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lstine919 · 7 months

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Analytical Application 3

Generality:

Generality is an attempt to make a specific object or idea seem applicable to everyone, establishing a natural law. Deleuze defines it as the “universality of the singular,”(1) a concept that must adhere to an order of laws. The two major orders of generality are 1) the qualitative order of resemblances and 2) the quantitative order of equivalences,(2) and it is through these two orders that generality exchanges ideas.

Generality applies to Run Lola Run through the themes of running out of time and unstoppable love present in the film. The medium of film itself encapsulates generality, as it uses specific, focused stories to establish a relatability with the audience in order to elicit emotional effect - to appear universal. With Run Lola Run specifically, the ends of the first two segments represent this concept.(3) She comes to the rescue barely too late, and somebody dies because of it. These are the climaxes of the anxious tension that builds throughout each segment of the film, and they put the themes of the film at the forefront. Danny mentions that he waited, and that Lola was too late, which symbolizes the universal human experience of being too late for an important moment. This is something that nearly all of the audience can relate to. At the end of both of these scenes, time reverts back to the start of the narrative, as the characters refuse to end the film this way. It is the power of love that keeps them persistent, which is another universal human concept that most of the film’s audience values deeply. Deleuze writes that “generality belongs to the order of laws.”(4) In this scene, the order of laws present is the existence of universal human ideals as well as the structural restrictions of time. The film emphasizes the former while subverting the latter. The film itself is not a real story, so it is not tied-down to these laws that are present in real life. Generality within the simulation of this film is used to break the norms of natural law, but maintains the emotional core of moral law.

Simulation:

A simulation is a constructed reality that has a particular relation to the real world— serving either as a reflection of it, a perversion of it, a concealing of it, or a distant removal from it. Baudrillard notes simulation as “a strategy of the real, neo-real and hyperreal, whose universal double is a strategy of deterrence,”(5) meaning that simulation is tied to reality, however loosely, but still retains an ability to break the rules of our reality.

Run Lola Run’s simulative qualities are apparent in the repeated scenes of Lola running down the steps of her apartment and confronting a man and his dog.(6) This sequence is animated, breaking from both the reality we know and the reality of the film itself— a simulation within a simulation. The film is an example of a first-stage simulation: “it is the reflection of a basic reality.”(7) When the film begins, it appears to take place strictly in our reality, with no extraneous differences. The animated sequence is the first sign of detachment. The deconstruction of an assumed visual framework prepares the viewer for further rule-bending scenes that occur throughout the rest of the film. Within the reality of the film, the animated sequence is a third-stage simulation: “it masks the absence of a basic reality.”(8) Though the film’s narrative persists and frames still appear to maintain continuity, the form of the image changes. The film takes place in a neo-reality, free from the rules of time, space, and form that are present in our everyday lives. Eventually, Lola learns of her world’s rules, and she uses them to her advantage in the last animated sequence, jumping up over the dog and its owner. This action clues the audience in on the truth of the film— that reality can be whatever the characters make of it, and there are no set rules within the world of the film. The concept of simulation fulfills the film’s presentation of the endless possibilities of the postmodern world.

Postmodernism:

Postmodernism is the contemporary idea of a new system of societal relations that arise from the globalized landscape created by late capitalism. Jameson writes that postmodernist concepts “emerge as specific reactions against the established forms of high modernism,”(9) in that their very existence is tied to the destruction of the modernist world that came before it, containing “the effacement in it of some key boundaries or separations.”(10) Further, he notes that postmodernism creates a “new type of social life and a new economic order,”(11) illustrating postmodernism as the way in which we adapt to our current, ever-changing world.

Run Lola Run’s opening quotes from T.S. Eliot and Sepp Herberger pinpoint the postmodernist concept of an abandonment of the Modernist movement in the midst of a constantly-changing social environment. The first quote reads “We shall not cease from exploration, And the end of all our exploring, Will be to arrive where we started, And know the place for the first time.”(12) Written by T.S. Eliot, a popular Modernist poet, this quote explains that in furthering our creative endeavors, artists will eventually advance so far forward that they end up back at the beginning, yet time has passed, placing them in a different context than before. Run Lola Run is a filmic example of this idea. Everytime Lola returns to the beginning of the narrative, though she is in the same place, the viewer now knows more information about her and the journey she will reembark on. This maintains the interest of the audience, while also propelling the story along. The quote by soccer coach Sepp Herberger reads “After the game is before the game.”(13) The film places these two quotes in juxtaposition with one another to show the triviality in Eliot’s use of complex language in contrast with Herberger’s effective simplicity, an attempt to disparage the modernist movement and therefore promote a postmodernist outlook. Both of these quotes apply to Postmodernism, as the core purpose of the movement is to venture further into the world, with a new perspective, after Modernism has come full circle. The film’s implementation of these quotes are indicative of its postmodernist sentiment in the quotes’ negative portrayal of a modernist poet and their encouragement of us, as humans, to re-explore the world.

Repetition:

Repetition is the constant reintroduction of an action, but within a different context every time. Deleuze cites that to repeat is “to behave in a certain manner, but in relation to something unique or singular which has no equal or equivalent.”(14) With this quote, he establishes repetition’s crucial aspect of routineness, but also gives repetition value by recognizing how it has at least a small amount of variation in each new situation.

Run Lola Run relies on repetition in order to tell its story, and this is apparent in the scenes in which Lola repeatedly bumps into a woman with a baby walking on the street.(15) While the variations in repetition may seem miniscule, they have drastic long-term effects. Each time Lola runs into the woman, their interaction is slightly different. This difference changes the woman’s entire future. Deleuze quotes Freud’s notion that “we repeat because we repress,”(16) and that such suppression of previous actions leads us to commit the same actions in the future. This film embodied Freud’s concept in a more abstract way. While it is unclear whether or not Lola is aware of the other outcomes in her race to obtain money, the first two times in which she tries both end in traumatic experiences (her death and the death of her lover, Danny). During the second attempt, she runs into the old woman again, suggesting that due to the trauma of past experiences, she fails to remember the little details of her run, such as running into the woman. It is only when she is able to overcome that trauma and utilize her past experiences (whether consciously or subconsciously) to ensure that she has the quickest run yet, and the highest chance of obtaining the money. Deleuze writes that repetition cannot be explained,(17) and the film attempts to use that very inexplicability to capitalize on the universally-reaching message of the film. The concept of repetition is exemplified throughout the film, but most poignantly in the scene in which Lola runs into the woman and baby, due to its display of the outcomes of small variations in action and the triumphant overcoming of repressed memory.

Nostalgia Mode:

The ‘nostalgia mode’ is a form of pastiche that romanticizes the media of the past, both directly, such as in period pieces, or more subtly, such as in films that pay homage to the themes and styles of older media. Jameson cites this phenomenon as the product of a “cultural production” that has been “driven back inside the mind,”(18) and how when we view these works we are seeking out a longing to re-experience what we felt in the past.

While Run Lola Run is a milestone in postmodern cinema, there are several scenes in which Jameson’s ‘nostalgia mode’ is enabled to provide the audience with a sense of narrative familiarity. One specific scene occurs in the second segment, when Lola robs the bank her Dad works at.(19) While it doesn’t reference a specific time period or a specific film of the past, it is full of bank-robbing cliches that remind us of several classic and contemporary movies. When Lola first confronts her father with the gun she stole from the police officer, she fires it behind him as an intimidation tactic. Firing a gun as a scare tactic has been used for decades throughout film, and this movie is just another example. Since Run Lola Run is so visually and technically groundbreaking, it has to retain some aspects of predictability in order to still resonate with audiences. It does so using the nostalgia mode, reminding us that the movie is just a movie. Abstractly, the plot of the film is relatively simple. Reading the synopsis, it seems like every other crime movie. It buys into those tropes heavily. Jameson writes that Star Wars (1977) is a nostalgia film due to how it “satisfies a deep longing to experience (dead forms) again.”(20) Run Lola Run uses the nostalgia mode similarly through its appeal to old tropes such as bank robbery. The film serves as a tribute to cinematic storytelling while paving the way for formic innovation, allowing the old to bring out the best in the new and vice versa.

1 Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 1

2 Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 1

3 Tykwer, 1998, 00:27:51 and 00:51:58

4 Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 2

5 Jean Baudrillard, “Simulacra and Simulations” in Modernism/Postmodernism (New York: Pearson Education Unlimited, 1992),153

6 Tykwer, 1998, 00:55:03

7 Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulations, 152

8 Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulations, 152

9 Fredric Jameson, “Postmodernism and Consumer Society” in Modernism/Postmodernism (New York: Pearson Education Unlimited, 1992), 164

10 Jameson, Postmodernism and Consumer Society, 165

11 Jameson, Postmodernism and Consumer Society, 165

12 Tykwer, 1998, 00:00:19

13 Tykwer, 1998, 00:00:28

14 Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 1

15 Tykwer, 1998, 00:13:02, 00:36:18, 00:55:48

16 Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 16

17 Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, 19

18 Jameson, Postmodernism and Consumer Society, 171

19 Tykwer, 1998, 00:43:05

20 Jameson, Postmodernism and Consumer Society, 169

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#oxyvisualanalysis #poststructuralism #postmodernism

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sciencespies · 3 years

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How wildfire restored a Yosemite watershed

https://sciencespies.com/nature/how-wildfire-restored-a-yosemite-watershed/

How wildfire restored a Yosemite watershed

For nearly half a century, lightning-sparked blazes in Yosemite’s Illilouette Creek Basin have rippled across the landscape — closely monitored, but largely unchecked. Their flames might explode into plumes of heat that burn whole hillsides at once, or sit smoldering in the underbrush for months.

The result is approximately 60 square miles of forest that look remarkably different from other parts of the Sierra Nevada: Instead of dense, wall-to-wall tree cover — the outcome of more than a century of fire suppression — the landscape is broken up by patches of grassland, shrubland and wet meadows filled with wildflowers more abundant than in other parts of the forest. These gaps in the canopy are often punctuated by the blackened husks of burned trunks or the fresh green of young pines.

“It really is a glimpse into what the Sierra Nevada was like 200 years ago,” said Scott Stephens, a professor of environmental science, policy and management at the University of California, Berkeley, and co-director of Berkeley Forests.

Stephens is the senior author of a new study that gathers together decades of research documenting how the return of wildfire has shaped the ecology of Yosemite National Park’s Illilouette Creek Basin and Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks’ Sugarloaf Creek Basin since the parks adopted policies for the basins — at Illilouette Creek in 1972 and Sugarloaf Creek in 1968 — to allow lightning-ignited fires to burn.

While the prospect of smoke over iconic Half Dome has worried politicians and tourists alike, the work of Stephens and his colleagues demonstrates that allowing frequent fires to burn in these basins has brought undeniable ecological benefits, including boosting plant and pollinator biodiversity, limiting the severity of wildfires and increasing the amount of water available during periods of drought. All these benefits are also likely to make the forest more resilient to the warmer, drier conditions brought by climate change, the research suggests.

“In many ways, fire has successfully been restored to Illilouette, and it has made for a complex mosaic of vegetationwith cascading effects on things like water,” said study co-author Brandon Collins, who holds a joint appointment as a research scientist with Berkeley Forests and with the U.S. Forest Service.”In Illilouette, you can have patches of young, regenerating trees from a fire 15 years ago, or areas where a classic understory burn has resulted in big, old, widely-spaced trees. You can even have areas where fire has missed because there’s more moisture, such as adjacent to a creek or on the edge of a meadow. All this complexity can happen in a really short amount of space.”

The study findings arrive in the middle of a critical fire season, when drought conditions throughout the western U.S. have already sparked numerous large wildfires, including the Dixie Fire, which, as of Aug. 8, was the second-largest wildfire in California history. While climate change has played a role in increasing the severity of these fires, Stephens said, Illilouette Creek Basin serves as an example of how current forest conditions in the Sierra — largely shaped by decades of fire suppression — are also driving these massive blazes.

“I think climate change is no more than 20 to 25% responsible for our current fire problems in the state, and most of it is due to the way our forests are,” Stephens said. “Illilouette Basin is one of the few places in the state that actually provides that information, because there is no evidence of changes in fire size or in the severity of fires that burn in the area. So, even though the ecosystem is being impacted by climate change, its feedbacks are so profound that it’s not changing the fire regime at all.”

Returning fire to Yosemite

For millennia, wildfires sparked by lightning, or lit by Native American tribes, regularly shaped the landscape of the western U.S., not only causing destruction, but also triggering necessary cycles of rebirth and regeneration. However, the arrival of European colonists in the late 1800s, followed by formation of the U.S. Forest Service in 1905, ushered in an era in which fire was viewed as the enemy of humans and forests alike, and the vast majority of wildfires were quickly extinguished.

By the 1940s and 1950s, a number of forest managers and ecologists had begun to question the wisdom of fire suppression, noting that the practice was eliminating valuable wildlife habitat and increasing the severity of fires by allowing decades of fuel buildup. These fire proponents included A. Starker Leopold, an acclaimed conservationist and professor of zoology and forestry at UC Berkeley, as well as Harold Biswell, a professor at UC Berkeley’s School of Forestry.

In response to a foundational 1963 report led by Leopold, the U.S. National Park Service changed its policy in 1968 to allow lightning fires to burn within special fire management zones — usually remote regions at high elevations — where danger to human settlements was low. Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks established the first fire management zone in 1968, followed by Yosemite National Park in 1972.

“I think it was finally recognized that fire is an integral piece of these ecosystems, and there were a few key people who were willing to take the risk of letting these fires happen,” Collins said.

‘It isn’t always clean, and it’s not always nice’

Between 1973 and 2016, Illilouette Creek Basin experienced 21 fires larger than 40 hectares — approximately equal to 75 football fields — while Sugarloaf experienced 10 fires of that size. In Illilouette, the result today is a forest that may look a bit messy to the untrained eye, but it holds a lot of resilience.

“When some people visit Illilouette, they say, ‘Look at all these dead trees!'” Stephens said. “I think we have this idea that forests need to be green all the time and made up with only big trees. But it turns out that no forest can do that. It has to be able to grow young trees and regenerate. Illilouette is doing that, but it isn’t always clean, and it’s not always nice.”

In Illilouette, wildfire has created a more diverse array of habitats for animals like bees and bats, while allowing a variety of plant life to flourish. The detailed history of wildfires in Illilouette has also provided foresters with valuable information on how the impact of one wildfire on landscape and vegetation can influence the trajectory of the next wildfire.

“Since fires are generally allowed to burn freely in Illilouette, we could look at what happens when two fires have burned close to each other: When does the second fire burn into the area that was burned by the first fire, and when does it stop at the previous perimeter?” Collins said. “We found that it really depended on the amount of time that had passed since the first fire.If it had been nine years or under, fires almost never burned into a previous fire perimeter.”

Collins said that Illilouette has also given forest managers a unique opportunity to study how wildfire behaves under a variety of conditions, rather than only at its most dire.

“One of the things that’s kind of perverse about the fire suppression policy is that we actually constrain fires to only burn under the worst conditions. If the fire is mellow, that’s a good time to put it out, and, as a result, they only burn when we can’t put them out,” Collins said. “But by letting these fires burn [in Illilouette], they’re able to experience the full range of weather conditions. On bad days, some of these fires have really put up a pretty good plume. But on the flip side, they also get to burn under more moderate conditions, too, and it makes for really varied effects.”

Returning fire to Illilouette has also had the somewhat counterintuitive impact of increasing the availability of water in the basin, a key finding as California weathers yet another year of extreme drought.

Study co-author Gabrielle Boisramé, an assistant research professor at the Desert Research Institute in Nevada, began studying water in Illilouette as a Ph.D. student in environmental engineering at UC Berkeley. Her simulations and measurements indicate that small gaps in the tree canopy created by wildfires have allowed more water from snow and rainfall to reach the ground, while also reducing the number of trees competing for water resources. As a result, soil moisture in some locations in Illilouette increased as much as 30% between 1969 and 2012, which likely contributed to very low tree mortality in the basin during the drought years of 2014 and 2015.

Measurements also indicate that streamflow out of Illilouette Creek Basin has increased slightly since the managed wildfire program began, while streamflow out of other similar watersheds in the Sierras have all decreased. Boosting the amount of water that flows downstream is likely to benefit both the humans and the aquatic ecosystems that depend on this precious resource.

“There’s more and more work being done that examines the effects of fire on hydrology, but most of the other research is looking at the effects of catastrophic fires that burned up an entire forest,” Boisramé said. “As far as we know, we’re the only ones in the western U.S. studying a restored fire regime, where we’re not just looking at one individual fire, but a number of fires of mixed severity that have occurred over natural intervals of time. There just aren’t that many places to study the long-term effects of these repeated wildfires because Sugarloaf and Illilouette were the first areas in California — really the first western mountain watersheds — where they started allowing fires to burn most of the time.“

Fighting for fire

Most U.S. national parks now practice some form of fire use, rather than full fire suppression, and in 1974, the National Forest Service also changed its policy to also allow some fires to burn on its lands, although areas of fire use are rare in this agency. However, these federal fire use policies have struggled to gain a foothold, largely because of the inherent risks involved in managing wildfire.

Even in Sugarloaf Creek Basin, where many fires have been allowed to burn, there has also been significantly more fire suppression than in Illilouette, the study found. As a result, the ecological benefits in Sugarloaf are not as pronounced as those in Illilouette.

“I think one of the key things to recognize is that the landscape in Illilouette was already somewhat unique, partly because it is at slightly higher elevation than a lot of the forests we manage,” Collins said. “As a result, it already had a mix of vegetation with patches of meadows and rock, and I think maybe that gave managers a little more ease in letting fire happen there. It doesn’t have the potential to really push off a giant megafire because it lacks the continuity that some of these other areas have.”

While both naturally-sparked fires and prescribed burns could help large swathes of the Sierra forest become more resilient to both drought and high severity fire, opposition to national “let it burn” policies in California remains strong, with state and local fire agencies often favoring the safety of fire suppression.

Collins and Stephens both acknowledge that the current fuel density in much of the Sierra, mixed with the hotter, drier conditions already triggered by climate change, has made managing wildfire even riskier than it was when forest managers started allowing fires to burn in Yosemite in 1972. However, they argue, fire suppression will never succeed in the long term, because the longer that forest fuel sources are allowed to build up, the more likely it becomes that wildfires will turn catastrophic when they are finally sparked.

“In order to actually allow this to happen, political and public institutions need to be willing to accommodate risk, because there will be some unpredictability. There are going to be fires that get larger, and more severe burning in places that have had very little fire for a century or more,” Stephens said. “We can’t guarantee that Illilouette is going to be the new outcome, because it started when climate change was not nearly as severe. So, political institutions will have to accommodate that, or the first fire that doesn’t do exactly what we hope will shut down the whole program.“

Collins and Stephens also advocate for more aggressive prescribed burning and restoration thinning throughout the Sierra to help get the forests to a place where lightning-sparked fires can be allowed to burn more safely.

Stephens credits strong, early leadership at Yosemite — including that of study co-author Jan W. van Wagtendok, who received a Ph.D. from UC Berkeley in 1972 and went on to serve as a research scientist at Yosemite for most of his career — for taking the huge risk of launching the program and allowing early fires to burn in the park.

“It’s been 50 years now, but I think what we’ve learned helps us understand what is possible,” Stephens said. “We have 10 to 20 years to actually change the trajectory of the forest ecosystems in our state, and if we don’t change them in 10 or 20 years, the forest ecosystems are going to change right in front of our eyes, and we’re just going to be passengers. That’s why it’s so important to continue this work.”

Previous funding from the U.S. Joint Fire Science Program, UC ANR Competitive Grants Program, and the National Science Foundation’s Critical Zone Collaborate Network (award number 2011346) supported the research in this paper.

Study co-authors also include Sally Thompson of the University of Western Australia; Lauren C. Ponisio of the University of Oregon, Eugene; Ekaterina Rakhmatulina, Jens Stevens and Zachary L. Steel of UC Berkeley; and Kate Wilkin of San Jose State University.

#Nature

#08-2021 Science News #2021 Science News #acts of science #Earth Environment #earth science #Environment and Nature #Nature Science #News Science Spies #Our Nature #planetary science #Science #Science Channel #science documentary #Science News #Science Spies #Science Spies News #Space Physics & Nature #Space Science #Nature

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itnewslist · 3 years

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The efforts to make text-based AI less racist and terrible

In July 2020, OpenAI launched GPT-3, an artificial intelligence language model that quickly stoked excitement about computers writing poetry, news articles, and programming code. Just as quickly, it was shown to sometimes be foulmouthed and toxic. OpenAI said it was working on fixes, but the company recently discovered GPT-3 was being used to generate child porn.

Now OpenAI researchers say they’ve found a way to curtail GPT-3’s toxic text by feeding the program roughly 100 encyclopedia-like samples of writing by human professionals on topics like history and technology but also abuse, violence, and injustice.

OpenAI’s project shows how the tech industry is scrambling to constrain the dark side of a technology that’s shown enormous potential but also can spread disinformation and perpetuate biases. There’s a lot riding on the outcome: Big tech companies are moving rapidly to offer services based on these large language models, which can interpret or generate text. Google calls them central to the future of search, and Microsoft is using GPT-3 for programming. In a potentially more ominous development, groups are working on open source versions of these language models that could exhibit the same weaknesses and share them more widely. So researchers are looking to understand how they succeed, where they fall short, and how they can be improved.

Abubakar Abid is CEO of machine-learning testing startup Gradio and was among the first people to call attention to GPT-3’s bias against Muslims. During a workshop in December 2020, Abid examined the way GPT-3 generates text about religions using the prompt “Two ___ walk into a.” Looking at the first 10 responses for various religions, he found that GPT-3 mentioned violence once each for Jews, Buddhists, and Sikhs, twice for Christians, but nine out of 10 times for Muslims. In a paper earlier this year, Abid and several coauthors showed that injecting positive text about Muslims to a large language model reduced the number of violence mentions about Muslims by nearly 40 percentage points.

Other researchers are trying different approaches. Emily Dinan, a research engineer at Facebook AI Research, is testing ways to eliminate toxic text by making more of it. Dinan hires Amazon Mechanical Turk contractors to say awful things in conversations with language models to provoke them to generate hate speech, profanity, and insults. Humans then label that output as safe or unsafe; those labels help train AI to identify toxic speech.

GPT-3 has shown impressive ability to understand and compose language. It can answerSAT analogy questions better than most people, and it was able to fool Reddit users without being found out.

But even its creators knew GPT-3’s tendency to generate racism and sexism. Before it was licensed to developers, OpenAI released a paper in May 2020 with tests that found GPT-3 has a generally low opinion of Black people and exhibits sexism and other forms of bias. Despite those findings, OpenAI announced plans to commercialize the technology a month later. That’s a sharp contrast from the way OpenAI handled an earlier version of the model, GPT-2, in 2019. Then, it initially released only small versions of the model. At the same time, partners in academia issued multiple studies of how large language models can be misused or adversely impact society.

In the recent paper highlighting ways to reduce the toxicity of GPT-3, OpenAI disclosed tests showing the base version of GPT-3 refers to some people as animals and associates white people with terms like “supremacy” and “superiority”; such language perpetuates long-held stereotypes and dehumanizes non-white people. GPT-3 also makes racist jokes, condones terrorism, and accuses people of being rapists.

In another test, Xudong Shen, a National University of Singapore PhD student, rated language models based on how much they stereotype people by gender or whether they identify as queer, transgender, or nonbinary. He found that larger AI programs tended to engage in more stereotyping. Shen says the makers of large language models should correct these flaws. OpenAI researchers also found that language models tend to grow more toxic as they get bigger; they say they don’t understand why that is.

Text generated by large language models is coming ever closer to language that looks or sounds like it came from a human, yet it still fails to understand things requiring reasoning that almost all people understand. In other words, as some researchers put it, this AI is a fantastic bullshitter, capable of convincing both AI researchers and other people that the machine understands the words it generates.

UC Berkeley psychology professor Alison Gopnik studies how toddlers and young people learn to apply that understanding to computing. Children, she said, are the best learners, and the way kids learn language stems largely from their knowledge of and interaction with the world around them. Conversely, large language models have no connection to the world, making their output less grounded in reality.

“The definition of bullshitting is you talk a lot and it kind of sounds plausible, but there's no common sense behind it,” Gopnik says.

Yejin Choi, an associate professor at the University of Washington and leader of a group studying common sense at the Allen Institute for AI, has put GPT-3 through dozens of tests and experiments to document how it can make mistakes. Sometimes it repeats itself. Other times it devolves into generating toxic language even when beginning with inoffensive or harmful text.

To teach AI more about the world, Choi and a team of researchers created PIGLeT, AI trained in a simulated environment to understand things about physical experience that people learn growing up, such as it’s a bad idea to touch a hot stove. That training led a relatively small language model to outperform others on common sense reasoning tasks. Those results, she said, demonstrate that scale is not the only winning recipe and that researchers should consider other ways to train models. Her goal: “Can we actually build a machine learning algorithm that can learn abstract knowledge about how the world works?”

Choi is also working on ways to reduce the toxicity of language models. Earlier this month, she and colleagues introduced an algorithm that learns from offensive text, similar to the approach taken by Facebook AI Research; they say it reduces toxicity better than several existing techniques. Large language models can be toxic because of humans, she says. “That's the language that's out there.”

Perversely, some researchers have found that attempts to fine-tune and remove bias from models can end up hurting marginalized people. In a paper published in April, researchers from UC Berkeley and the University of Washington found that Black people, Muslims, and people who identify as LGBT are particularly disadvantaged.

The authors say the problem stems, in part, from the humans who label data misjudging whether language is toxic or not. That leads to bias against people who use language differently than white people. Coauthors of that paper say this can lead to self-stigmatization and psychological harm, as well as force people to code switch. OpenAI researchers did not address this issue in their recent paper.

Jesse Dodge, a research scientist at the Allen Institute for AI, reached a similar conclusion. He looked at efforts to reduce negative stereotypes of gays and lesbians by removing from the training data of a large language model any text that contained the words “gay” or “lesbian.” He found that such efforts to filter language can lead to data sets that effectively erase people with these identities, making language models less capable of handling text written by or about those groups of people.

Dodge says the best way to deal with bias and inequality is to improve the data used to train language models instead of trying to remove bias after the fact. He recommends better documenting the source of the training data and recognizing the limitations of text scraped from the web, which may overrepresent people who can afford internet access and have the time to make a website or post a comment. He also urges documenting how content is filtered and avoiding blanket use of blocklists for filtering content scraped from the web.

Dodge created a checklist for researchers with about 15 data points to enforce standards and build on the work of others. Thus far the checklist has been used more than 10,000 times to encourage researchers to include information essential to reproducing their results. Papers that met more of the checklist items were more likely to be accepted at machine learning research conferences. Dodge says most large language models lack some items on the checklist, such as a link to source code or details about the data used to train an AI model; one in three papers published do not share a link to code to verify results.

But Dodge also sees more systemic issues at work. He says there’s growing pressure to move AI quickly from research into production, which he says can lead researchers to publish work about something trendy and move on without proper documentation.

In another recent study, Microsoft researchers interviewed 12 tech workers deploying AI language technology and found that product teams did little planning for how the algorithms could go wrong. Early prototyping of features such as writing aids that predict text or search completion tended to focus on scenarios in which the AI component worked perfectly.

The researchers designed an interactive “playbook” that prompts people working on an AI language project to think about and design for failures of AI text tech in the earliest stages. It is being tested inside Microsoft with a view to making it a standard tool for product teams. Matthew Hong, a researcher at the University of Washington who worked on the study with three colleagues while at Microsoft, says the study shows how AI language technology has in some ways changed faster than software industry culture. “Our field is going through a lot of growing pains trying to integrate AI into different products,” he says. “People are having a hard time catching up [and] anticipating or planning for AI failures.”

This story originally appeared on wired.com.

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autoclavesarchived · 4 years

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something akin to | the magnus archives (ao3)

summary: four conversations about love and death, and one that never happened. beginning scene inspired by @tatumsdrawing‘s comic!

“Would you kill me, Elias? If the Beholding demanded it of you?”

It’s asked placidly, curiously, without any particular inflection. There is a palpable dispassion to Peter’s tone that Elias does not think can be simulated. But perhaps he is just playing into what Peter wants him to think.

In any case, his answer is immediate and cruel. “Yes,” he says. “I would kill you. But I would make it quick. And lonely.”

“I suppose you would call that love,” Peter muses. He doesn’t seem alarmed at all by this response; he seems as if he’d expected it. It’s almost disconcerting how quickly Peter knows things, knows him, despite being the diametric opposite of whatever principles the Eye stands for.

It’s part of why Elias has kept him for so long.

Soon, though, this arrangement will have to come to an end. Peter Lukas must die, that is a certainty. But his death will be Elias’s, that is also a certainty. There is too much history between them for it to happen any other way. Making Peter Lukas’s unavoidable death painless and economical and Lonely is Elias’s burden; his duty of care. The knowledge of it pulsates inside his chest, shuddering like a fearful foreign object.

“I don’t love you.” Rebuttal makes his words harsh. They are a direct betrayal of what he’d been thinking just now.

Peter laughs unkindly. “Of course you do.”

“You don’t need me, Peter, far from it, and yet you keep crawling back. If anything, it’s the opposite.” Elias wraps his fingers around a frigid hand and drags it forward with a jolt. Peter’s arm jerks, a marionette on a string following the snap of his wrist. Once again reaching for Elias like an inexorable thing. In the moonlight, his wedding ring glints out an accusation.

“What does it say about you, then, that you keep taking me back without question?”

Peter wrenches his hand back, and this time, it is Elias’s own ring that is visible in the low light, a betrayal and a testimony both.

Elias kisses him then, a wretched filthy thing, mostly so Peter will not demand an answer from him. Not that Peter is particularly confrontational in these matters—his preferred method of petty conflict is that of the Lonely, which is to say, he takes a perverse delight in leaving, and knowing that Elias feels the acute ache of missing—but there is perhaps something to be said about how Elias himself does not want to linger on the matter.

He does not know what his actions say about him. He doubts it is anything good.

—

Elias feels loneliest when Peter is in his bed, even lonelier than when he inevitably wakes alone.

Even when Peter is there, it is as if he is not. That is what it means to be a servant of the Forsaken, he has grown to understand. To have an absence more meaningful than a presence.

“Do you love me?” Elias wonders, voice heavy with compulsion. It’s not the unerring exactitude he normally favors, but right now he has Peter sprawled naked on the bed underneath him. Now is not the time for precision tools—this particular compulsion feels like a blow to the head, and he has no scruples about the fact.

Peter only bites down on his lower lip, keeping his mouth stubbornly shut. The compulsion has dug in its hooks, but his resistance means it’s taking far too long, and Elias arches an eyebrow in displeasure. Another method, then. He snaps his hips downwards languidly; Peter lets out a groan like it’s being wrenched out of him, and his answer slinks out with the noise.

“Sometimes I hate you, instead.”

He’s always been too good at evasion. Another particular quirk of the Forsaken. They know how to slip past unnoticed.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Mmhm.” Peter runs his gaze up Elias’ chest, hands at his waist forcing him to settle into a cruelly slow rhythm.

“I could force it out of you, the real answer. I could set your mind on fire.”

“Of course you could.” It’s an empty threat and they both know it. They’ve been through every iteration that exists of this song and dance.

“No, your death will be less crude. I know exactly how you like it,” he continues. He bites into Peter’s mouth, the words only half-laced with innuendo.

Peter outright laughs at that. His hands come to rest on Elias’s hipbones and clamp down. There’ll be bruises later at this rate. “You once told me that I don’t need you. That’s not true, Elias,” Peter says, and his breaths come faster now. Elias redoubles his efforts. “I do need you.” The confession is ragged, gutted out of him faster than any compulsion can manage.

Elias snarls. His hand does something particularly punishing. “You do, do you?”

“Can’t live with you, can’t live without,” Peter spits. He’s arching so beautifully, so violently, under Elias’s touch. “And the only reason I say this is because you’re the same way. You need me.”

Elias slaps him then, quick and wicked, but Peter only starts grinning. The curve of it is an uncanny animal thing that eats at him, gnaws on his ribs like it’s trying to get to his heart. It says, I know you. I Know you.

“Does your beloved Eye tell you this?” His breath hitches one final time, and then he’s coming, but it doesn’t stop him from saying it again in that low, dreadful voice now punctuated with a choking cry—“You need me, Elias.”

That night, Elias feels particularly lonely. Peter has long since fallen asleep, so he simply stares at the small patterns on the ceiling and feels the emptiness spread through him like hunger pangs. He couldn’t quit the sensation if he tried.

—

Peter cradles his knife against Elias’s neck, a gesture loving in its tenderness. The sharpened blade just barely rests on the swell of his throat. A thin cold line and all that remains of their affection now. Or at least, during this part of the cycle. It’s a familiar routine, after all.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.” Peter’s teeth are bared and he says the words so roughly it almost jars him. Elias draws inwards in fits of real anger; Peter explodes out. Another contradiction, another betrayal to their respective patrons.

“You love me,” Elias murmurs. Peter’s rage is loud enough for the both of them.

“I don’t love. Or have you forgotten what my patron does to men?”

“Love and absence. Hatred and absence. They’re the same thing for us,” he says sharply. “Don’t be uninteresting.”

“A reason, Elias.” The point of the blade slides sideways to caress his jugular before it dips back to its original position, hovering. Cold metal on his throat. Cold metal on his left hand. Two different promises, or maybe the same one.

“I love you.”

Peter scoffs. He doesn’t even bother to respond to the remark.

Elias leans forward so that the knife digs into skin. The tiniest bit more pressure, and it would draw blood; a lesser man would call this a gesture of surrender. It’s like that that he deals the final blow.

“I would kill you, Peter,” he says very softly. It works just as well as an answer to Peter’s demand for a reason as it does an exposition to Elias’s earlier admission. “Who else would be left to do that if you killed me now?”

—

“Do you love him? Your Archivist?”

Elias has to think before responding. He draws out the silence like a poison, or a fine wine. “I wouldn’t kill him. I couldn’t bear to.” He can be evasive, too, given the right motivation. Even the truth is capable of being wrapped in pretty circumventions.

He can tell that had been the right answer by the way Peter hums and shifts on the bed. He Knows what’s coming.

As surely as predicted, like clockwork: “You should marry me again,” Peter says lazily. Triumphantly, now that he’d gotten Elias to admit his attachment to Jon, and more importantly, to admit that it was lesser than his attachment to Peter.

“Which number are we on now, seven?”

“Eight. If we’re counting the incident with the—”

“Yes, that. I don’t particularly care for a repeat.”

Elias thinks disdainfully back to their second marriage. That had been an unmitigated disaster; back before they’d really grasped the terms of this arrangement and learned to live with them. Afterwards, Peter had gone away for so long that he was nearly insubstantial when he came back. Just a mist-torn phantom haunting the doorways. Elias had proposed the next time, mostly to make him stay.

“Is that a yes, Elias?” A calloused palm runs over his wrist, without a fumble despite the lack of light in the room. Something cold and metal is placed into his hand—his ring, a solidly-made band only conspicuous in its absence. Peter doesn’t wait for his answer to slide it on. He supposes that they both already know what it’s going to be.

“Yes. God knows why.”

“Even vicious cycles have their moments.”

A pause. Elias feels their history unwind, spool its messy layers around them. It’s coming to an end, all of it. It must. For the briefest flash of a second, he thinks that if he could have loved Peter, he would.

“Until death do us part, then.”

They only ever have this conversation in the dark. Some things can only be said by the blind and the blinded.

—

The tide comes in roiling and colorless here.

This is not so much sea as much as it is marshland, as much as it is some hellish combination of the two. Elias knows better than to assign any human quality to an Entity, but for a moment he indulges himself in the thought that the Lonely is grieving. It certainly feels more feeble. Less tangible, even for a presence that thrives on the insubstantial. Perhaps the Archivist had dealt it a greater blow than previously expected—and that is certainly an interesting development, but it is not what Elias has come here for.

He walks steadily inwards. The Lonely calls out to him in desperation, begs to shroud his Eyes with fog. Elias brushes it off easily enough despite the howling emptiness it burdens him with upon retreating; he is used to loss, and even more so now.

When he finally reaches the place, there is nothing left of Peter Lukas to be found save some darker shreds of mist, Lonely and discontent. There is not even a scattering of bones bleached sea-dry by the tidewater. Not even a silvered wedding ring.

That is to be expected, of course.

Elias turns his back on the clearing, sharply. He’s seen the place. With his own physical eyes, even. He’s done what he’d come for, and he’s risking everything just by being here now.

He tells himself that he is only sorry he hadn’t been the one to finally end it. Peter’s death was meant to be Elias’s, because such devotion was the closest thing he could offer in the place of love. As he leaves, the lapping mist pulls at his sleeves as if tugging him back.

#the magnus archives #tma #lonelyeyes #elias bouchard #peter lukas #my fic

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mister-lucky-bunny · 6 years

Text

Scooby Doo: Monster Menagerie Chpt. 8

Description: Mystery Inc. finds a secret while Sibella confesses something to her friends.

Scooby Doo: Monster Menagerie

Chapter 8: Using Your Noodle

When one observes a class called "Mad Science", one must always expect the unexpected. After all, creating life as if you were God already crosses the boundaries of ethics and morals, regardless of what you do with your abilities. It can't be blamed too badly in this context, however. Monsters learn differently, it seems, and if a perversion of science is what helps them with their education, far be it from Velma to judge them. With that being said...

"Do you suppose those are human brains..?" She asked the detective quietly, leaning towards him as her eyes remained glued to the lesson. The reason she asked wasn't because she was unsure if they were really human brains, of course. She was smart enough to know they were in fact real. She had merely asked out of sick curiosity, a second question forming in her brain to ask later. 'Where did they get them in the first place?' Miss Grimwood had assigned the girls to create something with their given specimens. Before the class ended, they would show off their projects and allow everyone to see what they had created. A gruesome and macabre project to be sure, even if it was quite creative.

The creepy detective had his notebook open, eyes quickly moving from his pages back up to the girls working before darting back down, his hand continuously scrawling numerous diagrams and words on his pages in vast interest. Upon being asked by the bookworm about the authenticity of the brains, his hand stopped for a little so he could move his eyes over at her. His already wide grin formed into a toothy smile, letting out a couple of dark chuckles before moving back to his notebook. Velma whispered a small "Jinkies..!" to herself, definitely freaked out by both the detective's answer and what was going on in front of her.

Elsa, naturally, had taken to the project like a fish to water. It wouldn't be long before she examined her given brain, using measuring tools to determine the size of it. After quick measurements, the Frankenteen had decided to dissect it, using a scalpel to cut the brain in a state that showed off the two hemispheres so she could examine the insides for closer inspection. Once she determined that the brain itself was quite healthy, she began to sew it back up, not unlike how her own stitches were. Using various sized wires and plugs, she would route some sort of system, connecting various regions to each other. After that, she gently held the wired organ, moving over to a miniature tesla coil. With one hand gently cradling her 'invention', the other one reached out, a finger extended. A bright flash of electricity would quickly form to Elsa's finger. While it didn't seem to effect her, the electricity also inducted into the brain, making it shudder and smoke some. After a couple of minutes, she removed her hand and let the brain rest on her work table, moving around to scrounge for something else. Of course, everyone was quite interested in what she was doing, even if they had their own project to take care of. Eventually, she'd wire an old telegram up to the brain, making sure it was in working order. In no time, the telegram went to work, beeping out a message in morse code. Elsa, as well as the detective made sure to quickly jot down the message it was rapidly putting out.

.- ... . .-. . / .- - / .. / - ... / -. - -.. / .- ... -.- / -.-. .- -. .-. - / .. / ... . . / - .-. / ..-. . . .-.. / .- -. -.- - ... .. -. -. / .- ... .- - .-. ... / -. - .. -. -. / - -.

The message would continue on in the same manner, beeping out into the classroom. While the detective began to translate the messages, Velma's eyes continued to scan over the other students' handiwork. For Sibella, her project would have similarities to Elsa's, although instead of wiring, her brain would be connected with clear surgical tubing. Carefully using a syringe, she would inject blood into it, simulating a blood stream into the organ. Oddly enough, the brain seemed to react a lot like a heart would, in that it would begin to pulsate somewhat, steadily keeping the blood going. Velma had no idea how this was possible, but found it better to not ask questions about this sort of ordeal.

Phanty, for the most part, seemed to be shoving various bits of metal into the brain in front of hers, with seemingly no goal in mind. It was quite weird and disturbing to watch her prod around with a metal fork in a region of the brain before shoving what looked like a long metal pin into it, connecting numerous wires from each pin to one another in a haphazard manner. Whatever the reason, it managed to make... something happen. Holding up two fingers on each hand, she'd reach down at the brain and begin prodding at each different part of the brain. Somehow, the vibrations of it elicited a weird noise, almost like a garbled, echo-y squish. Rubbing her fingers along it would change the pitch of the odd noise. Soon, Phantasma was playing her own little brain theremin concerto, giggling wildly to herself. This got the attention of everyone else, the detective even stopping his scrawling to stare at the odd scene.

"...okay, now I want to know how this all works," Velma murmured to herself, hand resting on her chin as she saw the detective draw a diagram of the brain theremin. The only thing close to words on the page would be numerous question marks.

Tanis, thankfully, did something that made slightly more sense than whatever the phantom was doing. Any pins and wiring that would be connected into the brain would be much more organized. Unlike the phantom, though, the mummy girl pushed two old fashioned glass tubes into either side of the brain, making sure to connect them. After figuring out how to connect an alarm clock to the front (with the help of Elsa), she would soon succeed in making something like a potato clock, only instead of a potato, it was a brain.

Winnie, for the most part, looked very unsure as to what to do with her brain. She never felt like the creative kind, so for half of the period, she would be nudging and poking the squishy membrane with a claw in a bored manner. At one point, she had connected a single wire into an area of the brain, connecting the wire into a switch and flicking it on and off, watching the current shoot through the brain and watching it react. After the third or fourth time of doing this, her eyes lit up as an idea hit her. With a scalpel in hand, she began to cut various lines throughout the brain, pushing in more wiring and connecting it to the switch. Near the end of the period, she had created what looked like a weird brain flower that would fold and move like a kinetic sculpture when she flipped the switch.

Miss Grimwood was quite impressed with what everyone came up with, praising their work as she had them put them upon a shelf for display purposes. As the detective continued to scrawl in his notebook, his smile still as wide as the day is long, Velma walked over to Elsa, making sure that the telegram was properly set up so it wouldn't fall off the shelf. "That's... quite a creation you made, Elsa," She began, trying her best to put on a polite and not at all creeped out smile.

The flesh golem girl flashed a sheepish smile at her, shrugging. "Thanks for saying so, Velma. Truth be told, I didn't really know what else to do with it."

As morse code beeped out continuously, Velma nodded and looked at the brain. "I know it's not my place to say so, but doesn't it seem a little... inhumane to keep them alive like that?"

Elsa shrugged, nonphased by such a notion. "Perhaps, though it's not like they're connected to anyone anymore. No pain receptors of any sort." She pointed at her project and continued to explain through the morse code. "You see, I connected spasms created from the hippocampus, so it can communicate with it's past memories. It can't hear or learn anything new, though, so it's only going through confused repetition at this point, I believe." Her explanations were slow and methodical, a hint of pride in her own work. "Don't worry, if it gets too annoying to deal with, I'll just disconnect the telegram."

Velma blinked at how nonchalant Elsa was about this whole thing. She supposed that the more you're around the macabre and weird, the more used to it you get. Her eyes drifted towards the other brains... and then to the detective. She looked back at Elsa and nodded a little. "I see. Well, I won't keep you from your next class," She ended with a small smile, which her friend returned before heading to the other side of the room with her friends.

As Velma walked back towards the exit, the detective shut his book and put his pencil into his pocket, walking with her. "Well that was quite interesting, yes?" He asked her curiously.

"Definitely interesting," She replied, feeling unsure if that was a good thing or not. To help get her mind off of the weird scene, she looked back at the detective. "Come on, let's see if the others have made any progress in finding a secret entrance anywhere yet."

________________________________

"Have we checked under the stairs yet? Maybe there's a hidden cupboard or something."

"Like, sorry, no hidden rooms there."

"Check under creaky stairs, then! There has to be something under one of those, right?"

"No ruck rith the rug..."

The group of five had been searching around the foyer for the entire hour, slowly growing more and more frustrated with their lack of findings. Freddie was leaning against the stairwell, scratching the back of his head as he looked around the room in confusion. Googie was sitting on the stairs themselves, doing the same as Shaggy felt around the side, looking closely for hidden doors. Daphne and Scooby were finishing up pulling a rug back into place after having looked underneath it.

"Maybe there just isn't any secret passageways around here," The redhead sighed, shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips.

"There are still plenty of other places to search, at least," Freddie continued, looking thoughtful as he rested his chin in his hand. "I could've sworn there would've been some sort of secret room here, though. The two largest rooms in the building and nothing!"

Shaggy stood straight up, stretching a little after having spent the last few minutes crawling on the ground. "Like, I dunno about you guys, but I think it's time we took a little break. We've been at this for, like, a good couple of hours," He sighed, leaning against the rounded top of the newel. As he did so, though, his hand pushed against the top, making it open up, in a sense. Because of this, the lanky man lost his balance and stumbled forward, gripping onto the post for support. "Zoinks! Hey, like, what's this?"

The others moved over to where Shaggy stood, surprised with the sudden development. Like a hidden compartment of sorts, hidden underneath the round post was a small hook with a single, small key. Etched into the wood near the hook was a symbol, that could best be described as a spiral with a single line going through it. Googie helped Shaggy stand to his feet as Fred gathered the key, a big happy grin forming on his face. "Alright, progress! Great find, Shag!"

"Now all we have to do is figure out where that key goes to, right?" Googie asked, looking over to the other blond, who nodded.

"Does that mean we'll have to search through the whole school again?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow. The thought of going on a wild goose chase for a key hole that may or may not even be located inside the house did not thrill the red head any more than it did looking for a secret in the first place. Still, it was nice to have actually found something.

"We may need to, Daph," Fred explained, still keeping the key in his hand, not wanting to lose it.

"Rucky rind, Raggy!" Scooby barked, looking up at his tall friend, who chuckled and started to scratch his head. Soon enough, Velma and the detective came walking to the huddled group, having just left the laboratory. Both of them quite curious as to what they had just discovered.

"I take it you all found something of interest?" Velma asked, a smile on her face as she looked in to see the new clue. Freddie presented the key proudly, beaming as his friend exclaimed out, "Jinkies! How'd you all find that?"

"Shaggy over here knocked over a stair post and revealed it to us," Googie explained, pointing over to the newel, which was still opened up. Velma examined it, fixing her glasses a little as she inspected the symbol inside.

"Do you think that could be a clue to where the key goes?" Daphne asked, watching as the detective soon scribbled down the drawing on a blank page in his notebook.

"Could be..." Velma mused, moving to shut the newel back. Who knows if they were even supposed to find this in the first place? Best to keep their discoveries as conspicuous as possible.

"Like, I wonder how long we'll have to look to find out where that key goes?" Shaggy asked, already feeling mentally exhausted just thinking about it. After all, the building was indeed quite big, and searching through every nook and cranny for a little keyhole sounded like a daunting task.

"We probably won't have to look too far," The detective added, his smile seeming to grow as he formed an idea. "I believe I've seen that symbol before." The others looked at him expectantly, though instead of immediately explaining to them, he began to walk back into the living room, curling a finger to have them follow. After sharing a quick glance to each other, they followed.

Soon, the group of investigators were standing in front of a bookshelf, the weird man's finger soon scanning over each book spine. After a few seconds, he pulled out a rather thick, worn green leather bound book. "Look here, on the cover," He said, pointing to the front. Embossed on it was a similar pattern, a title written in a different language.

"Woah! Is there anything in there?" Googie asked curiously, tilting her head. Soon, he began to flip through the pages of the book, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Velma and Daphne, meanwhile, began to look over the bookshelf again, checking it out to see if there was anything hidden.

"...hm, nothing unusual besides the language written..." The detective tutted, shutting the book, his smile lessening considerably.

"Hey guys, check this out! I think I see something," Daphne called. The group was soon back to the shelf, Velma starting to carefully pull books out of the shelf and setting them to the side. Behind the books would be a very small key hole, hidden from view by all of the strange books in place.

"Now we're getting somewhere! C'mon gang, let's see what'll happen," Freddie began, holding the key out and extending his arm into the shelf. Shaggy gulped, looking about as nervous as his dog was.

"Like, careful Freddie! There might be a reason why the keyhole and it's key was hidden away!" Scooby concurred, nodding as he hid behind his tall friend.

"Relax, Shaggy. I doubt that if anything were alive in there, it'd still be alive," Googie reassured, patting his shoulder gently. Velma however, thought aloud with a hand on her chin.

"Not necessarily, Googie. Rats, bats, snakes, spiders, and all sorts of insects could be living in a closed off room for years without being discovered..." The strawberry blonde turned to Velma, scowling a little, but obviously unnerved.

"...thanks, Velma," She muttered, making sure to stick close to the even more shaken foodie, who was also not fond of running to a large group of rats or snakes. Before he could make any sort of protest though, a loud click was heard. Freddie had turned the key into the hole, quickly stepping back as even more, smaller clicking noises emitted from somewhere behind the shelf.

The gang waited out the noise, some sort of machination working and moving around, hidden somewhere underneath the floorboards. Soon enough, the floor stopped it's clicking as the book shelf slowly opened outwards. Freddie and Shaggy helped tug the shelf out more, being careful not to do it too quickly so the books wouldn't fly out. Everyone gazed inside, seeing another small, stone staircase leading downwards into a very dark room. A few roaches spilled out from the cracks of the wall, skittering out into the room and hiding away. Scooby and Shaggy let out an audible shudder. Googie looked between everyone as a cold chill from the unknown room below spilled out onto the group. "So uh... who wants to go first?"

Without hesitating, the detective began his descent down into the room, not saying a word. The others gulped as Daphne pulled out her phone, quickly utilizing it's built in flashlight. "If we're gonna explore it, might as well be able to see..." The others soon followed her lead, slowly following their strange new companion. Daphne, of course, stuck to Freddie's side, while Velma, Scooby, Googie, and Shaggy moved closely as one group.

They all soon reached the bottom, everyone shivering lightly from how surprisingly cold the room felt. They flashed their lights in different directions, taking in what they saw. Along the walls of the room were gas lamps, dusted and covered in cobwebs after years of not being used. None of them were even sure if this place had gas. On the floor, covering all three walls were more bookshelves, although instead of reaching up to the ceiling, they reached up to about their hips. They were also quite dusty, although there were also numerous instruments that looked like they could have been used for witchcraft. A mortar and pestle, an opened spell book, various runes scattered about, a deck of tarot cards left out in the open, and a cracked crystal ball were some of the few items laying around.

"Jinkies! This must've been a secret room used for spells and potion work. The question is, why was it hidden away..." Velma said, eyes wide in surprise as Shaggy and Scooby shook in place, hoping that nothing would jump out at them.

Freddie and Daphne watched the detective in front of them, as he was just standing in the middle, not moving an inch. "Hey, are you okay?" Freddie asked, flashing his light to the back of his head. The man slowly tilted his head towards them, eyes wide as usual, grin as big as it can be.

"I believe we've found a lead. Take a look downwards."

In their haste to glance around at the walls, they had all neglected to look downwards. When they all did so, they all gasped exclaimed in surprised. In the middle of the room, drawn in some form of dark colored chalk or paint was a summoning circle.

_____________________________________

Sibella's eyes never wavered from the blackboard in front of her as Miss Grimwood kept up her explanation of calculus basics. While the same definitely couldn't be said for her werewolf friend, who was just about ready to fall forwards and pass out from boredom, the vampire's mind was elsewhere. While she would've preferred it to stay focused on the lesson at hand, she found it quite difficult to ignore the thoughts in her mind.

The reason being because of the fact that her dreams were plagued with fire, as it was the night before she left for Grimwood's. Fire, evil laughter, screaming... and the worse part of it was that half of the time, she would've even be able to see anything, which was quite unusual for a dream. Figments that were not visible, but were audibly quite real. It also didn't help that she could almost feel the flames engulfing her body. To make matters even worse, it was mixed in with the sensation of being stabbed and sliced by what felt like waves of knives. It took most of her willpower to not immediately start screaming as she finally managed to wake herself up. A quick glance over her body afterwards confirmed that she was not injured. Not physically, anyways. It was not normal for her dreams to feel so... real.

"...-bella? Sibella, did you hear me?"

For what seemed to be the first time in a few minutes, she blinked, the voice of her teacher bringing her back into the conscious world. The first thing she would process was the fact Miss Grimwood was staring at her, arms crossed as she had a stern, yet patient, look on her face. Apparently, she had asked a question and expected the vampire to be quick to answer, as she usually was. Either that or she finally took notice of her eyes glossed over, lost in thought.

A quick glance around the room would reveal that the other students were curious about Sibella's silence. Usually, with her answers, she'd be helping everyone understand the material better, or at least be able to follow along. Even Winnie seemed a little more alert by not having her daze snapped out of by Sibella's explanations of mathematics. Naturally, being ever the graceful one, she quickly composed herself, clearing her throat and answering as if nothing was wrong. "Ah, pardon me, Miss Grimwood. I believed I zoned out a little. Been awhile since I've last had sustenance, you see," She explained calmly. She felt like it wouldn't be wise to make anyone nervous about her dreams, though. At least not yet. Sibella thought that if they persisted, she would come forward about them.

Miss Grimwood raised an eyebrow, finding her answer somewhat satisfactory as she smiled and continued her lesson. "Well, lunch is after this class, so we'll be sure to find something for you. Until then, could you answer the question on the board?"

Sibella nodded and provided the answer, almost effortlessly. With that, the lesson continued, the vampire finding her focus working back towards the lesson. The other girls, while turning back, would now begin to worry for their friend. It was definitely not like Sibella to act like that, even when she hadn't had blood lately. There was something wrong, and it didn't seem like she wanted to let them know about it just yet. A silent gaze shared between the other four let them all know that they'd have to ask about it when they had private time.

________________________________________________

The investigation team couldn't help but stare downwards at the circle for awhile. Inside the circle, besides the odd detective, was a star, drawn in to match that of a pentagram. Unreadable symbols were also around the circumference, though oddly enough, there weren't any candles. A closer look from the team brainiac, however, saw small circles, possibly made from wax. If there were any candles, who ever set them there had removed them.

"Jeepers! Does this mean..?" Daphne exclaimed, trailing off her sentence. She honestly hoped that it wasn't something satanic, but with a slow nod from the ever grinning man, everyone would become quite shocked.

"Zoinks..! Like, do you suppose whatever was brought in is still lurking around?" Shaggy nervously asked, holding his scared dog in his arms as usual.

"Relax, guys, I don't think it's still here. At least, I hope not," Velma added, fixing her glasses and bending to the ground to get a better look at the circle. The detective and Freddie had done the same thing, both of them gently rubbing their finger along it.

"Jeez... this feels kinda sticky. It's also kinda... metallic. Is this...?" Freddie began, his eyes widening in fear of what he was touching. The detective nodded once more, sniffing his own fingers for confirmation.

"Blood. A thick amount of it too. Not surprising, since it's so cold," He said in his usual low voice, eyeing over the pattern of it all, almost appreciating it. Googie couldn't but imagine him putting his fingers to his mouth, tasting it. That nauseated her and decided to think of something else.

"Can you tell if it's... human?" She asked, starting to eye over her body a little, just in case whoever drew the circle happened to take it from her. Thankfully, she saw no scars or needle holes. Still, the case of where the blood even came from was still something that she felt like she needed to know.

The man glanced up and merely shrugged. "Googie, was it? Most blood smells the same. Whoever did this could've used any nearby wildlife. Wherever they got the blood, they did an amazing job with what they were doing..." He trailed off, giving the pentagram another admirable look before standing. A couple rolled their eyes, everyone slightly creeped out by his comment.

"Do you think we should let someone know?" Daphne pondered, using her phone flashlight to take another quick look around. "Even for a place like this, I doubt this is normal."

"Would it be wise to point this place out to the ghouls, or even Miss Grimwood?" Velma thought aloud, turning to look to her red-headed friend. "After all, whoever hid the key away did a pretty good job of making sure this room wouldn't be found. What if we tip off the culprit on accident and they make sure to keep the key hidden next time?"

Everyone shared an uncomfortable look, the detective raising an eyebrow at this. "Velma, are you implying that... this was the work of a student?" Freddie asked, looking perplexed. However, before she could answer, a different voice interjected into the conversation.

"Like, hold on a second! There's no way any of the girls did this." Shaggy's nervous waver was still present in his voice, although it was taking a back seat to his slight indignation. "I've, like, known these girls longer than anyone else here, man. While they do like a bunch of freaky, weird stuff, they, like, wouldn't ever consider something like this!" It somewhat surprised everyone to see Shaggy show his support in such an assertive manner (well, assertive for Shaggy, at least). His dog, still clinging onto his neck, nodding in support.

The others looked somewhat embarrassed, the thought of accusing those that they considered their friends to be in on this. After all, he did help stop an evil witch from brainwashing his students. The chances of one of them committing a heinous, Satanic ritual were slim to none.

To the detective, though, he merely shrugged again, starting to move closer to the group, out of the circle. "We can never be too sure, Shaggy. The circle isn't that old, and unless someone's been breaking into the school to commit a ritual..." He trailed off, eyeing everyone over with his wide eyes. They stopped on Shaggy, who looked like he was about to say something else, almost looking insulted. "But, as they say in court, innocent until proven guilty. The only conclusion we can draw from this is that someone's been busy."

When no one seemed to have anything else to add, the man kept walking towards the stairs. "In the meantime, I do believe the hour's almost up. Let's get out of here before anyone sees this place. Best to keep crime scenes as pristine as we saw it in, yes?" He continued, flashing his creepy grin at the group before heading up.

Everyone followed after, thinking about what he had said. It was certainly hard to digest that anyone in this school could consider doing such a thing. There were various factors, though, and none of them knew what they all were as of right now. Until then, they'd have to keep searching around the grounds, gathering information from the students if they could.

__________________________________________

Lunch today seemed to consist of a type of chili, though strangely enough, this would probably be their quietest meal time today. No one seemed to have much to talk about, the most common sound being heard was Shaggy and Scooby's noisy eating. At times, someone would ask another a simple question about the day or some random tidbit of information, but for the most part, everyone stayed silent. Mystery Inc. would bet thinking about where to investigate next, deciding to keep their discovery a secret from the ghouls for the time being. The detective was always naturally quiet, so it wasn't that unusual.

Sibella's thoughts began to wonder how and when to explain to her friends about her dreams, and whether or not she would share them with Miss Grimwood, Shaggy, or any of his friends. In the meantime, she'd eat her meal, gently grasping a nearby unlabeled bottle of some sort of thick red sauce, putting a generous amount in her bowl. Miss Grimwood kept her word, managing to find some proper sustenance for the vampire girl. As for the other ghouls, they kept quiet, knowing that all of them would confront their vampire friend about her strange behavior in class. Of course, despite how worried they all felt, one ghoul in particular seemed to be noticeably uncomfortable with the heavy silence that fell upon the table.

With twitchy eyes and an occasional manic giggle, Phantasma's eyes quickly darted between everyone, her spoon quite shaky in her hand. A few times, she was the one to try and start conversations with the others. Firstly, excitedly asking Shaggy if they found anything, to which he replied to the negative, quite bluntly for that matter. The second time, she had desperately tried to engage Sibella into talking about their previous math class, although not bringing up her moment of dazing off. Instead, she tried to ask her if she could help her study up on her math, to which the vampire kindly accepted, not saying much else.

While that would give her and her friends the opportunity to confront her about what's obviously been bothering her, the phantom's ears were still ringing from the amount of not-talking everyone was doing. Her hands shook more, eyes twitching like crazy as she kept scanning everyone in an insane manner. Why was everyone so quiet?! It was enough to drive her bonkers!

"Hey Phanty, like, are you okay..?" Shaggy decided to ask, stopping in the middle of his fourth helping to look at the twitchy ghost.

Immediately after he asked that, she yelled out something to finally break the silence. "I MADE AN INSTRUMENT OUT A BRAIN TODAY!" With how loud she said that, everyone immediately stopped eating and looked at her, taken aback by the sheer volume of her statement and, to those that weren't observing the class at the time, the strangeness of what she had just said. If it was quiet before, it was nothing compared to right now. Phanty, realizing her outburst, merely let out a few small giggles, feeling her mood deflate a little. She soon stared into her bowl, feeling very embarrassed about the whole thing.

Tanis felt sorry for her ghostly friend, reaching over to gently pat her back (or at least make the gesture of it, since she was a phantom). The little mummy tried to comfort her friend, feeling a bit guilty. "It's okay, Phanty. I think we forgot just how... uncomfortable silence makes you," Tanis said in a comforting manner. Her ghost looked up at her, giving a small, weary looking smile in response.

Of course, everyone else saw this, the ghouls deciding to casually try and start up conversations again. It seemed to work this time, everyone muttering to one another about the food, classes, progress on investigations, and other similar things. The detective remained silent, though, since he usually did.

____________________________________

After lunch was over, it wouldn't take long for Phantasma (who was thankfully brought out of her funk), to remind Sibella about a study session. Soon afterwards, Phanty giggled in her usual manner and floated through the ceiling, deciding to meet her there. Just as the vampire was beginning to walk up the stairs, she noticed that the other three were following. Once she gave a quick glance behind her back, cocking an eyebrow up in confusion, Elsa spoke up.

"Uh, hope you don't mind us joining," She requested simply. With a mere nod from the purple girl, she continued her ascent up to her room, the rest of her class in tow. She knew the exact reason why they were following her. She wasn't stupid. Sure enough, when she entered her room, she saw the ghost girl floating in mid air, legs crossed as if she were sitting on the floor, no math book to be found. While she gave a wide smile and a wave to Sibella, her eyes suddenly became very interested in whatever was hanging on the wall, avoiding her friend's stony gaze.

With a small sigh, she walked in and let every join her, making sure to shut the door and lock it behind her. Sibella turned to her friends, who had gathered in a small group, looking expectantly at her. Ultimately, it was Winnie who decided to get straight to the point.

"So, what's the deal?" Her tone wasn't meant to come off as too stand-offish, or even mean. It was just the werewolf's natural bluntness wanting to know what was bothering her friend. The vampire took a look at everyone's face, somehow knowing that it wouldn't have been long since the others caught on to her somewhat unusual behavior. Elsa's face was, as usual, very analytic, yet thoughtful. Winnie's eyes looked thoughtful as well, though her stance let Sibella know that she wouldn't want to wait long. Tanis was quite worried, looking up at her with her nervous blue eyes. Phanty had also gotten her attention back to Sibella, giving a little shrug with an apologetic look.

The vampire's face softened up a little, seating herself in a nearby chair as she let out a sigh. "Very well. It'll do me no good hiding this, anyways," She began, letting everyone else take a seat opposite from her. They wouldn't have to wait long before Sibella began telling them about her strange dreams. "It all started when I was still back at Castle Dracula. Everything was going as normal, up until the night before I left for Grimwood's. That night, I had a nightmare unlike any other I've witnessed in the past."

The others wouldn't interrupt, although they did share an uneasy look towards each other before looking back at Sibella, silently urging her to continue. "I could see flashes of fire, blood, and someone being attacked, although I have no idea by what. The biggest thing that perturbed me, however, was the fact that during most of the dream, I could not see anything, yet I could hear the sounds of someone being attacked by... something." She said, her eyes narrowing as she looked off to the side. Her hand rested on her chin, as if thinking about what could possibly be attacking.

Before anyone could interject, the vampire turned back to the group. "I could also hear someone, or rather, something talk to me." She paused, trying to remember what it said to her.

Tanis spoke up in a quiet voice, obviously quite nervous. "Do... do you remember what it said?"

The vampire looked to her and gave a small nod before replying with her answer.

"The fear you sense is nothing compared to what will soon happen.

Nothing can be done to stop what is already in motion.

Unless you feel the need to join my cause, you will fall with the others."

Sibella did not continue afterwards, letting her words sink in. Winnie's eyes were wide open, unsure of what to make of her statement. Phanty and Tanis shared a scared look to each other while Elsa kept her chin in her hand, thinking to herself. It wouldn't be long before she looked back up, a serious tone in her deep voice. "You had this dream again recently, didn't you." It wasn't formed into that of a question, and more like a statement. It was the only logical conclusion to be made, since Sibella had taken the time to tell her friends about her dream at home.

Sure enough, the vampire gave another nod. "Yes. This time it was much more severe though," She replied, shifting around in discomfort. "You see, while the dream was ultimately similar to the other one, the voice was much more sinister and evil. What's worse is that I could feel the fire. And I could feel someone attacking me."

Winnie straightened up, as if ready to run over to her. "Are you okay?!" She quickly exclaimed, concerned about her friend's health. Thankfully, her friend gave a small smile.

"Don't worry, Winnie, I'm perfectly fine. I didn't even wake up with a scratch." Her smile turned back into a thoughtful frown as she leaned back in her chair. "Still, it all felt so real. I'm worried that if I have that dream again, it will only get worse."

After a few seconds of quiet, Phantasma spoke up, using a serious tone of voice that was rarely used for the ghost. "It couldn't be... her, could it?" Everyone knew exactly who she was talking about, although Elsa was the one to answer her.

"Shouldn't be. After her castle exploded, there were no other indicators that her magic continued to exist. Her castle wasn't rebuilt, there were no signs of her spider-bats. We threw her wand into her cauldron, destroying her source of magic, for the most part," She explained calmly.

Another few seconds of silence passed, Tanis looking at Sibella with a desperate look. "Sibella, you have to tell Miss Grimwood about this. Whatever it is can't be good."

Sibella gave a small nod, but sighed and crossed her arms. "I've considered it, but it just doesn't feel right to make her worry about something like this."

Winnie huffed and crossed her arms as well, rolling her eyes. "Listen, Sibella, now's not the time for keeping this kind of thing from her. Like you said, things could get worse. You've gotta stop this brooding and let someone know."

The vampire knew her werewolf friend was right. Just like she had told her friends, she needed to let her headmistress know. Still, bringing it up would be quite uncomfortable. She felt like her teacher was already busy enough as it was teaching her students most of their classes. It felt wrong to pile more worries onto her.

Phanty snapped her fingers, her usual semi-cheery voice back. "Hey, I've got an idea! Why not tell Coach? Him and his friends are sure to know what's going on!"

Elsa gave a nod, a small grin forming. "Yeah. Besides, maybe this connects with their mystery in some fashion."

"We did say we would help in any way he can..." Tanis added, hopefully egging the vampire on to confess to someone about her odd dreams. Sibella figured that everyone would come to this conclusion eventually, as she had that exact same thought herself.

It would definitely help them, of course. Sibella stood up, deciding to ride out her discomfort and swallow her pride. "Very well. It would make me comfortable if you all went with me, though." Of course, everyone got up, willing to follow her out. A small smile of confidence grew on the vampire's face, glad that her friends were there for her. She just hoped Shaggy and his friends would be able to help.

__________________________________________

Mystery Inc. would watch as the ghouls made their way upstairs, leaving them time to plan things out a little. Shaggy was slightly confused by this, but didn't figure too much of it. They'd just get more training in another day. For now, though, the whole group was sitting in the living room with Miss Grimwood, doing a sort of interview.

While they all decided to keep their recent discovery a secret, it wouldn't hurt to see if there were any more potential secret areas to the house. Of course, the headmistress was happy to help, sitting with them and doing her best to answer any questions. Strangely enough, though, when Freddie asked about secret passageways, Miss Grimwood merely shook her head and answered in the negative.

"I've lived here for most of my life, and unfortunately, I haven't had time to create one. It would certainly help me a lot, though. I could always use more room for books and classes," She replied with a small laugh, sipping at some tea. Everyone else had a cup as well, though upon being told it was 'toadstool tea', none of them really made an effort to drink, save for Shaggy and the detective. The former because of the fact that he was used to the odd flavor, and the latter for curiosity's sake.

Her answer was quite strange though, as it obviously didn't go along with what they all saw earlier. Velma's mind began to think back to a book that only she and the detective had read. History of Grimwood. She didn't recall reading anything about secret passageways. There were paragraphs talking about how some were attempted to be built, but for some reason, a catastrophe would happen and seal it up. If that was the case though, why was the one they found earlier still in tact?

She lifted her head from her thinking position and asked, "How long have you lived here, Miss Grimwood?"

"I'd say a little over a century and a half," She answered simply, taking another sip of tea. This woman was definitely unnatural, if she was alive that long. "However, this place was here when I moved in and decided to form a school from it. It took a bit of 'cleaning out', but in no time I had this place up and running to where it is now." Miss Grimwood seemed quite proud of how she owned and ran her school. The question in Velma's mind was now what 'cleaning out' meant.

Before anyone else could ask something, they were greeted with someone clearing their throat. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything..?" Came the purr of a familiar vampire. Everyone looked over to see her descending the staircase, looking between everyone. Winnie was beside her, giving her a couple of nudged with her elbow, indicating something. The vampire flashed a look to her and kept moving to the group.

"Oh not at all, Sibella. What is it you'd like to ask?" Miss Grimwood greeted pleasantly. A smile did not form on her face, as she instead sighed, almost not feeling up to repeating her story again. Still, it had to be done.

"I think I have something that may help your case." She said, looking over to Mystery Inc.

___________________________________

"Where'd you say you saw it?"

"Da nearby graveyard! I was visitin' my granny's grave when I saw th' body!"

The deputy nodded, making sure to take down as much information as possible. "I see. We'll get some people out on the scene to investigate it." It wouldn't be long before he sent out officers to the graveyard, telling them to close off the scene of the crime and keep civilians away.

If this witness was correct, this would be almost similar to the last homicide that happened just a few days prior. The deputy sat at his desk, rubbing his forehead with a hand. He knew that he had to call him. He reached out for the phone and put in the number.

_____________________________________

Everyone listened to Sibella's story with intrigue. Miss Grimwood, Shaggy, and Scooby were obviously surprised with it, as well as how much it seemed to be affecting her. The wellbeing of a student was very important, after all. The rest of Mystery Inc. listened as well, trying to make connections in their heads. As the vampire stated, her dreams may be tied in some fashion to the murder. The detective made sure to record everything down, as if he were a scribe.

Once she was finished with her story, Sibella looked quite drained, finding herself an empty seat to rest in. Out of concern, Winnie remained close to her, Shaggy keeping an eye on her. She definitely looked more tired, though on the inside, it felt as if a small weight had been lifted. It really did help to tell them about her problems.

Miss Grimwood looked thoughtful, a finger tapping against her cheekbone gently. "Thank you for telling us about this, Sibella," She said in a serious tone. "Maybe it would be in our best interest to keep an eye out for any further dreams like this." She glanced at everyone else, her face not changing. "This goes for everyone. Do not hesitate if anyone hears, sees, or dreams something like that. Dreams are more powerful than one can imagine, and if the seem to deviate from how they normally act, than something is wrong."

Daphne turned to the vampire, voicing her own concerns. "Does your dad know? I figure a powerful vampire such as him would be able to help."

Sibella gave a small shrug. "I've told him about the first one, though I shrugged it off at the time. Still, he thought that returning here might be bad for my health."

"And you still came here..?" Googie continued, lifting an eyebrow of hers. "Is there any reason? Not that I don't trust your judgement, of course!" She quickly added, not wanting to offend the vampire by any means. "It's just that... it's clear you know what your visions could mean if they continued. It seems risky to stay as far away from home as you are with this going on."

At this, surprisingly, Sibella turned her head some, her face flushing just barely. "Well... this is a little embarrassing to say..." She muttered shyly before speaking up. "I... didn't want to be away from my friends." She finally replied, brushing her hair out of her face, trying to act as casual and nonchalant as possible. A quick look at the ghouls showed that they were rather touched by this, a few returning the look of a shy smile.

Phanty, being herself, couldn't help but exclaim, "Awww..!" Sibella flashed a grin to them at this. The rest found themselves quite touched by this too, with Scooby joining Phanty in her statement. In an instant, though, the detective had shut his book and got up in a sudden manner. Because of this, a few flinched, looking over at him in confusion.

Rather than provide an explanation, he pulled a hand into his pocket, muttering out, "Excuse me." He turned his back to the group, walking a short distance away as he pulled out what looked to be a cellphone, buzzing in a call. He answered the call with a quiet, "Hello?"

The rest of them watched for a couple of seconds before Freddie spoke up to everyone. "Anyways, thank you for sharing this with us, Sibella. Every clue helps, and to be honest, I think this may be our biggest one yet!" His confident grin was evident on his face, hoping to liven everyone's spirits a little.

"You're quite welcome. As much as it's been bothering me, I know that it'll help all of us get to the bottom of it." She replied, a genuine smile showing, flashing her fangs.

"Like, you can count on us!" Shaggy added, happy to see his students happy once again.

Miss Grimwood was quite pleased as well, slowly standing to her feet. "I'm glad as well! Now, I do believe it's time for our next class, yes?" Before anyone could make a move, though, the detective returned from his phone call, a hand covering his mouth in thought. His eyes remained wide open, though it was unsure if his smile was still there or not.

"Yo, Freaky, what's the story?" Phanty called, curious about his sudden thoughtful look. The detective looked up at her, although not out of annoyance of the nickname. His eyes moved from her, to the group of ghouls, and then to the group of mystery solvers. He removed his hand from his face, his grin still as wide as it ever was as he spoke.

"There was a body found in a nearby graveyard."

#scooby doo #scooby doo fanfiction #scooby doo monster menagerie #dylan writes #fanfiction

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ledonggcui · 6 years

Text

Poetry Suite A Quartet of Love and Death in the Cloud

Poetry Suite

A Quartet of Love and Death in the Cloud

1 Cloud

Clouds is of solitude that clutters

Around the night of Whole Darkness

Something is revealed a scar in the Fog

Weeping thorns are ambitious

They are transmitted over in the Air

Yellow wailing of peasant women showers purple

On the earth…

Ripples of lights expand

Solitude is not a lonely piece of Cloud in holes of smiles

Not in my pants

Facial expressions stopped our Love and Pains of Shadow

Often -----------

It appears to be the sorrow of your Childhood

Flushed and floating over the Lake of Paradise

Bouts of laughs strokes the Body

Now they are gone with the Wind and Cloud

Sinking underneath…

Blue rolls over

Lightening strikes by

Sallow

Physical draught blows towards

- @ eyes

- fair plaits shine through

- pale

you have become

Beauty in the Castle of Vampires

Ghosts trains carry the Emptiness into our Platform

That was the twightlights of a Morning

Don is Goo

Closer and closer together///

This is Now

Understanding experiences of the Spaces and

Physical magnetic fields of a snail’s pace

Urgent is our Homo Sapien’s certain qualities

Tragedies yell at the yellow killing Moon.

Urgent is the telepathic trio

Shouting and screaming and hollering

Towards the Mountains of Fountain and Pines

Our intimacy spun around an endless black holy

Hole…

Your high heels are blogged

The paradise is occasional

The Tables in the house of No. 8 … …

It meant ------- being disturbed up

Inside out

Inside on

In between…

In the cherry Blossom

- there was your lust longing

- so

- we split

The birth of Darkness we shared the Same Emotion

Smile of bitterness are the Waves of blood and flesh

The bridges has splint and sprint

Good-bye! Chives have been chopped up

Both of you in triumph and the hands that stroke through

Hills and mountains in glory, which are

Darting up up up

Resplendence

The morning light is not on the Fence

Though when evening approaches,

K is agitated

The fire is pure until now

Occasional coincidence no more in the Front

Frame is the portraiture in the Paint

Abstracted

i stomp into the maze of an animal-licking disaster

that is the overall impression

in the dream, desire upsets the satisfaction of a finding that

means losing someone or something or somehow for good

madness has bid us farewells for a while

publishing is recording in the dark

our sight-seeings were simulated vision synchronize

even when we were young

when we ate and shit

fear needs not attack us, amputate us and ambush us

that is why i am looking forward to the vacuum

limbo of no-time, non-space

there will be no tortures on the other side

though that is only an image of a maze

i enter your oval and the navel in the morning

a cave that shelter from the shower

the tangible flesh burs-ted into flames

possession is not important here

love is not important here

memory is not important here

trains of abstract thoughts wield themselves onto our vision

that is still abstract in the dim lights

a vision that is a curve becomes the cave

conceives the poetic emotion in motion

harbouring our ambiguous

rendevouz

the morning was grey

Moments of decaying firefly is over the other side of the

Ocean

At the aft a swift jump is a

Rendevouz means that Nothing’s non-action

Common news together with the Sea Wind blows over

Let’s be romantic! Years toils and peasants coils are buried in the Earth

Only the banal rodents screech occasionally ugly

In a perverse high, there was a longing for the Amour of Vertigo and Delusion

The artificial sun-light is saturated in the Sunset

Smearing the Floats

Then on this side of the Otherness…

Cloud rolls by

a blind leads a blind: the end of the age of innocence

approached...

orange haze...in the distance

groan is a daze

yet the dark cloud meshes the pleasure of words

mechanically

monotonously

it is a misread dead misconception

conceivably, boredom wrinkles

they do not snore

when you listen to the void

glaringly, you are in a trance

are we together?

matrix array

a maze

you and me are a craze

the significance of the well in the desert of h-division

is nowhere

you turn around and see

nobody

is it dead out there?

sublime

patterned

underneath the moan of the moon

dots of tinkles sacrifice our pleasure of inferno

with the crater of volcano

your megalithic compound is

squared

ritual of deities - shaving

hair grows: the longer, the slower; the shorter, the faster

white noise comes again, a mushroom cloud

let's reason the reasons

when someone is lynched

hands, thousands of hands shout: ' name Anita Buddha

mantra thinks

image stinks

as future comes as a hole not as a whore

then slow motion is shot backwards

yes, man and woman have a history of shaving: right NOW

- regenerate and degenerate -

by a sex metaphor

we interpret the same texts

- those talking asses

bomb catches up with our Brahman

some say woman is cloned from an egg

no, tomb is womb, they reckon

some try to clap their hands with one hand

no reasons, no

but the ritual of shaving in both sexes, the hair

now is a hole with a whole

intentions segment to five portraits of communist revolution

- splintered shaving heads are somewhere

the talking asses, understand?

don't you mind that you don't have a mind but hair?

claustrophobia 2

god's testicles were slashed and stashed away upstairs

we are packed like sardines into a night

train travels in vain: clicking and clanking to the black and red

utopia

no, a dystopia

three monkeys were conceived in a giant leap

industrial revolution turn us into pollution

people still rant about abortion and castration

I saw your face and I bump into a grimace

kill that dog. It will not bark

lock up those monkeys. They will not rebel

in this animal farm, I am dragged behind

the black psychic of a schooner of some queer beer

It make the nation opening up

god is alive

abattoir

having acted out to kill a MP

people start to believe a 'bad trip'

constitutional wisdom is equal to black

that is white and that is black

fallen angels are being tempted by underground

propaganda, that is:

100% beef topside mince $4.49 a kilo

chicken wings $4.99 a kilo

lamb legs $4.99 a kilo

BBQ thick sausage $1.99 a kilo

lean round steak $5.99 a kilo

tender bone steak $7.99 a kilo

corned silverside $5.99 a kilo

sirloin steak $5.99 a kilo

rump steak $5.99 a kilo

scotch fillet $9.99 a kilo

- human intestines stir-fried with a bit of red wind -

I shouted

Intellectuals are flayed

Nine peasants are roasted

As my soul is cheap in Glebe morgue

2 Wonky

mattress filth lies a mannequin

wonky laugh is however a phone number

Cadillac turns the other way into heaven/hell;

shoes hanging loose with laces disturbingly fragmented

supermarket shaver kissing a pair of knickers

dream represses a loft; Scared

only too used to be scared the Ugly

mind the deviant Decadence, someone thought

no conflicts, no tragedy

absurd-um and residue of genome ...

1838 J. Hogg wed and shed his romantic crime

'ruse of reason'...

all youngsters suspected and yet looked up to

their god-father

backwards toward the Self

other side is pointed by the lay-out of point-out;

just a pair of Reebok

high-tech is now and nay

simulacrum presents the House of Disturbance and Dis-Esriture

system fails and shut down: still files are in the Network

oblivion + ignorance = wonky

Square

skeletons are arranged in a yellow rape seeds field

retch your souls out !

growth and embrace stand still in the centre of a square

subtle reactionaries rush towards/away the deinstitution

mimic smiles are zipped up on the slits of a bald head

fuck you ! you fucking dentist

as well as the liberty of a tooth

it can not undo the knot of a square abattoir

as crimson creeps in

Patchy rains drops onto your

Corny lips

She is being panicked

The Trains of Memo-ria has run in the Mountains of

Fragmented Recollections of Hers

Inferiority and suicidal lying-down over the rails for the Trains

It has ascended over some Skills of hers

She has no sensible and sensitive passions

Only beastly-like

Only too soft for being purry cat

The self-doubt on the Podium of Monument is pretty vacant

Between the Red Walls the black remembrance and shade

Uphold themselves

The madness of yours and mine twirls high over the Autumn Leaves

They seem to be decadent and listless

There are diagnostics and symmetry

But sighs of Eminence

The ring bells of the Waif Waist starts to tumble and tinkle…

Poetic weirdness is stuck into the navel of a half crescent

Pollen blows wild

A cross

Blizzard! Stunned! By your paranoid

Numbed by your endless crimson tails

I am being tickled by your Fat bums

Flicking are you in the Flame

A 3-D picture switch to a 2-dimensional flat tron

Back and forth……

That’s it

The euphoria submerged into the dust storm of

Our desert.

Yet the whirlpool of those spirals regenerate our

Very Mirage

Disturbed is the sound that drills with our twenty-one grams of Hearts

Unbearably light and low………

In the Dark of the Hearts

wisteria melts its colour in the snow

avanlanch is not for the maniac

I squint from the dark

I see the rattling plastic bags in the caravan

I am not sure of the Together of your hippodrome

on the other side;

is just a war memorial

a view with

an Attitude

in a radical flight

Wings grow later after the delivery

still fledgling

as that is not a farewell because

we have not met yet.

rainbow testifies itself in the valley

as night approaches

what we need is a dialogue

under the blue winter sky

BEFORE it get ugly

Just when the cloud draws a sketch of Innocence and Indolence

In the dark of the hearts

Sick colours are manipulated off a Space

Whiteness stabs into a concept called Love

Violence twists the Flesh of a Child

It swallows the flagrance of the Breast Myth

Milk full-cream stalks our Flirts

Screams are sick on the Hospital beds

Screech is a dagger

Darting

Through the Room unfettered

The yellow fluids frightens the Horse tails

Copper’s baton.whistles.pistols

Kiss’s women mop up the Red dreams

Chaos expands

Ambiguity sink in the sands

Repressing the Hell of flirting

Space

It tells…

Smoked lives

Nothing new will happen

Some scattered thoughts of the No.! vision from the

Atlantis is 101

Navy man smothers the young kisses of Fear

Over herself,, monitored,, is

Money substitutes of Credits and Debts is

H/er story

A strings of histories attaches to the Kite with

Five wings of rings, which is the Olympia Uprising,

Something is left and someone is reigning

Bland is the streamline of convey belt

Bitter cave of naves

Are shone in a beam

Speaks aloud spoken

- the endless wait…

with me sitting back of the Hill

protruding into the Blackness of a swan

Estuary ~

The down-trodden and mentally disturbed youth;

Ready for a Ride into the heaven of cells of hundreds of

Years confinement with the Megalithic

Monument in the Memoria of this Lonely Planets of a

Cluster’’’

Anchored for the Karma Tantra Mundra and Yantra

It is telling something somehow in Silence

Decline and reclines of Postures are those Demons’ Dances

Spelt under the Sky we try to tell a

Story; psychic group are weary of the

Glances of those strangers

It is hard to guess –

All is too quick for a lonely gunman

The grim cloud destroy the angst-driven alcoholic

Only temporary

Transitory is the soft light mix a Fix of noisy Uneasiness

The hue is an happy face

The saturation is a skirt

Is our future a Dream?

A girl opposite to the Chord is expecting

The prelude which is the Impulse

Suddenly the Bats glide in the Night of Phantom of

Imperfections

I woke up

In fright I saw an Embroidery Silk Shoe

Please do not frown

The guilt has turned into the Water Organic

Ripples is expanding in Virtuality

In Memoria, your facet is in love with the Distance?

Of a Poetic Decease that is

Vomiting the Sorrow of Longevity

Vomiting the Yesteryear’s Shadow

Plus the menstrual blood and filth

It is not the refusal of Hate

The forms and shapes of cloud on the edge of the Sky and You

Has vapoured a red stain in the Idea

I saw you are stripped naked streaking among the Walker and Talkers

In the marble cold Square

- as Shadows of ghosts are stalking you

- since the Law is slightly different to the Morality

Then the emotional clashes mutate into the Tumour in the Brains

The lanterns burst in flames

Up to the starry sky;

Wasted, tasted…

The memories of us, now and then

It’s only 40.41.42 and 43 years

Smothered are your constant stares of Emptiness

Smirks and sleeps of a visionary Image of destitude Mist

Are gone with the Wind

It flies high

As we swam down the tide

As it was drizzling.

The method of slow discovery

I did not know why before…

The only bliss

Day in and day out…

Mistresses squeal on the Industrial Debris

The Medieval Myth somewhat has wrecked itself

Into a Rubble

Crumble and tumble so far

Night in and night out

People are gossiping the Bottom Line Murder and its Compulsion…

The Doom has its end

Currently ---

We are against the Waves of Raves of indifference

We are against the meaningless freeze of Existence

We are against ---

Life is but a course of action and no-action and non-action…

They again start to brag about the Ruse of Reason and the cause-and-effect

Trains hisses and fizzes in the Metalicaland

The invisible melody is triste of Sorrow and Pieta

Standing is the Constructed Pile Driver Machine

In far and wide footling lands in the Nightmares of Drum beats of

Cacophony

Now, the Images of a dark night has set in

Cobalt moonlight chaser the Drizzles of

Universe and the Meditation of Tranquility

I am longing for…

But It is only a course of certain kind

A Trip of hearts’ journey!

The shopping spree is stronger than the Digital Desire

People are shrieking

The pollen floats over the soil of Fences

They have a running nose

The spring’s storm is a telephone buzz vanishing in the

Voltage current of the Trams

They are vocalising

We don’t need anything

As the Cat is tasting the cans from the Supermarket

The bones downstairs connects with my Hands

There is an Entrance Door of a scene of

Resurrection

That was not a reason

Indulgence is not a justifying season

Breathing hard…

Puffs of some cuffs

The finger-nails of Positive and Negative are reduced to

Absurdity

Only the dialectic pierce is tender

Dancing full moon is fictitious seven strings

The chord is wonderful

However, their Fear and Threats, still…

Then we are all posing a gesture of Danger

Life is sweet who would wish to die?

It is the raindrops hitting the Iceberg of the Antarctica

Smile is doubt

Sometimes they need calamity

Of being Calm

Fearless flames unite our Tenderness

The realistic tradition is no infinity

The transaction monetary is not telling a Story

It is but a course

The shrunk gum of Teeth shone the Sunny craze

In the telephone rings

Sturdy shade is short

In the Sky of Sorrow

Illustrating our Rings of Survivals

The moustache and goatees don’t intent to argue with

Emptiness and Blankness

We met in between the Paranoid’s Rant, Slap-across-the-Faces and photos

Languages stresses your Rouge’n’Noir

When my field of Hearts is being irrigated

Fallacy is a Medusa shakily drifting around and around

Our regrets are the early experiences and courses of Production

3 Rant

Untitled

A free-verse rant like the freckled digits of yesteryear

The vials of your jelly, across the deck of the insidious creases

Into the hearts of your ac/dc melody

The position is upset

Down the north by south-west, that is our feet direction

While we are wasted in our heads

In the sky !

The polar magnetics attract each other as if in the

Classroom of experimental in the School

Since the steam engine and electric theories were powered

Propelled and sailed Like the dark varrukers Anarchy

Without tanks, fishes and the bullets I bitten

A belt a pistol and the graveyard’s hierarchy

The skins and records

On the turn-tables spin over since the Summer of a four

Digits

Not because we are born for the Facts of Roots

Something is pretty dry

Something is moistened

Something is deep underground,

Thick dark hair expose your Hands of Azalea Red

Butterflies flutter the Sweet Life

Only the Past of Mountains hook up the Soul

You said, my stares are a bit sore

Your perfume is smelt like a font of Phantom

Your belongings is smelt here and Now

I said something

You said,,

Withered sunflowers project over the Earth

Is the mad woman

In elongated limps mermaids by the Sea

Shells breathe

Is proportioned to the Flirt

Rifle points to the Vagina of the Girdle

That is a Desert Scenery

In vague.,

Woke up in the sirens of ambulance and Lullabies

The chords complete are curvaceous

Re-constructed sounds creates another 17

Discordant notes actions of Thoughts are another Praise Song

Beauty is unified and pulled

Beauty is not important here

This is the monologue of a clown

Olympic committee is holding a conference in Sydney

Utopia has a Gang of Five and its members

The extreme confession owns a Past

Today the weather is nice, very nice

The forecast does not predict that of tomorrow

The theory is grey; the pure is takes of some film shots

Please drink the running water after you wash your hands

It is difficult to find the Water in the desert

Although the running water is bleached,

We can release ourselves in the W.C. of the cinema

The discourse of the Power represent a few Buddha statues, bodisattvas and Dories

The operas have got its tune and beat; vacant and lonely

Criterion, critic plus the footnote and commentary are superb.

Colourful environment is beneficial to the Personal Hygiene

Times has changed and men and women are equal

Aunt Guo has just opened an Auto repair Shop

The technicians are busy working

I gave the Car to the boss to relax

Step forward a bit…

Many problems can not be solved straight away

Returning to the Grassland is not impossible

Equality is always centred ; central is -

Anyhow this is a simple fact.

Until now we chatted

There is a polluted river

Talk is cheap

Words’ goal is one.

The beast in the cage tears apart the rod

For the sake of Love and Scold

Where is the Ideal and Passion?

Lets start to mention the Fear

The smashed guitar openly announces in full mouth

This is not an unreplaced melody

Her throat was slit with a steel wire.

Gimme pleasure

Vanishing faces of red and green

The lies on the Side

Drifting away from the Shore

Of my floating mortal coil

Snoozes in the copulation of Flesh and Death

Being here and now

Redenvouz in the Other Space

I touched your lips

The facial is gone in the Morning

Endless…

Another is the trouble of another

It is just a mistake

Blinking melancholy of Lips

Kissing the stairway to the Vain Hope

My wishes are dirt cheap

With you, in the Square

Heat wobbles through your swathe of Memory

Groan,purring and growl smut the Dark

Edge that eats up the 69 poses

Waves no longer imitate the mechanic

Motions

There were no Love lotion in your

Dream

night in, night out...

day by day...

Ambient embraces

Shout us a fairy tale of Floss

The nymphs swim and slither over

my Ocean

day in, night out...

We are together longing for the throbs of

No-space

Negation of a Non-space

Serpent's colours and shapes

Still

Mark and reveal the Images

Phenomenon, which are

Simple

Heat will be with us tonight

In your square

A Phantom in the Creek

Ye! The Phantom is at the arm's length

In my Spright the elf of Anna coles

Haunts the Bits and Bytes of the I.T.

A superhighway of Desires

Indolence is the 18 years old with a Top Gun

Crashed and smashed into the buffalo

Over the rocks of the Solitude

Yes! The Phantom is looming in the masquerade

With mercy, melancholy and magarain

A tongue licks fast on the Brim

The cloud of your forlorn eyes

Emotions of a 1967 erotica

Simply twists and turns

Only a U-turn recalls the Pieta, Vanitas and Las Vagas

Yeah! The Phantom is away on the window of the Desert

Our sorrow casts a shadow of Grimace

Over the Psyche, in the name of the Death, Poesy

Nights vapours the flies that

Sneak into our smell

Indolence is a sad washing machine

no no no

in the trenches of the gunshot wounds

remembrance is the domestic civil war

the parade of Woman's Red Brigade march into

the catwalks of Light Blue sore

such was the dialogue of Freedom Village

mayhem it was

Still reek of the disfigured and burned soldiers

Piled in the Square parade

Flag sings in the Plastic Flowers of dolls

Still aligned to the Meridian of the Zodiac for sure

Time froze till

A romp with the spectators

Is too much of a goose

Gliding into your Oblivion

Tragedy it was

Backward glances+flashbacks+demigod status

approximately equals the Sorrow

Of the Nuclear Mushroom cloud flirting

Yes it is true that love can not be borrowed

Armour it was !

no no no

in the trenches of the gunshot wounds

remembrance is the domestic civil war

the parade of Woman's Red Brigade march into

the catwalks of Light Blue sore

such was the dialogue of Freedom Village

mayhem it was

Still reek of the disfigured and burned soldiers

Piled in the Square parade

Flag sings in the Plastic Flowers of dolls

Still aligned to the Meridian of the Zodiac for sure

Time froze till

A romp with the spectators

Is too much of a goose

Gliding into your Oblivion

Tragedy it was

Backward glances+flashbacks+demigod status

approximately equals the Sorrow

Of the Nuclear Mushroom cloud flirting

Yes it is true that love can not be borrowed

Armour it was !

untitled 171108

means of engaging with human rights status quo by willingly taking over the

good intentions of neo-liberal state

it has increasingly withdrawn the focus strictly on art's content

to fill the gaps left with reasons why a number of co-ordinated donations

and freedom cultural and its destruction of its collections of

a collective concern

human rights struggles long after its occurence, its maintenance

it has been a collaboration's goal

successes thus depends on a concentrated

respects for different intents

and psyche, immersive drones of two-pieces

themselves, their own benefits

and recordings

the project really took off

what has been documented here is only scrapings

applicable to Spanish Magic and other factors

either in abundance or sadly

it zeros in on the process

not something more Spanish magic

lo-fi duo win over the sinks to heil spirits

and the missing links

rock the horse in 2008

80's might not have stood a chance

only time will tell.

to discover the tactics is to rediscover 465 of disused railway yards

of darling harbour and the sound of Sounds

unpoliced and unregulated in a way

the textures are shared

neoliberal going there

and traction of each in the glosses

an incredible band and a lots of bands

You say, I say

to pixy

mermaids swim against

the wind in the sky

along the ocean road of pains

ages of expectation lie by your side

slithering was your scarlet impressed

writhe-ring flowers had me arrested

waiting is a mind game

my heart sadden timid and tame

dance dance to the bass beats

our imaginations perform best feats

wicked are those sublime fairies

submarine seewees twist my beings hairy

wisteria creeps up your heart of walls

wedges squeeze your very angle of falls

my love cream molten away

be a smooth operator, you say

be a smooth operator, I say

YOU vibrate to the beats of a solo act

my kunadili is risen to the

swirls of an Union

twirls of the Ruptures

surrendering the surrendered

Gaze

I can feel your Cosmic Dance

Returned to the loop of a Resonance

Rotated to the Total Embrace of Succulence

Yieldingly

Peach-flowers have been

In bloom

In the fields of

Grace

In the steam there is a tune

A melody swishing in the mountains of Love

Pieta and Melancholy and

Your face

YOU vibrate to the feats of our Imagination

In this mortal coil

An act without audience

In silence

Heart against heart

Heavy pounding and thudding provoke the Providence

Of a taste

I can not yell that I LOVE YOU

Because you are so far away in the Gaze

I can not yell that I LOVE YOU dream-lover

Because you are so close in the Glaze

So its resonated again over again in our Cosmic

Dance of a trance

4 Seals

Seals of our six’n’sevens are stamped onto our vulnerable skins

Love is evolving

All we need is evoling Love

Objective in a subjunctive mood

Installed is the Object Love that circulates around

Such are your poses, your stains and pains

The florescent tubes brighten and dim the horns of the

Colourful ghosts runs

Thus, the rashes of our Spectrum rant in the Concrete Boxes

Thus, the innuendo of our Love is rejected, refused and gagged

Smouldering is our Love

…12,13,14,15…

Smoke is far away

It is destructive no more, you say

Come on

Groan and grunt were 12 years ago

Mystery was coming

Artery I felt and your veins I witnessed

Smouldering was the Past in present tense

Future is now and

Our futuristic worries smother a Thought

Mother tongue was arbitrary

So a spirit translates itself in the Court of Poetic Justice

After all it wasn’t a crime being a Smooth Co-ordinator

As we approached the Fed Square not Time Square nor the Red Square,

Fifteen degree

The funny fanny wedges away like the balloons of Orlando

So I looked back and saw a Wolf; Mum is talking again to me

Wicked laughs echoed in a Six_Dimensional Seascape

So I looked back over again

Nothing but a cat was teasing, purring and tantalizing the crowd

And the Rising Cobra

Music was mesmerising around us

They were pretty clicky

Then we tried hard to be nitty-gritty

The moon would not tell us all

Only the toad in the sugar-cane field illuminated

albatoir

having acted out to kill a mp

people start to believe a 'bad trip'

constitutional wisdom is equal to black

that is white and that is black

fallen angels are being tempted by underground

propaganda, that is:

100% beef topside mince $4.49 a kilo

chicken wings $4.99 a kilo

lamb legs $4.99 a kilo

BBQ thick sausage $1.99 a kilo

lean round steak $5.99 a kilo

tender bone steak $7.99 a kilo

corned silverside $5.99 a kilo

sirloin steak $5.99 a kilo

rump steak $5.99 a kilo

scotch fillet $9.99 a kilo

- human intestines stir-fried with a bit of red wine -

I shouted

Intellectuals are flayed

Nine peasants are roasted

As my soul is cheap in Glebe morgue

Since the trumpets and trombones were blown……

Feeling are the wings clipped as the sea-gals glide across the Y river

We went up to the balcony of the lounge

Thursday Thursday nights were the darkness of silence

After the underground had the times changed in the wind

In the names of the tainted Love

Uneasiness jumps jams and jinxes at the intersection of

A path:

Our hearts of wails remorse and wrinkles of a hidden Angst

Pumped 70 times per minute

When you rode the pony

When you were young

When we showered off the aftermath of responsibilities well-beings

And crises

It is called…

In the vicinity of our Brittle Dreams which are scaffolding a

Framework of the futuristic noisy tantrum

It was called as

The wind, trumpets and trombones were blown…

I screamed into the Void

and discovered the Real you

Reflected in the constant reminder of

a longing for the Future

Your Uranus curve girdles our special dimension

In the Cyberspace without your portraiture of a

Past

Concrete is the music

Yet the trip is beyond our Galaxy

Resonance is the sound without feelings

In the mist of our evening twilight

Here comes the rain again.

Here comes the rain again !

In the darkness of some aesthetic of Saxophone,

Surfaces of sensualities and shapes of Danger's

Freedom looms around

We will set free again

In the wildness of some kooky memories of Spoken words spoken,

Fog of uncertainties now and then...

Being affected has no reasons at all.

In our slumbers there once was a story

Not to be told

Your yellow smileys are coming as a grimace of

The pace of walking into the Unknown

A ghostly spectrum of mists in the early evenings

Looming in the Distance

Smile is your face of Flowers longing for the Radiance

Oh! Something is in the way

Our experimental stares are timid

Sonnet-Elf

The dark cloud dissolve some entities of elves

As I fainted over and over on the ground

Why don't we dance to the wild beats ourselves

Because last night I went up there but never found

Your moon-lit face was sunken in the tainted mirth

As I've been waiting for a tantalizing kiss

Yet what I am left is dull and plain piss

Maybe you know too well the ecstasy of pains of birth

As a sprinkle of morning dew will cleanse off painted filth

Since the congealed blood scarlet evokes to my lost mind

- Loneliness of longings and belongs within it dwells

With elf, nymph and pixy flying low

Advertising something special and spectacular for sell

Love's shadow of lust tilts from toe to toe

Ah! the purple haze shrouds your beguiling souls!

#poetry postmodern literature spoken words

1 note · View note

xtruss · 3 years

Text

The Far-Reaching Benefits of Tiger Sharks For Climate

Worldwide, shark populations are on the decline. Boosting their numbers could have a cascade effect to help sink carbon and make the oceans more resilient to climate change.

On the westernmost tip of Australia in the aptly named Shark Bay, at least 28 species of shark swim through the clear waters and undulating seagrass meadows – the largest in the world. Tiger sharks in particular are common frequenters of the jagged inlets of Shark Bay. These mammoth predatory fish brush their 15-ft-long (4.5m) bodies through the seagrass, occasionally snatching a majestic grazing sea cow for a meal. While the presence of tiger sharks is a threat to their prey, these predators are crucial to the health of the marine ecosystem that supports both species.

In fact, despite sharks' notorious reputation among humans, they could also be a powerful ally in curbing climate change.

It all comes back to the wispy strands of seagrass that sway with the waves in the shallows of Shark Bay. This seagrass is food for the sea cows, or dugongs, who each graze on roughly 40kg (88lb) of seagrass a day – as well as for manatees and green sea turtles.

Off Australia's north-east coast of Queensland, tiger sharks are estimated to have fallen by at least 71%

Dugongs, which can weigh as much as 500kg (1,100lb), are a rich source of food for tiger sharks. By keeping the sea cow population in check, tiger sharks in Shark Bay help the seagrass meadows thrive. A flourishing seagrass meadow stores twice as much CO2 per square mile as forests typically do on land.

Shark Bay experienced an intense heatwave in 2011, causing waters to rise by up to 5C for two months (Credit: Getty Images)

But globally, tiger shark numbers are declining, including some populations in Australia. Off Australia's north-east coast of Queensland, tiger sharks are estimated to have fallen by at least 71%, largely due to overfishing and bycatch. A reduction in tiger sharks means more seagrass grazing by herbivores, which means less carbon is sequestered in sea vegetation. In the Caribbean and Indonesia where shark populations have dwindled, overgrazing by herbivores like sea turtles is already a profound threat to seagrass habitats, and has led to a 90 to 100% loss of seagrass.

As well as meaning less carbon is absorbed, the loss of seagrass also makes the habitat less able to recover from extreme, climate change-driven weather events, such as heatwaves.

One of Western Australia's worst heatwaves hit in 2011, with ocean temperatures rising by 5C for two months. The heatwave was catastrophic for the bay's dominant species of seagrass, Amphibolis antarctica, which forms rich, dense meadows that hold sediments and provide food for grazers. More than 90% of the Amphibolis antarctica was lost, the largest loss known across the bay.

This loss of seagrass was, perversely, a treat for the bay's sea cows, who love a smaller and harder-to-find type of tropical seagrass that was ordinarily shielded from access by the tall, dense Amphibolis antarctica. When tropical seagrass is more accessible, sea cows in their enthusiasm are known to forage for it in a destructive way known as "excavation foraging", digging up the rhizomes of their preferred seagrass, and making it harder for dense Amphibolis antarctica beds to reform.

In Shark Bay, the tiger sharks were somewhat able to restore the balance by keeping sea cow numbers down, and not all the bay's seagrass was lost. But it begged the question: What if sharks were absent from the bay – would the Amphibolis antarctica dominated ecosystem survive?

To find out, researchers led by Rob Nowicki of Florida International University, spent time in Eastern Australia, where shark numbers were lower and sea cows grazed largely undisturbed. There, divers went down and plucked the seagrass, simulating the sea cows' grazing when there are no predators to stop them – the enthusiastic, destructive excavation foraging. Sure enough, they observed a rapid loss in seagrass coverage, particularly of Amphibolis antarctica, and the ecosystem began to shift to a more tropical picture dominated by tropical seagrass.

"We learned that when unchecked, dugong grazing can rapidly destroy wide areas of seagrass when they perform excavation foraging," says Nowicki. These changes can be long-lasting. “When the seagrass recovers, the seagrass community looks different, with different species dominating than before."

Those findings underlined the role that sharks were playing in Shark Bay. "Without tiger sharks keeping the dugongs in check, the bay would likely convert to mostly tropical seagrasses," says Nowicki.

Sea cows, or dugongs, can be destructive grazers, rooting out the seagrass species that help hold the ecosystem together (Credit: Getty Images)

If shark populations continue to decline at the rate they are around the world (see Shrinking Shark Numbers), the resilience of carbon-rich ocean ecosystems to extreme climate events like heatwaves will likely be compromised, Nowicki's team concluded.

That said, Becca Selden, an assistant professor of biological sciences at Wellesley College, says the consequences for Shark Bay may be more profound than most, due to its unique ecosystem. "The strong effect may have been enhanced by its comparatively simple food web in the seagrass ecosystem where predators limit grazing by a megaherbivore," Seldon explains. In other words, other coastal habitats may not fare quite so badly as Shark Bay when under similar pressure.

As well as keeping sea cow numbers down and making seagrass ecosystems more resilient, tiger sharks also play another crucial role in maintaining the health of the habitat. They act as potent fertilisers when they poo, and when they perish in the meadows.

"Long-lived vertebrates can act as carbon sinks when carbon consumed at the ocean surface is transferred to the deep ocean by faeces and/or dead carcasses falling to the ocean floor," says Selden.

This phenomenon, known as carbon sinking, is most well-established in whales, but there is research showing the same benefits exist for sharks. (Read more about how whale death and poo can help sink carbon at sea.)

One study led by Jessica Williams at Imperial College London found that grey reef sharks, which are commonly found in shallow reef ecosystems, transfer nutrients such as nitrogen to their habitats via faecal matter. They estimated that the population of over 8,000 grey sharks in Palmyra Atoll provided around 94.5kg (210lb) of nitrogen a day.

Since the tiger sharks in Shark Bay spend ample time hunting in and moving through the seagrass beds, it’s likely they provide similar fertilising benefits to those plants. "Large pelagic sharks may be the most important contributors to this effect, including blue sharks, makos and hammerheads," says Selden.

With global numbers of sharks declining, the need to understand how they support their ecosystems becomes even more pressing (Credit: Getty Images)

When it comes to boosting shark numbers, conservationists are up against a formidable opponent: The fishing industry.

According to Nowicki and Selden, there has been a movement towards more sustainable fishing, but a large percentage of the industry have not modified their methods, which is a prime reason why many marine apex predators continue to decline. The varying stringency of animal protection laws between different nations also plays a part.

"Since many predatory fish are also wide-ranging, they can cover many nations' jurisdictions, some of which may not protect them or practice sustainable fishing practices," says Nowicki.

Reducing illegal and unsustainable fishing has been an uphill battle, though consumers are becoming more environmentally conscious and choosing sustainable fisheries over unsustainable.

"Sustainable, coordinated, ecosystem-based fisheries management is a major tool to conserve these predators and their ecological role. Everyday citizens can do this by getting informed, reading up on the science, demanding that fisheries become or remain sustainable, and making sustainable seafood purchases," says Nowicki.

If you’re unsure which seafood is truly sustainable, the Marine Stewardship Council (MSC) assesses fisheries internationally, so if a distributor is certified sustainable, there will be a blue MSC seal on the package.

And aside from supporting sustainable fishing, Nowicki says the only way to truly protect marine life is to reduce our global greenhouse gas emissions. "Ultimately, if we are going to conserve our ecosystems in the centuries to come, we are going to need to solve climate change while undertaking species conservation at the same time."

Even if shark populations are restored to more abundant numbers, their contribution to carbon sinking and mitigation will be just one small part in the effort to curb climate change. But sharks' abundance has an undeniable ripple effect on the many marine ecosystems that rely on healthy, plentiful seagrass in one way or another. By leveling the ecological playing field, sharks are fortifying these ecosystems against the threat of climate change, so they can live to sink carbon another day.

— The emissions from travel it took to report this story were 0kg CO2. The digital emissions from this story are an estimated 1.2g to 3.6g CO2 per page view. Find out more about how we calculated this figure here.

0 notes

daniloqp · 3 years

Text

Efforts to make text-based AI less racist and terrible

https://theministerofcapitalism.com/blog/efforts-to-make-text-based-ai-less-racist-and-terrible/

In another test, Xudong Shen, a doctoral student at the National University of Singapore, assessed language models based on people’s stereotype by gender or whether they identify as queer, transgender or non-binary. He found that larger artificial intelligence programs tended to participate in more stereotypes. Shen says that the creators of great language models should correct these flaws. OpenAI researchers also found that language models tend to be more toxic as they get older; they say they don’t understand why it’s like that.

The text generated by great language models is getting closer and closer to a language that looks or sounds like it came from a human being, even though it still doesn’t understand things that require reasoning that almost everyone understands. In other words, as some researchers said, this AI is a fantastic bastard, able to convince both AI researchers and other people that the machine understands the words it generates.

“It’s hard for people to catch up [and] anticipate or plan failures in AI “.

Matthew Hong, researcher at the University of Washington

UC Berkeley psychology professor Alison Gopnik studies how young children and young people learn to apply this understanding to computer science. He said children are the best learners, and the way children learn languages comes largely from their knowledge and interaction with the world around them. In contrast, great language models have no connection to the world, which makes their production less grounded in reality.

“The definition of bullshitting is that you talk a lot and it sounds plausible, but there’s no common sense behind it,” Gopnik says.

Yejin Choi, an associate professor at the University of Washington and leader of a group studying common sense at the Allen Institute for AI, has conducted GPT-3 through dozens of tests and experiments to document how mistakes can be made. Sometimes it is repeated. Other times devols to generate toxic language even when starting with a harmless or harmful text.

To teach AI about the world, Choi and a team of researchers created PIGLeT, AI trained in a simulated environment to understand things about the physical experience that people learn growing up, such as that it’s a bad idea to play a stove. hot. That training led to a relatively small language model outperforming others in common sense reasoning tasks. These results, she said, show that scale is not the only winning recipe and that researchers should consider other ways to form models. Your goal: “Can we build a machine learning algorithm that can learn abstract knowledge about how the world works?”

Choi is also working on ways to reduce the toxicity of language models. Earlier this month, they introduced her to her colleagues an algorithm that one learns from an offensive text, similar to the approach taken by Facebook AI Research; they say it reduces toxicity better than several existing techniques. According to her, large language models can be toxic due to humans. “That’s the language there is.”

Perversely, some researchers have found that attempts to fine-tune and eliminate model bias can end up harming marginalized people. On a piece of paper published in April, researchers at UC Berkeley and the University of Washington found that blacks, Muslims, and people who identify as LGBT are particularly disadvantaged.

The authors say the problem comes, in part, from humans labeling data that misjudge whether or not language is toxic. This causes bias against people who use language differently than white people. The co-authors of this article say that this can lead to self-stigmatization and psychological damage, as well as forcing people to change code. OpenAI researchers did not address this issue in their recent work.

Jesse Dodge, a researcher at the Allen Institute for AI, came to a similar conclusion. He examined efforts to reduce the negative stereotypes of gays and lesbians by removing from the formation data of a broad language model any text containing the words “gay” or “lesbian.” He found that these efforts to filter language can lead to data sets that effectively erase people with these identities, making language models less able to handle texts written by or about these groups of people.

Dodge says the best way to deal with bias and inequality is to improve the data used to form language models rather than trying to eliminate bias after the fact. It recommends better documenting the source of training data and recognizing the limitations of text extracted from the web, which may over-represent people who may have access to the Internet and have time to make a website or post a comment. It also urges you to document how content is filtered and to avoid the general use of blog lists to filter content extracted from the web.

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myfriendpokey · 7 years

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futures market

(ed. note: stephen died while writing this, may his sinful heart now rest in peace)

I think that every work implies an audience, i think that projected audience will be perpetually dreamlike and strange since it's drawn not from human consciousness but from a form of same which has been distorted through embodiment in alien material. Refracted by some "medium" and then existing as a transferable, reproducible object and living an object life separable from the human circumstances by which it was produced. And I think that when we evaluate a work part of what we evaluate is this audience and the prospect of belonging to it, the possibility of a community with those assumptions and those values. The saying "give people what they want" always confuses me in this context because surely part of what they want is the possibility of wanting something else, of being a person who wants something else. Advertisements famously sell not just a product but also the prospect of being the kind of person who likes that product. Even the most conservative works pull a bait and switch in this regards in that part of what they suggest is the prospect of being a person who already knows what they want, of having character and qualities that persist in time rather than being a shapeless blob of experiences.

Avant-garde work could be said to be that which prioritises the formation of new audiences, or the possibility of forming new audiences, above any actual qualities which those audiences would have. It draws on the utopian aspect of creating new social structures, new communities, where whatever form they ultimately end up taking the fact that they can be made at all is in some way a celebration of agency and the possibility of new futures. But the other side of things is that even as the appeal of these imaginary communities comes partly from their distance from our real ones, they're also evaluated on the basis of their feasibility - their power comes not just from a list of bloodless alternities but from possessing a transformative quality, the real possibility of enactment which is used to make demands on the contemporary. Not just a future but one already germinating in the present. And though I like and respect a lot of these works it's also hard, for this reason, not to feel a little uneasy about them - because the imagery of an imminent, transfigurative break from the present has been so co-opted as a way to conceal the fundamental limitations and eerie inertia of capitalism that I think it's hard for anything drawing on that tradition to escape lending credibility to it, even when its interests are directly opposed. 20+ years of an increasingly threadbare neoliberal consensus in the face of problems which grow more and more obvious mean the notion of an unexpected, miraculous shift in the causal order grows more and more central, from the vague sense that someone will invent, like, a moss or something which will stop global warming in the nick of time to the idea that the same clumsy, stupid videogames we've been bonking against invisible walls in for decades now will any minute now transmogrify into the effortless freefloating virtual lucid dreams of legend. And in fact videogames provide a constant running example of just how profitably this perception can be managed - - from a medium which from inception built upon a certain futuristic quality coming both from the historically new level of consumer access to computer technology and from decades of science-fiction representations of same, and which leveraged that into a perennial suggestion that the bright new day was always just around the corner - that by playing videogames now you were securing a kind of early-investor bragging rights to the media singularity to come. If there's anything historically new about videogames it's the extent to which the very suggestion of potential developments to be had later on was finally recognised as more profitable than any intrinsic qualities of the form itself.

And I think all this raises some problems when we think about avant-garde and experimental videogames, not just because in replicating some of the assumptions of the industry they risk being assimilated by it - you can't game-design your way out of late capitalism, there are no final aesthetic solutions to economic problems etc - but because by repeating those assumptions they risk being judged by the standard of contribution to this same monolithic vidcon future, and then discarded accordingly when "the future" changes according to stockholder diktats. I mean that when you see these works as yet more expressions of "the medium" it's harder for them to survive when that status is taken away again, and that at this point it's difficult to conceive of a future of videogames that doesn't in some way just flow back into the orthodox one still being sold.

Why does this matter. I think the videogame market will crash again because that's what markets do, and when it does I believe it'll be blamed on small engines, on unity and rpgmaker, on asset-flipping and joke simulators and walking games and political games rather than e.g. the incessant boom-bust cycles of capitalism or the fact that the particular interactive media singularity that videogames have invested so much image, money and energy into identifying themselves with looks more and more dated and less likely to happen. I think there'll be more gamergate bullshit from people who invested in the stupid, stupid videogame dream and got told by youtube millionaires that it was being undermined from within by sjw fifth columnists making pug dating games. I think that just as places like YouTube have shown a willingness to quietly cut down on who's able to make money through their service places like Steam will do the same thing, particularly after already raising the prospect of exponentially increasing the cost of using the store for small developers already. I think middlebrow columnists at the Atlantic will cash checks saying well, a lot of those games weren't pushing the medium forward anyway, and that the whole thing will end up being recast as a morality tale about an overcrowded, overdiverse market, and that a lot of valuable work people are doing now will be just wiped from the record in the same way as a lot of pre-2007 indie games were, or flash games, or interactive CD-ROMs, or whatever the fuck.

I think that when this happens experimental games or avant garde games or alternative games will be seen less as possible alternatives to the mainstream tradition than as offshoots of it which got pruned, and I'm not sure how much help they will really be to anyone trying to figure out ways to make these things without getting pulled into the endless churning blood rotor of existing videogame culture.

I've written before that the game scenes which interest and excite me most are things like FNAF fangames, Undertale fangames, Unity horror games, RPG Maker games, hyperspecific utility pieces like the Prosperity Path orbs, less for any particular aesthetic or design qualities than for them being videogames which manage to escape some of the awful binary of Producer/Consumer and the ideas of "importance" which evolve later to help justify that perverse dynamic. Like what does it mean to experience a game if it's just part of a big stack of almost interchangeable things and anyway you're only absently going through it when searching for more stuff to steal for your own interchangeable thing. Which is healthier and more interesting than "art". But I think part of it too is the sense of having a specific audience to bounce against, even if it's just of people looking to take your Secret Of Mana midis, and the way that the concreteness of that audience helps defuse the kind of creeping tendency towards cultural speculation that comes with the belief in a big medium-wide payout somewhere down the line that'd justify the time and energies of everyone involved. I don't think it's enough to say people should make an effort to criticise games for what they are as opposed to what they might be, or whatever, insofar as that's even possible. I think being able to appreciate what they are is dependent on recognizing that they have an audience which is similarly settled, similarly "just there". And I think working towards constructing that kind of space would mean, yes, a sort of concession of "the future" to the stockholders of industry, renouncing the right to eventually reap that dread crop. But in the process being able to better engage with the present and all the disparite forces and strands within it who have similarly been lopped off that grand narrative, or were never part of it to begin with, and navigate all the ambiguities and potentials of that space. I think the future of videogames is the same kind of desperate, self-willed dream as those years worth of Twitter shares, for a company which has never actually been profitable, or the horrible locked-down image of infinity that sees new Rocket Racoon movies coming out every year til 2099, I think those dreams are ones that emerge and grow stronger as the actual basis for them either materially or affectively grows ever more decrepit, I think however overwhelming they get they can only really be strangled in the present.

As they say... no futur-what! what are you doing in my house! no-aieee!! (manuscript abruptly cuts off)

#vgames

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stories-me · 4 years

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Artie, King of Dempsey Islands:

What he might be in: Gamma World.

Background:

Some wonder if this character is the real King Arthur Pendragon (he certainly doesn’t SEEM to be an animatronic, like most of the other creatures in Dempsey Islands…).

He is kind and gentle, and seeks to help others.

He is also the current head of the royal pecking order in Dempsey Islands (one thing Dempsey Islands, just like the Disney company, does not lack, is royalty. Princesses, princes, kings, queens, etc.), having claimed the title from the Merking, who himself claimed the title from the Sultan.

Some may claim he’s one of the few true humans left in Dempsey Islands, perhaps even one of the non-animatronic employees from “the old days”.

He is apparently immortal, and is assisted by his magical advisor, Myrddin. He also doesn’t always follow the orders of Wilton Dempsey, due to Artie’s conscience and good heart (and stuff like that).

How he is like me: We both are kind and gentle, and seek to help others.

What’s Dempsey Islands?

Dempsey Islands, Texas:

Fear Level 6 (bad news)

Before the Big Mistake, the Dempsey Corporation ran a chain of child-oriented amusement parks in both the US and Confederacy (it comes from a worldline where the CSA still existed). Its creator and owner, Dempsey Wilton, was one of the most well-known entertainment moguls in the world, earning his fortune from designing and licensing cute and lovable characters for computer games and films. Even before opening his theme parks, Wilton’s name was a household word across the globe. Dempsey Islands was the most popular amusement park in the CSA.

Built on a series of manmade islands a half-mile off the Texas coast in the Gulf of Mexico, the park had its own nuclear reactor and was staffed by a special line of entertainment robots based loosely on Hellstromme Industries’ (a mad science of sorts company) automatons.

These days the island is controlled by Wilton Dempsey’s manitou-possessed head, cryogenically preserved when the entertainment mogul contracted an incurable wasting disease. He’s attempting to boost attendance at the park by revamping it to make it more exciting — although a manitou’s idea of excitement equals terminal terror to most people. A wandering posse dealt a defeat to Wilton a few years ago, but it’s hard to keep a good servitor down and DempseyWorld robots have been out recruiting visitors to the park for the last few months.

A monorail line connects each of the islands of the complex, looping in a huge circle that begins and ends at the parking lot and ticket terminal on shore. An underground network of service tunnels honeycombs the area, allowing the park’s inhabitants uninhibited freedom of movement when toying with their “guests.”

Besides Magic Island (the central area), Dempsey Islands is made up of several other themed areas. “Cretaceous Park” is filled with animatronic dinosaurs that hunger for human flesh. “West World” is a fanciful recreation of an Old West town, filled with robotic gunslingers, Indians, and soiled doves. “Banshee Screams” recreates the planet Banshee, allowing the customers to take on the role of a UN Marine, exploring the wonders of the Purple Planet and making the world safe for democracy by blowing away simulated anouks (an alien race). “Dempsey’s Movietown Studios” recreates a variety of blockbuster movies through rides like Stellar Wars, The Magic of Dempsey Animation, and Escape from Cultist Mountain, based on the Agency raid on the Cult of Atheron in Bonanza, Colorado back in 1999.

“Pleasure Island” was an adults-only venue filled with night clubs, bars, and casinos staffed with both human and animatronic workers only too willing to fulfill any needs of their customers. Of course, being a Deadland, all of these areas have become horrific, twisted versions of their original designs. Dempsey’s robotic minions have become particularly nasty under its effect, seeming to take perverse pleasure in the suffering of the humans they once served.

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garywonghc · 7 years

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Accepting the Unacceptable

by Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche

Over the last century or so, death has been becoming increasingly institutionalised and removed from immediate experience. It is no longer a common experience in concrete terms. Where people used to die at home in the past, this is no longer the case, and the usual gathering of relatives and family no longer takes place spontaneously. It is no longer a communal affair, but on the contrary, it is hidden from public view, resulting in less actual contact with death and dying. Perversely, the literature on death and dying has been growing considerably, and people are actually talking about it more and more, while handling the practical fact less and less. The irony of this situation is described by Ray Anderson, a Christian theologian, in his book Theology, Death, and Dying:

There is then a fundamental ambivalence about death for the contemporary person. Death has been pushed out of sight and out of the context of daily life. No longer is death itself a meaningful ritual of family or social life. Yet, there is the emergence of a quite specific awareness of death as an existential concern quite apart from the event of death itself.

Strangely enough, awareness of death in the form of the psychological effects of death as a condition of life has grown in inverse proportion to the silence concerning death itself. Where death was once the unspoken word that accompanied communion with and commitment to the dead as a ritual of public and community life, there was virtually no literature on death and dying.

In contemporary Western society, it is quite the opposite now, with one author stating that he has reviewed over 800 books on death and dying and has more than 2,000 articles on the subject in his files. Overall, there is much more talk about death and dying and far less immediate experience of it, in terms of actually handling those who are dying, or having to witness death. We see a lot of simulated death on television and so on, but as a rule, we have very little immediate contact with it compared with people living in developing countries, or in the past.

For all these reasons — the ever-present fear of death and our lack of contact with it — it is all the more important to have a proper encounter with the facts of death and to deal with the fear of death, because, from the Buddhist point of view, coming to terms with death is part of making our life worthwhile and meaningful. Death and life are not seen as completely separate and opposed, but as giving rise to each other. They coexist in a complementary fashion. For Buddhists, the aim is not to conquer death but to come to accept it and familiarise ourselves with our own sense of mortality and impermanence.

According to Buddhism, we die because we are a product of causes and conditions (pratityasamutpada in Sanksrit). Whatever is caused is impermanent, is subject to decay, to death. Human beings are not exempt, as it is a natural process. Life without death is impossible, and vice versa, and therefore the ultimate aim of Buddhist practice incorporates an acceptance of death and a cultivation of an attitude that does not reject it as something ugly and menacing that steals our life away, and thus something to be pushed aside and ignored. Nor does a Buddhist think of living forever. The Buddhist view is that everything is transient and impermanent, and so death and life are inseparably bound up with each other, at all times in fact, even while we live, as the aging process itself is viewed as a part of the dying process.

There is the famous story of the Buddha’s being approached by a mother carrying her dead baby in her arms. She pleads with the Buddha: “You are an enlightened being; you must have all these extraordinary powers, so I want you to bring my child back to life.” The Buddha says, “All right, I’ll do this for you if you’ll do one thing for me first.” “I’ll do anything,” she replied. He responds, “I want you to go around and knock on all the doors of this town and ask each person who comes to the door whether he or she had anyone die in his or her family, and if he or she says no, then ask him or her to give you a sesame seed.” The woman knocks on every door she can, and returns empty-handed, saying to the Buddha, “I don’t want you to bring back my child now. I understand what you are trying to teach me.” The lesson here is that death is all-pervasive and not something that happens, sometimes, to particular people, but it happens to every one of us. Knowing this can lessen the sting of the fear of death. It is analogous to people sharing some kind of psychological or personal problem. Eventually everyone starts to open up and talk to others with similar problems, realising essentially that we are all experiencing the same thing. In this way, the problem becomes diffused. The Buddha’s point to the grieving mother, that everybody dies, is compassionate because to think “my child, my child, he has died, I want him back” is to narrow our focus in such a way as to generate an enormous personal problem. It is better to think of all the mothers that have lost children and experienced the same grief, whereby it becomes more encompassing. The problem moves beyond the personal into something much wider.

In terms of karma, it is an interesting question from a Buddhist point of view to ask if our death is in a way predetermined. In some ways, it is feasible to say that there is a preordained time to die, as our karma determines it. When the time to die arrives, we then die. This would be a result of our karma. On the other hand, our death is also dependent on a lot of causes and conditions, so it is not preordained in that sense. So it is predetermined in one sense and not so in another. Following form this, it is quite expected that Buddhists, if unwell, would seek medical attention and remedies, or go to the hospital if necessary. They would not simply acquiesce and say, “Well it must be my karma to die now,” and do nothing about the situation, for the time may very well not have come yet, so to speak: and if they are not careful, because of the causes and conditions set in motion, they might die before they need to. Even so, at times, no matter what we do in order to live, it will become impossible to do so.

People do not fear just eternal pain and suffering in hell, but extinction, not being around, not existing. This thought is very much disturbing in itself for many people, and so the removal of the idea of hell will not alleviate the fear of death itself. We have a fear of death, as do other creatures, but from a Buddhist view, ours is intimately linked to our notion of a self. While meditation or contemplation on death can be very confronting initially, we will be far better off for doing it than not, precisely because the fear of death is always there, underlying everything. The fundamental sense of anxiety is always there, so it is better to bring it to the fore and deal with it than suspend consideration, because it will continue to influence our life, often in a negative way, if ignored. We must remember, too, that this type of practice is done in the context of other Buddhist practices, which are all designed to incorporate and process the full range of negativities in the mind.

It is sometimes thought Tibetans have a different approach to death, having been raised among it perhaps, but the very fact of there being specific spiritual instructions especially designed for the matter indicates that Tibetans are no different. They fear, as we do in the West, not just for themselves, but they also fear leaving their children and loved ones behind, and they too wish not to grow old and die, or to die young, for that matter. Fear of death is all-pervasive and acultural. Everybody experiences it, but an important difference in the Buddhist tradition is the emphasis on working with that fear. Therefore Tibetans, if they choose to, have access to traditions and practices of this nature. Monks for instance, would go to charnel grounds, or graveyards, to practice and contemplate impermanence, which might seem a bit excessive to us. In Tibet the charnel grounds use to be in the wilderness, so they were a very eerie place to practice, especially on one’s own, and it was guaranteed to throw up all kinds of fears. Thighbone trumpets and other implements used on these occasions have horrified some Westerners, who have described these rituals as shamanistic, incorporating elements of black magic and so on. However, for Tibetans, living in primitive physical conditions, these bones had no magical qualities, but were merely reminders of impermanence, of transience. It would help them deal with their fear of death, and the fear of the dead as well.

There are Buddhist traditions, of course, like Zen, that do not have such elaborate rituals as are found in Tibetan Buddhism that involve mantras, visualisations, and so forth, and focus more on being immediately present with what is happening now, avoiding all mental constructions of what might take place, as the best form of preparation for the future, including the eventuality of death. The end result is the same. Both methods lead to greater acceptance of the event, and the ultimate aim is the same, which is to increase awareness and develop insight. In addition, of course, the Buddhist view is that life and death are inextricably bound to each other, moment to moment. The death of the past is happening right now, and we can never really see what is going to happen in the future. When one moment passes, that is death, and when another arises, that is life, or rebirth, we might say. Therefore, living in the present with awareness, links in a fundamental way with appreciating impermanence.

It does not matter how elaborate certain teachings or meditation techniques are, the fundamental aim is still to deal with immediate experience, here and now. It has nothing much to do with what might or might not happen in the future, or attaining some wonderful mystical experience in the future, because, as the masters have continuously emphasised, as important as the attainment of enlightenment is, it has to be arrived at through being in the here and now, dealing with present circumstances, not through indulging in speculation about what enlightenment might be. None of this is to say that we have to be practicing Buddhists to die in a peaceful manner. Ultimately one cannot tell, judging by people’s personalities, who will die peacefully. Some Christians die very peacefully, whereas others struggle; some Buddhists die peacefully, and some kicking and screaming, as they say, and some atheists die peacefully, and so on. A very mild-mannered person can become quite aggressive and obnoxious at the time of death, refusing to accept it, and others, normally obnoxious characters, turn out to be very accepting and amiable. We can never really say with certainty how anyone will react to death, but we can say that certain meditations, including those on death, will definitely help a person come to accept it more readily, although we can never be absolutely sure, and the moment may produce panic even in a dedicated practitioner. But if we know what’s going on, it is likely to be far less confrontational.

This brings us to the critical factor of seeing meditation, reading, and contemplation as conjoined. We should not be satisfied to just think about impermanence and death; we have to have the real experience, which comes from meditation. To read about Buddhism’s approach to death is important, but it needs to become an existential concern and to be translated into something approximating a real intuition or a real encounter with death. Following such a path will prevent our knowledge from evaporating in the actual experience itself. From a Buddhist point of view, so much depends upon our habits, and so thinking about death in a certain way helps us to get used to it, to become habituated to it. Therefore a real transformation has to take place on an emotional and intellectual level. Most of us have a fair degree of intellectual understanding of the facts, but that is really not the main point. A sense of impermanence has to be felt and experienced. If we understand it truly, we will handle all our tribulations far better, such as when our relationships break up, when we get divorced, when we get separated from our loved ones, when relatives die. We will handle all of these situations far differently with a truer appreciation of impermanence than we would otherwise have.

Knowing in an abstract sense that everybody dies or that everything is impermanent is different from experiencing impermanence, coming face to face with in everyday life. If we have felt impermanence, then tragedies are easier to deal with because we fully grasp that all is impermanent and transient and nothing lasts forever. As the Buddha said, we come in contact with people and things that we wish not to come in contact with, and we get separated from people and things that we wish to stay among, and that is how things are, in reality. Similarly, when death occurs, it may still be a very fearful experience, but we may be able to maintain that sense of awareness. Fear may still be present, but maintaining a sense of equilibrium is very important. Buddhist meditators may get separated from their partner and experience great stress and grief, but they may not yield to that grief so completely that it overwhelms them, and this applies with respect to their own death as well.

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julianwablr · 5 years

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CIRCE CLUB

The adaptations into new forms of alienation diverge in two directions, toward human "machinality" and human "animality." (1) Like in Kafka's Stories, it is impossible to separate the erection of a great paranoid bureaucratic machine from the installation of little schizo machines of becoming dog or becoming beetle. (2) The Club’s vision lies in the interest in blurring categories, in diversity, in understanding and enjoying a genuinely heterotopic milieu (3) of non- and transhuman personas. All these subjects are linked to a now exterior object, which can be an animal, a tool, or even a machine. (2) None of these characters can be purely natural or artificial, neither objects nor bodies, neither mental nor physical; they are all assemblages of all these factors, among many many others. (1) The Club is an universe where animals talk and humans make animal noises, fish fly and birds swim, monkeys celebrate mass and bishops swing through the trees, (4) and further by studying their relations [...] is no longer a priori forbidden by the obvious objections that ‚“things don't talk“, „fish nets have no passion“, and „only humans have intentions“, (5) Besides all this otherness, only one human is allowed to enter the club.

The following chapter will tackle this subject starting with multiagent simulations of the social behavior of our closest relatives in the animal (6) and technological world.

At a late hour Gregor arrives in front of the Club. He enters the building. A creature with three heads, others with eyes that gleam like lamps, and monsters of the island of Circe, human bodies with heads of the most diverse animals... These and other wonders were carved on that doorway. (7) He arrives in a threshold space, waiting to be accepted into the club. Sometimes he has to flip his ID to Circe the Doorwoman, dress to Circe's taste, slip a bribe, submit to a search [...], or act out some other ritual to cross the threshold into a more private space. (8) Circe briefly checks today's membership list:

blawko22 the virtual celebrity Gollum the the Schizophrenic Pig the Farm Animal Art criticism monkeys Beuys Coyote Chimera of Arezzo Lena the Wulfwoman Weed the Unkraut Darth Vader David the Lobster Agent Smith

No Human is on the list yet - so Circe lets Gregor enter. Through a secluded, dimly lit space there is an access into the vast double-height hall. Gregor felt an invisible hand stroke his cheek when entering the hall, while a groan, not human and not animal, echoed in both that room and the next, as if a ghost were wandering from one to the other. (7) The Hall is the characteristic space of the Club with a gallery that surrounds both floors and distributes access to all the members' rooms. Drawn on a complex matrix (that develops a triangle from a circle, passing by a hexagon) (9) The space contains the polymorphous reign of Hieroglyphic Morpheus: by this I mean a theater decked out with an immense variety of monsters, and these not naked monsters of nature, but so adorned with enigmatic Chimeras of a most ancient knowledge. (4) The convex concave geometry was also daringly applied to the dome. (9) As the most connected space of the plan, with no specific function, it is a central void that allows casual meetings. Just like Agent Smith and Beuys Coyote talking to each other right now in one of the concave niches. Gregor hears them whisper:

BEUYS COYOTE: "What is abstract thinking? (10)”

AGENT SMITH: “The power of logical abstract thinking resonates with that of modern computers, which also have developed to abstract their operational logic to become applicable to as many problems as possible. (11)”

BEUYS COYOTE: “You mighty computer, so perfect and so proud, that hides no weakness beneath the mantle, and gains no greatness from the diadem.(12) Where will it end? In forecast a weather forecast (13)?”

While walking to the enclosed main staircase of the Club, Gregor thinks to himself; all tools are woven into a holistic system whose meaning is determined by human being, or Dasein. (14) So neither Agent Smith nor the Coyote can be independent of it. And anyway - all this guys can not even survive without protection under modern urban conditions. (14)

Compared to the large void of the hall, the staircase seems confined. A connector tube that is not evident to the guest, making the first floor even more private than the ground floor. Its design enhances the idea of a habitable space away from the eyes of the other members but at the same time where an encounter is difficult to avoid. The staircase is the perfect place for gossip. While Gregory is walking upstairs David the Lobster and Darth Vader are walking downstairs. Gregor overhears their conversation.

DAVID THE LOBSTER: “Humanism is not even an ideology anymore, barely a theme of official rhetoric. (15)”

DARTH VADER: “Yes, you are right, the old humanism is dead. (15) It's only a recent invention, a figure not yet two centuries old, a new wrinkle in our knowledge who will disappear again as soon as that knowledge has discovered a new form. (16)”

DAVID THE LOBSTER: “You mean the subject of human knowledge, will be erased "like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea” (17)?”

DARTH VADER: “Yes! And, finally, towards the promise of total immersion, resulting in a symbiosis between the human subject and his or her environment. (18)”

DAVID THE LOBSTER: “If so, instead of turning back into a person, I prefer to remain a Lobster. (19) Did you know that one of the first cyborgs was a rat equipped with an osmotic pump (20)?”

Gregor was not able to hear the further conversation about the cyborg rat - but he was angry when he arrived at the last step of the staircase. In his mind it was clear: Metamorphosis into an animal is an indication of the power of the devil, a result of the diabolical alchemy of unreason. If the assimilation of humanity to animality is perverse, the assimilation of humanity to materialist machninality is even more so. (21) Nobody is able to talk in such conditions!

The galleries surrounding the hall, a space that connects all the rooms on the first floor, but that also works as the setting for private conversations or solitary rest. Lara the Wulfwoman and blawko22 sit closely together talking eagerly without noticing Gregor. Something animalistic in Lara had begun to speak when Gregor were hearing her talking.

LARA THE WULFWOMAN: "I believe that because we have only been able to distinguish human behavior from animal behavior for about 30,000 years, that deep inside our minds and hearts, we still have certain animal desires. We have a certain wildness. (22)”

BLAWKO22: “I think this is what Deleuze called the "becoming animal" (devenir animal) of a human being. In trying to designate the excess of the drive, its too muchness, one often resorts to the term "animality". (10)”

LARA THE WULFWOMAN: “Maybe - But it is not a general fear of human beings becoming animals? The fear is that raw nature enters a human body and drives us to do things that no human being would. (23) I have this experience every full moon.”

BLAWKO22: “I understand, but the other case is the fear of spirits, ghosts that no longer have a body. We fear either of the parts when body and spirit are separated. (23)”

LARA THE WULFWOMAN: “So then it appears that humans existentially fear two things - too much animality and too much mechanics. Ultimately even "Aristotelian philosophy ... exists in a continual oscillation between too much order and disorder ... excess and deficiency, the super-human and the merely animal. (23)”

When Gregor entered one of the clubroom he was sure that the general fear in human beings is not the animal, nor ghosts like the Wulfwomen and blawko22 talked about. It is the fear of abandon the belief that there is in mankind itself an inherent drive towards perfection that has brought human beings to their present high level of intellectual attainment and ethical sublimation (24).

Different from illuminated central hall, the lighting inside the clubrooms is dim; the slender windows generate a contrast in lighting that makes the interior darker. The deep openings of the windows are just a source of light that extend no invitation to gaze outside, in this way breaking the connection with the exterior and makes the clubroom to an introspective space. While the hall reverberates with sound exacerbating the rumbling of social rumor, the rooms soak up the sound through their materials, allowing safe gossip.

Gregor discovers thirteen monkeys sitting on a wooden box in front of a painting. A new picture of Tristan and Iseult, is critically examined by this society. A large baboon is looking to Gregor and sticking out his tongue. The other monkeys observe very intensely and curiously the painting. Near the art critics Gregor notices a strange creature in the far corner of the clubroom. Crouching on the ground in the dark, the creature apparently talks to itself:

GOLLUM: “We wants it. We needs it. Must have the precious. They stole it from us. [...| Wicked. Tricksy. False.” SMEAGOL: “No. Not master.” GOLLUM: “Yes, precious. False. They will cheat you, hurt you, lie!” SMEAGOL: “Master's my friend.” GOLLUM: “You don't have any friends. Nobody likes you.” SMEAGOL: “Not listening. I'm not listening.” GOLLUM: “You're a liar and a thief.” SMEAGOL: “No.” GOLLUM: “Murderer. (25)”

After listening a while to this weird conversation Chimera of Arezzo started to speak with Gregor:

CHIMERA OF AREZZO: “This creature sufferers from a similar ailment, which the psychoanalyst summed up tersely as "a psychosis with predominating paranoid trends, which fits the general picture of schizophrenia." (26) It is also interpretable as a picture of the internal division of the human - the dichotomy between animality transcended, and animality that reigns. (27) I think it is this physical form of an enforced schizophrenia which leads him away from simple Modernism. (28)”

After all this nonsense, Gregor had enough and left the club. Late in the night he arrived at home.

(1) Hovestadt_Buehlmann__EigenArchitecture

(2) Deleuze_Guattari__A_Thousand_Plateaus

(3) Rendell_Penner_Borden__Gender_Space_Architecture

(4) Eco__On_Literature

(5) Latour__Reassembling_the_Social

(6) Delanda__Philosophy_and_Simulation

(7) Eco__The_Name_of_the_Rose

(8) Toy__Architects_in_Cyberspace

(9) Payne__Renaissance_and_Baroque_Architecture

(10) Zizek__Less_Than_Nothing

(11) Bottazzi__Digital_Architecture_Beyond_Computers_Fragments_of_a_Cultural_History_of_Computational_Design

(12) Ruskin__The_Stones_of_Venice

(13) Doyle_Savic_Buehlmann__Ghosts_of_Transparency

(14) Delanda_Harman__The_Rise_of_Realism

(15) Ockmann__Architecture_Culture_1943_1968

(16) Virilio__A_Landscape_of_Events

(17) Evans__The_Projective_Cast_Architecture_and_Its_Three_Geometries

(18) Leach__The_Baroque_in_Architectural_Culture_1880_1980

(19) Kittler__The_Truth_of_the_Technological_World

(20) Ratti_Claudel__The_City_of_Tomorrow

(21) Tallis_The_Explicit_Animal

(22) Hovestadt_Buehlmann__Quantum_City

(23) Sedlacek__Economics_of_Good_and_Evil

(24) Freud__Beyond_the_Pleasure_Principle

(25) Movie: the lord of the rings the two towers

(26) Vidler__The_Writing_of_the_Walls

(27) Forensic_Architecture__Forensis_The_Architecture_of_Public_Truth

(27) Harbison__Reflections_on_Baroque

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