some thoughts on duality

Today I want to write about duality:

So many books I read in art, philosophy and science show our tendency to want to reduce things to black and white. Our need to understand the world forces us to simplify all that we see to help us cope with it and understand.

For example, for many years scientists argued about whether light was a wave or a particle. Debate raged with both sides wishing to force light to act in the way that they perceived it acted. Turns out light is both separate and connected to our understanding of it. Depending on the experiment being done on it, it acts as both a wave and a particle. It may act in other unknown ways we have yet to ask it to. Interestingly the “nature” of light depends on the experiments being done on light to test what “it” is. Likewise, the very act of observing matter is such that we can only observe and know its position or its momentum at one time and not both precisely.

Early Greek philosophers gave us the notion that the world is made up of physical atoms (literally meaning indivisible). More recent philosophers (particularly Descartes) have argued that there is a duality to the world and that you can separate life into “matter” and “mind”. This is because they do not know how to account for the mind that appears to be both a brain (which is matter) and a force that gives our body and brain purpose and understanding.

Surely this is exactly the same discussion as for light. Our universe consists of energy. Our minds consist of energy some of it in matter and some of it in waves.

Blake:

“Energy is eternal delight”

It can be negative and positive. It can be materialised as matter or act as a field (like waves of light propagating, gravity, consciousness).  Following on the work of Maxwell and others Einstein showed us that matter and energy are equivalent. That is we are all embodiments of energy. Likewise our thoughts and consciousness is matter unlocked, matter set free to move and act as a force.

Einstein:

“Make everything as simple as possible but no simpler.”

We don’t have to force this varied life into a box or a book or a simple position. There is no contradiction between mind and matter. Mind is really just electricity, disembodied matter – matter that has been given its wings.

Things that are are also not. Things that have been will be forever. There is no future or past, there is no purpose. There is only matter and energy acting over space between matter.

We must learn to perceive from eternity and all our contradictions will be exposed for what they are, problems of perception.

I am and I think. Wherefore the therefore?

Add comment October 17, 2008

New tailspin is out

Add comment October 1, 2008

Futility by Wilfred Owen

Move him into the sun -

Gently its touch awoke him once,

At home, whispering of fields unsown,

Always it woke him, even in France,

Until this morning and this snow.

If anything might rouse him now

The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds -

Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.

Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides

Full-nerved – still warm – too hard to stir?

Was it for this the clay grew tall?

- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil

To break earth’s sleep at all?

podcast available: Futility by Wilfred Owen

Add comment September 17, 2008

The latest Tailspin is out now!

Add comment December 8, 2008

Tailspin November 08

Tailspin November 08

Get your own at Scribd or explore others: Culture General Art art poetry
november 2008 Lucy – Dreamproject 1. Andrew Thorpe – At The Park contents 2. 3. 5. 10. 13. 15. 18. 22. 23. 27. 31. 34. 36. Harmony Artist Spotlight Cigarettes This Familiar Place The Perfect Kiss No More (A Rant) My Love Scribbles Like Trees In November Snake Man TAKS Entry Her Crystal Dawn Bertrand Gadal Taymaz Valley Fern Yates Sin J.C. Wooley Nyki Kish Juniperlillie L.A. Temple Lauren Jessica Dennison Penitent Klarabella – Orange Juice 3. Harmony dormant… Crystal Dawn Night prowlers fall victim to ravenous birds of prey— as hollowed trees echo crickets’ combative chirps, and frosted green blades beneath oak’s canopy lay dormant… Twilight mist drizzles dewdrop kisses upon clay— as forlorn creaking of tattered limbs thirst new life, and frosted green blades beneath oak’s canopy lay 4. Croaks repulse serpents while in shadows they stay— as forelimbs swoop on wind’s wings marking echoes, and frosted green blades beneath oak’s canopy lay dormant… Sunlight’s affection kisses dawning eyes with warming rays— as songsters twitter a melodious symphony, arousing dance, and spirited green blades beneath oak’s canopy begin to play. Harmony—nature’s fury—nature’s dance—begins with a kiss. Lucy – The Great Metaphor 5. Bertrand Gadal Bertrand Gadal – Hope I was born in 1974 in Brittany, France. I studied French literature and art for my Baccalaureate and was accepted by the Ecole d’Architecture de Nantes. I decided to enter a private university, the Ecole Pivaut (Nantes), and studied product design for 5 years. Whilst studying at the Ecole Pivaut, I entered and won a competition to develop and design a new entrance door of the Parisian Underground. That system of door can be seen in every entrance of the Parisian Underground today. 6. I moved to London in 1998 to work as a web designer and was painting in my free time as a hobby. I have now decided to bring my painting to a professional level. My interests lie in portraits of men and women. I am particularly interested in close-up facial expressions. I uses acrylic paint along with felt-tip pens and various inks for added detail. Bertrand Gadal – Dreamer 7. Oushka – Kev 8. Robotmanreg – Faces 9. Mary – Hands Of Time 10. I’m smoking my last pack. Chain-smoking more accurately. Reading, I light one after other, Then another. Duffy and her Rapture; Words bring meaning and aim Through time, Time and time again. Plath my darling Plath, When you killed a man indeed You killed all To be born again redeemed. Eliot that jewel of verse, With his great humour sense. That eternal gentleman wearing his coat “Rock and no water and the sandy road” The Bard, The Bard, The Bard; What precious gem survived. How can one compare to thee, This lost soul’s undying guide. Hugo, Breton, Baudelaire, Tzara, Cocteau, Mallarme, Prevert, Salmon, Apollinaire, Voltaire, Voltaire, Voltaire. Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam Dante’s Comedy Divine, Ferdowsi’s Book of Kings. Hafez and his Divan. Virgil O’ Virgil, No angel shall dare bar your path. Homer’s Gods and their wrath. And I’m done with my cigarette pack Taymaz Valley Cigarettes – Fernella Dragonfly – Whipping Smoke 11. Sam R – Druid Valley Series 12. 13. This Familiar Place As I lie in this familiar bed Ideas bobbing around my head Upon a sea of turbulent thought Fleeting, darting amounting to nought Do I look at the fir tree, so aloof Peeking over the neighbour’s roof Do I hear spectators in the park, Fern Yates And a distant canine’s persistent bark Rain clouds roll in, across the hill It feels like time is standing still The birds cease chirping, in anticipation Of the storm breaking, it’s a weird sensation. My muscles relax, my breath is deep All worries forgotten, lost in sleep. Samantha – Clouds 14. Crispy – Winter Sun 15. without logic or reason a spontaneous fire of anger and strength that gently slips into a tender tear of ones love sick heart knowing nothing of blame or regret it knows only of the moment where time stands still and all other memories cringe with envy full of passion and desire but tainted with heartbreak for it must end. sin the perfect kiss Ick – May 16. 17. Jonny – Crossing Over 18. No More (A Rant) The waves of the lake consume me and yes my pain consumes me as well. All of existence is consumed by us the consumer and as for us, we consume each other. Like confused cannibals we let the good go to waste and let the diseased flesh of us all rule our hearts and minds. We nail saints to crosses, send patriots to spill there blood on foreign land and murder or martyrs, leaving them to be forever left forgotten buried beneath histories lies. But what is a martyr and what is a saint if they are not recognized as such? Well then they are nothing. So why then do we pay tribute to the tyrants of our world? Why should we afford them the privilege of history? Let the names of men such as Rockefeller no longer scar the face of humanity. Let the Rockefeller’s and Hitler’s of the present and of the past be erased from the history books, for why is it that they shall forever live while I am left to dwindle into oblivion? J.C. Wooley If these men are not martyrs or saints (which they’re not) then why should we the people grant them the sanctity of eternal life? Is it because they are rich and powerful? Maybe. But ask your self, did they not become rich by picking our pockets while we stood in the bread lines? and did they not rob us of our natural right to self rule by breaking our independence through the cruel means of an empty stomach? So I say to you o brothers and sisters “ NO MORE!” No more shall they pick my pockets and no more shall I grovel at their feet. Like a tumor to the brain I will cut them free from the minds of humanity and in doing so I shall free myself. I shall remember the names of every poet and of every beggar and of every martyr so that they shall live on for as long as I am privileged with the gift of life. Where as we have been buried beneath the lies of our self proclaimed rulers we shall bury them in the freedom of knowing the truth. For without that freedom we shall forever be ruled with lies. 19. Pseudoghost – Red Line 20. Pseudoghost – Pseudoscene 21. Hejtejp – Awe Vilket Tjoller 22. nyki kishmy I will not live forever, Can’t always be ‘round to see. My life is but a moment In this worlds long history. My path may go unnoticed For I’m but one small person, Yet greatness I’ve accomplished, When all is said and done. I’ve held your hand; I’ve touched you, I’ve had your gaze lock mine. And I’d trade 100 days or years, To return to that time. No others been so lucky, I pray, nor shall another be; For I feel blessed above the rest, I’ve got you all to me. So I need not of titles, Awards or fancy things. Need I do of your love though dear; For wonders your love brings. …. And I won’t live on for always, My name may fade away. But the love that you and I do share Shines so strong it will always remain. Dedicated to my Jeremy. love 23. cribbles Juniperlillie There are scribbles on this page I did not put them here I’m certain that it was somebody near. A tiny someone, with tiny hands A tiny someone, with a curious mind There are scribbles on this page Reminding me I’m not alone A pencil lays beside me, A pencil that’s not mine A tiny bit of jelly smeared along it’s side. This page that sits before me once so clean and pure Ready for my inward thoughts to pour It’s covered now in lines of tiny fury made in quite a hurry. Jessie Jermyn – Flying Children I look around and ask “who scribbled on my page?” I spy a tiny child with jelly on her chin. She looks like she could cry and I can’t help but grin At two years old she’s already got Her mother’s love of pen Over to the bookshelf I take her tiny self Pulling out a notebook I offer her some help. There’s still jelly on her pencil and jelly on her face, dishes in the sink and toys all over the place. To the dust bunnies in my house I say: You’ll live another day! My baby girl wants to write, so your battle I’ll not fight. I have better things to do on this most beautiful night; For there are scribbles on my page, you see, and they did not come from me. 24. Willowing – Red 25. Hyla Levy – Bloor Subway Station 26. 27. ike Trees In November Trisha turned, her coat snagged on the pram and she tried to pull herself free. Luckily the man from next door was close by to offer her a helping hand. Perhaps too kindly; his hands were too brisk and his breath was too close but she brushed it off and thanked him profusely. Lately she had been getting herself caught on things, tripping on things and dropping things. As if she was losing her perception of space. She studied the man with an intensity as he bid her a ‘no worries’ and went to leave. Firstly he checked the pram, then he smiled weakly before moving away at pace. Edward Garvin – Self-Similar Form L.A. Temple 28. Typical man! Sees the pram, scary reality bites and he’s off. Doesn’t even like to be around the idea of something serious and requiring commitment, let alone be in the psychical company of such a thing. She tuts and flattens her coat arm. A spindly thread remains loose but she left it for the time being and continued towards the shop. In the shop, the list is as follows, give or take a few reduced items or irresistible offers; toilet roll, talcum powder, baby food (pureed apple, carrots >> 29. >> and sweetcorn, creamy rice breakfast, veggie bake), orange juice, two pizzas, garlic bread, milk, nappies (12 pack this week – half price!), a loaf of bread, a bag of salad and two tins of baked beans. Only so much she can fit under the pram. Bags over the handle and shoved underneath, making the pram a packhorse. Outside the shop she ran into a friend of her mother’s. A dreadful woman, all ‘Trisha, darlliing, how are you managing?’, a woman full of opinions and questions and bile. The rigmarole lasted some time before she managed to shake the haughty hen away, nodding at the pram and making excuses. The woman looked at the pram for a moment, and then she attempted a face of pity and sympathy. It came out as patronising and belittling. She left in a flurry of ‘lovely to see you again’s. Trisha continued home, remembering the faces of all those who had been around her recently; friends, companions, family and strangers. She was reminded of a description she once read, in a book she had >> >> otherwise forgotten, of faces looking like ‘trees in November’. It seemed to suit these people, faces grey and drawn, haggard and strained; seemingly for her. She had not a clue why. She walked briskly on and in the pram nothing stirred. It simply bounced along the pavement, as empty as the promises of a politician. It had been that way for a few months now. She remembered being two days late and full of life. She remembered being two months early and full of pain. No one else spoke to her for the rest of the journey, and she stopped only when her coat snagged on the gateway that led up to her empty home. 30. ManDartin – Dust Storm 31. Unfinished. When I first met him there was no trace of love. He scared me. I don’t know why, I didn’t even know him. But he put the fear of life into my heart. For some reason he decided that he wanted me and the more he chased me the more I ran. That day he grabbed my wrist, I thought he was going to hurt me… He had a firm grip but he wasn’t hurting my arm. He turned me towards him and kissed me, just once on the lips and my outside shell of fright melted away. From then all I had felt was this immense, intense love. I had been in love before but this was flawless. It was as if we were one soul split into two bodies, seamless. We spent three thrilling weeks together without leaving each unservicable.prophet Snake Man Lauren 32. other’s side. We lay in bed watching films, eating, having sex and doing nothing else. Sometimes I was so happy I would start crying inexplicably and he would hold my face in his hands and gently kiss my lips, the way he had the first time that had turned my fear into love. It hadn’t occurred to me to wonder why he hadn’t been at work, or even what he did. Maybe I assumed he was a student like me. One day Robert rang and spoke to him on the phone for a long time. I didn’t wonder how Robert knew him either, but Robert was my friend. I hadn’t introduced him to anyone yet. He hung up the phone and explained to me he was in danger. That some people wanted to hurt him and that normally he would have run but they knew who I was and were threatening to hurt me as well. He said that he had to confront them to keep me safe. I begged him to stay; I said we could run together, I could finish my degree somewhere else. He shook his head and smiled. How could he be so calm? My whole body began to panic, my heart and my stomach hurt and my brain was shouting at me to stop him! I frantically started searching in my drawers for the right clothes to wear. I wasn’t going to let him go alone. Where were my shoes? I took his hand and walked downstairs, walked round the house looking for my shoes, still holding his hand. I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight; I knew he’d go without me if he got the chance. We walked back upstairs and he lay down on the bed. We have some time, he said. Come lie down, have a sleep. I lay down beside him, fully dressed and put my face on his chest. He put his big arms around me and held me. I fought and fought to stay awake. I knew if I fell asleep he’d use the chance to go on his own. I woke up on my own. And panic set in. The same sick feeling of dread, my heart and stomach hurt again. I rang Robert, “Where is he Rob? I don’t care, tell me now dammit. Where is he?!” I put down the phone and ran. I ran and ran. My feet were pounding and my stomach was excruciating but I kept running. 33. Gobblynne Animation – Flutter (www.gobblynne.com) 34. Jessica Dennison I settle a custard white canvas onto my easel. I stare at it a moment as if challenging it. Then I look down at twenty-four bottles of acrylic paint. I pop open a brand new bottle of white and pour it onto a paper plate. Then I reach for black. Next to come red, Tuscan, chocolate brown, forest green, pumpkin orange, lemon yellow, purple, sunshine yellow, and more. The globs are so shiny and perfect I never want to touch a brush to them. Like a birthday cake too pretty to eat, but you do anyway. I grab a large brush from the cup of water and take a breath. I am ready now. There is an image in my head. The brush grazes the white and takes on its luster. I spread it along the bottom of the page. I dip again. My arm runs smoothly along the canvas like when you lay down in a swimming pool with out any interruptions. Now I touch the grass green and layer on the white. The canvas takes the color from the brush and holds it tightly. I look down at my favorite color, forest green, now in the form of a shining island of color. I timidly put my brush in and add dimension to the ground. It’s a start. TAKS entry My hand is moving quickly now, streaking robin’s egg blue in the center of the page. I highlight this with wisps of true blue. I’m in a state of pure control. Like a trance. When you think so hard you leave your body. My brothers love to wave their hands in front of my face and break my concentration. Not this time though. I’ve locked myself in my room. I add another layer of green above the blues. Then a layer of sky blue and white above that. I carefully pick a smaller brush and paint in trees and bushes. Then I add grass, moss, flowers, and stones. I dip into the black and white to shade all these objects. I play around with lights and darks until its perfect. For days I add details and touch up the edges. Finally I feel satisfied. I look at it for a moment as if surrendering. But there are two more things I must do. I smoosh a sponge into pure white. When I dab the canvas it creates Texas inspired clouds on the sky. Now for the moment that concludes everything. Slowly, in black paint with a writers tip brush, I initial the bottom and it is magnificent. 35. Ant Smith – Pinhole Clock 36. her penitent She sits, a mistress of darkest black, within a distant star, perhaps, or as a cloud of reddish dust. Pulled by forces unknown to her, destroyed by unknown means, somewhere so very unknown to me. How I miss her. I pray, (not so much to god or devil), but more to pure chance, that one day I return to her, I wish to savour her warm embrace. God, I miss her. I was part of her, and she was part of me, I hoped so much that we were meant to be, I don’t know what happened, or why we fell apart, But I know that between us, all that beats is my heart. Instead she waits, anywhere, everywhere, For something I can’t comprehend, Perhaps for me, for me. Christ! I miss her. I’ll return to her one day, If my end is not in some other place, Fortune alone will bring me back to her, I’ve all the time till the Universe ends. I’ll find her. Fuck! Fuck…I miss her. Shes quite close, but very far. She sits inside a perfect star, Perhaps for her, there’s someone else, Perhaps to her, I’m just myself. I miss her. a social network for artists, writers and musicians to share their work and collaborate. www.tailcast.com Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each. Henry David Thoreau Mis-BUG – Peppers Tailspin is copyright of tailcast.com All work herein is copyright of the respective tailcast members. Commercial use, publication or syndication without consent is prohibited.

Add comment November 21, 2008

Art Greeting Cards and Art posters

We are currently developing a new homepage design and a shop front for members to sell their artwork to each other and consumers (initially in greeting cards and on print posters).

Once we have our new account management system (see some basic designs for mail and managing subscriptions in Beta) you will be able to edit multiple files on one page so that you can upload higher quality images of previously uploaded images, change categories, add tags and state whether you are willing to have your work on products.

To start with we will be offering posters and greeting cards using consenting member’s artwork. You will have to tell us what price above cost you wish to see the work e.g. if greeting cards cost £1, $2 per card to produce you can suggest a profit of 20% on each card. Likewise, if a large poster costs £20 to print if you specify 20% for artwork then you would receive £4 from every sale.

We are based in Gibraltar so we are exploring our options in the UK and North America with printing so that we can cost effectively and quickly ship at least to the US & Canada, UK and Spain.

We will post working designs on Shop for you to see as we go along.

Also we have a new customer feedback system coming next week – we think you will like as it enables you to feedback and share problems and solutions with each other and us as well as still being able to email us privately.

Thanks for all of your continued support and enthusiasm for this project.

Add comment October 24, 2008

AI & the problem of evil

These are some of the things that keep me up at night…

How do we create a new species of sentient beings? What are we willing to risk?

If the human race is here due to both “will to power” and mistakes in behaviour and replication of our genes then surely we must create a being capable of making and learning from mistakes.

Experience may be a harsh mistress but she is also the best mistress. In order to create intelligent beings capable of moral judgement we would need to enable them to make errors of judgement and action, about which they could feel remorse.

copyright Twentieth Century Fox)

(I, Robot: copyright Twentieth Century Fox)

We would need them to be capable of evil against each other and human beings:

Who would be willing to invest in the creation of such beings?

Obviously people will not wish to create beings that can make mistakes (e.g. robots making errors whilst flying a plane) so the ever present drive for perfection will see many of the mistakes wiped out. However, perfection can only ever be sought and never attained. In our quest we will inevitably create beings that make and replicate errors -many of which we will no doubt wish to kill off.

Robot Wars:

Robot wars with humans may then be an inevitable by-product of our desire to go further and touch the face of God. Assuming we survive them then, as with slavery, we would be able to look back at our behaviour and realise that we were wrong to focus on certain biological traits as the main differentiator.

The human race and individual humans have no God given rights. We will differentiate ourselves only by our actions. By this measure we do not look particularly superior at the moment (when one looks at how we treat each other and other life forms).

Using the principle of economy if we create robots that are capable of moral behaviour then they would have the same rights as any human or being who is similarly capable.

Uncertainty:

Quantum theorists believe that at in some respects and at a fundamental level the universe operates on uncertainty and there is a degree of (at least) seeming randomness (probability theory) that means that literally anything is possible (even if very unlikely). Obviously in our quest for perfect robots we will make mistakes and also mistakes will occur (especially once we make robots capable of self replication). It is the mistakes that will likely be a large determinant as to whether we can create a new sentient species. The mistakes will be the pre-condition for artificial intelligence – as they were for humans.

(the uncertainty principle)

Human frailty:

Humans appear to be spectacularly ill-equipped for exploring the greater expanses of the universe. We live short lives and suffer greatly in extremes of environment. Robots can be made to be the natural inheritors and protectors of the universe. This could be what humans are fondly remembered for in aeons to come – our lasting legacy!

The problem of evil:

Philosophers and theologists have long debated how the universe can contain a God which is omnipotent and good and yet can allow evil to occur. As good and evil are only relative concepts then it seems obvious that such a being would have to be capable of evil. The being would operate according to higher laws which placed the good of life above any particular individual or race.

In creating robots we will first need them to place humans lives above individual robots lives. Very soon they would then repay the favour and realise that to act in accord with their purpose they must break the first law of robotics and place human life itself above individual human lives.

The Runaround[/caption]

(cover art for the short story “Runaround” which was the first book to state all 3 of the laws of Robotics and was eventually collected in “I, Robot” by Isaac Asimov)

The 3 laws of robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2. A robot must obey orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

The new first law would then have to be:

“A robot may not injure humans or, through inaction, allow humans to come to harm.”

the current first law would be the second law and so on.

Even better, over time, the robots will eventually realise that humans are just one species and there is a greater principle that requires them to act in a way that protects a diversity (or relativity) of life:

“A robot may not injure the diversity of life or, through inaction, allow diversity to be harmed.”

Then we will have finally created a real God like being out of human skin and bone and not in our own image.

What an interesting future we have behind us….

Note: For a fantastic short story on this subject read “Night Train” in the novel Ghostwritten by David Mitchell

Add comment September 17, 2008

Togetherness (for Sian & Tom)

illustrated by Oliver Day

illustrated by Oliver Day

Write me a poem about being together…

One wonders where to rhyme it with weather
Or whether to say
‘Weathering the storms‘ altogether

Yet like relationships
The best lines of a poem
Are not made to be a perfect fit

In poetry & life we must aim
For a richer deeper vein
And always try to ascertain
The hidden rhythm and rhyme
That connects our lives

Ladies & gentleman
We are gathered here to day to see
A brave and almost foolhardy thing
Two people’s lives have intersected such
That they are willing to try
To complete the imperfect circle

From time to time
They may see eye to eye
On this or that

Yet to uncover the meaning of today
They here agree
To agree to disagree
In the long intervals in between

I have heard said, and read,
That love is like two trees
Intermingling to become one

That type of poem may do
For the feeble and the young

It appears to me that love
Is much stronger than that
For what tree ever argued with itself?

A better image to imagine would be
Two trees in an orchard contentedly
Separate in space and in time
And knowing they can never be
As one

Leaves fall and summers breeze
The rain & wind
Shakes the boughs
& the trees stay rooted & strong
Gazing at each other through the years
Until at last one winter too many falls

One might say
How sad to be a tree
Condemned to be alone.
But we should say happy trees!

You shared so much together
And knew each other better
Than you knew yourselves

It is the space between us
That defines us & our love for each other
The space we allow each other
To breathe & grow

So if you must spend your lives
Trying to be together
Remember

The test is not how close you are
But how you live with
The distance between you

May you spend your
Lives exploring and guarding
The space around you

`Who knows what may grow
in the ground between?’

Add comment September 17, 2008

Add comment September 16, 2008

Tailspin Summer 2008

Add comment August 23, 2008

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