@sunandtheair - Tumblr Blog

trappedangel-deactivated2017061

[FIVE YEARS OLD] “do you want to stay for dinner?” tears fill my teeny tiny hazel eyes & I say, “yes, please.” I look up at my mother & plead as hard as I know how, shaky palms rest behind my back & I cross my fingers in hopes that she will nod her head in a yes. & she says, “we can stay.” even with the, “we” my heart feels broken open & ready to be reset when my best friends mom passes me the ketchup & smiles with her pretty brown mommy-eyes. [SIX YEARS OLD] pneumonia in the hospital, the nurse comes in the middle of the night to cuff my arm & take my temp & make sure that I am safe. I do not sleep because I want to be awake when she comes to visit me. [SEVEN YEARS OLD] holiday at my cousins house, aunt & uncle & cousins times 3. my aunt lays her hand on the small of my back & asks, “how’s school going lately?” & a shiver crawls up my spine like a message from the earth’s core saying, “this is a safe touch! let it in!” & I have never been more ecstatic to answer that question. — dinner passes & I run through the house, playing games with my cousins our bellies cramping with laughter & our eyes alight with glee & my mom calls up from the kitchen, “it’s time to leave!” pain fills the cracks in my sides, split from the happiness of the evening & I watch my feet sprint up the steps & I hide deep inside the forest of my cousin’s closet & I cry. [EIGHT YEARS OLD] my mom takes me to work with her because I am sick & she has work & I am too sick to go to school & she is too busy to stay home (that is a different kind of sickness). my mom’s secretary comes into the office while I uncomfortably maneuver creating a bed out of two office chairs & she hands me a bag & I pull out a dog stuffed animal & I name her Nippy & I fall asleep & dream about the family I would have with me, the secretary, & Nippy. I wake up smiling. [NINE YEARS OLD] eating at chili’s. I ask for a kids menu. the waitress comes to our table with extra crayons & a free lemonade in a cup with a curly straw. she smiles & says, “on me.” I color a picture the waitress & me, holding hands at the park & I daydream about her, picking me up after school & making me a snack & bandaging my scraped knees & washing my mud stained white clothes with bleach. [TEN YEARS OLD] parents are divorced / dad goes to speed dating. he comes home & tells me he met a woman he liked with two daughters & a dog. all week I fantasize about what my new life will look like, when we all live together in my childhood home. I wonder if it will be safe again when my new mom comes home from work. [ELEVEN YEARS OLD] I wish mom dead, I wish for a different mom, I wish mom would touch me in a way that was Safe, but most of all I wish mom would love me. [TWELVE YEARS OLD] we are eating dinner at the house of a family friend & their family; it is me, it is another girl my age, it is my mom & her best friend & her husband. they are a loving / gentle / kind family who I envy. I turn deep sea green with envy whenever I am with them & I can see the burning hot love they all hold for each other equally. as dinner progresses I suddenly feel ill & I whisper to my own mom, “I feel sick.” she says “oh” & then retreats back to her conversation. & my mom’s friend sees me & she says, “come here!” & she takes my hand, she takes my hand & she leads me to their den, (they have a den!) & she has me lay down on the couch. she covers me up & tucks me in & she asks me what I need & then I cry. I cry & I cry & my crying refuses to stop no matter how much I try to will it away & she is worried. she holds my hand & pushes my hair behind my ear & asks what’s wrong & I tell her I don’t feel well. she shuts off the light & I imagine a life where she is my mom & I have a den where I can sleep when I am ill & mommy will come to rub my back & make sure that I get well again. [THIRTEEN YEARS OLD] my math teacher. blonde, blue eyes, beautiful, looks at me like a person / not a doll, I think she see’s through my wax paper & I want her to trace my outline so that I can look at myself & I desperately try to shrink & swallow myself whole while I sit in her class because I want her to ask me what is wrong & I want her to hold me while I cry until she tucks me into bed at night. [FOURTEEN YEARS OLD] I call my best friend in tears because my family turned me into liquid & used me to mop the floor & I beg her to let me stay over & her mom says of course & when I arrive her mom looks at me with love & takes my hand & says “You’re always welcome here” & I fill up with jealousy because I want my best friends mom all to myself. [FIFTEEN YEARS OLD] my track coach who is also a social worker. she is pregnant & I want to be the one living inside of her womb. I break my own bones to try & get her to wonder what is cracking so loudly & I bleed on the high jump matt so I can make her look at me & I make myself cry so she will ask me why I am hurting so badly & I want to be the baby in her belly. [SIXTEEN YEARS OLD] I am too sad & broken to believe in the idea that a mom is out there waiting for me. [SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD] first time in a treatment center; I meet a therapist who loves me. she loves me & she tells me that in my eyes she sees me healing. when I cry in group because my fear of using words is greater than my desire to get better, she looks me in the eye & says, “you’ll get there.” & in session she tells me, “I want to put you in my purse & take you home with me.” I want her to put me in her purse & take me home with her. I want to stay sick so that I never have to say goodbye to her. [EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD] I am an adult. I don’t need a mom anymore. (I cry every night at the memory of all the times when I was mothered with a gentle touch.) I don’t need a mom. [NINETEEN YEARS OLD] guilt eats away at me; my mom. I want MY MOM. my mom. she has done so much to help me live a life I love. money, clothes, food, roof, she had given me so much. okay, so who cares if it isn’t a gentle touch. I can handle a little bit of rough, her words are nothing more than little wounds, I have hurt myself worse. it’s a small price to pay to be loved by a mother. my mother. mommy. I cling to my mommy like a magnet & she hurts me with love while I cry every night & have no idea why. [TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD] I cry in the arms of my therapist & I say, “I want you to be my mommy.” & she tells me that in another life she would have adopted me & loved me forever in a heartbeat & I don’t hold even an ounce of guilt or shame when I say that I want to take a needle to her vein & extract the parts of her which love me most & inject into my soul like medication so I can feel the mother in her flowing thick through my own blood. — I want to have a mother who holds my body in her palm like a wounded bird, nurses the bird back to health with a stitched wing & water in a tiny cup & once the bird is healed she takes him out to the window & helps him learn that he can still fly even though he is hurting & then he will see that it’s true & she will wave goodbye as he flies off to make something of himself & she will see his left over feather laying in the palm of her hand & she will place it down on the counter & smile & I want to be the wounded bird & I want a mom who will let me go but still keep me in her heart no matter how far apart we are.

MATERNAL TRANSFERENCE or I WANT TO OPEN YOU UP AND JUMP INSIDE AND SEW THE WOUND SO I CAN LIVE IN YOUR LOVE FOREVER prompt for anonymous (han hyland)

ondoinganevildeedblues

lighting up a fat one with the girls

lustik

Yuta Segawa Ceramics.

aiweirdness

New paint colors invented by neural network

So if you’ve ever picked out paint, you know that every infinitesimally different shade of blue, beige, and gray has its own descriptive, attractive name. Tuscan sunrise, blushing pear, Tradewind, etc… There are in fact people who invent these names for a living. But given that the human eye can see millions of distinct colors, sooner or later we’re going to run out of good names. Can AI help?

For this experiment, I gave the neural network a list of about 7,700 Sherwin-Williams paint colors along with their RGB values. (RGB = red, green, and blue color values) Could the neural network learn to invent new paint colors and give them attractive names?

One way I have of checking on the neural network’s progress during training is to ask it to produce some output using the lowest-creativity setting. Then the neural network plays it safe, and we can get an idea of what it has learned for sure.

By the first checkpoint, the neural network has learned to produce valid RGB values - these are colors, all right, and you could technically paint your walls with them. It’s a little farther behind the curve on the names, although it does seem to be attempting a combination of the colors brown, blue, and gray.

By the second checkpoint, the neural network can properly spell green and gray. It doesn’t seem to actually know what color they are, however.

Let’s check in with what the more-creative setting is producing.

…oh, okay.

Later in the training process, the neural network is about as well-trained as it’s going to be (perhaps with different parameters, it could have done a bit better - a lot of neural network training involves choosing the right training parameters). By this point, it’s able to figure out some of the basic colors, like white, red, and grey: