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writing for the sake of writing, without knowing what you... not you, what I am writing about. 3 characters, and I know little about them, I don't know how to write them, and yet I'm writing them to learn what they are, but that hasn't been working for me eh. so little and I'm clinging to that littlessness, and then forgetting about what I wrote and starting as if anew, but I already have tons of material written, but whose is it, and for who. why am I even that focused on writing, thinking that it's my thing, thinking it can be good if I created stories, but is it.

ordering my thoughts here helped. damn I like writing, but I still don't know how/what to write.

Been banging Bening, penning pangs of pans, and kenong-ing kennings of canning clams. Gaining gongs, GANs, gangs, glam, tongs, tans, tang, and ten dens (dented by donning dun doms) and damning bompenkangs and bampenkongs.

I am really interested in conceptual art and the idea of the gesamtkunstwerk. What is the Gezamtkunstwerk? It is an all encompassing work of art. Every art form in one artwork. How literally should we take that? Has it ever been done? I’m not sure…

Why do I want to have a 7 hour long movie opera, which you have to watch in a theater designed specially for the movie, and like half way through the movie everyone has to take a one week intermission to read a novel about some side characters?

Well primarily it’s because I think that multi-stylism is an aesthetic virtue. I want to see anime mixed with cubism and realism, abstract art and Ancient Egyptian art, all combined into one giant masterpiece. The sheer novelty of it is beautiful to me. I want your jazz and your rock and your opera to be brewed together. Blessed is the day when I can list all the adjectives I want and they would appear before my eyes! Blessed is the describable!

Blessed is the indescribable! There is something interesting about subtle non-sequitur. Something you can never put your finger on, because if you do you might lose it. Oh… What was I saying? I must have gotten distracted. Oh yes! Indescribable non-sequiturs! The slight change in style to another creates a bewildering effect on the tired brain. The uncanny valley of seeing so many things at once. This brings me pleasure. Nothing greater…

Greater and greater I seek to grow my knowledge, and yet my skull drains out further onto the floor. I have a leak. Oh no. Did someone stab me in the head? I must be an idiot. I can’t let anyone see me, else they may laugh at how stupid I am. I forget things, and everyone else has an impervious memory. I forget things. I can’t even remember my own name. All I know is that I have to keep on focusing on my important work. One day I’ll finish it. Oh? Other people have even worse memories than me? Well let’s move on.

Movies and prose fiction both feature cutting (montage, ect). Movies do not need to feature cutting. Something can be taken in one shot. Novels do need cutting. No novel provides the whole picture of something. You always skip over some small details, even an avant-garde list of mannerisms book could not escape the cut. Writing is cutting.

The cut-up technique has many uses. It can be used to rearrange the words of one text. Or to combine a variety of texts. This will generate a bunch of voices, all mashed up against one another. This is polyphony. Polyphony is a trait that Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin seems to favor. In his essay Epic and Novel he claims it is only present in the novel. I disagree. It can be present in all literary and artistic forms that involve voice. It simply is almost always present in the novel. The cut up technique allows polyphony to be created endlessly.

(This is my thesis) The role of the critic is similar to the role of the writer. They are both creatives. The critic is the writer. So they should flow seamlessly between one another. Harold Bloom says something like “The best writer may not be a good reader of anyone but himself” so I conclude this…

“Literature should be analyzed using an experiment based method. Experiment based literary analysis occurs by hybridizing the role of the critic/theorist and the role of the artist. The theorist becomes a fanfiction writer of sorts. When someone is interested in a theme, literary device, mood, ect in a text they should write an experiment text to try to imitate that literary element. The experiment text serves as a way of acquiring a lot of information about the theme.” (a quotation from a writing of mine of another dimension)

Now basically what I am proposing is the merging of the writing genre called literary criticism and the genre called fiction. This is nothing new. Writers have been doing fictional reviews for ages probably. I am just saying that it’s good and cool. I am thinking back… “Father, who invented pi” “Pi was discovered, not invented, by a man named Leonhard Euler. He also invented a number called e, which is called that because his name, Euler, was spelled with an e”

I thought of a man in a children's book of great and famous discoverers, including some mathematicians. Years later, now, in a shower, I would realize that Euler was not this man. This man wore a modern business suite and had glasses. But at the time I imagined this was what Euler looked like. Memory fiction is an interesting genre I am not yet fully acquainted with (no one ever is fully acquainted with anything). In the novella Something to Do with Paying Attention by David Foster Wallace, Chris Fogle looks back in a disorganized rambling fashion on his wastoid youth and time spent smoking endless pot, and disrespecting his father. The genre is this sort of stream of consciousness. Another strong example is Car Crash While Hitchhiking by Daniel Johnson. I haven’t finished it yet, but Zadie Smith’s Swing Time does this too.

How does memory fiction make me feel? (this is an important part of the aesthetic analysis, because it’s the aesthetic part). It makes me feel like I am stumbling along with the narrator. I feel in the moment and out of the moment. Memory fiction is thrilling, because you can go anywhere in the narrator’s life at any moment. There is nothing like it. It has artificial naturalness and is filled with fun ironic nods and gimmicks! I am attracted to the cleverness and joy of these gimmicks.

Gimmick. Gimmick. Gimmick. Gimmick. Gimmick. I am gimmicking. Get Gimmed, sir. I tip my hat. What else are we to do but be gimmicks? The whole of life is a gimmick, but we must treat it very importantly. Without it we have nothing. Why not commit to gimmicks and fun? Committing to creativity is the only way we have forward. Else what do we do? Live uncreativelly? That's a novel contrarian idea indeed.

Living wholly uncreatively is quite impossible. You're stuck in creativity, so you might as well fall in love with it. You must be creating constantly, and so many people try to run from this fate. Maybe they are too serious, or too lazy. But they prevent their own growth by running from that universal constant of creativity. Any connection between things is creative. Creativity is present when I draw with my pen or use it to fill tax forms with ink. Creativity is any joining of things. Union, or marriage is creative. Creativity need not be new, or original. Only that it makes something. Creation is actually at the heart of creativity. So everything is really creative.

I am starting to sound a bit like a half rate process philosopher. So let it be known that I am in full support of creativity as a principle for everything that happens, but that I am an OOO-ist through and through............

I began with a tiny urban house built on a small lot. Most homes in this neighbourhood are on small lots, and built close to their property lines, with minimal yards in front and back. This home was so small, the yard around it appeared larger. The long narrow house has room for trees on three sides, a walkway on the fourth. It was previously planted with ornamentals by small-families of residents, ever since it was built in 1906. One neighbour thought it might have been farm-labourer dormitory on a plum orchard here, which was then on the outskirts of the city.

I want to describe how I thought about the project, because I imagine writing this for others wondering about how they might do something similar, or to learn from my mistakes.

For personal reasons, I was astounded at having the opportunity to take on the project. I thought the place's problems were benefits to a do-it-yourself-er (more about that later). I studied the place with a sense of awe. No plant or odd shaped corner of the yard was too miniscule to get my attention. Without changing anything, I drew, imagined, and generally designed all aspects of the improvements within the reach of a do-it-yourself approach.

To maximize the garden potential in the long narrow spaces around the small house, one thing I decided early was to prune all existing vegetation into espalier shapes. For example, where flowering camellia and elder-flower shrubbery were globular, round and impinging on head-level spaces near fences, I slowly pruned them each year till they had long flat shapes. They then grew tall and thick along the property lines, but were also pruned back away from human spaces. I conceived of each shrub as part of either an exterior or interior wall in an outdoor room. The walk-way surrounding the cottage passes from one room to the next, through archways of overhanging tree-limbs or vines. This separated long narrow spaces into small courts, each one serving a cottage window or door.

I decided to not clear away the ornamentals, but to instead honour and shape them in their correct seasons, so that within a small number of years they created a more private and shaded oasis from summer heat and busy side-walk eyes; a living fence. I hoped to slowly replace them with equally or more tall edible plants, but only as those plants grew up between them. My first priority was an edible landscape, but with no scorched earth. I didn't want to cut everything down, just because it was not my first vegetation choice. I decided to keep the shade, keep the soil health, keep the greenery and air freshening, and shade, and visual screening while giving special favour to edibles, as they grew large enough to fill those niches themselves.

So this is how I created a living-fence style of green outdoor rooms around a little cottage. From the street in the summer, it looks invisible, as if it were merely a hedged side-yard to another house next-door. When entering the front gate, visitors' first reaction is surprise, because what appears to be a thick hedge over hanging the sidewalk, presents its self as an outdoor room with flowering walls roof, and arched pathways in each direction. The pruning is done carefully, without obvious signs of chopped wounds. From the hot tarmac and concrete sidewalk, they enter a cool, shaded place, where the word 'micro-climate' comes to life to them in a single passage from one side of the gate to the other.

#permaculture, #garden, #pruning, #urban, #design

END

meaningless meaningless meaningless meaningless advent this, advent that. Why? meaningless meaningless meaningless AI this, gen AI that, AI everything and everywhere. Why? meaningless meaningless People live not great, make kids when they don't need, want or should have kids, don't get them normal life, then those kids grow up and decide they want to ruin life for their kids too. What? meaningless meaning less

so, do we even have something meaningful in this world don't answer.

And so it began... an undefined number of participants competing to finally leave this game and their monsters behind. Few of those committed suicide, not willing to live in this scary dangerous unknown world anymore. Some were too scared to fight, only to be killed by ones more brave. Blood has taken control of many, countered only by those who carefully crafted their plans. All is but finite.

At last, one remained, a young fellow, barely over 18. The one who killed the last participant. The one who hoped to escape this cruelty, who has descended to cruelty on his own. To no avail. The fate was not kind. The monster which should have disappeared, remained alive. Haunting the mind and sanity of the victorious one. Was this a reward? Or a bad twist? He couldn't tell. The years had gone past, filled with paranoia, doubting every shadow. His life was but a war of one. With none to help. Yet after long long years, he finally saw it. A young adult, perhaps few years younger than the victorious one, going carelessly along the busy street, and beside him, a frightening creature, which none paid attention to. He was conversing with this monster like it was an old friend. He had escaped the gruesome game by luck, and happily befriended the creature. Before the young adult knew it, he was bleeding. An expression of surprise, rather than shock was on his face. As he turned back, he saw a crazy smile of the paranoid one. He accepted his death much easily, even nonchalantly, as opposed to his killer, who frantically acted the same minute he saw the true last participant of the game.

As both monsters disappeared into the void, now the truly victorious one was finally free from the game that took too long to finish. Or was he really free The game that took eleven years. The game that stole countless lives. But in a true sense, it stole only one. The one that was left alive.

I came up with this story some time ago, and suddenly remembered about it now. It was very fun to write and reread, so I decided to post it somewhere.

The most important thing is to continue writing. Sometime ago, she promised herself she would write constantly, in every spare moment. She enjoyed writing the most when it was crazy and free. Don’t stop. She glared at the half-filled google document, the one where she kept all her writing projects. She had stared it earlier, but at that time had homework to do. Would she ever finish the poem? She thought about the dragon story she wanted to write, but she had last week dedicated herself to finishing this poem. She looked at the writing. What was there to add to it? But she wanted to write a long narrative piece, and this wasn't even a page. She liked long stories more.

What was she thinking? Why couldn't she make any ideas? Or really the only thing in her head was the worry about the half filled screen. What was she supposed to write about? Write what you know? The half-filled page itself? Who would want to read a description of half a page? And how could that be related to the half page? Why was she having writer’s block? The inspiring YouTuber/rapper CJ the X said that writer's block was an excuse for pride. Was she doing something wrong? Why couldn't she write anything of worth?

She checked her phone’s notifications. She checked her YouTube. She started to watch a video about writing advice. What was she doing? This wasn’t even advice about writer’s block. It was a twenty minute long vlog by a booktuber she hated.

Her mother called her for dinner. The writer became worried again, because she had not been working on her final project for history. She had no ideas for that either. She had not even read the description. She wanted to have ideas. Like she liked history, but there were so many things to do, like the promise to write whenever she thought of writing, or to read all the time, or to do homework all the time or to be polite and charming or to do … all the time…all the time…geez why is she on her phone all the time?

Who wouldn’t leave eyes of flame wandering this globe? As if the simple insinuation that his once free Jabberwock, was lost between boards, silenced him? Avaunt tonight he grasps in his arms my heart born of the requiem! Dost see not the dirge that I’ll upraise softened by the poor shuddering child howled in plays about the sea rolled up with waves? How shall the ritual then be sung with crown and with train? How? by the elk queen trying with the original raw mystery polished and returned as a pretty trinket? He holds the grandfather beside the king of heaven The sweet child hath keep him to a golden throne with hope that grandfather is good

take by me on some random subject

So there are two kinds of AIs as I see it: 1. real AIs – those that we actually have, you write to them and they respond to you, nothing fancy, nothing truly intelligent; 2. fictional AIs – these are human-like intelligences, can think the same way as humans, plus optionally do heavy calculations thanks to the computers that they run on.

Now, I want to add another fictional type from the future, sort of combined AI. Key difference is it would act like a real human-like or general AI, but at its core it wouldn't be much different from what we have in the real world, the people using it just won't be able to break it or hit the limit as easily as with the current AI. So in a nutshell this would be AI that we, the users, cannot disprove that it's a general AI. Which makes it different from 2nd type from above, because people believe that 2nd type is true AI, on the contrary this 3rd type people would utilise as a true AI, but won't treat it as real intelligence, despite it being very hard to tell the difference.

This is a rough idea, if anyone but me reads it. Don't expect some genius thing from it, it's only an attempt to somewhat tune down too-good-to-be-true AI helpers in fiction that I randomly thought about.

In a video lecture by Graham Harman he predicts that in the future there will be something called Philosophy criticism. Philosophy criticism will not be disagreements with philosophies but aesthetic criticism of philosophy itself. Now it is unclear if he means...

1: Literary criticism of philosophical writing,

or 2: criticism and aesthetic appreciation of philosophy as an art form in itself, separate from writing, like a wine critic, but for philosophical ideas?

Because the first choice is a real craft, I will choose to look at the second in this essay/dialogue. But also I will ramble off path a fair amount.

What does this definition even mean? No seriously, tell me: A short dialogue.

The Voice: Philosophy criticism cannot exist. This second thesis implies that you can have criticism of an artform without a medium of presentation. An Aesthetics of pure ideas is too abstract and ungrounded. This is similar to the idea that worldbuilding is an independent artform. It’s hard to argue that worldbuilding is an artform on its own. Worldbuilding is always presented through a medium (writing, maps, movies, music, ect). Setting is a literary device or a genre not an artform. Philosophy likewise is always communicated. Philosophy is a type of writing. You can’t give criticism of ideas directly. Whatever that means.

The Paracosmonaut: No. I could invent a philosophy in my head. And experience the ideas as beautiful. Furthermore, I feel the ideas that I read. Successful communication results in a transfer of ideas, so I can then criticize them. I would even go as far as to say that your position is somewhat ridiculous. To believe in what you say you must claim that literary critics only talk about language and never about themes, plot, character, or worldbuilding. Criticism of philosophy is just as possible as criticism of worldbuilding. https://farkascity.org/thctt2aop7/edit#publish The Voice: You betrayer! Aren’t you undermining the distinction this essay is premised on. You’re arguing against the distinction between options (1) and (2). I can’t expect to hold good faith debate if you are disagreeing with our agreed subject of debate. Everything just breaks down.

The Monocosmonaut(the pair of cosmonauts broke down): Yeah I am. I guess I have to to fight for truth, or something…Like I do disagree with the distinction. I don’t think pure solipsistic idea criticism is very useful. It’s more interesting if you communicate with other people. I don’t care about the criticism of something only you have acess to! Like an idea in your head!

Other Monocosmonaut: I do agree with the distinction. I want to ideally sit and navel gaze all of my days. Concern myself wholly with beauty and not with pathetic things like truth. Ruminate on pain and death. Useless stuff like that. Tasty tasty tasty. Each idea I have tastes like honey and feels like god. Just think of how good sitting around feels.

The First Monocosmonaut: okay. That’s cool. I do that sometimes too. But I don’t think other people care that I think that “God is an illiterate dragon made of Mountain Dew and asphalt” but I think too much of that is bad for my brain.

The Voice: Y’all are so lame. Argue for the criteria of the debate next time.

The First Monocosmonaut: Sure. You could do literary criticism of philosophy that never once mentions the medium itself. Also i keep saying literary, you could have a philosophical movie, or piece of music.

The Voice: it would still be tainted by the impurity of the medium.

The First Monocosmonaut: If the only copy of The Great Gatsby that existed and could ever exist was one embroidered onto a piece of fabric with massive text. Some people would still read it. Sure, the medium gets in the way, but ultimately some people will care enough to escape the high Mountains of the medium.

The Voice: why would you avoid talking about plot, and language while practicing literary criticism? What is the point of escaping the rocky hills, instead of embracing and loving the medium?

The First Monocosmonaut: none really. The philosophy enthusiast would love philosophy to the point of forgetting discussion of language. This is more of a thought exercise meant to bring to light what one is doing. Isn’t it nice to have a fresh idea like aesthetically based philosophy criticism? Maybe many literary critics wish they did not have to speak about metaphors and plots. Maybe they instead preferred monologues of ideas to and descriptions.

The Voice: No! This stuff will just remain speculative nonsense.people care about truth!

The First Monocosmonaut: but like it exists already. I saw something like Karl Marx as literature as a course title once.

The Voice: grumble grumble I am interested in the idea of philosophy criticism. I am very interested in art criticism in general. The idea that ideas are beautiful and can be cultivated for aesthetic effects, is endlessly intriguing.

Fin

There is of course beauty in non-philosophical ideas. Art is everywhere, so are ideas. Think about how much of popular discourse and politics is based on the demagogic aesthetics and beauty of ideas rather then reason. Ideas can be captivating, seductive, and pretty.

You can in fact have an aesthetic reaction to an idea. The idea has nothing to do with the method of communication. Though it can be influenced by it. Really ideas can be experienced by an open mind, separately from their communication.

We are expecting 50 mph winds in this area over the next couple of nights, so there’s a pretty decent chance FarkasCity looses its internet connection for a bit. There is no need to worry though; everything is backed up so all of your data will be safe. There are also several measures in place to prevent and deal with power outages, so as soon as internet is restored FarkasCity will automatically come back online.

As always, if you have any questions or concerns about this please don’t hesitate to contact us.

#Downtime

Hey, how's it going? It’s been a long time. You don't remember my name, or my face, or my voice. That’s okay. At least you remember sitting in the woodchips and telling me about the bugs. Crouched over in the early fall heat, watching the fire ants from a distance. I’m glad you didn’t find out I was dying until later. You went to the fundraiser we had for me, right? You’re remembering it wrong now, the building was much smaller than that. There weren't that many people, either. It’s okay, things get distorted over time. You didn’t cry for a bit when your dad gave you the news. He got you ice cream and told you on the way home. How considerate of him. Now that I think about it, we didn’t ever talk much, did we? You still consider me your first friend. How long will you keep dragging my body? How long will you keep sinking? How long did the car ride last? How long will you remain stagnant?

Thanks for remembering me. I thought that nobody would. I hoped that nobody would, at the time. Though you keep replaying the memories we had. Over and over, getting more contorted each time, like copying a VHS tape until it’s nothing but static. Like showing skin until it’s nothing but scars. Until I’m in the chair and you pull the switch. Judge, jury, and executioner. We both know that’s not true, but you want it to be, don’t you? You want to be the reason behind it all. Please stop warping my voice. It’s hard enough as it is. I keep trying to email you, but I don’t think they’re getting through. Anyways, I’m glad you found a better place, better friends. I’m still here though, and if you press your ear up to the wall I might say that I’m sorry.

We didn’t talk much. I would have loved to keep drawing lizards with you.

how could you possibly understand? a consequence is nothing to a scared animal. threats fall unheard upon raised hackles and shaking paws. you dug yourself so deep into that hole trying to protect yourself—yet nobody pulled you out. a hole becomes a grave becomes a suffocating stench that fills the air. did you understand why i held you so tight that morning? why i refused to let go? of course not. but how could you? you stared down the barrel of the gun and you bit down

I am waiting with the mason, we are sitting by the barrows needing the permanence of such things. such sharp things. Won’t you lay down your arms and dance with me so? How I let that smile lull into stagnant waters in that altogether not – so – disagreeable way. So, won't you do me the pleasure of allowing me to dream that this was how it all had ended?

In Reply To: “Suggestion For The Betterment Of FarkasCitizens” — liv

liv made a very good point in their article. I totally agree that this behavior should be changed.

Unfortunately, I have two schools and two jobs, so I will not have time to work on this for a few months. If any of you can program and would like to help me with this, then this could implemented around late December. If not, I will definitely work on this early in the Summer. My inbox is always open.

#Replies

right now the date that a post shows up in the feed is the date that it was published as a draft, not when it was published publicly. could it be changed so that the date in the feed is when it was actually posted to the feed? it might make things a little easier to find!