#memetics

[ancient-rome-au]

real

[source]

[ypeorescosasvendran]

Some women resent the concept of their own biology. The absence of equity and their position in the gender hierarchy causes them to hate their own nature and resent the fact that they are, on the whole, at a disadvantage.

There are many ways to cope with living in such a position. Some women, unable to meaningfully change these fundamental aspects of our species and probably lacking social capital within their own sex, direct their resentment towards men. However, since the average man is stronger and they can do little to harm them, they target the weak, such as the disabled, infants, and the unborn.

I can only imagine that existing as a woman must be horrifying. The very act of lashing out against the weak and vulnerable is degrading and humiliating. Acting in such a way, and doing so because it is the only thing they can meaningfully do to experience power and control over others, is incredibly pitiful and sad. The worst thing is that these experiences are nowhere near the worst thing that could happen to them.

The grass is always rotten on the other side.

[sistersorrow]

Over the years, the SCP Foundation's conception of memetics has evolved to such a degree that it's barely recognisable as Dawkin's original writings, and that's what makes it so fun

It went from "What if we applied evolutionary biology principles to ideas?" to "What if Plato's World of Forms was a death world filled with patchwork gods, ideological plagues, and is two weeks away from having its ecosystem overtaken by the conceptual equivalent of an invasive species?"

[2-gay-2-furious]

On the consumption of g@y p0rn

Going beyond erotic entertainment, homosexual pornography functions as a repository of queer cultural memory and desire. For many, it remains the only space where queer male longing is visualised, ritualised, validated, and satisfied. In heteronormative societies, gay porn becomes a means of asserting that queer bodies not only exist but also desire each other. It serves as a mirror of fantasy through which the queer subject learns to recognise himself within a circulating economy of libidinal exchange.

Owing to this mirroring power, gay porn is remarkably effective as a memetic system. It distills complex social codes (dominance, submission, idealised masculinity, eroticised otherness, etc) into repeatable and transmissible visual units. Its frames and gestures (poses, archetypes, tropes, fetishes, etc) spread across platforms like viruses, reproducing norms and counter-norms alike. The still images, GIFs, and camboy performances become semiotic capsules of queer ideology. In our digital era, porn operates as the most successful queer propaganda tool. It infects the social imagination with erotic possibilities that exceed the grammar of heteronormative language.

I view gay porn as an archive and algorithm of male desire. It is a libidinal infrastructure that programs bodies in the art of recognition and replication. Its necessity lies in not only the satisfaction of lust but also in the preservation and mutation of queer ontology within the capitalist regimes of visibility and code. Through repetition and imitation, it produces an evolving mythology of what the gay body is, wants, and performs. It functions as viral semiotics: images circulating as content-as-contagion, infecting users with both fantasy and formation, scripting the erotic unconscious of an online networked generation.

[preservationofnormalcy]

[Memetics was much like many other wings and sites in the sprawling world of the Office, white walls, neutral carpets, cool colors elsewhere, but something was different.

It was like the measurements of the walls didn’t add up, or the signage didn’t quite say what they should the first time you saw it. I could have sworn a lighted “EXIT” sign said “EDIT.” Twice I felt like I had to move a few feet to the side to walk around someone that wasn’t there. It wasn’t world-shattering, I wasn’t spinning dramatically with my hands on my head, but there was a distinct feeling that something was wrong.

Up ahead, figure leaned out of the office door and waved me down.]

Rowan] Hey! Here. Over here.

[I was grateful for the distraction, checking the sign on the door as I was guided in: Dr Rowan Milne.]

R] This place is a little disorienting. Nature of the work, of course.

[The office was covered in papers. Piles and piles of folders. Some books, but mostly papers in folders, in binder clips, stacks stapled for dear life.]

R] Sorry, just - yeah, that chair. That’s fine. Hello!

[Rowan himself sat on his desk, smiling widely. He was younger than I would have expected, a thin face over a loose tie, a brown sweater with a checkered shirt underneath. Clean shaven, with his black hair pulled back into a ponytail. As he sat, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silent fidget toy, a small black plastic cube that he idly played with.]

R] What can I do you for?

Meghan] Well, I’m —

R] Oh, shit! Where are my manners —

[He extended his hand, smile turned to a sheepish grin.]

R] Rowan Milne. I’m a Memetics researcher here at the Office.

M] Meghan. I’m just here to ask questions.

R] You got a lot of reputation following you, if you don’t mind me saying.

M] So I hear.

R] I expect you’re here about ‘psychosecurity’. Great one, right? That one was my grandad’s, he founded Memetics.

M] Sure, tell me about that. Vulnerable to what?

R] Well—

[He turned and circled behind his desk. There was a little bit of energy about him. Not manic, but energetic. He rolled up the sleeves on his sweater, plain white shirt sleeves underneath.]

R] You met Mr Carter. So…vulnerable to that. That was the concern, at first. See, my grandad came on shortly after Josiah did. They worked together in Psychotronics, and while Carter wanted to establish a baseline for how a human mind should healthily function without outside c-hazard interference, my grandad went a little further afield.

[He turned his chair almost to the side, sort of gesturing at the room, scratching his thin beard.]

R] See, the noosphere - stop me if you need me to break any of this down - the noosphere is compared to the biosphere for a reason. It’s an ecosystem. An evolved ecosystem, with food chains, ideas and thoughts living, evolving, dying. My grandad felt that cognitohazards implied predation. You can’t really call them a life form, not really, but they might be what passed for a predator in the noosphere. And if there’s predation, there might be…prey. If there’s fauna, there’s flora. The things that Josiah dealt with were from a distant biome, they’re an invasive species. That’s why we never evolved defenses against them. But there did seem to be c-hazards that developed in a local environment, so to speak. Those are things we can work with.

M] That’s a lot off the top.

[He gave another sheepish smile, furrowing his brow a bit and rubbing his head, disturbing the neat blond ponytail.]

R] Sorry, I tend to just…talk.

M] That’s alright. It’s refreshing. So, clutter makes us vulnerable both to the…things Mr Carter warned me about, as well as….c-hazards.

R] Cognitohazards, yes.

M] What is a cognitohazard?

[Rowan nodded, shrugging off his lab coat.]

R] A cognitohazard is any information that it is epistemologically harmful. That is, information that is harmful to know. It’s a pretty wide range, so I might just…show you some examples, if you’d like.

M] Sure. As long as they won’t be —

R] No no, not - nothing permanent. We have little cards here, let me —

[He dug around in his desk. I took a moment to look around at the photos on the wall - a young, heavy-set man, Rowan himself, graduating from some place called AbSci University.]

R] Ah, here we go.

[He produced a stack of cards on a metal ring, and flipped the stack to show one in particular. It showed a series of letters and numbers, with lines through some, splotches of color bisecting some of the symbols. It was almost like a captcha.]

R] So, take a nice long look…and then try and say the word ‘ham’.

M] Three. Three. Three? Oh my god.

R] Yeah. Can you even think of —

M] N-no. I’m…I can imagine a…a sandwich, filled with Three. That’s not possible, that’s a number.

R] That’s a cognitohazard. And I’m sorry to say that one got you good. It’ll wear off in a minute.

M] Are all of them like that?

R] Nope, some are much worse. Debilitating, even.

M] Where do they come from?

R] Some are naturally occurring. Others are how we categorize things like fae magic. A lot of them are engineered. The science has come a long way.

M] Could you…I dunno. Get someone to think you had blond hair, or something like that?

[He bobbed his head from side to side a little, kind of half-wincing, which made the wrinkles in his forehead crease further.]

R] You could, technically. But you’d need a vector. Text is easiest, of course, but you can embed a c-hazard vector in a song or sound if you’re good. At higher c-hazard levels you could create a self-sustaining thought virus, but you’d still have to think about vectors, incubation periods, the damaging effects on the victim. In cases like that you’re better off just dying your hair.

[He pulled a clipboard off his desk, facing it to me. It had a category listing, from one to six.]

R] At the Office, we have a category rating. Category ones, you probably walk by two a week. We don’t even really call them hazards at that point, just “Memetics.” Sixes, we’ve only seen four or five in the entire history of the Office. That little ham trick I did on the card was supposed to be a two, but I think it’s hitting you like a three.

M] Why is — oh. Cluttered mind.

R] Yeah. Can I…speak freely, Meghan?

M] Sure.

[Rowan leaned forward with a sort of worried expression, lacing his fingers together.]

R] When you walked into this wing, you were exposed to a minor cognitohazard designed to test the effectiveness of memetic training. You’re unfortunately failing that test.

M] I am?

[Rowan looked somber, and she nodded.]

R] I’m afraid so. Pretty badly. Here, tell you what.

[She opened one of the huge drawers on her desk, and I had a moment of…a moment. I looked over at the photos again. Those were still of Rowan, right? Thin, black hair, clean shaven. But the person at the desk was —]

R] Here we go.

[Rowan gently slapped a stack of papers in front of me, smiling his usual smile.]

R] This here is the Milne Method. This is my grandfather’s work. It’s a method of organizing your thoughts and mental processes in a way that can make you more resistant to cognitohazards without expensive memetic training. Making connections between disparate thoughts. Sort of inspired by the folks in Synchronicity. I offer this training course to everyone who works at the Office, and not enough people take me up on it. Some do, of course, which I’m thankful for. There’s one agent that uses the same method to organize his files, which…it wasn’t meant for that, really, but it works for him. I hope.

[He paused and frowned.]

R] I should check on that. Anyway. A lot of it involves physical items that act as memetic anchors. The text calls them trinkets.

M] Oh. Well, I…it’s embarrassing, but I’ve kind of already been doing that. Or something like it.

R] Yeah?

M] Yeah. Every interview I’ve done, I’ve tried to have…something to remember it. One of Barb’s cigarettes, some stationery from Josiah’s office.

[I had a leather portfolio folder in my bag. It had belonged to my brother, one of the only things I could find of his. Of course, everyone just said it had been “floating around” with no owner, but I knew better. I’d tucked all the items I’d picked up so far neatly into its expansive pockets, slots, and pen holders. A tongue depressor from Jethro’s facility, a small pocket notebook from Seamus’ fire watch tower.]

M] I’m not sure why. A habit I’ve had since I was a kid. This is part of the Milne Method?

[He smiled, poking the stack of papers, sliding them another inch towards me.]

R] Meghan, you are already halfway there.

[yipyipallyall]

[nyansense-the-nyanbinary]

in the most recent Girl Genius comic, one of the Dreen has made a tactical error and accidentally rearranged Klaus Wulfenbach's priorities under his spark wasp control -- and now he has no choice but to aim to kill them. Oops!

I threw this together in a fit of inspiration -- I assume the next comic will go differently, but I wanted to publish it anyways because the concept really just seized on me as soon as the Dreen in-comic mused "Say - What is that Music?"

[cebra-gris]

😂😂😂Yo quiero dar mis clases y talleres con láminas tan geniales como estas... Despedida en dos días, pero lo que nos íbamos a reír, eso haría que casi valiera la pena (fuente abajo)

Estoy ahora viendo esto, no me resistí a hacer captura y compartir. No puedo por ahora recomendar este video visto a medias. En España somos tan ridículos todos como para tener la Alt-right copiada y encima hacerlo mal, nuestras ¿versiones? son pintorescas y risibles, pero la izquierda moderna también es importada sin ajustar a nuestra idiosincrasia. Podríamos cambiarnos políticos ilustres de este ala con los de Chile y no notaríamos grandes diferencias en discurso y agenda. Lo cual es problema porque es ajena a problemas tradicionales locales y no conecta con muchos.

Pero quizás su mayor pecado es no haber tomado posiciones en Internet para presentar debate donde discursos conservadores, neo liberales y alt.right (no son lo mismo) camparon años a sus anchas sin oposición y ganando público a pesar de lo poco formados o ridículos que fueran ellos mismos y sus argumentos.

Ahora algunos parecen despertar de una borrachera muy larga y se preguntan el Qué hacer que tantas veces tituló escritos antes de la revolución rusa. No tengo la respuesta y es que quizás sea igual de tonta que el más mediocre de sendos bandos, pero al menos veía venir el problema antes (algo dije en verano 2024 en el anterior blog).

Quizá, y solo quizá; las soluciones pasen por hacerlo divertido. Tener el rigor para desmontar sus demagogias, pero ser capaces de hacer reír haciéndolo, algo como hace este panel que ven y el video que estaba viendo. Quizá bastaría con hacer visible cuán ridículos son, pero haciendo algo mejor que un tier de Ad hominen... Quizá, pero apenas están desembarcando para presentar batalla en el campo que abandonaron para dejar a los becarios y voluntarios del partido. Unas redes que menos de una década antes propulsaron a una izquierda emergente que subida como la espuma a sus escaños, descuidó redes y retaguardia para que un mero soplido venido de gamers que almacenan la basura en casa, cínicos disfrazados de condón y similares les barrieran por la derecha.