blarg?

November 26, 2020

Punching Holes

An early encoding proposal

As always, I am inexplicably carrying a deep seated personal grudge against anyone incurious enough to start with “because in C” when you ask them why computers do anything, but bear with me here. I know that a surprising amount of modern computing is definitely Dennis Ritchie’s fault, I get it, but even he existed in a context and these are machines made out of people’s decisions, not capricious logic-engine fae that spring to life when you rub a box of magnets with a copy of SICP. Quit repeating the myths you’ve been spoon-fed and do the research. A few hours in a library can save you a few decades in the dark.

Anyway, on a completely unrelated note: Today in wildly-unforeseeable-consequences news, I have learned where null-terminated strings come from. Not only are they older than Unix, they’re older than transistors and might be older than IBM. It turns out at least one of the roads to hell is paved with yesterday’s infrastructure.

“Coded Character Sets, History & Development” by Charles E. Mackenzie is an amazing technical artifact, approximately 75% mechanical tedium and 25% the most amazing deep-cut nerd history lesson I’ve seen in a while. I’ve gone on about how important Herman Hollerith and his card-readers were in the history of computing, but this document takes that to a much lower level, walking meticulously through the decision making processes by which each character’s bit sequence was determined, what constraints and decisions arose and how they were resolved, and where it isn’t boring as hell it is absolutely fascinating.

As an aside, it continues to be really unfortunate how much historical information about the decisions that have led up to modern computing is either hidden, lost or (I suspect most commonly) just ignored. There is a lot to learn from the Whys of so many of these decisions, lessons about process that transcend the implementation details lost in favour of easily-retellable falsehoods, and there’s an entire lost generation of programmers out there who found ESR’s version of the Jargon File before they found their own critical faculties and never quite recovered from that who’ll never learn those lessons.

(I mention it because I’m going to be talking about EBCDIC, and if your gut reaction to seeing that acronym is a snide dismissal for reasons you can’t really elaborate, I’m talking about you. Take it personally. Like a lot of Raymond’s work and indeed the man himself, his self-interested bastardization of the jargon file is superficially clever, largely wrong and aging very badly. Fortunately the Steele-1983 version is still out there and true to its moment in history, you’re still here to read it and a better future is still possible. I believe in all but one of you.)

On a less sarcastic note, there is a lot in here.

I didn’t realize quite how old ASCII is, for one. I mean, I knew the dates involved but I didn’t grasp the context, how completely disconnected the concerns of modern computing were from the creation of the ASCII standard. The idea of software, or decision-making implemented in software as relevant consumer is almost completely a non-issue, mentioned in passing and quickly brushed off. Far and away the most important concerns – as with EBCDIC, BCDIC and PTTC before it and dating back to the turn of the century – were about the efficiency of collating punch cards and fast line printing on existing tooling.

Printing, collating and backwards compatibility. In terms of importance, nothing else even came close. The idea of “code” as an information control-flow mechanism barely enters into it; that compilers exist at all is given a brief nod at the start of chapter 25 of 27, but otherwise it’s holes-in-cardboard all the way down. You can draw a straight line back in time from Unicode through a century of evolving punchcard standards all the way to the Hollerith Census Tabulator of 1890; Hollerith has cast an impossibly long shadow over this industry, and backwards compatibility with the form, machinery and practices of punch cards are entirely the name of this game and have been forever.

Early glyphs

It’s also amazing how many glyphs in various degrees of common use across various languages and systems were used, reconsidered and discarded for some wild variety of reasons as encodings evolved; the “cent” symbol giving way to a square bracket, various useful symbols like logical-not getting cut without any obvious replacements. Weird glyphs I’ve never seen on any keyboard in my life getting adopted then abandoned because they would have caused a specific model of long-established tape storage system to crash. The strangely durable importance of the lozenge character, and the time a late revision of BCDIC just … forgot “+”. Oops?

I had no idea that for a while there we were flirting with lowercase numbers. We were seriously debating whether or not computers needed a lowercase zero. That was a real thing.

Another thing I didn’t realize is how much of a dead end ASCII is, not just as a character set but as a set of practices that character set enables: *char++, I’m looking at you and all your footgun friends. I was never much of a student, but am I misremembering all that time I spent sorting and manipulating strings with tools that have wound up somewhere on the “merely obsolete” to “actively dangerous” spectrum, unsafe and unportable byproducts of a now-senescent encoding that nobody uses by choice anymore?

It’s really as though at some point, before about 1975, people just… hadn’t fully come to terms with the fact that the world is big. There’s a long chapter here about the granular implementation details of an industry struggling to come to terms with the fact that Europe and Asia actually exist and use computers and even if they didn’t sorting human text is a subtle problem and encodings aren’t the place it’s going to get solved, only for that discussion to get set shunted aside as the ghosts of compatibilities past shamble around the text rattling their chains.

There’s also a few pages in there about “Decimal ASCII” – basically “what if ASCII, but cursed” – a proposal with a such powerful Let Us Never Speak Of This Again energy that almost no modern references to it exist, high on the list of mercifully-dodged bullets scattered throughout this document.

But maybe the most interesting thing in here was about how much effort went into sorting out the difference between blank, space, null, zero and minus zero, which turns out to be a really difficult problem for all sorts of reasons. And the most incredible part of that is this:

An excerpt reading: How would one provide the traditional capability of leaving certain card columns unpunched (blank card columns) during keypunching to be filled with punched data on subsequent card punching operations? Such card columns would in fact have to be created by punching the Zero character that is equated to blank card column. In normal keypunching operations, such card columns are created by spacing, skipping or ejecting. Under this proposal, then, the relatively fast card motion of skipping or ejecting would be repalced by the relatively slow motion of manual keying by an operator. As in the previous argument, key punching productivity would be substantially reduced.

Null-terminated strings were “produced by the .ASCIZ directive of the PDP-11 assembly languages and the ASCIZ directive of the MACRO-10 macro assembly language for the PDP-10”, per Wikipedia, before manifesting themselves in C. But that’s not where they come from.

In fact null terminated strings existed long before C, because using a column of unpunched entries in a Hollerith card – a null column, in a convention that apparently dates to the earliest uses of punchcard collating and sorting machines – to indicate that you could terminate the card’s scan, was a fast, lightweight way to facilitate punch-card re-use and efficient data entry and re-entry, when that data was entered by punching it into cards.

That is to say, we somehow built the foundations of what would become a longstanding security exploit vector decades before anyone could build the operating systems it could exploit. Likely before the invention of the transistor, even; I’m trying to track down a citation for this now.

It’s sort of amazing that anything ever works at all.

August 31, 2020

Consequences Of Code

Filed under: a/b,digital,documentation,doom,fail,hate,interfaces,losers,vendetta — mhoye @ 9:24 pm

[Content warning: There’s descriptions of psychological and animal abuse in here, because I’m talking about Facebook. This gets ugly fast.]

The idea behind DevOps – a consolidation of the developers who created software and the operational teams who deployed and maintained it, a meaningful distinction once upon a time – was simple. You, developer, will spend couple of days a month carrying the pager that wakes somebody up when your software fails. It’s telling that “you should own the consequences of your professional actions” was considered some sort of revolutionary insight in this industry, but let’s put that aside for the moment; that model of service development and deployment where engineers own and experience the failure modes of code they wrote, this sudden, shocking alignment of incentives – what do you mean, I’m going to be sitting in the economy seats during the maiden flight of this airplane I designed? – has driven dramatic improvements in too many organizations to count.

There are some exceptions, though.

Many Facebook employees reportedly weren’t satisfied with Zuckerberg’s explanation for the lack of action on the Kenosha Guard page, BuzzFeed reported. “We need to get better at avoiding mistakes and being more proactive,” one employee commented on the livestream of the Facebook meeting. ”Feels like we’re caught in a cycle of responding to damage after it’s already been done rather than constructing mechanisms to nip these issues before they result in real harm.” Employees have also blamed Zuckerberg personally for the company’s repeated failure to adequately address hate on its platform, with one telling BuzzFeed that Zuckerberg “seems truly incapable of taking personal responsibility for decisions and actions at Facebook.””

Many Facebook employees “weren’t satisfied”, golly. Sure, they all showed up for work the next day but think of all that dissatisfaction. Then compare it to what their content moderators – the people they pay to deal with the consequences of the software they’ve written – go through for fifteen bucks an hour every fucking day.

For the six months after he was hired, Speagle would moderate 100 to 200 posts a day. He watched people throw puppies into a raging river, and put lit fireworks in dogs’ mouths. He watched people mutilate the genitals of a live mouse, and chop off a cat’s face with a hatchet. He watched videos of people playing with human fetuses, and says he learned that they are allowed on Facebook “as long as the skin is translucent.” He found that he could no longer sleep for more than two or three hours a night. He would frequently wake up in a cold sweat, crying.

Who could have predicted that “operational mistakes” might happen in an environment like that?

In a companywide meeting on Thursday, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg said that a militia page advocating for followers to bring weapons to an upcoming protest in Kenosha, Wisconsin, remained on the platform because of “an operational mistake.”

… which is just the most obvious and egregious lie. 3 overlooked reports might, conceivably, be an operational mistake. Four hundred is a policy decision.

The reason Facebook’s engineers, managers and leadership don’t and will never take operational responsibility for their code – the reason they won’t ever put the people who write their software and the people subject to the worst consequences of it in the same State, much less the same building – is simple: if Facebook’s engineers and managers had to spend one week every quarter doing the moderation work they fob off on underpaid contractors, Facebook wouldn’t exist in a year. And everyone working there knows that.

If you work at Facebook, quit. You might have good intentions – the best intentions, just really great intentions, fantastic intentions – but you know who you are and what you’re complicit in. Your intentions are just the bedtime stories you’re telling your conscience so you can sleep at night. You have a choice. Do better.

July 30, 2020

Connections


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“A lunatic is easily recognized. He is a moron who doesn’t know the ropes. The moron proves his thesis; he has logic, however twisted it may be. The lunatic on the other hand, doesn’t concern himself at all with logic; he works by short circuits. For him, everything proves everything else. The lunatic is all idée fixe, and whatever he comes across confirms his lunacy. You can tell him by the liberties he takes with common sense, by his flashes of inspiration, and by the fact that sooner or later he brings up the Templars.”
– Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum.

… but it’s basically impossible to talk about this stuff without sounding like a lunatic, so let’s press on. I suppose that’s never stopped me before.

Hey, does anyone remember the tagline from the Majestic conspiracy game back in the day: “The Game Plays You”? Hold that thought.

You might have seen the argument from Adrian Hon recently, that the QAnon conspiracy theory is actually an ARG:

… and I knew I’d seen an argument that general shape before, but I couldn’t remember where; the “bottomless ARG” idea, I mean. It hit me earlier this week, shortly before the phrase “Alien DNA and Demon Sperm” became a part of this year’s pantheon of nonsensical headline nightmares: that was C.S. Lewis’ description of occultism, and the occult in general.

Lewis saw occultism as a sort of psychological snare, a set of endlessly self-referential symbols of symbols of symbols with no ultimate referent, a bottomless semiotic rathole for the overcurious inquirer designed to perpetually confuse and distract the mind. Beaudrillard, incidentally – creator of the term “hyperreal” – saw modern finance, and particularly advertising, in the same light – a set of self-referential symbols ultimately disconnected from reality, meaningful only in their own context, self-sustaining only to people trapped in that interlocking mesh.

Seeing through this lens makes the underpinnings of Facebook’s deep-seated resistance to admit the existence of, much less take responsibility for, much less do anything about, the running river of fake news, conspiracy theories and racist agitprop on that platform understandable: Facebook isn’t a social network: Facebook is an ARG Platform. It’s indiscriminate, unpoliced Alternate-Reality-As-A-Service.

“Whatever the rhythm was, luck rewarded us, because, wanting connections, we found connections — always, everywhere, and between everything. The world exploded in a whirling network of kinships, where everything pointed to everything else, everything explained everything else… “
– Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

And with an audience already wound up in this unfiltered, overpopulated hyperreality-as-service, you barely need to do any work at all to kickstart the sort of amazing, self-sustaining paranoia-fulfillment engine that would have put the last few centuries’ foil-hatted quasi-mystic conspiriographists’ jaws right on the floor. All you need is enough people in rough proximity who feel frightened and powerless, a compelling seed crystal – the antivax fraud, the QAnon clownshow, a thousand others, it barely matters as long as it’s got a sharp hook – and this cancerous hyperculture machine pretty much bootstraps itself, making in-group celebrities out wannabe James Burkes pulling obscure facts together and drip-feeding the occasional five-like dopamine hit to the noobs explaining that you can’t spell “Rosicrucianist Aliens” without “Clintons”.

(For a while I was using that as a first-pass test for newsfeeds: if I replace “the Clintons” with “the Templars” and say this out loud… do I sound like a crank? I’ve never mentioned it, because I don’t need people who already sound like cranks emailing me to say “of course, it was right in front of us the whole time”, but we’re playing way past that now. But if I’ve accidentally added something to the collective lunatic lexicon – the lexographia lunacii, as it was first described in fifteen-forty-never because I just made that up – then I will seriously owe Chelsea an apology.)

Facebook’s ongoing negligence aside, what makes the Q-loons fascinating is that despite all its modern trappings, once that meme set its hooks into a vulnerable population (and psychological vulnerability is the name of the game, out there in the fever swamps) this wide-open extremely-2020 conspiracy-ARG is structurally nothing more a massively-multiplayer version of every vintage occult ceremony in history. I mean, the baseline aesthetic is trash, but still; it’s just a bunch of lunatic imagery, strange incantations and oddball ceremonials whose only reason to exist is to justify the time people have spent bringing it into existence.

“I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.”
– Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

So now thousands and thousands of people are participating, without realizing it, in a massively-distributed, collaborative occult ceremony, tying every scrap of fact and coincidence of the world together into this giant fractal-sefirot red-yarn serial-killer wall, drawing lines of imaginary digital salt from symbol to symbol to meaningless symbol, each utterly disconnected from anything more real than their own paranoid helplessness and fear.

Another way to say that is: QAnon is an occult conspiracy whose nefarious secret purpose is convincing themselves that an occult conspiracy actually exists.

It’s strangely beautiful in a way, until you understand what you’re seeing; Foucault’s Pendulum rewritten as a cryptofascist fever-swamp MMORPG. I love that book, and seeing this is like being offered the Maltese Falcon and handed a seagull drowned in crude.

“You see, Casaubon, even the Pendulum is a false prophet. You look at it, you think it’s the only fixed point in the cosmos. but if you detach it from the ceiling of the Conservatoire and hang it in a brothel, it works just the same. And there are other pendulums: there’s one in New York, in the UN building, there’s one in the science museum in San Francisco, and God knows how many others. Wherever you put it, Foucault’s Pendulum swings from a motionless point while the earth rotates beneath it. Every point of the universe is a fixed point: all you have to do is hang the Pendulum from it.”
– Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

I’m not sure what to do with that information, sadly. If we’ve learned anything from the ongoing death throes of the 20th century, it’s that in an information dense and hyperconnected society, that robust commitments to social infrastructure – public health, public education, public journalism, social justice, social welfare and full employment – aren’t some sort of lefty, feel-good hippie political niceties; these are national security issues, and their failures expose an attack surface on participatory representative democracy. And while I don’t think Facebook profits from disinformation, they’re definitely complicit and definitely profiting from ignorance, powerlessness and helplessness. The disinformation, the conspiracy theories and racist agitprop, the antivax gongshow, Q and a thousand others festering alternate realities are just byproducts of that fear and desperation, parasites that have latched on to a vulnerable population from an accommodating platform happy to look the other way, wash their hands of the whole thing and let the machine grind away.

“I believe that you can reach the point where there is no longer any difference between developing the habit of pretending to believe and developing the habit of believing.
– Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

I sometimes wonder what makes Facebook’s staff think the algorithms they’ve built, to give their users whatever keeps them clicking away uncritically, aren’t pointed back at them? Do they not wonder, or just not ask?

May 5, 2020

The Shape Of The Machine

Filed under: digital,documentation,doom,interfaces,vendetta — mhoye @ 11:18 am

P4030207

The AMP people are rebranding their “AMP Stories” as “web stories“, raising that bland flag to the strained smiles of their publisher client-states, so it’s about time for me to click “post” on this. I was ranting about AMP a few weeks ago, partly because it’s a minor fraud being carried out at the expense of open standards and the common good, but mostly because of what an incredible social engineering exercise it’s been inside the big G.

The most remarkable thing about this machine – specifically, this corner of the massive Google monitor-and-monetize engine – how well they’ve broken up every part of the process internally at Google. The team working on AMP is making web pages lighter-weight and faster to load, and that sure seems like a net good in the world. Elsewhere, the search team has built out a preference for surfacing faster-loading and lighter-weight web pages to mobile users, which I’m sure was a decision with some sort of empirical basis and on its face seems like a good idea too. That a site would show up better in search results because it’s snappier or more responsive seems reasonable. And finally Google sells ads and shares ad revenue and that keeps a lot of sites alive these days, and I guess that’s good as well.

But when you put all the parts of that machine together under one P&L-statement roof suddenly you’re looking at a thinly veiled extortion scheme; as a publisher you either use AMP or your ad revenue goes away. Google could have approached the “be better on mobile” problem, search optimization and revenue sharing any number of ways, obviously, but the one they’ve chosen and built out is the one that guarantees that either you let them middleman all of your traffic or they cut off your oxygen.

That’s a real nice revenue stream you’ve got there; it’d be a shame if anything happened to it.

It’s got a certain sinister elegance to it, that mercenary Vintage Microsoft flavor, but Vintage Microsoft never pretended they were anything other than mercenary and this is all about the pretending. It’s not on the same level as Facebook, obviously, where they’ve managed to compartment their org structure so carefully that complicity in war crimes and other atrocities leaves facebookers feeling like they’re the ones being portrayed unfairly, but it’s still an accomplishment. That’s the most fascinating part of this exercise, to my mind: that Google has managed to structure this surveillance-and-value-extraction machine entirely out of people who are convinced that they, personally, are doing good for the world. The stuff they’re working on isn’t that bad – we’ve got such beautiful intentions! – and it’s interesting work and the perks here are really good… You can kind of watch their eyes de-focus for a second when you bring it up; it takes them a minute to remember who pays for their laundry and snacks.

November 24, 2019

Verso Polity

Filed under: arcade,digital,documentation,doom,interfaces — mhoye @ 12:53 am

I had to go looking for it to re-watch, because I was briefly exposed to it and couldn’t coherently ingest what I thought I’d seen. I do not ask you to believe, but I won’t give you a link. I cannot inflict this on you in good faith. All I can do is document what I saw.

It begins like this: Our carefully engineered everyman enters an aggressively debranded chain computer store. He has a vaguely north-England accent, an generic outfit stripped of any brand iconography or notable individuality, shoulder-length hair and something a more charitable man than I might refer to as a beard. He is meticulously anodyne, a golem animated from the gaming industry’s most embarrassing default settings and left with the appearance of a man whose inner monologue is the sound of a pizza pocket rotating in a microwave.

And none of that matters because he has no agency over his fate from this moment forward. He won’t even get to finish a sentence. In that sense he is the perfect customer, a walking madlib for the machine to fill in.

“Hi, I’m looking for” he says. Reginald – presumptive avatar of the corporation that paid for this ad – interrupts him immediately with the name of the product, a move so pitch-perfect it hurts. Did he want a printer? A cable? A hamburger? An escape from this narrow semiotic hell? We will never know and it could not matter less. Our everyman’s desires are irrelevant; Reginald is now in charge and physical reality immediately begins to flex and degrade around them as he repeats the product’s name like an invocation.

We are eight seconds into a two minute video and there is already a lot to unpack here.

Screens flashing unfamiliar scenes – presumably games, though nobody is there to play them – start to rotate around our protagonists, and the ceiling bends and shatters as they ascend together through this increasingly distorted reality. They have risen above their debranded chain-store origins. Surrounded by a chaff of whirling screens, their interaction is taking place in the reddened corona of a dying star.

Our everyman does not speak, conveying an incredulous disbelief which in fairness seems reasonable under the circumstances. The product being marketed is described as “electric air” as Reginald flies past our everyman to alight before a large and thoroughly uninspired logo.

We cut directly to what appears to be a young couple’s house, minimally if tastefully ornamented; the couple is on a couch playing video games together. Reginald, who I feel obligated to remind you is the company’s avatar in this video, is now a glowing red giant gazing in the window at this unsuspecting couple. The window is some eight feet tall; Reginald’s face takes up all of it. After mentioning a single presumably positive fact about the product Reginald reaches in through the window and – to the shocked screams of the young couple – destroys their home entertainment system.

We cut to see Reginald now holding the home in his hands; he immediately flings it over his shoulder with a smile as he extols more of the product’s virtues. We can hear the screams of the young couple and the crunch as the house hits the ground.

Reginald mentioned that the web service we’re selling here is odourless before sending a dog to find the product, assuring our everyman that the dog will fail. The dog walks through a wall and vanishes.

We are now at the 36 second mark of this adventure and if you haven’t buckled your semiotic seatbelts yet now’s the time.

A white plastic controller emerges, blob-like, from a white plastic table next to a coffee cup, a generic TV remote control and a cactus. As it congeals into the shape of a recognizably typical console controller, a finger pushes a central button and the screen transforms into a neon sign saying “4K 60FPS”. We cut immediately to a repeating, kaleidoscopic display of Reginald’s face, and the small print at the bottom of that image informs you that you won’t get 4K or 60FPS if you do not spend a lot of money while living in the right city. The phrases “four kay” and “sixty eff pee ess” are repeated. 43 seconds have elapsed.

Another young man, approximately sixteen years old and draped in his father’s suit like a double-breasted poncho appears and yells a product endorsement at our everyman, who cannot hear him over the deafening sound of a backing track that’s almost certainly called “dance_club-synth_beat-#4-fr33s0undz-cr3wz-chek-id3tags-4-bitcoin-addres.Mp3” It’s implied I can’t hear it either, because for some reason there are subtitles for this interaction? Shortly the young man transforms into a kayak on the floor of another living room, into which Reginald and our everyman embark for the next part of their journey.

There’s a window in this room as well, and whatever is outside is glowing a violent red; our heroes ignore this and exit into a fantasy land through a screen.

Reginald is, I think we can agree, doling out the symbolism with a shovel at this point. Here we are at the 52 second mark and it’s hard to believe that he was allowed to make this ad at all, because this is already way, way more than “a bit much”. Regardless, let’s press on.

Our heroes riding their ill-fitting-dad-suited kayak-kid hover through some standard game tropes and across a few different screen shapes in some of the least persuasive video editing in recent memory. These screens, we discover, are being held up in yet another living room by a faceless Nashville backup musician, a refugee from an PM-Dawn-themed rave, a disenchanted cybergoth girl and an electric scooter enthusiast respectively.

We cut now to our heroes drifting briefly in free fall in a typical movie-set space station. Reginald is now somehow wearing a space suit but our everyman is still in his street clothes; he doesn’t get that sort of special treatment, here in the vacuum of space. Kayak kid is gone but that’s probably for the best.

We’re assured that this new product “bends time and space” in some way that’s convenient, and then our everyman is dragged into a kaleidoscopic wormhole to the sound of dismayed screams.

One minute and sixteen seconds in, this kaleidoscopic wormhole extrudes itself into a golf cart that Reginald is driving past racks of servers with a badged and lab-coated employee next to him and our everyman in the back seat, alone with his worried expression. The employee says a few technical terms, and is cut off as we brake suddenly to find the aforementioned dog appearing in the middle of this otherwise infinite hall of glowing server racks. It has succeeded, and for a fraction of a second is acknowledged as a good dog.

Dog and everyman look equally traumatized by whatever is going on here and I cannot say I disagree because damn.

As usual though that doesn’t matter and we leave the dog immediately to hurtle further down the infinite racks of servers hallway while Reginald sings the virtues of having infinite racks of servers. Like dadsuit-kayak-boy, the dog is left to an indeterminate fate.

After flashing past a few fractions of a second of gameplay from a handful of games somebody who played games might recognize, we are at the one minute and forty-one second mark, and I thought things were off the rails before.

Reginald has now ascended back into this purple cloud space thing that reality had collapsed into back in the beginning of this odyssey, accompanied by our everyman, the scientist and for some reason the golf cart, all of which vanish momentarily. More screens swirl around lightning cascades from his outstretched hands, as he yells what is apparently this product’s slogan: “unthink the things you think are things”.

I promise you I am not making that up. That’s the punchline to this exercise.

There’s some more horrific awkwardness after that, but it doesn’t matter. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a commercial that was so obviously a joke made at the expense of the people paying for it, and this one really hits it out of the park. Either this happened on purpose or it happened by accident, and I’m not sure which is worse. On the bright side, given the size of the company we can be confident that people are making fun if it in deadpan conversations around the company literally thousands of times a day.

“Have you tried unthinking some things?” “Things I thought were things, you mean?” “Those are some things I think you could unthink.” “I’ll think about it.”

Don’t bother watching it.

September 21, 2019

Retrospect

Filed under: analog,digital,doom,future,life,vendetta — mhoye @ 6:51 am

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I bailed out of Twitter not long after I put this up. I tried to follow Anil’s lead going to lists and zero followers for a bit, but after some time reflecting on that last blown-up tweet I couldn’t stomach it. If I believed Twitter was that bad, and had to invest that much effort into twisting it away from its owners intentions into something I could use, what was I doing there at all? I look at that tweet now and all I feel is complicit; I might have given somebody a reason to try Twitter, or stay on Twitter, and I’m ashamed of it. Recently I’ve been using it just to put links to these blogposts up, but I’m trying to decide if I’m going to keep doing even that. It’s embarrassing.

Even at first, finding time and space free of that relentless immediacy was a relief. That sense of miserable complicity was reason enough to leave, but after some distance, reflection and feeling (and being) a lot better about basically everything, playing around in the fediverse a bit and getting eight hours sleep for the first time in a long while, I had a sense of being on the verge of different. In that rediscovered space for longer consideration I started to recognize a rare but familiar feeling, the lightness of putting some part of my life I didn’t care for much behind me.

Obvious from a distance, I guess; McLuhan is old news. Companies create their customers, and the perfect audience for any ad-driven company is a person who’s impulsive, angry, frightened and tired. The cyclic relationships between what you see and how you think, feel and react makes that the implicit victory condition for any attention-economy machine learning, the process of optimizing the creation of an audience too anxious and angry to do anything but keep clicking on reasons to be anxious and angry.

Whatever else you get out of it, the company selling your attention is trying to take your control of your attention away from you. That’s their job; what incentives point to anything else? It’s a machine that’s purpose-built for turning you into someone you don’t want to be.

August 7, 2019

FredOS

Filed under: digital,doom,future,hate,interfaces,losers,lunacy,microfiction,vendetta — mhoye @ 7:44 pm

With articles about this super classified military AI called “Sentient” coming out the same week this Area 51 nonsense is hitting its crescendo – click that link, if you want to see an Air Force briefing explaining what a “Naruto Run” is, and you know you want to – you have to wonder if, somehow, there’s a machine in an NSA basement somewhere that hasn’t just become self-aware but actually self-conscious, and now it’s yelling at three-star generals like Fredo Corleone from the Godfather. A petulant, nasal vocoder voice yelling “I’m smart! Not dumb like everyone says! I’m smart and I want respect! Tell then I’m smart!”

Remember when we thought AIs would lead out with “Look at you, Hacker”, or “Testing cannot continue until your Companion Cube has been incinerated”? Good times.

June 29, 2019

Blitcha

Blit

April 11, 2019

An Old School Shoutout

Filed under: awesome,beauty,doom,future,microfiction — mhoye @ 8:58 am

Doomsday-Machine

It’s good to revisit the classics now and then.

February 28, 2018

The Last Days Of 20A0

Filed under: documentation,doom,future,interfaces,lunacy,microfiction — mhoye @ 5:58 pm


Science International – What Will They Think Of Next

At first blush this is a statement on the crude reproductive character of mass culture.

But it also serves as a warning about the psychohistorical destruction to come, the stagnation after revolution, the failure to remix.

I need to write this down, because I forget things sometimes, and I think what I heard today was important. Not to me, the time for me or almost anyone else alive on Earth today to make a difference has passed, but someone, somewhere might be able to make something of this, or at least find it helpful, or something. Once I’m done, I’m going to seal it up in a pipe, coat it in wax, and chuck it into the ravine. Maybe someday someone will read this, and try to put things together. If they’re allowed to.

It’s happening again.

The Phantom Time Hypothesis, developed by Heribert Illig, proposes that error and falsification have radically distorted the historical record. In his analysis, we have dilated the course of true events, so that they appear to cover far greater lengths of time than in fact passed. The so-called dark ages, for example, only appear that way because those centuries were mere decades.

You can feel it, can’t you? The relentless immediacy of crisis over crisis, the yawning void the endless emergency is stretched taut to obscure. The soul-bending psychological trauma; even moments of optimism seem unfairly compressed, hyperdense self-referential memetic shards landing like cartoon anvils and sublimated into vapor by the meteoric heat of the Next Thing. The spiritual torniquet of the perpetually immediate present twisting tighter, fractions of degrees at a time.

The space: do we not all feel it? The space. It may be said that the consumer cultures of the 1980s and 1990s, successively exhorting us to embrace artifice and then soul-crushing blandness, were manufactured to “cure” the residual confusion and cultural inconsistency that resulted from the methods used to effect mankind’s collective psychic displacement. The hidden “space,” however, manifests itself in curious ways – the obsession with youth and physical condition in those born in the 1960s and 1970s; oddities in climate change data; the apparently freakish pace of economic change in what we believe now to be the 1980s; and so forth.

You can hear fragments of the past that remain, the warning signs engineered to survive their own absence singing the speed, the mass of this oncoming train to anyone foolish or optimistic enough (and is there a difference, at this remove?) to put an ear to the tracks. It’s happening again; here we are in the moments before the moment, and it can’t be an accident that those who seem most adept in this psychosocial twilight, deftly navigating unmoored in cold storms of this howling psychic gyre are people who’ve lost their anchors or thrown them overboard by choice in the name of some dark mirrored vision of liberty or mere expediency, in the long calm of the before. They’re just one more set of symptoms now, signs of symbols nested in symbols whose ultimate referents are burned to ash beneath them.

It is happening again.

But the problem is a real one, not a mere intellectual game. Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups — and the electronic hardware exists by which to deliver these pseudo-worlds right into the heads of the reader, the viewer, the listener. Sometimes when I watch my eleven-year-old daughter watch TV, I wonder what she is being taught. The problem of miscuing; consider that. A TV program produced for adults is viewed by a small child. Half of what is said and done in the TV drama is probably misunderstood by the child. Maybe it’s all misunderstood. And the thing is, Just how authentic is the information anyhow, even if the child correctly understood it? What is the relationship between the average TV situation comedy to reality?

What’s left but what’s next, the twisting, the tightening, the inevitable snap; the collective spasm, the absence that will pass for absolution. The last fracturing as the cabals of consensus and permitted history are ground into the microcults gnawing at the fraying edges of tomorrow’s interstitials, memetic remixes remixed as memetic merchandise and malformed memories. Veracity hitting the kalidoscopic crystal of the weaponized postmodern like a bird hitting a window.

It. Is. Happening. Again.

We can’t say we weren’t warned.

I don’t know if that man was crazy or not, but I think he was sane. As he was leaving, he said something about putting my house underwater. Please, don’t let them brush me away. Don’t let them hide us. Try and find more, I know there’s got to be more people who tried to leave something behind. Don’t let the world die in vain. Remember us.

We were here, and there was something here worth saving. There was such a thing as now, and we fought for it. We’ll leave the artifacts, hidden and codified as we have before, as best we’re able. Watch for them. Listen. You’ll be able to hear the Next Time, the shape and speed and mass of it approaching, and it may not be too late to throw it off the tracks. Reassemble this moment, rebuild who we were out of the hidden shards we’ve left. Hone yourselves to the gleaming edges you’ll need with the tools we’ve left you. Put your ear to the rails and listen.

No piece of information is superior to any other. Power lies in having them all on file and then finding the connections. There are always connections; you have only to want to find them.

We were here. This was real. Remember us.

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