• The Hall of Mirrors

    But be warned, oh seeker of knowledge, of the thicket of opinions and of arguing about words — from Siddhartha by Herman Hesse

    Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” — Friedrich Nietzsche

    Mirrors, reflections of us. Everyone and everything is a reflection of us. Some things are partial mirrors and some are more complete mirrors. Some things reflect things we want to see or are comfortable seeing, and others show us things we don’t want to see. Sometimes what we see triggers us, usually because we are reminded of something deep within that we refuse to acknowledge or accept.

    Many of us endlessly stare into the hall of mirrors that is social media. We convince ourselves that there is value in what we see- something we are learning or someone we are connecting to, but it is only an illusion. We have become passive consumers of things that superficially resemble something we desire. We are drawn to the illusion because of its collective nature. It’s because so many of us are represented there that we justify mindlessly spending so much time there, but the reflection is partial and distorted, and in consuming the distortion we are also distorted.

    Our true nature is more connected to the natural world than many of us understand. Those of us who are drawn to nature intuitively understand this, but many cannot put it into words. When we are outside exploring this beautiful planet we connect with the universal consciousness and we feel strengthened. Ideas come to us in this space, sometimes so many of them it’s hard to decide which ones to act on. The Universe is breathing around us- the sky, the wind, the clouds, the trees- they are interwoven, interconnected, and inextricably tied to us.

    Our modern society has become disconnected, foreign, and unsettling. In nature we are made whole again. In nature we commune with parts of ourselves that our society endlessly works to separate us from. We are all parts to the same whole. We need the world and each other, but we are made to believe our ideas are products of our own minds independent of the environment around us. We allow hate to foment and divide us further, often in the name of politics or religion, and we feel justified in our hatred. In reality, our hatred of someone else is just hatred of a part of ourselves.

    Every day The Distortion becomes stronger, and it consumes and reduces The Natural World as it grows. More wild space is conquered by our need to create factories, businesses, data centers, and roads. We spend less time outside and we eat less natural foods. We are further distanced from the planet, each other, and ourselves. Loneliness grows, and despair grabs hold of multitudes and pulls them down. Meaning and purpose feel like abstract and unattainable concepts in our nihilistic dystopia. The Distortion is powerful, but The Universe is stronger. If only we could more fully grasp the power of connecting to it.

    The sad thing is so many resist exiting the illusion. The Universe and the collective consciousness that we are all a part of is simple by design, and all encompassing. All that one needs to exit the illusion is the slightest desire to do so, and the willingness to give The Universe the space to speak through us. Once that space is granted, it’s as if the light inside of us is magnified, perhaps more fully connecting to its original source. Some call that God, the Universe, Light, or Love. Maybe those are just different words to describe the same thing. Maybe because our individual experience and ego flavors our perception we are inclined to use certain words to describe what we perceive. But perhaps they are all just different words to describe the same thing.

    There is a spiritual awakening occurring. As each day passes and the inevitable race to AGI continues, more people are waking up to the hollowness of these endeavors. They are beginning to see through the illusion, and what they see on the other side is darkness, misery, and despair.

    There is a massive paradigm shift occurring but most are wildly unaware. A few discerning individuals are sensing that religion and science are heading towards a great unification. The chasm that has existed between them for hundreds of years is shrinking. It’s as if humanity’s collective consciousness is evolving past the barriers of old. The tools that are used to explain them: logic/reason for science on one hand and emotion for religion on the other, are merging. Humans are waking up to fact that they are complete beings with all of these faculties, and one set of tools is not better than the other. Human ego tries to convince us that we are superior to the humans who favor the other tools, but we are all still humans. We are all still flawed with our limited perception and the constant death-walk of our existence looming over us. We are all terrified of what lies ahead.

    We busy ourselves by creating societies, political systems, religions, philosophies, and by studying the natural world. We build tools to make our lives easier and to give us “more time”, but we will never truly give ourselves more time. Time is an overlay that our perception is bound by, and no matter what our philosophies and deep thinking may come up with, we will never escape it. Perhaps one day we will, at the same time we shed this earthly form and experience death. What is on the other side? Anything? Nothingness?

    What I believe does not matter.

    What I know remains.

    This Universe is a great mystery and it has been mysterious as long as humans have existed to perceive it. It is beautiful, terrifying and magical. It can teach us about ourselves as long as we are willing to peek behind the curtain and see through the illusion that is the human ego. We are here for connection and for love. We are not here to argue over words, land, and belief systems. We are here to learn from each other, to be in awe at everything around us, and we are here to grow.

  • The Cult of Fake Nice People

    Inspired by Paul Kingsnorth’s book Against the Machine, that I am currently reading.

    People in corporate American have been infected by the plague of “fake nice”, a direct consequence of the feminization of western culture.

    As the machine that humanity built over time evolves and turns each of us into cogs, some are quick to be converted- their personalities are eager to check out, be compliant, and play the game all the while numbed out. SSRIs sped up that process, designed by The Machine.

    Inconvenienced by grief? There’s a pill for that. Does your attention span get in the way of productivity? There’s another pill for that. Do you suffer from unpleasant side effects? Take a DNA test to find out which one is the best for you!

    There are a few hold outs: unmedicated humans who still struggle with emotions and often can’t contain them. The fake nice plague grates on them like poison ivy, and causes them to bristle and chafe and eventually to explode. No one is fully human except for people like them, and the feeling of being in The Uncanny Valley is discombobulating. Sometimes they can’t tell which way is up, but they refuse to give in and check out and play the game as everyone else does. Eventually they get pushed down by the machines collective parts and succumb. They’ll lose their desire to give a fuck, show up, do a good job, and get up the next day and do it all over again.

    When they give up, the companies they worked for will continue to operate under the delusion that passivity and superficial niceness are the way. There are layers to every gesture, facial expression, and phrase, and the cult members drive themselves nuts trying to maintain their feeble grip on their fragile place as a cog in the machine. They form alliances and work together to sabotage the resistance, unaware that they are only inching closer to losing their humanity in the process.

    Many have been conditioned to believe certain emotions are unacceptable and deserve to be punished. The few that resist understand the power of forgiveness and how directing that power towards oneself first is the key to real happiness. They feel sadness for the rats trapped in the maze, chasing money and power and security in a world that doesn’t understand real peace. Every so often, the chaos that runs through the veins of the members of The Cult causes casualties, but The Machine gladly accepts those sacrifices in its incessant goal of subjecting humans to complete algorithmic domination.

    Occasionally artists and writers come along with keen insights about the delusion we have all fallen victim to. The Machine will consume their art by ingesting it into an LLM and deciding it’s not statistically significant to see the light of day. True leaders will vanish, and only the weight of collective thought will have power. Eventually the outliers of the human race will cease to exist. IQ distributions will coalesce around mediocre intelligence levels and genius will vanish entirely. We will become homogeneous, unemotional, and optimized to benefit The Machine.

  • The Real Start of AI

    It’s 2025 and the world is constantly talking about AI. Every major podcast seems to have had multiple guests on talking about the dangers of AI and the societal havoc it will wreak if it remains unchecked. There’s so much hype on this subject that many are warning that the bubble will soon burst. Some worry about what will happen to to the arts, and many worry about what will happen to jobs. They are all missing the most destructive things about it.

    It didn’t really begin in 2025. If I had to guess, I’d say it was around 2008 or maybe 2009. I don’t remember the exact year, but the experience will forever be seared into my memory. I suppose it’s become my biggest regret.

    I was working as a freelance software engineer and the contracts I was picking up were few and far between. Someone found me online somehow and emailed me about a project they wanted help with. I took a phone call and discussed the project and the payment but never met this customer in person. It was a man who spoke great English but with an accent I did not recognize, and he wanted me to scrape data from a webpage of Facebook and then comment on certain users posts. The users were all beautiful young American women, and I was intrigued. I was just a lonely awkward autistic nerd after all. This project looked interesting, at least at first.

    He gave me a list of users and I wrote them down. I wrote the code to scrape the webpage and logic to “watch” the users that I was following through a fake account I setup. I used fake images and made it look like an average looking young American man who had a simple profile and only a few posts. Nothing too flashy. I didn’t want anyone to interact with the account after all. If they did, they would go ignored.

    The instructions were simple. At first I was only to automate the posting of innocuous comments on the posts that these girls were making. The comments would come shortly after the post went up. The logic wasn’t even hard, I didn’t need to understand what their post was about, I just needed to put up a comment and tell them they were smart or looked good today or some other shallow nonsense. I did as I was requested and the job paid well, much more than the other contracts I had been taking up. At this time, those were often around $100/hour of actual time spent. This contract was $500/hour.

    The list of users grew quickly and I had written a framework that allowed me to scale easily. I just had to make some configuration changes without changing any of my code and BAM, the new user would be receiving comments on their videos immediately. I had even configured the list of comments so that I could add new ones easily and the code would rotate through them so they wouldn’t feel repetitive.

    About 6 months in, after we had scaled up to watching and interacting with over a thousand pre-selected users (I have no idea how they were chosen) things changed. I started to receive a different list of users, some girls and others were boys, and my instructions were to post negative comments. I didn’t like the direction of this, so my reluctance caused my customer to give me explicit instructions on the comments that I would make. Most of them were slightly insulting, but many of them were outright rude. I used my framework to scale up easily, yet again, and the automated-insult-framework was born. The initial users who were receiving nothing but compliments were now receiving a mixture of compliments and insults. At this time I had several fake user accounts in play, and they would all post comments from my framework on the same users.

    I was curious about what the negative comments would do, so I opened another fake account but I isolated it away from the others so none of it would tie together. I also used a virtual private network to use a server in a different country just in case Facebook was logging my IP. I wanted to make sure the account would in no way be tied to the insult-framework accounts.

    I watched some of the older posts on one especially beautiful girl’s page. Her name was Autumn and she was a college student in Iowa. She had long blonde hair and she was stunning, but in the girl next door sort of way. She was unassuming and adorable. I read the comments on those posts, and noticed that she was paying attention to the comments and she usually responded to many of them. In her videos she was glowing, so excited about life and happy to talk to her growing audience. She had replied to many of the automated comments with a “Thank you!”.

    As I watched more of her videos, her demeanor began to shift. It was as if she was beginning to lose her normal bubbly personality and she was looking for feedback about how to be more entertaining. Some of her videos made me feel terrible. Occasionally she’d talk about her struggles trying to get more followers and trying to “remain relevant”. She wanted to be a better entertainer, and her own personality was disappearing. Her content was changing. Her pictures became more seductive. She wore makeup. She was becoming a caricature, a dancing monkey. Some of her followers would give her well intentioned advice, and she would take it. She’d make a video doing what these people would suggest, only to be met by a chorus of insults from guess who? That’s right, my automated-insult-framework.

    I was really struggling with this. For several months things remained as they were, and I was being paid more than just my hourly development rate. I think my customer knew that I was not thrilled with what was occurring. He offered to shift how I was being paid, since I was maintaining this application I had built, running it on my own servers and making changes every time Facebook made an update that broke my code. My new contracted rate was $15K per month.

    A few more years passed like this. I occasionally checked in on some of the users and was disheartened by what I saw. All of their personalities were shifting, and not in good ways.

    One day, my customer called me up and told me to make some changes so that if a post was made that used certain words, the comment that would be triggered would be a suggestion for the user to kill themselves. I refused to do it, and then the offer came. The customer wanted to pay me $500k to hand over all the code I had written and walk away as if I had never been involved.

    I took the offer.

    I will always regret that decision and hope one day I will be able to reverse what I helped set in motion.

  • Paralyzed with Fear

    I must’ve been about 7 or 8 years old, but it’s unclear. Most likely it was somewhere between 5 and 9.

    I woke up suddenly with a sharp pain under my left ribs, and a man on top of me. He had his other hand on my throat and a sharp object in my side. The pain under my ribs was so intense that I wasn’t aware of the feeling of being raped.

    The man was familiar to me. Family. He was probably in his late teens or early twenties at the time.

    He said things to me, but the details are unclear. I laid there as still as I could, confused about what was happening and in shock from the pain.

    This sequence of events was from a dream that woke me a few years ago. It was at a point in my life when I was in therapy during my divorce and going through EMDR treatments for a handful of other traumatic experiences I’ve had. The dream was so real that the pain under my ribs woke me. As soon as I woke up, I knew who the man was: my mom’s youngest brother, a schizophrenic who’d struggled with drug abuse for many years and who also served time in prison for being caught in a child-porn sting.

    I knew some details about this man’s childhood because through the years my mom and other family members revealed the horrors that came from growing up in that household. Both brothers would end up becoming schizophrenic. It was clear that they suffered the brunt of the abuse. I don’t know much about what the sisters went through, but I’m sure it was deeply traumatizing as well.

    Growing up in Las Vegas, my mother kept us away from her family in Ogden, Utah. I remember traveling from Las Vegas to Ogden only one time before traveling for my grandfather’s funeral at some point during my teenage years. It didn’t occur to me until years later that she may have been strategically keeping her distance to protect her own children from the monsters in that house. Sadly the next generation did not escape unscathed- I know that the same man in my dream, my mother’s youngest brother, abused some of my cousins.

    I do not know if he abused me or my brother. My mother died in 2006. I asked my dad if he was aware of anything, and he was not. My dad had his own traumas he suffered from while I was growing up, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was too caught up in them to notice anything suspicious happening with his children while we were in that house visiting my mother’s family.

    I do not know if the dream that I had was a memory. Perhaps my brain concocted it from the things I learned over the years about the horrific childhood my mother and her siblings had.

    If it was real, it would explain many things about why I am the way that I am. The fears that I have that do not make sense.

    Perhaps I will never know if that dream was real, and perhaps that is for the best. Is it possible to heal things that your consciousness is repressing?