Caveat: Poem #964

things written before
await interpretation
to become more true

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Caveat: Tree #78

Another tree, from the archive – this time, out the window of the attic at Arthur’s house.

picture

[daily log: flying, some more]

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Caveat: timelost

There’s always more time for procrastination!
Except for today. Today doesn’t exist, because we’re flying across the Pacific east to west, so we lose a day.
See you tomorrow.
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Caveat: Poem #963

for all the potholes
I only want to suggest:
please stay positive.

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Caveat: Tree #77

A tree, from the archive.

picture

[daily log: flying, some large distance]

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Caveat: ozward

Arthur and I are traveling to visit my mother (his sister) in Australia.

I might not have much interesting to say in this here blog over the next few days. But anyway, I’ll post more when we get there.

Meanwhile, you’ll notice I’ve queued some poems and trees to keep each day monotonously the same for you, my kind reader(s).

See you later alligator.

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Caveat: Poem #962

departures happen
arrivals too, soon after
but the road goes on

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Caveat: Tree #76

This tree seems to have had its ambitions and dreams cut short.

picture

[daily log: walking, 3.5km]

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Caveat: Poem #961

the patches of reflectivity
bits of floating scintillation
drift down the narrow inlet
perhaps pulled by the tide
pushed by the river
propelled by sun
drawn by wind
water’s
moods

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Caveat: Tree #75

Here is number seven five.

picture

Arthur and I are getting ready to travel to Queensland. We’ll run some errands in town tomorrow. Wednesday morning, dark and early, we take the ferry to Ketchikan, and then spend a Very Long Time on some airplanes.

[daily log: walking, 3.5km]

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Caveat: Poem #960

Time
retreats,
yet frozen,
making curved frames
for geologic,
emergent, processes
and shaded subtle colors –
bands of sand and stripes of turquoise –
until at last the next thing happens.

picture

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Caveat: Tree #74

Here is a strange looking tree.

picture

[daily log: walking, 3km]

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Caveat: Poem #959

I read on the map:
“Ice-creature seeks cool solace.”
I drew red circles.

picture

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Caveat: Tree #73

The merest reflection of a tree.

picture

But a damn nice pothole, eh?

[daily log: walking, 4km]

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Caveat: on literacy

One of my hobbies has been to assist managing a website, related to my geofiction hobby. I’m not very good at it – I find managing a classroom of unruly 7th graders easier than managing what is, presumably, one of the better-disposed regions of the internet. I just don’t seem to have the right sort of charity in my character for coping with faceless trolls and idiots.

I had a kind of insight today, as I was reacting to a complaint that the documentation on the site is “too inconvenient to read” and that we should make videos explaining how to use the site and its toolset.

Here’s my thought, condensed semi-aphoristically:

There are two types of literacy: there is the ability to read, and there is the willingness to read. Arguably, failure in education is more about failure in the latter than in the former.

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Caveat: Poem #958

infinite monkeys
in some argentine bookshop
all clacking away

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Caveat: Tree #72

Here is a tree.

picture

[daily log: walking, 3.5km]

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Caveat: There, in the calm of some Platonic dream

This poem, below, was not written by a human being, as best I understand. It was written by one of those new “learning algorithm” AIs (Artificial Intelligences), where you give the AI a large pile of “training data” (i.e. in this case, a vast corpus of human-written poetry) and then say, more or less, “OK, give me a new one like that.” It works similarly to the way google-translate manages to make sense out of changing one language to another, without actually understanding a damn thing. It’s statistics, writ large.

Methinks I see her in her blissful dreams:
Or, fancy-like, in some mirage she lies,
Majestic yet majestic, and of seems
The image of the unconquerable skies.

Methinks I see her in her blissful dreams:
—Or, fancy-like, in some majestic cell,
Where lordly seraphs strew their balmy dreams
On the still night, or in their golden shell.

There, in the calm of some Platonic dream,
Sits she, and views the unclouded moon arise
Like a fair lady full of realms divine;

And, all at once, a stony face and bright
Glittering in moonlight, like the noon-tints of a night.

I found it, and other AI-generated poetry, on the slatestarcodex blog.

All very interesting.

 

Posted in Databases & Computers, Found Online, Language & Linguistics, Not My Poetry, Philosophy & Cultural Criticism | 1 Comment

Caveat: Poem #957

rain
and snow
and more rain:
they oscillate
in the atmosphere
with stochastic movements,
dodging the windshield wipers.
and then a bit of sun climbs out,
illuminating the mountainside.

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Caveat: Tree #71

Yet another tree appeared before my eyes.

picture

[daily log: walking, 1km]

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