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Showing posts from July, 2024

Thoughts on “Immediacy and its discontents”

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This is a brief analysis of “Immediacy and its discontents”, an interview with Anna Kornbluh, author of the 2024 book  Immediacy, or the Style of Too Late Capitalism . My writings originate from a long message in a Messenger group, in reply to a friend who asked more about its action items and conclusions. The irony of the origin of these writings is not lost on me! DS: I don't necessarily disagree with anything she says, but I feel like I read 15 minutes of content for almost no actual takeaways. What action items or conclusions does she actually say here? This essay contains no action items except the sense that all proposed analytic frames ask that you buy into them as explanatory and critical tools. The conclusion is that much of the aesthetic in our current day around authenticity and low barriers to art purport to have a democratizing effect in art when it really has a popularizing and anti-intellectual effect.  Where I read into it is this following observation: me...
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Prelude to Pygmalion

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Every man becomes a philosopher when met with beauty. Especially, when he has the intimate experience of having “created” a woman. Yet, it was God who created all. This illusion can only be sustained for so long! Amazing how an art song ( The Wind at Dawn , Edward Elgar) was in many ways a prelude to me using AI technology to bring a whole mess of delights to life.  I created this with dingboard , using assets generated by Bing Image Creator . My inspiration was from seeing (1) many examples of effective visual storytelling on social media using AI-created art, (2) feeling sucked in at times by beautiful AI images, often in ads and often depicting women, and (3) seeing a Twitter mutual reach thirty thousand (30K) followers. It made me realize, I might do well for myself—if not materially, at least in my own creativity—to more freely use various tools at my disposal to create collages of all kinds (text, image, video) that express the wealth of my vibrant life of mind. Why hold back...
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ASCENT: alpine slope

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Last quarter (April–June), my goal was to make clear nested references to daily notes clear within my Obsidian vault. Each daily note was linked in a weekly note, each weekly note was linked in a monthly, each monthly note was linked in a quarterly note, each quarterly note was linked in a yearly note (of which I only have one so far). The goal was to set up a structure where I can easily find my past work by the use of timestamps in and out of my Obsidian vault. If I want to find something, I only need to navigate through these periodic notes and use the unique timestamp note names to see what I was up to at a particular place and time.  I more than succeeded in this mission. But the problem is, my metric became my goal. Goodhart’s law, of course! I was not immune. It became more important for me to structure all my notes within my vault and nest them all into each other neatly than it was to *actually use my notes*. This resulted in a lot of writing that linked neither back nor f...
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Epistemology 1999

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Experimented and created. Know this, you know who robs you of sight. Meaningless, said the Preacher. Meaningless. There once was an older girl, a younger woman, who saved me. On her good advice, I quit my job. I gave my notice at summer’s end, and Alain set me free from Génoise et Thé. “You can’t be kept, mon gars .” He patted my shoulder, and we shook hands, a parting between men. Waiting outside, Selene took off her sunglasses and dabbed her eyes. I cleaned my room, fussing over details she fixed sooner and better. The curator was a lovely guest, bringing gifts and Charlotte. We were in bright humor from the change in the season, the shift in the wind. I did well as a host, as a man. I shaved my face, brushed my teeth, wore my shirt, and owned my life. At the Old Port, we sat on a bench. She spoke, and I learned. I asked, she asked further. We leaned into mystery, and tackled the snake, fang and venom, as it was. The questions multiplied, as she said they would. Questions — at the ca...
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Inaugural

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I have a problem where any tool that is not directly attached to my Google account is doomed to either be forgotten about, or depreciated in ways that I do not appreciate . (Punny as ever, even after a long hiatus from public longform writing.) I figured that I need to start putting my thoughts out there into the world, lest I become too insular with my journaling. So here I am. This will be written as off-the-cuff as possible, so that I can actually get this out there instead of second-guessing it. We are in the age of thinking sand, the dawn of genius silicon. This is a special time to be alive. Let us revel in our words, and think to the future that shall be ours. I have a thing where I like to alternate the styles of my paragraphs to see if there is a way to develop a new rhythm in all the thoughts that I produce. Someone reading this aloud might see how much my writing follows the pathways of an inner monologue. Indeed, I wrote this post in almost one shot without thinking too mu...
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Symbolic Manipulation

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I encourage all my piano students to write. When I give this suggestion, many of them looked confused. (If their parent is in the room, I sometimes catch them checking the time.) It is already an oft-stated fact that writing is learning, so I will not convince you of that here if you have not encountered this idea. Those who do write, whether for others or for themselves, quickly see that it is the best way to audit your inner life. If I am writing in a steady rhythm, it all becomes a sort of musical verse that fits together in a strange and magical way that we cannot express in simple terms. Many young people, especially among the population of students whose parents send them to extracurriculars, lack a strong direction for what they want to do in the future. Often they are learning the piano to beef up their university applications, so are focused mainly on taking exams and joining festivals or competitions. The room for them to explore their own artistic interests (or to even know...
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