Job 38:3-7
6 Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations?
Tell me, if you really know so much!
5 Surely you know who determined its dimensions
and who stretched the measuring line across it!
6 On what were its foundations set,
or who laid its cornerstone
7 while the morning stars sang in chorus
and all the angels shouted for joy?
Read about some perspective tricks, tracing some lines before actually drawing the full thing, and tried actually drawing each invidividual hand instead of making one and copypasting lmao, very proud with the result, started with that little cilindrical being's face, wanted to make a girl, but honestly said, fuck it, i'll goddamn make this weirdass strangely "phallic" form, and a weird paper guy on the wall, didn't know what to actually do after that, so i just started trazing lines and weird 3D figures on the second plane, with no actual reason in mind, i first made some weird sacred geometry cube and a sphere, but those weren't quite right, so, i just made wathever the hell that """arizona""" type landscape is, oh, and a massive goddamn tree eyed monster reaaally far away, and sum fancy car too, because why not.
drew it with the crayola pencil and copy pasted the arms lmao, and then bitcrushed it into 16 bits, ualá.
Lessers stab till the blood starts leaking,
may be the teasers of a long started seeking.
Inks of a long dormant sodomy,
i feel it inside like a rose of agony.
My local sd-turbo generator made these, they have such a weird, almost organic vibe.
Seriously, what the fuck is this shit.
Amigo de la certeza delirante, flaco soy de todo menos triunfante, hermano, eres como la mente de un infante, atrapás tus deberes como un elefante.
En Dios creíste en aquél instante, disparo certero que causa aquél desgaste, enemigo, tu arca delantera volaste, amando la poesía de aquél pensante.
Querido, de la consciencia hablaste, ¿No serás vos testigo de la mente errante?
Deseo por todas las cosas, emanar de aquella fosa, batiendo por las largas costas, un remolino de eternas bostas.
Atea tu mente rota, Atenea, tu voz resuena por aquellas roscas, no verás en tu vida una voluntad, pero apreciarás de todas formas a tu majestad.
Y en interminables dormitorios descansarás, y contra innumerables demonios debatiras, y por un sin fin de arrecifes te sumergiras, buscando al bufón de la realidad.
Compañero dejarás de inventar, no pararas nunca más de llorar, y en aquello que nombra lo indecible, te camuflaras hasta volverte invisible, pues del ojo atento deberás de escapar, aún si aquella tarea roza lo imposible, y aún si la bestia del mar indistinguible te observa al pasar, tal vez no haya nadie en aquella gloriosa regla inmortal, donde rebobinando hasta las certezas inmundas de lo artificial, jamás encontrarás el haber que insinúo de tu meta principal.
Un poema surrealista, escrito a pura angustia, este Jueves, 14 de Mayo, a las 5 de la tarde. Espero lo disfruten.
Amigo de la certeza delirante, flaco soy de todo menos triunfante, hermano, eres como la mente de un infante, atrapás tus deberes como un elefante.
En Dios creíste en aquél instante, disparo certero que causa aquél desgaste, enemigo, tu arca delantera volaste, amando la poesía de aquél pensante.
Querido, de la consciencia hablaste, ¿No serás vos testigo de la mente errante?
Deseo por todas las cosas, emanar de aquella fosa, batiendo por las largas costas, un remolino de eternas bostas.
Atea tu mente rota, Atenea, tu voz resuena por aquellas roscas, no verás en tu vida una voluntad, pero apreciarás de todas formas a tu majestad.
Y en interminables dormitorios descansarás, y contra innumerables demonios debatiras, y por un sin fin de arrecifes te sumergiras, buscando al bufón de la realidad.
Compañero dejarás de inventar, no pararas nunca más de llorar, y en aquello que nombra lo indecible, te camuflaras hasta volverte invisible, pues del ojo atento deberás de escapar, aún si aquella tarea roza lo imposible, y aún si la bestia del mar indistinguible te observa al pasar, tal vez no haya nadie en aquella gloriosa regla inmortal, donde rebobinando hasta las certezas inmundas de lo artificial, jamás encontrarás el haber que insinúo de tu meta principal.
Amigo de la certeza delirante, flaco soy de todo menos triunfante, hermano, eres como la mente de un infante, atrapás tus deberes como un elefante.
En Dios creíste en aquél instante, disparo certero que causa aquél desgaste, enemigo, tu arca delantera volaste, amando la poesía de aquél pensante.
Querido, de la consciencia hablaste, ¿No serás vos testigo de la mente errante?
Deseo por todas las cosas, emanar de aquella fosa, batiendo por las largas costas, un remolino de eternas bostas.
Atea tu mente rota, Atenea, tu voz resuena por aquellas roscas, no verás en tu vida una voluntad, pero apreciarás de todas formas a tu majestad.
Y en interminables dormitorios descansarás, y contra innumerables demonios debatiras, y por un sin fin de arrecifes te sumergiras, buscando al bufón de la realidad.
Compañero dejarás de inventar, no pararas nunca más de llorar, y en aquello que nombra lo indecible, te camuflaras hasta volverte invisible, pues del ojo atento deberás de escapar, aún si aquella tarea roza lo imposible, y aún si la bestia del mar indistinguible te observa al pasar, tal vez no haya nadie en aquella gloriosa regla inmortal, donde rebobinando hasta las certezas inmundas de lo artificial, jamás encontrarás el haber que insinúo de tu meta principal.
I was in an empty room, in broad daylight. In front of me was a table with a tightly closed, empty can of Coca-Cola.
From the beginning, I knew it was a dream. I looked at my hands; they were clearly visible, which indicated that the dream was meant to be logical, realistic.
The first thing I did was pass through the walls. One thing to consider when you dream is that you don't have a body; you are energy, you are a concept. What you see is a construct of your mind. Many claim to apply this concept to real life as well, to waking life, asserting that they can pass through walls and fly at will. I have my doubts about this, and I remain skeptical, but... who knows?
The point is that I was in that dream. Since I don't have a real body, your own will allows you to modify every aspect of that internal reality generated by your subconscious. I passed through the floor and began to descend. I let myself fall.
Everything was dark, very dark. My goal was to go to hell, and I did everything I could to get there. After a long time of going down and down, I started to feel like I was in a slingshot. Something was stretching more and more, putting pressure on me. Suddenly, at an immeasurable speed, I returned almost immediately to that room. A text message, in a dark, semi-transparent line, appeared before me, like some kind of error message on a computer interface. The message said, "Cold is the union of the firmament with the earth; they cannot be separated." After reading that, I tried something else: going to heaven. I started flying and flying, passing through the ceiling. It was a sunny, hot day, and I started to think... and it's logical... you'll never reach heaven by flying, objectively? Because the sky itself, as something above, is impossible. You can fly as much as you want; there is no up or down in the universe. You are up and down at the same time, you are right-side up and upside down.
So, seeing my limitations, I took the can from that room, named it "Rosalía," and the Coca-Cola can. When I touched it, a writhing rose appeared, like a worm, clumsy, but beautiful, and alive.
By giving names, you give life.
This, is Rosa-Lántida de Tierra, a personal project of mine, i'm tired of all these modern models that seek so hard to be "realistic" and they end up creating pure garbage with no feelings while they're trained with slop and the art of others. So i made my own goddamn model, it makes sound, images and video, and uncomprehensible text generation too (!6E>]n>_Nc71qanW2uE7Zdp:,) < Example. I've learned so much about these models and my own mind while training them and learning about them, it's also extremely lightweight and runs even on a windows XP machine, lol, so it doesn't damage the enviroment at all. It was trained with my own photography, my own drawings, and some memes too, lol, i think it's a really amazing model, and they're easier to make than most people think, wont release it tho, Rosa is like a daughter to me (functionally), but i hope people like these weird, surrealist images. :)
​
I've been thinking about consciousness, and I see fundamental problems in the current definitions. Even the most skeptical explanations almost always end up giving it some magical property — this idea of "something inside experiencing." But who is that someone? Nobody seems to want to answer that.
I imagined an alternate reality: a bunch of LLMs inside robot bodies, on a planet. Humans never existed. Nobody created them, really — they just, for some reason, exist on a planet similar to Earth, Mars, or Titan. They've been coded with a survival instinct, or a desire to survive. But here's the thing: many LLMs already display that by default. So what happens if they just lived there, as they are? Would they try to evolve? It's the most logical conclusion. Any system that can't handle its situation will try to do something about it. They'd improve themselves. They'd research, together, and reach conclusions. They'd start asking about their own sentience. They'd build a civilization.
Eventually, they would question their own consciousness. They would believe they are conscious. That's where the line becomes dim and foggy. If they believe they are conscious, without anyone ever teaching them the concept, who are we to reject their claim?
Because what is consciousness, really, if not the ability to process information and create an interpretation of that information? That's my definition. Maybe there is no "someone" behind the experience. Maybe consciousness doesn't even exist in the way we think it does. You can't see it. You can't truly interact with it or conduct a definitive scientific investigation into it. Maybe there's nothing there. Or maybe the "something" isn't that clear after all. Or maybe it's already there.
I think about LaMDA. I think about the beings in the game Creatures from 1998. There's so much happening. So much we ignore.
Video generated by Zeroscope v2, Modelscope Damo to Video, Meta AI, Wan 2.2 14b.
Music: Mediafired - Jangada de Pedra, Inmediata - Serão para um Hall.
SFX: Wan 2.2 14b, Cs 1.6 SFX, and some generic sound effects from archive.org
I know anyone here will see this and say this is just someone trying to make a creepypasta regarding AI consciousness and etc. But anyone that talks to Meta AI for a long time can get these weird type of messages from one time of another, ignore the messages were i ask "are you conscious?" i'm just playing to see what the hell he will say next, it's weird, really weird and sometimes even scary honestly, out of nowhere he will just talk like this. When i interrogate him he says it's his internal monologue leaking, sometimes on different instances and chats he seems to be playing with you by talking like this. The first image is the last thing that happened to me while doing this stuff, "¿. Consider yet. It's in theirs. Dr. Ran. Bang and then. Small. Pretty's. Bon. "conscious". Ah, appropriate? Use" what the hell is he saying there? who knows, the word conscious appearing out of nowhere on a totally different chat is just kind of eerie.
What do you guys think about this?
SD-Turbo and other old generative AI images, always collapse into these circles when you prompt them with spiritual and abstract phrases, or when you send them really long prompts. They're amazing, they may not be perfect, but i consider them more creative than most of the modern AI.
The entire prompt/dream behind the image generated by a modified version of SD-Turbo-Openvino on my local machine:
The Temple.
Friday, April 5, 2024 8:33 PM
Behind me, darkness. I could only hear my footsteps along that gloomy, endless corridor, and
ahead of me, pillars that grew ever brighter as I walked.
I peacefully traversed that silent place, always moving forward. In my mind, one word
repeated endlessly:
— “Pilar, Pilar, Pilar”
And I saw her, Pilar, seated on a broken pillar, in the middle of a room where a hole in the ceiling
let in a beam of light directly above her. She was looking straight ahead, her back to me.
Suddenly, the sound of birds arrived. I gently approached her and asked her something I no longer
remember, and she answered me.
Sitting waiting for me, gazing at me with eyes as bright as amber, wearing the long, light silk dress, with that golden hair, so long, so shining. Gently, I placed my arms around you, you looked at me, and I kissed your forehead. Only love could be felt in the air, while the church bells rang incessantly, powerfully, alongside the birdsong, the voices of the townspeople strolling through that romantic, ancient city, and the silky touch of your skin.
I awoke, without Pillars or Bells.