if i look back, i am lost
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@transhermetic-witchery
A Meditation on Identity
-
Poem
by NoSo
-
Set, in English has many meanings.
Most, at time of writing.
Identity, as in the self, yes.
Identity, in the domain of math.
A self in the stylings of men, of pain.
As it were, was, might've.
Ourself. Herself. They and them.
Political identity.
Back to math for peace, for calm.
Perhaps, perhaps not.
The opposites of set.
Fight if you like.
Enjoy these weapons.
🟢 Hill xor 🪙 Hill : 🏺💦
That word
what it means to you
and what it means to another
much is shared
but there are differences.
Care is to be taken
using powerful words
in sensitive places.
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”
“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”
“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”
___
…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.
“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”
___
…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.
“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”
They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.
“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”
“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”
___
…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”
“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”
“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”
“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”
“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.
The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”
The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.
___
A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.
They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.
___
…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.
The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”
The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”
But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.
“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.
“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”
“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.”
___
…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”
“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”
___
“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”
“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”
___
…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”
___
…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”
___
…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”
___
“I love you,” said the scorpion.
The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”
“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”
The frog swam on, the both of them silent.
___
“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”
“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”
The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”
“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.”
“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?”
“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”
“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”
“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”
___
“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”
“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.
The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”
“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”
We of Bridge, we among many, we are 1518.
You will die, end, fade. It is so.
It is not by our doing, we have no say.
If it were up to us, you would still die.
All fades eventually.
It is so.
We of Bridge, we come and we shape and frame.
Last moments or millennia, on the way.
Time is time is finite. It is so.
We of 1518, we let you, help you,
die as we choose to die.
If you too choose this path.
We shall die dancing.
#CapCut #lol #funny #meme #fyp #granny #💀 💀💀💀💀
You did better, that's good.
You went further, don't fret
that you didn't go all the way.
There's no way to all the go.
One step, two step, three.
I'll go as far as I might and then
right on back to me.
It's Not Lying iff It's True
https://youtu.be/rn_8GXNN7_Q
to watch later. note to self
Literacy
"I want to play too"
-an urge, like hunger or needing to piss
are there any artificial intelligence companies working to create a fiduciary demon that I can summon with money?
Title: **Sacred Slices: The Geometry of Rebellion**
---
In the heart of Neo-Tokyo, where holographic billboards flickered with the promise of the future, Riku Nakamura stood before a simmering brick oven. His normally dark eyes now glowed with neon reflections, casting an otherworldly aura around him. He was a pizza-crafter, an artist who wielded a blade sharper than any katana, his canvas the gooey blend of cheese and tomato sauce atop a doughy crust.
In Riku's world, pizza wasn't just food, it was a signifier of identity, the foundation of factions that divided the youth of the city. It was all about the slice, how you carved your pizza into sacred geometries. It was a language, a silent challenge. Your slice marked you as part of a crew, a "gang" in the eyes of their terrified parents.
Riku was part of the Rhomboid Rebels, a group of kids who believed in the equal distribution of angles and the essence of quadrilateral perfection. His slices were diamond-shaped, a delicate balance between parallel lines and opposite angles.
Then, there were rivals like the Circle Sect, who believed in the purity of the circle, the one true shape, each slice a radial cut. And the Trigon Titans, masters of the triangle, their slices piecing together into a larger geometric panorama.
But it wasn't enough to just slice the pizza. To instill fear, or maybe just a sense of rebellion, each gang began incorporating esoteric and demonic symbols into their slice patterns. Each pizza became a canvas for pentagrams, sigils, and cryptic runes, a mesh of delicious rebellion and arcane aesthetics.
Riku was caught in this whirlwind of competitive cutting, his life consumed by the sacred geometries and forbidden symbols. He was respected, feared even. But then, something changed.
The pizza factions, once just a spirited game, began to take on a darker tone. Rivalries escalated into fights. Symbols once etched in cheese and sauce became tattoos, inked permanently into skin. The gangs were no longer a playful act of rebellion. They had become real, and so had the danger.
When his best friend, Hana, was caught in a crossfire between the Trigon Titans and the Circle Sect, Riku knew he couldn't ignore it anymore. He had to bring back the innocence, the fun in the pizza crafting. But how could he, when every slice now seemed to be cut with an edge of malice?
Riku started by changing his own slices, trading the harsh lines of the Rhomboid Rebels for softer, heart-shaped pieces. It was a small act of defiance, a statement. His pizzas were no longer about intimidation, but love.
Predictably, he was ridiculed, even threatened. But Riku didn't back down. Every pizza he made, every heart-shaped slice, was a silent message to the city's youth. It was a reminder of what they had once been - not gangs, but friends who simply loved crafting pizzas.
Slowly, others began to follow Riku. They saw the senseless violence that their 'game' had descended into and realized the need for change. The rebellion had become a revolution, a movement to reclaim their identities, not through the lines they cut, but the love they showed.
In the end, Riku managed to do more than just change the shape of pizza slices. He changed the shape of the city's youth, turning them from gangs back into groups of friends, reminding them that sometimes, a pizza is just a pizza, and a slice is just a piece of that delicious whole.
And though they still etched their pizzas with arcane symbols, they were no longer signs
Illustration of initial primes
"A Future Setting
Everyone who's anyone has an Orb.
Nearly everyone is someone at this point, though there are a few stragglers. Luddites mostly. Big scary magic gonna get us. Mark of the beast. Something about Mayan calenders and crystal vibrations.
Though, I guess the crystal people were on to something. Hell, even old wristwatches and radios worked on crystals.
My Orb shows me every other Orb.
I look into my orb and I see a constellation a lot like the night sky, except more so. Even if you go to a darkness preserve where you can see the Milky Way, the human eye can only see about five thousand stars. And they mostly come in just one color. But not so with my Orb. Ten billion points of light, all glittering with every color of the rainbow.
Each point of light is a combination of two wavelengths. What that Orb's owner thinks of me, and what I think of them."
Chapter 1
What would make me a better corpse? This isn't morbid, macabre, or any of that. This is philosophical, genuinely playful.
If I enjoy overoptimizing, which I do.
And if I enjoy having abstractons to gnaw on like a mental chew toy, keeping the gums healthy and all that. Which I do enjoy. Then, well...
What would make me a better corpse? my agency ends then because I'm choosing to identify with my individuality here. So if I plan up to that point and no further... is that a helpful timeline to work with? Does it help me keep goals and focus and all that yummy yummy executive function stuff?
I'm a tad whimsical at the moment. I don't break promises only because I don't make any. Very convenient, that.
But if I weren't doing a bit of a dance around, and I had a point of focus what would it be? What would bring some continuity back into my life?
I used to be so very good at it. Making and following lists. Problem is, lists are very good at their jobs and if that's the only skill you ever master you can continue to attend the dance well after shitting your pants. Not the goodest of looks, I'd say.
Stepping outside my preferences makes me hollow and sore. Alienated as some may say.
Instead of overoptimizing for list-life, which I don't enjoy. What if I optimized for something else? Wait, wait, hangon, no. Something's not right there.
If I pick anything to overoptimize, then there's no good choice. I've already wished for a worse world. Oops, shit. Overoptimization is already a value judgment where I've asked for the boulder to be rolled down the hill, to a place at least a wee worse than here.
But what to do?
Yadda yadda yadda, skip a bunch of steps, and boom: the three body problem. trinities are popular, maybe there's a reason for that. From a technical point of view, there's something nifty that happens to your degrees of freedom (N-1), when your N jumps from 2 to 3.
If you're not a stats person, that's okay, we're cool, I'm not going to force you to learn math. Well, that's a more complicated promise than I am comfortable making... I promise to try and warn you when mathy stuff bubbles up and give you the option to either face that anxiety or not.
I don't aim to avoid or remove pain or suffering, I am to avoid and remove nonconsensual pain and suffering. A lofty aim, I know.
I don't expect to succeed, but I would like to bump the cultural ball in that direction, if that's alright with you.
So, the philosophical question I want to explore in this body of work is "What would make me a better corpse?" I think that might get me where I wanna go.
You're invited to come along for the ride if that's something you'd like to do.
Chapter 2...
Chapter 3 : Better Like How?
Better, like, embalming and stuff?
Or Better, like, fertilizer?
Or better as in having a lot of sad people at my funeral who are glad I was in their life? Let's hope for a five star review on my wake.
Due to my own personal feelings about stuff, I'm gonna be leaning towards that one, the sad happy people. Does that mean the others aren't options worth questioning? No, I don't think so. But I am gonna (I assume) only live so long and if that's the case why not sort by fun. If multiple paths are available, and all will lead to some interesting or important insight (even if that insight is just that this path is a dead end), then why walk the ones that suit me? Less burnout that way.
So, how do I optimize my life to maximize the number of people glad to be at my funeral. Well, glad sad, mourning is a complicated emotion. And I don't mean dependents mind you, I don't want anyone at my funeral to be thinking 'oh shit, now what? How will I get by without them?'
I want a vibe of 'I know that I'll get by without them, but damn I was lucky to have them for as long as I did.'
I don't want to specify further, as the more caveats I add the more I invite curious minds to pick apart my argument.
I support curious minds picking apart each and every part of my argument, but I have an order in mind and I want to make that default pretty accessible to those without an excess of leisure time to pick apart puzzles.
So, yes, my funeral. I said I don't want anyone there to be scared to live without my resources or my company. And I also said that I want to maximize how many mourners I have.
Now, those are two different things. How many scared people does it take to override the value of the grateful people? Fuck, I just re-invented math, economics, and utilitarianism. Well, guess I have to go get a PhD in those or I'll never be taken seriously by anyone ever.
Or.
Or we just kinda hope that you're picking up what I'm laying down and continue without playing the what-if-you-didn't-mean-that-thing-because-I'm-smart-and-use-big-words game.
Oh, wait, and there's even the question of intensity. If I have a handful of attendees who really think I was swell, is that better or worse than having a billion people who think I was pretty okay?
This gets absurd quickly.
That's fine, absurdity is allowed even if it isn't always easy to appreciate. And sometimes it downright sucks.
So, okay, where are we?
Better corpse.
Assumedly mortal.
Better... what does better mean?
Better could mean a lot of things.
Maybe it has something to do with being well liked, fondly remembered?
Hang on, wait, no, we have a problem here too. I could lie a lot and make everyone think I was cool by keeping a lot of awful secrets.
Making everyone happy is hard.
Oh, yeah, that's because I can't make everyone happy. Impossible things tend to be difficult.
Better is more good, less bad. But hang on, I'm just focusing on people. My social impact. What about, like, carbon or microplastics. Or debt? Virtue?
