Who be I?
And will I have been, by when. Against the backdrop of XR/collapse I remember how, as a youth, without much of a clue or anything to go on, at times I vaguely wondered where all. the. stuff could possibly come from.
After all, this part of the world had once, not even all that long ago, been all forest, thousands upon thousands of trees, feeërieke wouden with wolves and knights, all the Grimm way from the North Sea to Transylvania and beyond.. Then what did we build, say, our school, or town hall and all from? 🤔 Who made my pencil, out of mere sand and wood? My grandfather already must have had a pencil as a kid, and now I had one, and there were so many more at my future disposal – all the pencils! Even now as what goes for an adult, I can't really fathom how millions of iPhones come to be.
Impressionably young, I accepted and internalised these things without any dwelling on them, self-evident mysteries of life — things just be whole like that. WWF-Panini-stickers? Sommige jeugdige herinneringen zijn moeilijk op te sporen. As a youth I thought it only reasonable to consider a brick, having been made by us, creatures of nature after all, to be natural, part of nature – and therefore heroin and mustard gas and, ultimately, anything we did, too. So everything was natural 🤔 and therefore must be fine, otherwise we would notice, and someone would know what to, which then we would do about it. Like with the 🌍 ozone hole, and water wells for the poor kids in 🇧🇫 Burkina Faso. 🤷😔
Some pictures of me maybe!
Sometimes I be casually stealing internet pictures like this, but I maybe need to figure out how to properly relatively resize them for phones:
At the helm of the hot air balloon, as your pilot, I'd advise you to stay calm, but highly recommend you not remain seated.
At other times I suppose I'm more like this:
Quite capable of dealing with whatever comes my way. As mentioned elsewhere, everything's a matter of so much, barely anything but perception. Oftentimes, particularly in autumn and winter, the soul starts to shrivel into a phantom of its former self, like so, say:
Still a fancy SVG, to be sure – but reduced to its miserable minimum, small and tired. Weak, lost, in futile search of scraps of joy – most all drive and zest for life gone. No joy, an insatiable black hole of good vibes.
Lately, since about spring 2023 I suppose, I suppose I'm something like this – deflated and putting on a smile. 😏
But really, what am I?
Так я что? Что я такое? Recently – as ChatGPT and its ilk appeared somewhat out of the blue for me – I realised I share an eerie bunch of traits with an AI/LLM. Which would make sense of course. 🤔 Dringt zich een quote uit Heinrich Bölls Ansichten eines Clowns (1963/320) op: “Ich wusste gar nicht, was es bedeutete, hatte aber das Gefühl, es könne hier angebracht sein.” Really done fucked up this site's styling citings and quotes. Rephrasing it to have the LLM have an uncanny resemblance to me makes our overlapping essence less eerie.
