tried not to cry, “I keep trying but… I don’t think my power is that strong. I can close cuts, fix broken bones, but tumors are… hard.”

My father tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. He grabbed my wrist as quickly as a viper, “If I could put your mother’s cancer in you I would. You’re about as useful as a wet match in a dark cave.” 

I couldn’t help the tears that fell down my cheek. It felt like I was involuntarily waving a white flag.

Gotham City: Present Day

I had to be stealthy with my gift. I couldn’t heal every one of the patients to full health right away. That would lead to suspicion. But if I could help it I could stop the major damage. I would heal internal organs. Replenish blood. Reduce ten fractures to two or one. It all depended on timing and if people were watching me. 

I was walking home from the hospital. I only lived about three blocks away. I got off shift at around 20:49. I didn’t start my next stretch for another three days. And I was milking my walk home. Stopping to smell the roses or whatever. That is normally not a very smart thing to do in Gotham at night, especially as a woman. But part of me didn’t care. 

Earlier, I looked at my phone and frowned when I realized the date. 

Thursday, May 19th. 

My mom died 16 years ago today. Waves of emotion flooded my senses. Anger at myself for not remembering. Sadness that she had been gone more of my life than she had been in it. Restlessness for what my father might do or say. Some years he likes to reach out. Others he doesn’t. But most of all I was feeling reckless. Like I wanted someone to give me a reason. Obviously, I would only hurt someone to defend myself or others. But there was so much anger living in my body, part of me hoped some idiot would try something with me tonight. 

So, I walked home. Slowly. 

Normally, you keep your head down and you keep moving. You don’t look or gawk. You listen out of necessity. I was listening just because I could. It was the normal stuff. Men smoking cigarettes and catcalling. Women were offering their nightly services. Random people either praising or damning superheroes. Drug deals. Graffiti artists. Fights. And of course, people who simply were walking home from work. Gotham had range and was never boring that’s for sure. 

But something picked up on the very edge of my senses. Despite my better logic, I turned toward the very quiet sound. It could have just been rats, but it sounded so familiar. It sounded like a death rattle. The thing you hear just before shit hits the fan and the patient codes. 

Without thinking I ran down the alley toward the sound. At first, it was nothing. Just trash and rats. But then I saw it. He almost blended perfectly in with the shiny black garbage bags. His cape was the same color but reflected the light less. 

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I walked hesitantly forward, grabbing my pepper spray just in case.

The man did not answer, he only garbled and coughed. My work brain took over my fear. Instantly I rolled the man over and began assessing him. I suppressed a gasp when I rolled him over and a familiar cowl mask came into view. It was cracked down the middle. His face was bleeding from an unknown location. His breathing was labored and staggered. 

Calmly, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against his chest. 

Oh yeah. Batman was dying. He had several broken ribs. A pneumothorax. A bruised liver, kidney, and pancreas. His cardiac output was a joke. The man had no perfusion. 

I didn’t think. I didn’t hold back like I do at the hospital. I just healed. And healed. And healed. I healed him down to his bone-on-bone knees, sprained ankle, and fractured wrist. 

God, this guy had a lot of injuries. 

I was close to passing out by the time I was done. I had done too much, ate, and slept too little. My powers were demanding when it came to energy. If I didn’t eat or sleep within 30 minutes I was about to pass out next to bat boy himself.

I gave him one last assessment. After double-checking that he would live and that I didn’t miss anything I finally looked at his face again. 

This time I gasped. Batman was the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? I shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Much like Batman, I didn’t want people to know what I could do. The last time people knew…

Just as I turned and took a few steps I rolled my eyes at my nagging thoughts. 

What if someone sees him before he wakes up?

Reaching into my tote bag I pulled out a black medical mask. I not so gracefully MacGyvered it across his exposed face so that it was covered. And with that, I made my way home.

My cat, Hashbrown, eagerly greeted me at the door. I nearly fell asleep locking it. I bent down to pick her up and gave her a kiss on her perfect little cat head. I ripped my gross work scrubs off, threw them in the wash, and crashed on the couch in my underwear before my brain could process what happened.

I healed Batman. 

I healed… Bruce Wayne?

Part Two, Part Three

[rosemorningstar]

Alright so

Boethiah “the font of inspiration” who calls upon mortals to leave their mark upon the world no matter the form.

Hircine “who is half the conscience of men” meaning the half of mortal minds that follows instinct and the drive for survival.

Malacath “who speaks all languages sideways” meaning he is a universal entity whose name and purpose has become distorted over time. Alternatively, he twists words to inspire rage.

Mehrunes Dagon “whose mistress is the blazing sun” meaning he was created by and serves the will of the Magna Ge who brought him forth.

Sheogorath “the comforter of men” meaning he who facilitates dissociation or a break from reality; taking mortals away from the pains of the world via madness. It’s a comfort to be free of reality but the side effects vary.

Molag Bal “whose breath is most foul” meaning the commands he speaks upon the mortal realm are palpable yet undesirable; a domineering root of suffering.

Namira “whose works works endure forever” meaning her design for existence is inescapable and inevitable aka entropy and decay.

Mephala “who threads the needle with the hair of wives” meaning she manipulates the bonds of loyalty to her ends.

Clavicus Vile “who always answers” meaning he’ll make a deal with anyone but the terms won’t necessarily be fair.

Nocturnal “whose touch is mink” meaning her blessing is soft, concealing, and expensive to attain.

Peryite “who’s foundation is falling rock” meaning his power is based in the same forces that move erosion and the passage of time. Incremental but nonetheless potent.

Azura “the rim of all holes” meaning her power is what facilitates transformation and dramatic change on a singular level. The movement of an object or being to dramatically different circumstances. A goddess of exodus and transmutation.

Meridia “who contains the plenum” meaning her sphere is one of wholeness and abundance. Something she offers at a high price.

Hermaeus Mora “who holds the paper to the light” meaning he reveals the hidden truths beneath the surface.

Sanguine “who tastes the shaven fruit” meaning he consumes mortals at their most vulnerable; when they’re inebriated or at the height of their pleasure.

Vaermina “weaver of the panoply” meaning she designs mortal delusions; the fantastical fears we react upon in reality.

[merbear25]

Patience is a virtue

Learning to trust isn't easy, especially when you're still picking up the pieces from the past. Even though the desire to get to know you is a nawing persistence, he values your boundaries. Whenever you decide to open up, he'll be waiting.

a/n: idk I just have a lot of feelings.

Sanji, Ace, Corazon

CW: SFW, gn!reader, angsty(maybe?), fluff, mutual feelings

Sanji: You'd grown quiet around him. The both of you had just been starting to chat a little more. It felt nice to hear your soft laughs as he told you jokes about what had happened that day. But then, the angelic laughter came to a hault, leaving him to question what he'd said to bring such sorrow to your lovely complexion. Even without knowing what he'd done to upset you, he apologized―pleading, in a way, to move past this and get back to seeing you smile.

You needed time though. You didn't have to say it ―it was written all over your face. Backing off was a choice made with much heartache, but he did so nonetheless: deciding that persuing you in the matter would only push you further away from him.

Distancing yourself wasn't something that you'd necessarily wanted to do. However, those buds of elation and adoration sprouting were also accompanied with the bitter cold of past rejection that stifled any pursuit of happiness you were hoping for.

The erosion of the hole in you was swallowing your very being, but when this had shown to be too troublesome for others, he was still there: he didn't pry, he never rushed you, just waited for your return to him.

This was someone worth pushing those doubts aside for. The next time you spoke to him, your heart lead the way, despite your fears trailing closely behind. His warmth helped melt the frost that'd been collecting over the years.

Ace: He was growing accustomed to you rather quickly. You were certainly kind-hearted and nice to have a laugh with, all of which made him start gravitating towards you whenever you were present. There was surely an interest in you, one that he had not fully become aware of. Just as he was discovering his feelings for you, you changed gears: avoiding him, reverting back into your shell. Despite how hurt he felt, he couldn't demand you to tell him the reason―it wouldn't be fair to you.

If you needed time away from him, he would give you that. He wasn't going to force his friendship on you. That being said, this time apart was good for him, as well. Thoughts of you came and went, but many of them stayed: something interesting or funny would happen and he wanted to tell you about it but felt like he couldn't.

This time away from each other only echoed your longing for companionship; you were left with nothing but the same loneliness that'd surrounded you each time prior. Tears brought on by thoughts of the flame lit between you eventually burning out stung your eyes. Even in solitude, fear of abandonment intruded on you.

There were small glances he threw your way, none of which were harboring resentment. Instead, they showed concern. Anticipation for a row that wouldn't come: you stood there wondering what made him different.

How can I learn to trust? Can you help me? Seeing you make your way to him was the remedy he needed for the flickering flame he'd worried was losing its luster in your eyes. However, you were both sure now that it'd never go out.

Corazon: Taking the leap of faith to reveal his secrets to you was terrifying: you were, in fact, different from the others, but something like this wasn't an easy choice to make. That being said, nothing could replace the memories you two were creating together. Each day that passed, regret for the secret he'd let you in on didn't come. The bond he was under the impression you two had been forming was faltering though. It wasn't important for him to know what he'd done exactly―he just knew he wanted to make it up to you.

Your body language did the talking for you: your sunny disposition had clouds rolling in and the gloom of a storm was on the horizon. Even though he longed to come to your aid, he understood that pushing you into a conversation wouldn't fair well for your blossoming relationship.

You wanted to shield this budding love from the harsh storm brewing within. Your frail body could only do so much though when caught in this hurricane. Gale force winds, rain that lashed at your skin: abrasions which came with each potential relationship.

No stranger to the torment this world had to offer, he could see the wear and tear of your inner termoil on your soft face. It took each bit of inner strength not to go to you and tell you everything would be alright. He wanted to give you the freedom to choose to share your burdens with him. In spite of the distance between the both of you, his eagerness to rescue you from yourself was unmistakable.

I can't carry on through this storm alone. Can you be the one I lean on? Finding your way back to him, he instinctively held our his arms to wrap you in the warmth you'd been in desperate need of, yet unable to secure it up till now. You were now fully prepared to take your own leap of faith.

[transingthoseformers]

Okay but this has me thinking about the various reasons why the Autobots and Decepticons have different alphabets, and I'm betting different vernaculars in general as well. All the inside jokes that became frequently used idioms, typos getting copied so much that they become an actual spelling, certain acronyms becoming so commom you forget they were acronyms. Loanwords and calques from various other alien species that perhaps the other faction didn't interact with.

Linguistic drift

[baeddelicto]

A huge frustration i have is that the current state of transmisogyny on this site makes it basically impossible to actually have discourse about transmisogyny among tgirl/tfemme/camab genderfreak millieu. On top of the erosion of usable language to talk about transmisogyny (tme, casab, etc.) Its also the tearing apart of any comment or joke or w/e to the point whr we cant even have actual comversation about it. This is spurred by the egg thing but also touches on femboy discourse, bi lesbean shit, theyfab, chaser, etc. I think we could have genuinely interesting conversation but there always a fucking mob around the corner trying to prepare us for sacrifice. So when some grl expresses an unuanced or very strong opinion on something i keep my mouth shut. Because, I get it, you've probably already received or witnessed harassment for this. Good faith is a joke and none of us want to be the punchline. I just wish we could share our opinions honestly without sumones blood ending up on an altar.

[yvanspijk]

French erosion - part 2

A language can change a lot in the course of two millennia. During the evolution of Latin to French, many words lost half of their syllables. Click the video and turn on your sound to hear how eight words changed from Latin into Old French and ultimately into Modern French.

On my Patreon, my previous video in this series includes an article on why French changed so much (tier 1, $ 2 a month). Click here to read it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The real AI fight

Tonight (November 27), I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

Last week's spectacular OpenAI soap-opera hijacked the attention of millions of normal, productive people and nonsensually crammed them full of the fine details of the debate between "Effective Altruism" (doomers) and "Effective Accelerationism" (AKA e/acc), a genuinely absurd debate that was allegedly at the center of the drama.

Very broadly speaking: the Effective Altruists are doomers, who believe that Large Language Models (AKA "spicy autocomplete") will someday become so advanced that it could wake up and annihilate or enslave the human race. To prevent this, we need to employ "AI Safety" – measures that will turn superintelligence into a servant or a partner, nor an adversary.

Contrast this with the Effective Accelerationists, who also believe that LLMs will someday become superintelligences with the potential to annihilate or enslave humanity – but they nevertheless advocate for faster AI development, with fewer "safety" measures, in order to produce an "upward spiral" in the "techno-capital machine."

Once-and-future OpenAI CEO Altman is said to be an accelerationists who was forced out of the company by the Altruists, who were subsequently bested, ousted, and replaced by Larry fucking Summers. This, we're told, is the ideological battle over AI: should cautiously progress our LLMs into superintelligences with safety in mind, or go full speed ahead and trust to market forces to tame and harness the superintelligences to come?

This "AI debate" is pretty stupid, proceeding as it does from the foregone conclusion that adding compute power and data to the next-word-predictor program will eventually create a conscious being, which will then inevitably become a superbeing. This is a proposition akin to the idea that if we keep breeding faster and faster horses, we'll get a locomotive:

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

As Molly White writes, this isn't much of a debate. The "two sides" of this debate are as similar as Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Yes, they're arrayed against each other in battle, so furious with each other that they're tearing their hair out. But for people who don't take any of this mystical nonsense about spontaneous consciousness arising from applied statistics seriously, these two sides are nearly indistinguishable, sharing as they do this extremely weird belief. The fact that they've split into warring factions on its particulars is less important than their unified belief in the certain coming of the paperclip-maximizing apocalypse:

https://newsletter.mollywhite.net/p/effective-obfuscation

White points out that there's another, much more distinct side in this AI debate – as different and distant from Dee and Dum as a Beamish Boy and a Jabberwork. This is the side of AI Ethics – the side that worries about "today’s issues of ghost labor, algorithmic bias, and erosion of the rights of artists and others." As White says, shifting the debate to existential risk from a future, hypothetical superintelligence "is incredibly convenient for the powerful individuals and companies who stand to profit from AI."

After all, both sides plan to make money selling AI tools to corporations, whose track record in deploying algorithmic "decision support" systems and other AI-based automation is pretty poor – like the claims-evaluation engine that Cigna uses to deny insurance claims:

https://www.propublica.org/article/cigna-pxdx-medical-health-insurance-rejection-claims

On a graph that plots the various positions on AI, the two groups of weirdos who disagree about how to create the inevitable superintelligence are effectively standing on the same spot, and the people who worry about the actual way that AI harms actual people right now are about a million miles away from that spot.

There's that old programmer joke, "There are 10 kinds of people, those who understand binary and those who don't." But of course, that joke could just as well be, "There are 10 kinds of people, those who understand ternary, those who understand binary, and those who don't understand either":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/11/the-ten-types-of-people/

What's more, the joke could be, "there are 10 kinds of people, those who understand hexadecenary, those who understand pentadecenary, those who understand tetradecenary [und so weiter] those who understand ternary, those who understand binary, and those who don't." That is to say, a "polarized" debate often has people who hold positions so far from the ones everyone is talking about that those belligerents' concerns are basically indistinguishable from one another.

The act of identifying these distant positions is a radical opening up of possibilities. Take the indigenous philosopher chief Red Jacket's response to the Christian missionaries who sought permission to proselytize to Red Jacket's people:

https://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5790/

Red Jacket's whole rebuttal is a superb dunk, but it gets especially interesting where he points to the sectarian differences among Christians as evidence against the missionary's claim to having a single true faith, and in favor of the idea that his own people's traditional faith could be co-equal among Christian doctrines.

The split that White identifies isn't a split about whether AI tools can be useful. Plenty of us AI skeptics are happy to stipulate that there are good uses for AI. For example, I'm 100% in favor of the Human Rights Data Analysis Group using an LLM to classify and extract information from the Innocence Project New Orleans' wrongful conviction case files:

https://hrdag.org/tech-notes/large-language-models-IPNO.html

Automating "extracting officer information from documents – specifically, the officer's name and the role the officer played in the wrongful conviction" was a key step to freeing innocent people from prison, and an LLM allowed HRDAG – a tiny, cash-strapped, excellent nonprofit – to make a giant leap forward in a vital project. I'm a donor to HRDAG and you should donate to them too:

https://hrdag.networkforgood.com/

Good data-analysis is key to addressing many of our thorniest, most pressing problems. As Ben Goldacre recounts in his inaugural Oxford lecture, it is both possible and desirable to build ethical, privacy-preserving systems for analyzing the most sensitive personal data (NHS patient records) that yield scores of solid, ground-breaking medical and scientific insights:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_-eaV8SWdjQ

The difference between this kind of work – HRDAG's exoneration work and Goldacre's medical research – and the approach that OpenAI and its competitors take boils down to how they treat humans. The former treats all humans as worthy of respect and consideration. The latter treats humans as instruments – for profit in the short term, and for creating a hypothetical superintelligence in the (very) long term.

As Terry Pratchett's Granny Weatherwax reminds us, this is the root of all sin: "sin is when you treat people like things":

https://brer-powerofbabel.blogspot.com/2009/02/granny-weatherwax-on-sin-favorite.html

So much of the criticism of AI misses this distinction – instead, this criticism starts by accepting the self-serving marketing claim of the "AI safety" crowd – that their software is on the verge of becoming self-aware, and is thus valuable, a good investment, and a good product to purchase. This is Lee Vinsel's "Criti-Hype": "taking press releases from startups and covering them with hellscapes":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Criti-hype and AI were made for each other. Emily M Bender is a tireless cataloger of criti-hypeists, like the newspaper reporters who breathlessly repeat " completely unsubstantiated claims (marketing)…sourced to Altman":

https://dair-community.social/@emilymbender/111464030855880383

Bender, like White, is at pains to point out that the real debate isn't doomers vs accelerationists. That's just "billionaires throwing money at the hope of bringing about the speculative fiction stories they grew up reading – and philosophers and others feeling important by dressing these same silly ideas up in fancy words":

https://dair-community.social/@emilymbender/111464024432217299

All of this is just a distraction from real and important scientific questions about how (and whether) to make automation tools that steer clear of Granny Weatherwax's sin of "treating people like things." Bender – a computational linguist – isn't a reactionary who hates automation for its own sake. On Mystery AI Hype Theater 3000 – the excellent podcast she co-hosts with Alex Hanna – there is a machine-generated transcript:

https://www.buzzsprout.com/2126417

There is a serious, meaty debate to be had about the costs and possibilities of different forms of automation. But the superintelligence true-believers and their criti-hyping critics keep dragging us away from these important questions and into fanciful and pointless discussions of whether and how to appease the godlike computers we will create when we disassemble the solar system and turn it into computronium.

The question of machine intelligence isn't intrinsically unserious. As a materialist, I believe that whatever makes me "me" is the result of the physics and chemistry of processes inside and around my body. My disbelief in the existence of a soul means that I'm prepared to think that it might be possible for something made by humans to replicate something like whatever process makes me "me."

Ironically, the AI doomers and accelerationists claim that they, too, are materialists – and that's why they're so consumed with the idea of machine superintelligence. But it's precisely because I'm a materialist that I understand these hypotheticals about self-aware software are less important and less urgent than the material lives of people today.

It's because I'm a materialist that my primary concerns about AI are things like the climate impact of AI data-centers and the human impact of biased, opaque, incompetent and unfit algorithmic systems – not science fiction-inspired, self-induced panics over the human race being enslaved by our robot overlords.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[octuscle]

Sustainable changes

Nicolas had just been promoted to Senior Product Manager. But the condition was that he had to take a foreign assignment for two years. He had reckoned with Germany, the USA or maybe Japan. India would also have been okay. But he was supposed to go to Turkmenistan. His employer had just bought a large agricultural cooperative there, which was now to be converted in the direction of ecological and sustainable agriculture. On the one hand, this sounded like a completely unknown field of work. Nicolas had previously worked more in the consumer goods sector. On the other hand, anything that bore the label "sustainable" was naturally a career driver at the moment. So he took a cautiously optimistic approach.

Once Nicolas arrived at his new workplace, the optimism quickly evaporated. He had arrived somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There was no office building, there were only barracks. Mostly not air-conditioned. He had expected to be put up in some hotel. But he had been given a room with a farmer. Toilet in the yard. Bathroom was an outdoor shower served from the cistern. He felt infinitely silly in his outfit.

In the first service meeting, a colleague asked him if they could tweak Nicolas's resume a bit for the presentation to the workers. It might be good for his credibility if they could give him some local roots. Nicolas was tired. The trip had been exhausting. He remembered his parents' Russian gardener. A picture of a man. Former combat swimmer. And of the Turkish cook. So he answered, one may mix in there with pleasure something Russian and Turkish. The main thing was that he was allowed to retire now.

The night had been hell. It smelled like a pigsty in his room. And he could hear the pigs too, as if they were sleeping in bed with him. There was no hot water to shave with. And company policy forbids the use of shower gels containing microplastics without functioning wastewater treatment for environmental reasons. So all he can use is a bar of curd soap. When introduced to the staff, he looks appropriately a bit bedraggled. One of his colleagues asks Nicolas to say something in Russian. He has to think a bit. His grandmother sometimes spoke to him in Russian. But it's enough for a "I'm happy to be here and look forward to working with you. The employees cheer for their new boss.

Before Nicolas takes a shower the next morning, he drives the pigs out of the barn. If he's going to share the roof with them, he might as well make himself useful. His hosts invite him to breakfast. The conversation in Russian is still a bit bumpy. Nikolai hasn't spoken his father's language for years. And his host family, of course, actually speaks Turkmen. But with hands and feet it works. And so it goes on in the office. The team meeting was supposed to take place in English. But the interpreter dropped out. With every hour it gets better. The memory of his father's language comes back.

At breakfast, Nikolai realizes that he understands Turkmen better than he thought. It definitely works out that his hosts ask him in their native language. But he prefers to answer in Russian. Nikolai speaks it again as fluently as he did when he lived with his father in the Sevastopol army barracks. At work, they discuss the tasks for the next few days. Nikolai considers the projects for preventing soil erosion and unused surface water runoff to be urgent. Everyone passionately discusses the possibilities of transforming agriculture to get by without artificial irrigation. But Nikolai realizes that it will be difficult to irrigate only naturally in the desert.

The next morning, Nikolai surprises your host family with a few words of Turkmen. With his fluency in Russian and Turkish as his mother's language, it's not that hard for him to learn the language. On the job, they speak almost only Turkmen anyway. Today, his job is to drive the fields and inspect and document the environmental damage. Nikolai doesn't even need to shower for that. It will be hot anyway. And air conditioning is only for wimps. The point is to save energy wherever possible. In the afternoon, he gets a call from headquarters. They are very pleased with his work on site. It is clear that the project would not make an economic contribution. But the advertising impact is enormous. Whether he is interested in accepting a junior director position at the headquarters in Paris.

Nikolai turns his camera, bares his left breast and says in broken French that his heart beats for his new home. He won't leave until the desert blooms again.