But making explicit doesn?t just do damage to selves. In general, making explicit does violence to what is being made explicit. (In the modern age, Heidegger gets credit for this idea.) Making things explicit isn?t like unearthing an archaeological find that?s just been sitting there, waiting to be dug up. Making explicit often ? usually ? means disambiguating and reducing complexity.
The reason is simple. The things of the world exist as they are only within deep, messy, inarticulate, shifting, continuous, fuzzy contexts. This is certainly true of human relationships, although I believe it?s also true of all that we find on the earth, waiting in it, or promised above it. The analog world ? the real world ? is ambiguous. That?s a source of its richness. In making a piece of it explicit, we make it less ambiguous and thus lose some of its value and truth.
OK, but isn’t all discourse computation? That is to say, any discourse is a selection. However bound we might be to the ambiguity of ultimate initial conditions, dialogue is a calculated affair. What should I say? What should I say next? Etceterata.
If you agree that computation is the mode of conversational interaction, then “That does not compute, Will Robinson!” is the risk we take. I believe the thrill is in the risk. That’s the difference between neodowellers and Lenny Bruce, for example. To some, the risk is the creative element–free flow of consciousness, say–vs. those who calculate what “They” will say. Hence, my distrust of political speech. Only theory unites all scientists–and via computation!
The art of highballs and cocktails cannot reach Mars on Main
street where people shuffle alternate worlds. Your baby is your pet, life-like and holy, among meaningless things.
Things and holes are empty places where holidays happen, and wars occur. We sweat sweet money oils of chaotic edges and turn toward stars like spikes. Race the street on Main, late night underworlds of scorn, takes what you leave. No one has the early news. Saviors bank your future, and cats flop down for simple reasons. The blue angry rain is a killing power. You are stuck between ground and sky, but sex and money keep holy places safe. They do not need us like we need them–universal forces broken by time, but married by law to ancient Apollo.
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But making explicit doesn?t just do damage to selves. In general, making explicit does violence to what is being made explicit. (In the modern age, Heidegger gets credit for this idea.) Making things explicit isn?t like unearthing an archaeological find that?s just been sitting there, waiting to be dug up. Making explicit often ? usually ? means disambiguating and reducing complexity.
The reason is simple. The things of the world exist as they are only within deep, messy, inarticulate, shifting, continuous, fuzzy contexts. This is certainly true of human relationships, although I believe it?s also true of all that we find on the earth, waiting in it, or promised above it. The analog world ? the real world ? is ambiguous. That?s a source of its richness. In making a piece of it explicit, we make it less ambiguous and thus lose some of its value and truth.
OK, but isn’t all discourse computation? That is to say, any discourse is a selection. However bound we might be to the ambiguity of ultimate initial conditions, dialogue is a calculated affair. What should I say? What should I say next? Etceterata.
If you agree that computation is the mode of conversational interaction, then “That does not compute, Will Robinson!” is the risk we take. I believe the thrill is in the risk. That’s the difference between neodowellers and Lenny Bruce, for example. To some, the risk is the creative element–free flow of consciousness, say–vs. those who calculate what “They” will say. Hence, my distrust of political speech. Only theory unites all scientists–and via computation!
yea, yea, says Parliament.
The art of highballs and cocktails cannot reach Mars on Main
street where people shuffle alternate worlds. Your baby is your pet, life-like and holy, among meaningless things.
Things and holes are empty places where holidays happen, and wars occur. We sweat sweet money oils of chaotic edges and turn toward stars like spikes. Race the street on Main, late night underworlds of scorn, takes what you leave. No one has the early news. Saviors bank your future, and cats flop down for simple reasons. The blue angry rain is a killing power. You are stuck between ground and sky, but sex and money keep holy places safe. They do not need us like we need them–universal forces broken by time, but married by law to ancient Apollo.