There are no cloudy skies anymore. There are no clouds that look like puppies, or cats or faces, there are no squiggly light-worms dancing against blue bright skies (1). There are no skies anymore. I think. I can’t guarantee you that though, I don’t look up anymore (2).

(2) There is only looking forward. And backward. Memory is a convention just like anything else (3). Being a point in time and space where everything flows through is such a… ‘pain’ is what you expect to come next? Are you a Large Language Model (9) predicting the next probable set of “tokens”? But yeah I was gonna say pain, how predictable. But memory is a convention like anything else. There are events and there are feelings and there are infinite pasts to weave as one sees fit (8). Imagine being able to make any flavor of jam from all the rotten figs (4)? (as long as the flavors are all rotten too, but do you care?).

(4) I’m gonna one-up Sylvia Plath, I see not one but a forest of fig trees. Multiple figs rotting from multiple trees as I stand wait outside the cave (5). How many figs need to rot before a tree gives up and rots itself? Hmm?

There’s too much navel gazing: this entire writing is navel-gazing of the worst kind (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)(7)(8)(9)(10)(11), reader beware! But Narcissus must be feeling proud, I bet. There’s also not enough navel gazing: I’m very insufferably single. I was going to not explain it and say, “I hope you catch the word play, heh”, but there’s a need to disambiguate, for wanting to know clearly feels like human instinct (6). I’ve been following this convention of: ending a sentence with (x) is footnote reference, and starting with (x) means it’s the note. I’ve built this system and now it fails me: (6) is an example. How do people think linear enough that footnotes in one dimension suffices them? How do people think of time linearly at all? The fact that language operates linearly, parallel to time itself, is a grand joke of the lamest kind.

How do people not retrospectively rewrite their own pasts to make it fit their current narrative? Isn’t narrative the source of truth? Maybe they do? Isn’t nothing an absolute (3)? Retrospectively, like the way I rewrite this article up and down, here and there? An interminable revision (9)? Digital interfaces enable this, a paper restricts you to put down words and stand by it. Life is digital then? Going back to an earlier paragraph and editing it to make it all internally consistent? But then how many times can one do this before the screenplay loses any meaning? “Snip, snap! Snip, snap! Snip, snap! I did! You have no idea the physical toll that three vasectomies have on a person!” Quote from The Office.

(5) Imagine escaping Plato’s cave only to end up in a forest of figs. Imagine running back into the cave only to see the shadows of fig trees everywhere. What do you tell the poor cavemates? Imagine thinking its best to just stay in the cave, to only even know of shadows of figs, each suddenly just popping out of existence. Ignorance is bliss. Knowing is the boulder (6). People who don’t know make up rules to make sure their boulders don’t get too heavy.

(3) There are no absolute rules, only conventions and transgressions. Rather choose a million little transgressions nobody knows than the bigger ones everyone pretends to not know. Now you know, though. (1) Did you know it’s conventionally “Bright blue canvasses” and not “Blue bright canvasses”?

(9) Someone on the internet said, “With the computer, everything is rapid and so easy, an interminable revision, an infinite analysis is already on the horizon.” We don’t know who actually wrote it, and it’s perfect that way. An infinite analysis, an interminable revision. A story said retrospectively, looking at the past (10) and extending into the future in the same beat. I’m stretching the quote beyond its original meaning by the way, hey look, an interminable revision of meaning. Recursive. Self referential. Navel gazing.

(6) Knowing there is nothing absolute under the sun, makes the boulder so heavy you can no longer roll it up the hill. Sisyphus knew just enough to understand you need to boulder to roll it up and down, and rolling it is life. If you make your goal to figure out the boulder it will squash you into fig jam. Intellect costs agency after a point. Cosmic horror. Knowing there is nothing absolute under the sun is scary, that’s why I don’t look up at the skies anymore (1).

There is a holographic dance of vibrant colors no more. Just the blandest gray of all colors collapsed. There is music no more. Only cacophony. Did you know (9) LLMs work by compressing information and strategically clipping off certain parts to achieve a semantic stability. It’s like compressing the internet the way you would .zip a folder. Color emerges from splitting away parts of the gray, signals emerge from splitting away the noise. From zero, infinity emerges. And in between, a glimpse of a semantic significance. In an infinite library (11) of all the books that could ever be written, there is bound to be one with the exact truth of the universe, no? Oh my dude(tte) how I love Borges, the author and the olive oil (for the pun). I do cook, btw.

You’ve been coerced into reading a slice of my own internal dialogue. There is no foreseeable future where I commit to the end of this, because all I ever can see is an unbounded plurality (12) without any morsel of absolutes. And this is a website because the web is ever-changing and ever-fluid (13).

And this is an ever-changing ever-fluid article that I’m gonna keep editing forevermore. This website will itself evolve too, a palimpsest (14).