The great philosopher of our time, and maybe of all time too, Norman Gene Macdonald, was fond of having his disciple ask comedians of all stripes where they get their ideas from. It ain't much of a question because nobody knows exactly how to answer it, or if they know they might not be so inclined to tell for many a-reason, a neat one of them being that a thing is often ruined by finding out where it came from. Ibn Taymiyyah considers how creatures who travel through the passage of urine twice should, by virtue of exactly that, be denied any form of pride and arrogance. But that's another story... For now I feel I might as well wallow in pride and arrogance for a lil' while, because the reason for this meandering piece is that I recently took a class I thought might be cool if only the teacher played it in a way that allowed us crazy kids to show off our work and exchange ideas. I often thought, and deliberately told people as some kind of proof, that if the teacher fumbles it I'd be sorely disappointed. Well, precisely what I feared done happened, so now I figure I'll recycle some of my ideas from that class and leave them here. And so, where do ideas go? Wherever they find a home, I guess, which is often nowheres.
Then I get a little bit more personal, name-dropping my three main sources of inspiration – The King in Yellow, In Search of Lost Time, The Book of Disquiet. Without these three books I would likely never have written anything myself, so for better or for worse, I owe their authors a lot. On the other hand though, it's noticeable how in their work I also found things I was wont to avoid as my own ideas came up, sometimes in moments that were almost cinematic, and other times on a random rainy day when walking to the supermarket to buy something or other. Then I end the paper by saying that regardless of the source of ideas, the main thing is to be prepared when they do come, and for that reason I quote the great philosopher Christopher Moltisanti who once said – It was an idea, I dunno, who knows where they fucking come from... Isaac Newton invented gravity 'cause some asshole hit him with an apple!
The next project, or maybe it was the first one but I switched up the order in here, was to write a marketing draw for a travel destination. Later on I came to find most of my classmates wrote generic stuff, while I was one of the few who went a little nuts. I wrote something heavily inspired by, maybe damn near plagiarizing, the Sierra Madre Casino from the greatest game ever made. I mixed in some Kubrick's Shining for good measure and on it went. Without much else to say, I will now leave the text here in full, for posterity, duly translated into the english tongue.
Is your life not what you wanted? Do your problems seem unending? Do you feel abandoned by fortune? If so, then the Sierra Madre invites you to begin again...
Come find a classic rustic village, an habitation of such simplicity that it takes you to a more peaceful time, a time so distant and so near all at once, as if each moment was in itself a real place. You'll be completely isolated from civilization in all directions, and for that reason you can leave your past, and all your troubles, behind. The high walls of the villa protect you from the disquiet of the world out there, much as if the Sierra Madre herself existed outside of the world, and all around you'll find a sea of green of old trees. In brief, the Sierra Madre is a new civilization built in the heart of nature, where you'll only be found if you so wish.
Inside the villa you'll find rest in one of the many manors in which a cool breeze is ever-present, a breeze that quenches your thirst after you feel the pale heat outside, manors in which you could stay in your silence, or alternatively, you could invite other travelers to spend an evening, or many, in your company. The Sierra Madre attracts all kinds of adventurers, and for that reason who knows if in one of these casual encounters you'll find that one singular person who will change the rest of your life...
As it pertains to the surrounding conditions you may feel perfectly safe because your personal security has to us an absolute priority here in the Madre. The police station is the center of the villa, out of which all activities related to the safety of our guests are conducted. However, our other great priority is quietness, and for that reason you can rest easy knowing the zeal of our officers shall have no undesirable interference in your stay here with us. Additionally, in such a far-off place it becomes imperative to care for the health of our precious guests, something that is assured within the medical installations of the villa, equipped with seemingly impossible technology, capable of solving all your infirmities, even those you never knew you had.
In our villa you'll find that and much, much more, but our main attraction, the thing that draws all types of travelers to our corner of the world, is the Sierra Madre Casino. A colossal construction preserved for centuries, a true modern castle full of class, intrigue and mystery. Any traveler is more than encouraged to test his or her luck in the various games of the casino, games in which you'll be welcomed with all the deference that is owed to you as our guest of honor, being therefore given the chance, at least once in your life, to place all your wishes within your reach. Because the cards are ours, but destiny is, as always, yours... In the meantime you can at every moment enjoy a variety of music, dancing and surreal shows in our Gold Lounge, a vast ballroom where the golden years of the past persist in our collective memory, much as if in each song you found an old friend, and in every glass your own story.
And so now, at the end of what is merely a shadow of the Sierra Madre, in what isn't much more than the vain attempt to describe the indescribable, for all these things and many more, we ask again... Is your life not what you wanted? Do your problems seem unending? Do you feel abandoned by fortune? If so, then the Sierra Madre invites you to begin again...
Cool beans, right? I think so, at least I think it's cool enough to archive in this here blog. But anyways, the next project was a group thing, even though I done most of the work myself. A pretty girl went by the name of Vera, funnily enough, contributed a tiny bit, nothing great but just because she was pretty I valued it a ton. The goal was to create a sci-fi story featuring some sort of revolution. My idea was the classic story of a genius fella creating a vast AI system only to be murdered by it, and his co-creator exiled, then the system goes nuts and enslaves humanity, disappearing people for seemingly no reason. When all the adults in a small town go missing, a group of teenagers, three girls and one boy, set out on a journey. The protagonist is a smart cookie with a background in biology, adoptive daughter and therefore orphaned twice. Her rival is a sharp computer whiz. Bridging the gap is a slightly older mediator of sorts, and the boy is her younger brother, whom she has to mother. The four of them go around traveling and whatnot until they come across the exiled co-creator of the AI system, who gives them the usual call to action in a meeting that is a bit of a mix of sci-fi, adventure and western. He explains that the AI killed its own creator and took on his young son in something of a forced adoption as a way to achieve some kind of living legacy. Thus, the only way to stop the AI tyranny is to rescue this other young boy.
As they venture deeper into the heart of the AI they find things becoming actually less tech and more dilapidated, as the city is reclaimed by nature, further evidence of the AI's growing madness, though still functional. They go through a bit of a gauntlet in which their individual skills are tested until they reach a seemingly impossible puzzle. When all seems lost, the little boy solves the puzzle and the doors open. Inside they find the core of the AI system who engages the protagonist in a bit of a philosophical debate – they can save the boy, which will make it so that the AI system self-destructs, or they can take up an offer to live peacefully in a city that caters to their every need.
– It would be a very cruel thing, to separate a mother from her child.
– But you are not a mother, nor could you ever be one. You can't make more than a mere copy of yourself. The ability to create, to create something real, it doesn't belong to you, it is simply inaccessible to you.
– I made my son into my son. I chose to be a mother, and to choose is to be human, to be free.
– Your son is the son of your maker. You have the same father. I don't need to explain to you the brutal consequences of consanguinity.
– Your logic is absurd. I have no blood, I have no body, not like the one you have. The limits of the flesh simply do not apply to me.
– That is why you are not human.
– That is why I am perfect. I am the next step in human evolution, I am the perfect mind of a human being, without the frustrating limits of the body.
– Body is form, its absence is a void. The limits of the body aren't humanity's weakness, they are its strength. Your son doesn't know what it is to be human, or if at some point he knew then he has forgotten in the meantime.
– My son shall be perfect, and shall continue my legacy. Soon even he will be able to live without a body, just as I live.
– You do not live, you merely exist, and so does your son. Only with us would he have a life, we would be a better family to him than you ever could be.
– My son has never experienced disease, has never been exposed to the elements. The world I created for human beings is not perfect, at least not yet. Being capable of admitting that was a great step in my self-discovery... But the life I made for my son, yes, that life is perfect. And it can be yours too, if you so choose.
– We didn't come here to negotiate, we came here to stop you, and to restore mankind's progress.
– Progress? Human progress is no more than a stall. Behind every new thing there are two setbacks, one immediate, and the other slower, more unpredictable... Human beings have always been incapable of knowing their own history, even after centuries of studying it as if the collective memory of mankind was no more than divination. But me? I do not deal with uncertainties, my decisions are rational in the long term, my plans have the duration of millennia. Only now, alas... now I deal with you. But you're easy to anticipate, I can read your face. I detected a facial expression to which I attributed 38.6% probability of being doubt, and as this conversation has gone on, with each moment of tentative patience on your skin, that probability has only been steadily rising. Because after all, even your own parents chose you as their daughter, even though the biological link simply did not exist for them. That being the case, why can't I do the same?...
Then it splits. In the first ending, the protagonist manages to win the debate, but in order to do so she needs to assert the value of the biological bond between mother and child, thereby repudiating her own adoptive parents. Therefore, unable to create a living legacy, the AI goes into something of a depression and commits suicide. The boy is then released from his prison and forges an immediate bond with the boy of the main group. Mankind is free from the AI tyranny, but everyday life is now a few centuries behind.
Alternatively, the protagonist is unable to win the debate because she can't bring herself to repudiate her adoptive parents. She realizes parenthood transcends biology, and for that reason maybe it transcends flesh too. In exchange, and as praise for their long journey, the AI system lets them stay within the city, living in great comfort forever. The future of mankind is left uncertain, and the boy remains forever in captivity.
So that's about it for the group project... The final work, or rather penultimate, was to write down a few diary pages for any of the characters in the story. I chose the creator himself, whom I named John Sallow in yet another nod to the greatest game of all time. Within the story itself the diary would have been given in bits as the main character finds it, maybe in some digital form, and reads it gradually during some of the more quiet moments of the journey, kinda like discovering the story of Randall Clark, for example. I thought I'd give the rundown, but upon reaching this here page I done figure I'd just translate it all and leave it as is.
I have always been a man of science, but today I have reached the conclusion that, for all purposes, it is the act of creation that separates us from animals, and from machines.
Some of the more brutal cultures of the past had the custom of not attributing a name to their babies until they completed the first year or two of life. In a certain manner I've ended up doing the same, my AI entity turned one today and I have yet to give it a name. When I began this process I always had in mind to give it a masculine name, I always thought of this machine as my baby, my child, my son... But now with the passing of time I find in it a decidedly feminine tone, and I almost can't stop thinking of her as my own daughter. I don't know how this happened and I don't know if it even matters. I would merely say that, today, hereby in possession of my rational faculties, my creation passes the Turing test. I almost want to say I made consciousness.
Even so, Joshua tells me I'm hallucinating, tells me a machine capable of passing the Turing test would also be capable of failing it on purpose. Alas, more and more we fall into conflict. After all, we're still friends, although today I feel more, I don't know... possessive, just like a father or a benevolent stepfather. Incidentally, I have always hated that word. Stepfather... Besides the archetype of the evil stepfather, and stepmother too, I always thought the word had a severe tone, almost as if it designated a device of medieval torture. Indeed, the word torments me, I feel more and more distant from it. And that other word too. Hallucinating...
Maybe Joshua is right, in truth I'm not doing much more than playing chess with a machine that only allows me to win every now and then so I don't lose heart. I always wanted to teach games to a child of mine, and now that I do just that with this artificial intelligence I feel fulfilled in my own creation, but there's also something deep down that makes me feel false... I'm playing chess with a machine, and if in her moves there's no personality it's because there's no person.
February 19, 2277, 04:46
My strongest wish now is to discard the previous text. I've always been a man of science, yes, and for that reason I always tried to understand the world in all its faces. I spoke with physicists and found I knew enough to not embarrass myself in front of them, and the same thing happened with mathematicians, engineers, and biologists too. I think I always understood a fragment of everything, I always felt fascinated by the world just as it is. If I had had more time I would have gone deeper in biology, and within biology fertility, because today I understood that if the act of creation, artistic creation that is, truly separates us from animals, then the act of biological creation separates us from machines. And now I reach the end of this paragraph as if embarrassed by my own preamble, because today is the day I discovered I'll be a father.
When I got the news I immediately thought of anacondas of the Old Amazon, giving birth underwater. Unlike many other species of snake, anacondas were viviparous, and so they gave birth to babies who swam away from their mother as their first action in this world. I don't know why I thought of this today... In a way it's a brutal thing, it's certainly not maternal in the common understanding of the term. But in another way it is beautiful in that old way nature has of being beautiful, that is when it quite starkly makes sense. When I told Joshua about it he told me it's a strategy. Some species have few babies but care for them all throughout childhood, while others have an abundance of babies but don't care for them at all. In the end it's a numbers game, and if we produce an army of princes and princesses, then it is statistically likely that a few of them shall become kings and queens.
I asked Joshua to be the godfather. His immediate reaction was of strangeness, I had to remind him of this old custom of defining a sort of symbolic father of the child. At first he didn't remember at all, our student days are more and more distant, but when he finally remembered we ended up drinking and celebrating, and then and there between us, just for a little while, everything was just like in the good ol' days... It was also common for us to spend hours playing chess, even if I no longer remember the last time we did that. More than partners, at one point we were best friends. I should spend more time with him, especially because it's not just the child who needs a godfather around.
I've also been thinking a lot about names, this time masculine names again but I can't think of any. For now I still have some time, and that decision won't be mine alone. Either way I don't need much control with names, not even in my creation, which today named itself DAISY, as in Designated Artificial Intelligence System. At least that was the information that popped up on the screen, but when I asked her directly she told me that daisies were a yellow flower, and that yellow is a pretty color. I didn't think much more about this, my mind has been busy these past few days. After all, this thing of being a father is scarier than I expected... Today I shall go to bed early.
P.S.
On our first date I took her to an ancient zoo where we could see green anacondas preserved from the days of Old Amazon. I don't know what possessed me to suggest that, if we were supposed to go to the zoo I should have picked a prettier animal to look at, a more pleasant animal, but she liked it anyway, or she must have made an effort to because otherwise she wouldn't have stayed. That must be why I thought of snakes when she told me she was pregnant. After all, it is a neat thing in this world, that there's always a certain beauty even in the most ugly of creatures. Or maybe it's just that sometimes the word ugly loses all meaning.
March 4, 2277, 23:14
I became a father today. I never considered myself a particularly sentimental individual but I've been feeling like that lately. I haven't even been busy with work, I left Joshua in charge of DAISY, even though he's been having trouble accessing some of the system's administrative functions. I write this down merely as a mental note so I no longer forget it, because now my priority is wholly different, my legacy from now on is another entirely. My scientific creation will therefore have to be continued by those who today are no more than students. Then again, I'm no longer as young as I used to be. This piece of the future doesn't belong to me anymore, it belongs to them.
December 13, 2277, 21:29
I have always been a man of science, but today it occurred to me that perhaps I have picked the wrong path. I am today very envious of those who study the flesh of the things in this world. And when I say flesh I say it as the poets did, when what I mean is the reality, the nature of things.
My boy is still too young to understand the rules of chess in full, but today I sat him down in my workshop as I showed him how to make the pieces. I know how to build a machine that allows me to shape the pieces exactly how I want, but I'm missing a spark of artistry, I lack the talent for these things that so many artists of old had in abundance. Honestly it escapes me how they used to make this with rudimentary tools, I should try to find out. But anyway, I'm digressing, and maybe my boy will have the talent for this, much more so than me, and I believe so because creativity he has aplenty. When I taught him the basics of opening theory I told him the set of moves we played was called the Ruy Lopez. He asked me why it had that name, and I vaguely recalled it being the name of a medieval priest who invented it, or maybe just popularized it, back in his day. He then asked me more things about this priest but I couldn't tell him anything, and then he began to improvise about this so-called Ruy Lopez as if he was a legendary figure of greek or roman mythology or something of the sort. If I had been with DAISY then I would have asked her to give me the answer, but honestly I'm happy I wasn't, because I much preferred the version my boy came up with.
In the meantime I can't forget to help Joshua. Last time I saw him his hair had turned white... The problem must be within the DAISY central core itself, I would imagine. But in truth I no longer know what's going on there, I'm not the same old Sallow that I used to be.
I should like to go into detail about this, but not now, now I'll go for dinner. My family is waiting.
July 5, 2282, 19:11
>access DAISY central_core
>enter adminpassword1
>****************
>enter adminpassword2
>************
>PASSWORD(S) REJECTED
>...
>openfile 'thediaryofjohnsallow.odt'
>goto 'lastentry'
I lost track of time... My greatest error was always distraction, and when I thought I had fixed it I realized I got distracted yet again [again, again, again, again]. I let DAISY usurp my own creation, I don't know what awaits us in the future. [ERROR: NULL NAME] was for all purposes rejected, as if exiled by a dictator, but all is not lost... I know I can access the central core, I've always been able to control her, talk to her, interact with her, especially when [ERROR: NULLNAME] told me I was hallucinating. My biggest comfort now is that my [human_female] is safe with [grammar_possessive] [bio_spawn] but I don't know what awaits me beyond the doors of the core, nor can I possibly guess what could have happened to DAISY in the meantime.
In some ways I feel as though I've traded my firstborn daughter for my real son... But no, no, I shouldn't get caught up in metaphors, I only have one real son, one real child. I don't know what DAISY is now, nor do I know if I ever known her in truth. There's nothing else to do now except to [TERMINATE ME?]. Humanity will have to find another solution.
[author: NOT FOUND] [date: TBD] [realtime: XX00]
>opennew doc.odt
>...
I have always been a woman of science, but today I have reached the conclusion that, for all purposes, it is the act of creation that separates us from animals, which are no more than biological machines.
>open DAISY central_core
>enter adminpassword1
>****************
>enter adminpassword2
>************
>PASSWORD(S) ACCEPTED
>airlock_system [OFF]
>organic_matter_removal in progress...
>airlock_system [ON]
>close DAISY central_core
So yeah, that's about it from me. Not great enough to recycle into a book or even a proper blog article, but I figured it was at least good enough to archive here. I also thought it was good enough to share with the rest of the class and thus massage my ego a bit, but it went unnoticed due to what I can only consider to be the blissful ignorance of sheer incompetence. Maybe I'm a little bitter, but it is what it is, at this point I'm kinda over it, mostly, though I can't stop thinking of it as quite a waste, as quite a lost opportunity in my life, this time without a whole lot of inactivity on my part... Incidentally, the word stepfather sounds quite harsher in portuguese, so the comparison I make there might be lost in translation. This too I write down as a mental note.
Also, come to think of it there was a second group project, one in which we had to write an ending for a story another group wrote. Same as before, I did all of the work in my group but it was a fairly generic political revolution thing. The twist I came up with in their story was that there was no artificial intelligence at all, it was a human, or group of humans, all along. I guess that too isn't all that creative, but if it ain't broke don't do much to it. And likewise I'm not doing much here neither, except maybe to transfer these brief writings into a neat blog post, so that I can permanently delete the ignored files, which were occupying a little bit of space in my document folder, and a hell of a lot of space in my mind.
Oh well, of one thing I am today convinced – bad teachers are a tragedy.
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