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Borgesian Hypersphere

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Nihil Loc
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Posted 01/14/14 - 4:17 AM:
Subject: Borgesian Hypersphere
The problem with the internet is that it doesn't solve the problem of being (...) here rather than there.

J.L. Borges died in 1986. His short stores and thought-explorations are fascinating but also a bit monotonous (or dull), as we might find any object or pattern with or without external reference. We all eventually move on to new books only to return later. Borges may be present in the support and apprehension of any new read but he may also be a contaminating factor. I don't always know the boundaries of things, when one thing, kind or category is not another (at least with respect to Borgesian objects).

Hypertext has been linked to Borges (hypertext is linking). Every author we've read, every experience we've had helps to shape how we read and what we take away from reading. In some respect we fault ourselves for the (mis)translation of a work or the inability to understand it in the same way the author has. We common folk are not on the level of scholars. We therefore resort to looking things up.

The internet is a vast library of chance, just like this little forum. Most basic questions are digitally shelved. All you need do is search and follow the links. You might be dismayed that wherever you go, your self follows.

Here I draw forth an imaginary construct to honor Borges who contaminates reality in the same way maps might contaminate reality, the same way lines of text distract us from engaging in physical adventures. The labyrinth keeps us from becoming empirical skeptics whose principle concern is problems that matter rather than navel gazing and childish play.

Borges is a sphere, whose center I am, and whose circumference is a wall of tiles. We are all trapped in that sphere.

The tiles are entities in themselves, each bearing a sign and hyperlink to another reality (another crossroads). Together in mass they blur in their infinity. Only a fraction of these represent the possibility of choice (though choice maybe infinite). A single tile is a bundle of smaller tiles. All of these tiles transport us to other equivalent rooms full of choice. Scale annihilates sense. To grow big is to see the world become irrelevant. To shrink is to see the world become inaccessible.

If Borges is a true fractalist, neither shrinking or growing saves us from the Labyrinth, as it just reiterates on all scales. One might metaphysically extend the iterations of the sphere to all creatures.

The sphere is a brilliant piece of technology, a convocation or locus of all tools toward any eventuation. The problem is me. I remain human, the fleshy animal inside the empty core that is forced to choose. Either I choose or the sphere chooses for me.

I'm tasked with being either a human or an animal but we sometimes feel that both are mistaken for one another. The allure or coercion of lust opens those dark links downward to a momentary absence. We do not feel guilt for the loss of time. Then we might appear in a room where the pressures of the rational implode against their witnessed effects.

The sphere is merely the hypertextual walls of life, neither here nor there, the after image of a visual illusion. It is a tool of time spending, of esthetic paraoxsm of emptiness, of staring into nothingness, of playing with your cat.

It is an infinity of exits to new combinations of old places.






Edited by Nihil Loc on 01/14/14 - 4:33 AM
Nihil Loc
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Posted 01/14/14 - 3:32 PM:

Here is an exit (tile): The Solipsism Destroying Civilization.

Why is it that it is always others who help to clear up our confusions.

Edited by Nihil Loc on 01/17/14 - 2:36 AM
Nihil Loc
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Posted 01/17/14 - 3:32 AM:

Here, with Borges in mind, we wander through the galleries of solipsism.

The absence of an outside interlocutor is the first sign of a possible weariness. We might as well start a blog, and if our mediocre tendency gets the best us we can skip the old hat stuff and go right into microblogging (tweeting). Words are jettisoned into digital spaces like sperm. So, let's pretend this style of writing has been pushed upon me by instinct.

Here is another line. The elephant in the room is uncomfortable because it has evolved. The misery or joy of life is a meditation on the (in)finite library of creatures, large and small, who no longer exist. We see why the short term and the small life is treasured, a gift of two orgasms, that justifies our course of action as an experiment with no future costs beyond those we fool ourselves into believing.

Uh oh! A Borg sphere is approaching. Therein lies a strange conflation of two opposing things, individuals who are not properly individuals but collective facsimiles, all subordinate to a single program or mind. Nothing is lost by losing a copy, just like nothing is lost by losing a single cell in any biological organ. The connection each Borg copy has to the whole (all others) provides a collective way of benefiting from errors. The individual ceases to be while helping all the others to adapt.

In some not so terrible sense, the amalgamation that you are, is a Borgian one (not Borgesian). I however would love to see a Borgesian Borg or a Borgian Borges. If only I had access to the possible literature in the almost infinite library that fuses or conflates the two.
Nihil Loc
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Posted 01/17/14 - 3:52 AM:

Check out another exit: The House of Asterion by J.L. Borges. Hopefully it isn't boring and there is a sense of solipsism in it.
Nihil Loc
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Posted 03/27/14 - 1:05 PM:

It is my conjecture that the structure of Borges finite library (see Library of Babel) is an fractal analogue of the way minds work (at least a metaphor of mind).

Borges illustrates the gap between the myth and allure of an ultimate semantic end (ie. looking for a book of meaning or a book of God) and the syntactic dimension (ie. the universal structure or format of the library). In such a place we move from compartment to compartment for something to read that would justify the strange absurdity that is our world. The existential itch so to speak is what ever drives us to search for something to read, to satisfy ourselves. It never ends as long as we are alive, just like we can't stop eating to remain alive.

The infinite library is the internet. We are the monkeys on type writers filling its shelves. Every second we spend has a physical correlate in our brain. Our neurons are the 24 orthographical letters and they encode routines which are stored on a shelf. We are nothing but a grand set of books reading themselves.

Daniel Dennet is fond of Borges and he uses the idea of (in)finite permutation of letters to imagine a subset that he calls the Library of Mendel. This set of information is all possible creatures (species) that DNA could produce. Take in mind, Borges' Library also includes perfect and imperfect descriptions to an nth length of all of the environments in which those creatures would strive and flourish. It would describe a fictional series of events that destroyed nth fictional versions of the dinosaurs.



Edited by Nihil Loc on 03/27/14 - 6:17 PM
JrnymnX
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Posted 04/02/14 - 10:05 AM:

Nice bendy read.

'Specially liked the, " Scale annihilates sense," bit.
Nihil Loc
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Posted 04/08/14 - 2:42 PM:

JrnymnX wrote:
Nice bendy read.

'Specially liked the, " Scale annihilates sense," bit.


Why did you like it?

My initial desire was to make all the words in this thread link somewhere, either to their definitions or to related topics but that would be a waste of time.

The Scale of the Universe 2

This interactive map gives us an appreciation for scale, from Planck length (1.61619926 × 10^-35 meters) to the distance of the our cosmic horizon (light that is now more than 12.7 billion years old).





JrnymnX
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Posted 04/12/14 - 5:26 PM:

Because in its succinctness it reflects that nearly epiphanous moment when what we believed to be real or true is re-framed by the realization that our sense of scale was so far off the mark. The following moment of mental free fall is well described as as annihilation.

But without the succinctness the explanation becomes longer than the explained and it looses so much of that moment.
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