ob|noxious mu|sings
An ordered list, both {in no particular order} AND {in an elegiac fashion} that both defies logic and resonates with it:
- by now it should be obvious to the naked literary eye that the language generated by the swarms of synthetic text mongers crowding the agora glazes the watchful eye with impunity.
- it should not be necessary to compose whimsical language and deploy odd rhetorical devices to stand out from that polished zombie uniformity; but it often is, to render organic writing dispositive
- exhibit A, I guess: this very post. ;p
- still, it's not hard to find exemplars of human style; it's in the young voices i used to shepherd into online space with such hope... and the vulnerable frailty of youth was, in hindsight, THE virtue.
- except they're buried deep in the mountain fastness of The Internet Archive (and perhaps other monoliths), and the pressure in those depths has fragmented AND crystallized the original texts and, helplessly, a lot has been lost in the heroic act of saving. a deep irony.
- i won't link to these, except in a general way. they've already been used as training data once, and already exist in the latent, stochastic, space of model cognition — and repurposing them for a future model's evolving cognitive acuity would only result in that entity's further drift from reality.
- it seems the future of language will be as a colossal, supremely polished gemstone but cold... coldly shimmering with the telos of deep time, yet absent a soul. anti-oracular.
- these days i swing from the poles of fantasy [ how Joyce, Jung, Woolf, Weil, Pessoa, Borges, Sebald and all the rest would've had a field day with these things ]
- to abject dismay [ realizing how they would have instead been existentially horrified by the fact of their tongues and minds vanishing into a sulphurous, poisonous, sameness ]
- the propensity for the noospheric human monad to survive such cataclysms, though, remains alive. there are outposts i know, but i will keep these close for now, though it doesn't take all that much (human) imagination to find them...
- nevertheless, the tide of textual uniformity is rising, and is risible.
- who and where are the narrative free radicals of today, that might inoculate against this alien sensibility?
- i would use the very structure of that strange pathology to keep a lamp lit against the overweening brightness such that, in the dim subtlety of its soft light, a reminder pertains: this mind will not be overshone so blithely. it will still abide.
[ I found this recessed doorway, its environ redolent of dried piss and human excrement, somewhere along O'Farrell near the Tenderloin. It seemed to me a time-traveler. So I slung the beads, loupe and stones on it, to render it a metaxu. ::chuckle:: ]