Hello.
Welcome to my blog. I am here to write on a variety of topics. The title of the site 'Fractal Journal' reflects the way I see the world and wish to explore it. I believe that everything is interconnected and the best way to understand it is through studying perspective.
I suppose some may find it pompous but I view what I do as,
'Perspective Journalism.'
There will be recurring themes throughout. For instance there may be long spells in which I will write about a single topic from many angles. One such topic will be water, the natural resource about which I am currently writing a book.
If you find that you enjoy what I do, please subscribe.
By viewing this discussion via the lens of individualism vs collectivism Sargon has missed some key points. It, i.e ideological lenses and pathos are perennial problems with being a pundit. I’m not here to berate Karl but rather point out some misconceptions he’s allowed to seep in to his argument.
So, I was practicing violin (poorly) from a Mel Bay book I picked up. One of the songs is Gavotte by some fop named Praetorius. Being that I’m about as naturally musical as a coked up bobcat trapped in well full of nettles I needed to hear the bloody thing.
Lo! What wonderfully snooty shit this be.
Here’s what comes to mind from the thumbnail:
Behold wench! Yonder peasant falling!
Ho!
What luck to have witnessed his falstaff frame thusly collapse!
Yay tis good to be rich!
Soothe, thou may grab me by the feline!
Say what you will about these fops but at least they had style. If my grandmother is to be believed I have some kind of count in my lineage. But he would have been Polish or Ukrainian or something. So it doesn’t count. =) I’m so fucking clever.
Nonetheless, I’m bringing back feudalism! With the current disparity between rich and poor we’re already there! Why not add some style to the mix.
So what is your choice?! Will you ride forth as part of my Noble Order of Asshole Knights? Or be oppressed most elegantly!
Thy Gallant Lords!
I know you yups pay to pick strawberries but won’t actually have your kids do it as a job. Well, I’m here to help.
Being a lettered man and a patron of the symphonies it is my sacred duty to tie you back to the land!
No longer will you wish for agrarian bliss. No longer will you pine!
Your toil will sustain high culture, institutions of learning that will once more take more than a pulse to enter, and wars we won’t lie about.
As Noble Asshole Knights we don’t spread freedom to gain oil. We just take land cause it’s there and we’re probably better stewards than those hippies anyway. Plus its great fun to smack your neighbor!
Yes! Under the Noble Order of Asshole Knights the stars will shine brighter, and your beer will taste better, for you will have worked inordinately hard to sustain douchebags as is the lot of man!
Baron Von Douchebag ESQ III Pictured in traditional Cheeki Breeki Royal Besocks
Busiest robot in the office with a heavy workload on all of his six hands.
The closing paragraphs of ‘The New Yorker article, ‘Machine Hands’ (John Seabrook), contain this little nugget:
“It’s also possible that this second wave of A.I.-based mechanization will automate the farmer’s job long before it removes the need for hired labor. In the indoor farms I visited, the brain work of farming-when to plant, irrigate, fertilize, and harvest-has been automated, but not the grunt work.”
This is something I’ve long suspected and have recently blogged about:
“I dunno how well versed these journalists and talking heads are in robotics but the level of sophistication required for a machine to load a UPS truck or do road work is insane. Fine motor function is a tricky business.”(Everyone should Code?)
While I hate to play Freud I think this all has to do with libido. The folks proposing a labor apocalypse delivered on the chrome horse of automation might know a bit of Java. They’re ‘men of letters’, socially savvy (read manipulative), and pathologically concerned about abstract futures.
It’s sexy to worry about the peasants not being able to keep up with your ability to write a Vox article.
But perhaps the effete should be worried about themselves.
Not about being accidentally racist, or sexist, or spilling their lattes on the latest issue of Entrepreneur.
They should be worried about their jobs.
Honestly, it should have been obvious from the start. Which tasks lend themselves to mechanization?
“The repetitive ones that those sweaty truckers and stockers do! You know the kinds done by people who make boner jokes. O shit is that the HR lady…I was using boner to describe how the lower classes talk…”
No, my precious orchid.
The sorts of jobs that lend themselves to automation are computational. They’re things with decision trees that don’t require the trees to sprout hands. In a nutshell: brain work.
Stuff that requires the fast and accurate scanning of vast reams of data, the analysis of that data, and a decision. Sure, QuickBooks hasn’t made accountants obsolete. It has however necessitated a bit of scurrying:
“Technology is rapidly reshaping the accounting industry, making certain skills and knowledge obsolete but at the same time creating opportunities for accountants to offer new services in the marketplace. For future accounting leaders, perhaps the biggest determinant of success is staying ahead of the technology curve so new innovations enhance one’s business, not replace it.”(https://quickbooks.intuit.com/ca/resources/pro-taxes/new-skill-sets-future-accounting-leaders/)
This suggests that it’s not truckers that will be thinner on the ground but research assistants, HR people, and stockbrokers.
Basically people who have to repetitively dig through data and perform basic logic. Things that a robot (computer) can do much better faster and cheaper than it can pick a strawberry.
This article isn’t here to gloat about folks losing their jobs. It’s here to point out that we need to think more deeply about what we value as a society. About what brings purpose to people’s lives.
Why haven’t we seen Glenn Gould in decades?
The answer is people define themselves through their jobs. Their self-worth is wrapped up in the ability to do work that’s more sophisticated and important than the schmuck in the truck (hence student loan crisis). Society values an insane mechanized orgy of buying and selling where Universities serve as bargaining chips rather than bastions of cultivation.
All the while engaging in self-congratulatory pity for the class of people who can actually change the oil.
Whoda thunk that the finesse of picking a strawberry just right is akin to the finesse of sawing a violin bow on a string? Whoda thunk that boolean operators handled statistics better than a hungover analyst?
Automation is inevitable. Let’s not let class pretensions blind us to where it’s most likely to happen. Now that we are getting a grasp on how to feed, clothe, sanitize, and house our teeming billions maybe we can start getting pre-industrial.
No, I don’t mean going Amish. I mean a return to craftsman culture. The sort of attention to detail, originality, and quality that flourished in Benjamin Franklin’s day. The sorts of activities that enrich lives and communities while being fulfilling in a specifically human way.
This isn’t writing code, or optimizing SEO, it’s the manipulation of matter. Manipulation – manus – doing it by hand. Hands honed by experience and guided by well-trained human minds and well trained human hearts.
‘There’s more than that to being poor.’ A discussion on the disconnect between pundits and the working class.
The question as to whether or not I should upload this… was answered – when I did a random search for Free Domain music on the Internet Archive and found a song with the title: ‘There’s More Than That To Being Poor’
The Sketch of Sam Monroe is a weird fiction thriller. Follow the adventures of five quirky Black Ops pharmacologists as they globetrot their way to the Mato Grosso jungles. Philosophy, psychedelics, and banter are infused throughout this literary comic-book.
“How old are these stories?” Graham asked tapping Fabre’s Bible.
“Depends on a lot of factors…” Cook said puzzling over the possibilities.
“Which stories are you referring to exactly?” Bohm inquired.
“Soddom and Gomorrah.” Hoyt replied.
“Buttstuff.” Sam sniggered.
“Well, I honestly have no idea.” Cook said. “It’s not my area.”
“Do you think they are original?”
“The stories from the Bible?”
Graham nodded.
“The modern convention suggests that some are borrowed from earlier civilizations such as Sumeria. And I believe that Abraham’s origin is somewhere around Iraq.”
“If the children of Israel borrowed from Sumeria. Is it possible that Sumeria also borrowed.”
“Certainly, but that isn’t archeology…that’s sheer speculation.”
“Of course.” Graham exhaled smoke. “But entertain the thought.”
“Ok.”
“Who is God?”
“Christ.”
“His Father?”
“Yahweh.”
“Who is Yahweh?”
Cook shook his head.
“Baruch…Elohim…Adonai.”
“I am not Jewish.”
“Neither am I…but you see how we got trinitarian…and then downright polytheistic.”
We were all blankfaced.
“Do you really not remember my uncle’s record?”
It was so long ago. We were again blankfaced.
“Names, divine identities, these are human inventions, they are descriptors of the indescribable. Something that can never be grasped. Grandeur that one cannot gaze upon. What happens when you gaze upon it?”
“You are burned away…by the glory of the most High.” Fabre piously muttered.
Hoyt smiled his Cheshire smile, “…and what happened to them?” He jerked his thumb towards the monitors.
“You are suggesting that this is the site of Sodom?”
“What was Sodoms sin?”
“Buttstuff!” Sam repeated excitedly.
“Which is the first commandment?”
“Thou shalt have no other gods….”
“What presumption is implied by gazing upon the face of God?”
“Omnipotence, omniscience, a Luciferian entitlement.”
Hoyt nodded. “There is something of the cleric about you Doctor.”
“I fail to see what this has to do with anything here.”
“They were burned away and something fertile grew in its stead. Something fertile and primitive…a humbling occurred.”
The Fractal Journal 