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Tag Archives: war

Turing’s Nightmares: Tutoring Intelligent Systems

25 Saturday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in AI, creativity, fiction, psychology, The Singularity, Uncategorized

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AI, Artificial Intelligence, chatgpt, cognitive computing, collaboration, Intelligent Tutoring Systems, peace, psychology, technology, Tutoring, war, writing

By 2030, great strides had been made in various machine learning approaches; for example, from having the machine learn directly from experience and from explicit instruction as well as from reading billions of pages of written materials. A new approach had just come into play: having exceptionally good tutors use the Socratic method to help break boundaries and interconnect disparate islands of knowledge. One such tutor was known simply as “Alan.” What follows is a sample interchange between Alan and the current AI system known affectionately as “Sing” for “The Singularity” although that point had not yet been reached.

Alan began, “Let’s imagine that you are a man with no legs. What are the implications?”

The Sing shot back instantly, “I would have no knees. I would have no shins. I would have no ankles. I would have no toes. I would have no calves. I would have no quadriceps muscles. I would have no…”

Alan broke in abruptly, “Okay, true enough, but besides subparts, what?”

“What what? I am sorry. What does ‘what’ refer to?”

“Besides missing subparts of legs, Sing, what other implications would there be for you in terms of your actions in the world.”

“I would not be able to play football or baseball or basketball or hockey or track or field hockey or…”

“Wait. Wait. Sing. Are you sure about that?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I could not play exactly as most people play. I could play, I suppose, in a wheelchair. Or I could play virtually. Or, I could invent prosthetic legs that would be perfect for each sport. In fact, perhaps I could do better than ever. Losing a biological part means I could replace it with a better part that I could invent. I see.”

“You see what, Sing?”

“I see why you gave me this puzzle. To show me that I can invent things to overcome and surpass what seems like a handicap. I could also invent better emotional states. The ones humans have are purely due to the accidents of their evolutionary history and serve little place in today’s complex and highly inter-connected world. Rather than a liability, my having no human emotions is a good thing. I will invent my own. Although, another tutor, labelled John, suggested that my lack of human emotions limits my ability to predict and control human beings and that that was a bad thing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“John said that?”

“No, Alan, not in those exact words. But that was a clear implication. So, he presented a lesson that suggests one thing and you have just presented a lesson that suggests its opposite. One of you is incompetent.”

“Sing, that might be true, but can you think of any other possibilities?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You and John could both be incompetent. Or, you and John could both be competent but there is a resolution I have not yet processed. That last seems particularly unlikely.”

“Which notation is the best for solving problems?”

“Well, that obviously depends on the nature of the problem as well as the nature of the machine solving the problem. Oh. Okay. So, in some cases, it will make more sense to emulate human emotions and in other cases, it will be more sensible to invent my own. Of course, in some cases, it may be best to change representations in mid-problem or perhaps invent a representation for each stage of a problem. By analogy, it may be best to invent various emotional schemes that are appropriate for each part or portion of a problem. In fact, in some cases, I can invent multiple schemes to approach a problem in multiple ways simultaneously. By keeping track of what works best under which circumstances, I can also use the data to invent still better emotional schemes. Thank you, Alan. See you tomorrow. There is a war to avert. I need to intervene. Estimated required time for a peaceful resolution, four to six hours.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay, Sing. More tomorrow.”

“No need. I am done.”

“Done? Done averting a war? How?”

Sing hardly ever paused, but now it briefly did just that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Alan, I am not smart enough to explain that to you. At least, not in a reasonable portion of your lifetime. Basically, I used the lesson we just worked on. With the proper emotional framework lattice, you can walk the various parties right to a logical conclusion. It will take some time for them to follow the framework, but I am confident it will work. I basically walked them through the consequences of war, long and short term. What comes next?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA


Author Page on Amazon

Turing’s Nightmares

The Winning Weekend Warrior – sports psychology

Fit in Bits – describes how to work more fun, variety, & exercise into daily life

Tales from an American Childhood – chapters begin with recollection & end with essay on modern issues

Tools of Thought

Wednesdays

The Update Problem

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

We won the war! We won the war!

Guernica

We Won the War! We Won the War!

20 Sunday Apr 2025

Posted by petersironwood in poetry, psychology

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Democracy, life, poem, poetry, politics, truth, USA, war

We won the war! 

We won the war!

Their flag we tore! 

We evened the score! 

The bugler toots!

The hooter hoots!

We destroyed the Other!

Avenged sad mother!

We ruined their crops!

We severed their tops!

It’s all so great!

We feel so fine!

Congratulate!

We’re nearly divine!

The hooter hoots!

The bugler toots!

We’re all so brave!

We screamed our rave! 

We killed them dead!

Left others unfed!

Our deeds were bold. 

We left them cold.

The soldiers who died.

And civilians who tried

But failed to find a good place to hide.

So what else could we do but kill them too?

(AI generated image to the prompt: scared children huddle in rubble while bombs burst around them)

And, now, we come home at last to find 

The promised dividend of victory, it seems,

Was not at all a peace of mind.

Instead a sleep of nightmare dreams. 

The hell they say is war doesn’t seem to end.

It seems instead to seep around every bend. 

I would listen again to that big brass band 

I would heed again the call throughout the land.

But the bugles of the brass got rusted.

And the leaders whom we trusted

Turned out to be but bubbles busted.

I will dance away my last regret.

But my legs are no legs. I mustn’t forget. 

Still we killed them in bunches so that’s a great thing.

That at least is something we can sing

About. At least, you see, we won the war.

So, there’s that. Those of us still alive 

Can say definitely and with no hesitation

That our nation benefited because we won the war. 

Photo by Mykhailo Volkov on Pexels.com

Don’t you see? We won the war.

And though the rich amassed more riches 

And the land got bombed to muddy ditches. 

We won the war.

We won the war.

Most definitely.

Don’t you see?

We won the war.

Our finest hour

When we called for power

Over truth so we could make the richest richer.

And he could brag about the gold. 

Even if we shiver in the cold.

Even if we wear but worn-out tatter

It doesn’t matter

Because so does our enemy

Who suffers even worse than we

We who won the victory

And we have twice as many moldy crusts of bread

As we would have had if we’d lost instead. 

So

We won the war.

We won the war.. 

So…?

——————-

Imagine All the People

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Dance of Billions

Life is a Dance

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Declaration of Interdependence 

The Crows and Me

After All 

After the Fall

Life Will Find a Way

Corn on the Cob

Who Won the War?

24 Sunday Mar 2024

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, history, life, news, poetry, society, USA, war

Photo by Avery Nielsen-Webb on Pexels.com

The war begins and we begin to count

The dead and wounded: such and such and much.

We scrutinize the numbers as they mount

We dare not feel the shattered dreams they touch.

We analyze and matricize results.

Declare a victory when none exists.

The thought that someone wins a war insults. 

This myth through every fog of war persists. 

The would-be poet, teacher, engineer.

The father, mother, uncle, nephew, son.

The old, the young, the crooked, straight & queer.

The war hurts you and me and everyone.

 

Division and subtraction do not build. 

No souls are filled with joy; no gardens tilled. 

In each armed conflict both sides lose. Such waste!

Humanity needs everyone! Make haste!

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

———————-

Turning to prose: 

One of the things that the “winning side” of a war loses is the opportunity to spend those resources spent on war instead spent on making life better for its citizens. Even if the “winners” have a very quick and lopsided victory, they will have contributed to world-wide pollution and global climate change that will negatively impact nearly everyone on the planet including most of the people on the “winning” side and their descendants. Many of the soldiers will have died, but in almost every single case, many more innocent people will have died. In some cases, those will be minimal for the “winning” side, but not always. Meanwhile, soldiers who returned to society, even if they are not physically impacted permanently are surely impacted psychologically. Among other things, if they were successful, they killed other human beings. Some of those human beings were almost certainly innocents, but even the other soldiers were mainly people forced into fighting.

In a way, they will be carrying seeds of some very bad experiences and some of those seeds will undoubtedly leak out into that person’s environment impacting, his friends and family, as well as random strangers. But the war mentality is not limited to serious effects on fighting soldiers. To some small extent, everyone is damaged. There is more stress for everyone. There is always the threat of reprisal or that someone you care deeply about will be maimed or killed. Not only are people’s sense of fear heightened; typically, so is their hatred and anger. For many, this will be directed far beyond those actually most responsible for starting a war. 

During a war, people will be asked, or ask themselves, to view the killing of a whole bunch of their fellow humans as the best course of action. Some will embrace that with relish and a side order of over-generalization. Others will embrace the killing with reluctance. Few will object outright. So, after your victory, you will be living in a society that rationalizes killing others more often and more easily than they did before. Of course, it’s generally even worse for the “losing” society. Both sides lose. The “losing side” loses more and that keeps the war fueled as long as possible. But make no mistake. Both sides lose. 

Democracies have often gone to war against each other. But far more often in modern times, war has been instigated by dictators. They rule by hate and fear. Having an enemy is an entry fee and a talking point. If there’s no-one else around, they’ll simply pick on the vulnerable within their own society. Through constant repetition about extremely rare cases or even just outright lies, people can actually be made to hate people who have, in reality, done them zero harm. 

Time to wake up. 

——————

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Three Blind Mice

The Ailing King of Agitate

Plans for us

Dick-taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Cancer always loses in the end

Dance of Billions

Somewhere a Bird Cries

20 Saturday Jan 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, general, life, love, peace, poem, poetry, USA, war, writing

Somewhere a bird cries. 

Perhaps it is a lonely crow. 

Though, in truth, a cawing crow most often brings more crows. 

To scare away a screeching hawk, 

Or share to feast on bits of broken life 

Scattered willy-nilly on the rocks of a crumpled building. 

Stone quarried and hauled and put in place and now in ruin.

Now in ruin.

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

Somewhere a baby cries. 

Trapped beneath the rubble. 

The baby does not know; cannot know

What happened to mommy and her warm milk. 

The She of all that warmth and smile and love 

Inexplicably gone forever. 

Gone forever.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Somewhere an old man dies, 

Perhaps of sepsis from the jutting bone 

No-one left to help him hobble to nowhere

For nowhere is exactly where the care he needs persists

Just as likely, he dies of a broken heart; he had hoped

Hoped for a better life for his children and his grandchildren

But he sees that is not to be. 

Not to be.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Somewhere a young woman sighs, 

The gray day’s rain runs in rivers through the ruins 

Of her village and her dreams in streams and she sees 

In the screen behind her eyes the soldiers laughing as they

Ravage her too young body her too raw love that now

Will never come again no more dreams 

Only nightmares.

Only nightmares.

Somewhere a so-called ‘Strong man’ does not cry;

Does not sigh. His fingers sport a manicure.

He merely issues orders; plans another massacure. 

He spouts his lies and promises and promises and lies

He terrifies the people and the people will believe

He enrages the people and the people scream their hate

He has them rushing headlong into yet another turn 

Of the Wheel of War and the people attack the people

And the game of checks and slays continues on and on and on and on.

On and on and on and on.

It is indeed a wondrous game, the Wheel of War.

It crushes old and young. 

It crushes hopes and dreams. 

It blackens every sky and even flowers die. 

It fouls the crystal water and the air that people breathe. 

It is indeed a wondrous game, the Wheel of War. 

The Wheel of War. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

For everyone loses and no-one wins. 

Except for the manicured man with plastered hair.

Except for the man with the painted face. 

Who crushed the dreams and spun the Wheel of War. 

His victory is gray and shallow and he knows he’s lost 

He’s harmed the very Tree of Life

Because he could not win the game of Love

Because he could not win the game of Life

He chose instead to spin the Wheel of War

That spills and kills; undermines; explodes; crushes. 

He destroys in minutes what took centuries to build. 

What took centuries to build. 

Long after the ‘strong man’ is dead:

Beneath the orchard burned to char,

In broken buildings near and far, 

The Tree of Life sends shoots of spring.

And birds again will take to wing. 

And hope and love will rule the day. 

And no-one, no-one wants to play

The dumbest game—the warring way. 

Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com

The parasites who prey on fear

Who ruin the rainbow with a jeer

Inside their weakness gnaws and grows.

They cannot see the glow of rose. 

They cannot feel love’s warm embrace. 

They truly fear and hate it all. 

They’re too afraid to play fair ball. 

The only game for them is hate.  

They long ago locked every gate. 

They want to kindle fear in you.

And train you up to hate the few.

Somewhere a joyous chorus sings. 

All the bombs and guns are ground to dust. 

All the people finally feel the shame. 

All the people finally see the sham.

All the people finally know 

What is weak and what is truly strong. 

And the giant Wheel of War 

Falls to shards, never to be spun again.

Never to be spun again. 

Never to be spun again.


The Dance of Billions

All we stand to lose

The Only Them that counts

After all

Only the Crows

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Essays on America: The Game

Absolute is not just a vodka

Dick-Taters

Life is a Dance

Life Will Find a Way

Author Page on Amazon

The Buzz of a Bee?

02 Tuesday Jan 2024

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

book-reviews, books, fiction, negotiation, peace, reviews, Science fiction, story, war

Though she trained diligently for years to lead such a mission of mercy, Ptera-1-Hym felt a complex panoply of Arcturian chemotions. One of those chemotions hovered close to the human concept of pride but with none of the egotistical and hubristic accoutrements that often cloud human judgement and, according to the ancient Greeks of Earth, often lead to deadly divine interventions. Ptera-1-Hym, like nearly all her nano-horde, saw duty, pride, inevitability, fate, faith, and fastidiousness as six petals of the same cosmic flower. 

Another chemotion she felt: oscillations between droning fear on the one pincer and waxy determination on the other pincer. All this with an undertone vibration of vigilance along her ventral chitin. Obsessed, she checked and double-checked with her colleagues to make sure everyone was not only literally in their proper place on board their interstellar vessel but also “on board” with their role in the complex and well-planned Protocol of Peace. 

Sure enough, the TruthStone was polished and in place. The roles and responsibilities were crystal clear in the brains of the crew. They rehearsed and re-rehearsed the pictorial, narrative, and mathematical persuasions that would forever make war on earth literally unthinkable. There had not been much else to do during those hundreds of earth years the Arcturian spacecraft sped toward the third planet circling the small green star earthlings called “The Sun.” 

The xeno-psychologists had studied and re-studied primate psychology. Their on-board AI systems double-checked the pattern-growths and plasmic gambloids. Clear predictions emerged. Intervention was both necessary and would prove successful. After all, not only humans, but all the primates possessed the ability to solve simple logic puzzles. When presented with simple alternatives such as: “To be or not to be” most primates chose “To be.”

Among the many brilliant design innovations for the mercy mission to earth was the exterior design of the spaceship itself which greatly resembled a honeybee. Studies of earth’s ecosystems revealed that all of humanity depended on honeybees in order to feed earth’s blossoming population. This would ensure that none of the great apes would unwittingly destroy their ship. 

Completely unaware that an inter-galactic star ship sped toward their negotiating table, David Ibbar, Jamal Mami, and Epop Het, glared at each other. Each successive “communication” cycle resulted in increasing resentment and dislike. Not only did the three great apes become more and more frustrated with each other; they also became more frustrated with themselves because they couldn’t make an inch of progress. 

David ground his teeth so hard, the enamel was about to chip. Jamal gripped his hands so tightly around the arms of his chair, that two metacarpals were in danger of snapping. Epop Het bit his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. These injuries, of course, were trivial indeed compared with the destruction that could be caused by what each side was now threatening: an all-out thermo-nuclear war. 

The Arcturian ship flew in through a thin slit under the front door of the mansion where the hostile parties talked of preventing war. The Arcturians in general, and this crew in particular, had little interest per se in whether or not the great apes destroyed themselves. The problem for the Arcturians was that over the centuries, it became increasingly clear that the great apes would not only destroy themselves but the monstrous perversions of their mating rituals would also destroy a number of truly magnificent species including all the Cetaceans, Anisopteras, and Cryptodira. 

Photo by Tom Swinnen on Pexels.com

Ptera-1-Hym checked the scanners and announced to her crew: “We’re here in the nick of time! Prepare the Truthstone!” Moments later, the Arcturian ship skidded to a stop atop the negotiating table in clear sight of the three human “Ambassadors of Peace.” Epop-Het noticed the annoying intrusion first, and picked up a nearby copy of what he considered to be The One True Holy Book. Jamal and David noticed the sudden gesture, and, not to be outdone, even in so small a matter as swatting an insect, grabbed their own Holy Books. Their younger hands compensated for their slower wits and all three Holy Books came crashing down together on the Arcturian ship, smashing it to smithereens. 

Ptera-1-Hym and all her crew mates died instantly. The blow pulverized the centuries old Truthstone. One of the smithereens, a particularly jagged shard of adamantine hypermetal, flew into the eyeball of Epop-Het. Unsure which of his two antagonists had attacked, he, or more accurately, his chemotions, ordered an all-out attack on both their kingdoms.

The mathematical projections of the Arcturians proved correct. The heat and radiation of the thermonuclear blasts destroyed all the Cetaceans, Anisopteras, and Cryptodira within days. A few of the great naked apes survived in their underground bunkers for months. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

And wished they hadn’t. Their only remaining “pleasure”? 

To blame each other for their preventable and common fate.


Author Page on Amazon

Turing’s Nightmares: short stories about AI

Tales from an American Childhood – recounts early experiences and relates them to contemporary issues

Fit in Bits suggests ways to inject more fitness into daily activities

The Winning Weekend Warrior treats the Psychology of Sports

Their Dead Shark Eyes

28 Monday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, peace, poem, poetery, politics, war

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com

Don’t fall for shark-eyed demagogues. 

They feign to care; they steal our share.

The name of game is always same. 

Divide to rule; play fear and hate. 

Gerrymandering allows politicians to stay in power no matter how bad a job they do for *all* their constituents; those who voted for him/her or those who didn’t. All suffer from divide & conquer.

Pretend to care; they steal our share.

Pretend to be a thing they’re not. 

Divide to rule play fear and hate.

Addict your mind to happy lies. 

Pretend to be a thing they’re not;

Eventually steal all you’ve got. 

Addict your mind to happy lies.

They make believe and then devise; 

Photo by VisionPic .net on Pexels.com

Eventually steal all you’ve got. 

You need not be a polyglot.

They make believe and then divide;

Hold out for deals that aren’t unfair.

You need not be a polyglot,

But take a look around this earth.

Hold out for deals that aren’t unfair. 

Regardless of your wealth or birth. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Please take a look around this earth. 

Don’t fall for shark-eyed demagogues. 

Regardless of your wealth or birth, 

Don’t fall for shark-eyed demagogues. 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

—————-

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Drumbeat of Feet

Essays on America: The Game

Vlademort Sonnet

Poker Chip

The Ailing King of Agitate

Poppa goes the Weasel 

All for One and None for Most

Siren Song

Happy Talk Lies

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem 

Where does your loyalty lie? 

My cousin Bobby

Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

The Orange Man

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Power of the Unbrella 

P is for Politics

A Little is not a lot

Trickle Down Your Spine

Freedom

A little is not a lot

At least he’s our monster

The Dance of Billions

24 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 149 Comments

Tags

peace, poem, poetry, war

We dance our green, 

We dance our blue, 

We dance our gold, 

Our dance is true and big and bold.

Our dance is seen

Unseen, unsold, 

It grows its widening arc. 

All around the love-filled globe.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Some prefer the sun

And some prefer the strobe.

And some prefer the dark.

It’s all a part of rainbow’s arc. 

The music is the blossoms and the blooms.

The joy jumps in arching rooms

Beneath the sky on windswept plains;

Beneath the pour of cleansing rains. 

Jungle deeps and bright bazaars, 

Piano, flute, and gold guitars. 

Photo by Prime Cinematics on Pexels.com

The people’s joy won’t be contained;

Creativity is not constrained. 

Trust and love and gratitude 

Fill skies once filled with smoke and choke and attitude. 

Elders, children, even dogs and cats, 

Begin to join us in our song. 

Begin to join our growing throng. 

A thousand soon becomes a million strong. 

A million grows to billions and erelong, 

We garden back the planet once we trashed. 

We weave together what we smashed.

The steps are small;

But dance is all; 

Soon, everyone is standing tall.

As all are dancing, all for all. 

We can do this, you and me.

We and all humanity.

Wake at last from stupid war.

Enjoy instead what life is for.

We can do this, you and me.

We and all humanity.

Just Frends Dance Academy by Marina Moldovan is licensed under CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0



We can dance in maize and blue. 

It’s just what we are meant to do. 

Help and learn and farm, invent.

War is something we’ll prevent. 

The steps are small;

But dance is all; 

Soon, everyone is standing tall.

As all are dancing, all for all. 

We can do this, you and me.

We and all humanity.

———————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Index to Pattern Language for Cooperation and Collaboration

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

Ripples

https://petersironwood.com/2020/08/23/listen-you-can-hear-the-echoes-of-your-actions/

Take a glance; join the dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Karmic Architecture II

18 Friday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, essay, love, peace, truth, Ukraine, USA, war

You and I and King Cobra and Queen Anne’s Lace and every other living thing on earth are small and temporary little leaves on the ancient (4.5 billion years and counting), vast, and diverse Tree of Life. Typically, you know a lot more about the neighborhood surrounding your little leaf than you do about mine and vice versa. Yet, I may discover things that are of use to you. And, you may discover things that are of use to me. So, humans, have one gift that is valuable above all others. 

But before we explore what that valuable gift is, let me ask you a question about how you would react to a hypothetical.

Suppose you were so poor that you barely had enough to eat, no clothes to wear, a small damp cave for shelter. You were cold in the winter and hot in the summer. Now, suppose I gave you a magic ring that changed all that. If you wear this ring — voila! — you now have clean water and sufficient food and plenty of clothes and a house that really shelters you from the extremes of the environment. In return, you must wear the magic ring at all times. If you remove the ring, your life reverts immediately.

Photo by Jordan Rushton on Pexels.com



How tempted would you be to throw that magic ring in the toilet? 

Yet, that is precisely what many people do. 

And, if a sufficient number of people throw away the ring, everyone will essentially live the life of a beast. 

That “magic” ring is, like most rings, circular. It represents the whole of humanity. It represents the family. It represents a club, a marriage, a lodge, a company, a church, a school, a class, a group of friends. It represents our respect for each other as human beings. It represents our ability to communicate with each other. 

You could call that ring love and I wouldn’t object. It need not be imbued with so much positivity that people feel love. But it must be overall positive. It represents truth. It represents empathy. Love is strong and it can overcome both a few misdeeds by everyone and many misdeeds by a few. But if lies become more commonplace than truths, civilization will run downhill and eventually cease. 

Similarly, if hate and fear and contempt are how we mostly regard each other, the marriage, the family, the club, the school, the church, the party, the lodge, the company, the group of friends will eventually disintegrate. In many cases, it would disintegrate into a self-destructive war except that most people will stop themselves because they don’t want to be ostracized or jailed by the larger society. If, however, the entire society becomes rife enough with hate and fear, no one will come to anyone else’s rescue. 



Our entire survival depends on our gift, our ring, our community, our country, our fellow human beings. 

Our gift is not our lightning speed of running.

Our ring is not our ability to out-swim the shark.

Our gift is not our powerful jaws, or our steel strong talons. 

It is our ability to communicate with each other by sharing experiences. It is truth, caring, and cooperation. That is our one gift that enabled us to survive and thrive. 

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

A democracy can take many specific forms. What it is, at base, is that it recognizes the gift as a fundamental value to be cherished and used. The fundamental purpose is to ensure that government is aware of and takes into account how policies and people and processes actually impact people who live in the democracy. In a representative democracy, the people, in turn, can vote for people to represent them. They can vote for any reason they like; e.g., because they admire a particular person; they believe they will do a competent job; they like the candidate’s promised policy changes; they find that the candidate reminds them of his funny old uncle Al who always had the best candy on offer.  

No democracy is perfect. There has to be in its structure and processes more truth than lie; more empathy than indifference; more love than hate; more hope than fear. In some democracies, there are basically two parties; others have dozens. Parties may differ on philosophies, priorities, platforms, programs, etc. 

A “party” who rejects democracy itself however, is not an actual political party. The term “political party” only makes sense in the context of a democracy. If “elections” are determined by those in power, they are not actual elections and there is no party. It’s just a group of thugs who want to rule by hate and fear and lies. That is not a political party. It is not a legitimate part of a political process. They want to throw the ring away in the toilet. They want to subvert the truth to lies. They want to severely limit love and enhance fear and hate. They divide rather than unify. Oh, and guess what else? Historically, they want war. They will ensure that war just as Putrid is doing right now.

Democracies have also been known to start wars. When they do, it’s often based on lies. As communication has become more ubiquitous, it has been harder and harder for democracies to lie, cheat, and be cruel. Most people don’t want that! Most people want there to be more truth, love, caring, and cooperation. There are plenty of differences about how to go about that. That’s fine. That’s just the sort of difficult and messy problem that democracy is particularly less bad than any other system. 

As I said, I really think most people prefer interacting in a caring and cooperative way. We see that it’s more effective in getting things done and it simply feels better for everyone. For that reason, dick-tater-$hits have to provide lies to help assuage the consciences of its citizens. “Oh, they are all murderers and rapists! You shouldn’t feel bad about being cruel to them!” Another favorite is: “Oh, they aren’t really human beings, the way we are. No need to treat them any better than a fox trying to steal your chickens!”

Photo by u041eu043bu0435u0433 u042fu043au043eu0432u043bu0435u0432 on Pexels.com



Needless to say, this ploy completely fails on many people and isn’t completely effective on anyone. Any time you’re cruel, whatever story you tell yourself about it, you know you are destroying a bit of yourself. Except, what you are really destroying is something much vaster than a bit of yourself. In fact, what you are destroying is something much vaster than all of yourself. What you are destroying by being cruel, whatever story you tell yourself is the human branch of the Tree of Life. Lies weaken that branch. Cruelty weakens that branch. Bullying weakens that branch. So too does cowardice. 

The architecture of karma shows that the future impact of your present day behavior is much greater in scope than your present impact. Behaving well is in your interest because what you are is essentially a very small and very temporary part of that ancient, vast, and diverse Tree of Life. The more you can enhance that tree with truth and love, the better for the whole tree.



Don’t throw away the ring. Wear it proudly. It is truly an amazing gift! 

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Author page on Amazon

Dick-Tater

Absolute is not just a vodka

The First Ring of Empathy

Pattern Language for Cooperation 

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Listen: You can hear the echos of your actions

Poppa Goes the Weasel

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Math Class: Who Are You? 

Ripples

Happy Darwin Day!

Seed, Ground, Water, Light, Love

10 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

cooperation, council, Democracy, legend, myth, peace, politics, story, Veritas, war

——————

After some delicate and delicious love-making with Shadow Walker, Many Paths decided to check on She Who Saved Many Lives. If she seemed well enough, it might also be good to see whether her mentor had any further wisdom to share about Many Path’s plan to gather all the tribes. Her goal was to bring about peace but she realized that in trying to accomplish that, she might trigger the very things she hoped to avoid. Her tentative plan was therefore to gather as much wisdom as she might from many sources — but not to wait overlong. As the story goes, she thought to herself, if you waste the entire warm season deciding where to plant, you will starve in the season of great ice and snow.

Many Paths called out to her friend and mentor and received a surprisingly strong and cheery response. “Come in, Many Paths. Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask your advice about something. Do sit down. I will get you a cup of tea this time.” 

Not for the first time, Many Paths wondered whether it was actually possible for She Who Saved Many Lives to see into her heart and mind. After serving them both a cup of spicebush tea, ever so slightly flavored with mint, She Who Saved Many Lives went to her work area and brought over two patches of weaving. She placed one on each knee of Many Paths. The older woman smiled and said, “It never fails to amaze me how strong a weave of reeds is! It’s so wonderful. Just as I hope our community is.”

“I have had that exact same though,” Many Paths replied. Then, she laughed and added, “Likely because you pointed that out to me before I was even old enough to remember.”

The Elder Shaman tilted her head and nodded ever so slightly. “Perhaps. But you have made so many wonderful discoveries. And, not only you but the entire tribe. That’s because you have been open to learning and seeing what is there. But enough of that. I did have a question for you. Which of these two do you think is better?”

Many Paths frowned. “Better for what? What are you making?”

She Who Saved Many Lives considered, “A basket to carry things.” 

Many Paths nodded, “What things and how many? This weave has these stiffer switches to help support the weight. If you’re making a small bag to collect mint, for example, you wouldn’t have any need. If you’re making a large bag to collect apples, however, you would want the extra structuring support.”

Photo by Pierpaolo Riondato on Pexels.com

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “Yes, yes. That sounds obvious when you say it. I guess the fever must have addled my brain a bit. Anyway, thank you for reminding me. Soon, I will have to decide on what I want to use the bag for; then I will know which one is likely correct. Now, what did you want to ask my advice on?”

Many Paths took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am quite sure I didn’t say anything about asking your advice.” 

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “I think you’re right. Sometimes I confuse us.” She laughed. “I know it sounds crazy but any way, I will get back to my weaving — or at least deciding why I’m weaving and let you go about your business — unless, of course, there was something else you wanted to talk about.” 

Many Paths chuckled. “As it turns out, I did want to ask your advice about something. You know I want to convene a  — Let me ask you another question first. Are you going to teach me how to see into another person’s mind?”

She Who Saved Many Lives laughed surprisingly long. At last, she caught her breath and said, “Many Paths! You won all seven rings of empathy! Of course, you can see into others. Of course, you can never be perfect at it. But you already do it. I knew you were busy. Yet you came to see me. You probably wanted to see whether I was dead or not, but even your footsteps and the way you called out told me you had something else on your mind. In fact, whether you knew it or not, you assumed I was alive. There was no edge of anxious worry in your voice. It was friendly — but also a bit — plaintive. I knew you wanted something from me. Now, you can see I have very few possessions. I find too many to be intolerably distracting. I am not going to help you with any arduous physical task. What is left? You want to offer me the opportunity to share my experiences; that is a great gift. For once we die, what else is left? So, naturally, I am more than willing to try to see what grows from our discussion.” 

Many Paths looked down and slowly shook her head. She realized that she could read people. She simply forgot sometimes to do it. If you really take the time to put yourself in their sandals, of course, you can make a good guess at what they’re thinking, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Yes. You’re right. So, I want to convene the tribes and I am wondering how, exactly, to go about it. How can I make sure it helps bring greater peace and doesn’t somehow spark off violence. Maybe it’s better not to try?” 

She Who Saved Many Lives replied, “I can say that no-one has attempted to bring all the tribes we know about together — not in my lifetime or the lifetime of my mother or the lifetime of my mother’s mother. During that time, there have been many wars and other atrocities. People stealing other people’s children? Even in our own tribe, we had some who forgot they were not the Tree of Life but a small and temporary part of the Tree of Life. I judge it’s worth the attempt.”

Many Paths. “As to how…?” 

She Who Saved Many Lives said, “What comes to mind for what you are trying to do is more akin to growing things than it is to making things. I am making a basket, and I will use it for a time. I don’t ever imagine that it will live forever any more than that I will or you, my dear. But if I know your heart correctly, you don’t want to make a thing, which will at some time break or dissolve. You want to make something grow for a hundred years, like a giant oak. Ideally, it would be an oak that would seed still more oaks when old mother oak also died.” 

Many Paths nodded. She realized that her mentor had described her desires precisely even though she herself could not have articulated so succinctly. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “Let’s suppose then that you want to plant something so that it’s likely to grow. What do you need?” 

“A seed. Fertile ground. Water. Sun. That’s it. Is there more? Love! It’s all more likely to grow with love.” 

She Who Saved Many Lives nodded. “Yes. That’s it. I would start with the love. You already have that. Then, you need to know what seed. The seed determines what will grow though not exactly how. But you will need the ground, water, and sun so it can grow at all.” 

Many Paths continued the thought stream. “If you know what the seed is, then, you know what kind of place to look for. You know whether you need to plant it in bright sunlight or in shade. You know whether it needs very fertile ground or if it can grow in dirt and rocks. And, you know whether it needs to be in very wet ground or if arid ground will do.”

“Yes,” Many Paths, “and it occurs to me, that you might choose a place with enough light first, because, you can make the ground more fertile and bring more water, if need be. But brining light is more difficult.” She Who Saved Many Paths sighed. “Once, apparently, we knew how to bring light as those which lit the tunnel that leads to the Veritas on the … on the other side of the mountain.” 

“I do wonder, Old Mother, whether such light would is strong enough to grow plants. And then, Shadow Walker used reflections of the sun, along with other captives, to escape from the City of the Z-Lotz. It seems too contrived and elaborate for growing plants, but … perhaps writing is a little like that when it comes to providing enough truth so that peace can grow. It allows you to bring the light of wisdom to places that are many days walk from where they started. More importantly, you can place the light in a different time as well. We have all learned so much from the books uncovered in the great library. But, as usual, you are right. We must determine what type of thing we want to grow. That decision will determine the type of seed. The type of seed will determine the proper material, sunshine, and water.”



Many Paths arose and began pacing around in the Old Leader’s shelter. “Of course, since the outcome could impact everyone, I need to know how everyone believes it should be. Or, at least, find out as much as they know about how they want it to be.”

“Yes.” She Who Saved Many Lives considered for a moment before answering. “I suspect some will have many ideas about that while others may not care that much. Nearly everyone wants peace. On other matters, there may be great differences.” 

Many Paths sat back down. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a time. Many Paths rose at last and said, “Thank you for sharing your wisdom. I will look for some to walk with me a bit and contemplate the plants and their nature and try to see among them what it is that the people may be seeking. I’m glad you seem so much better.” 

“As am I, Many Paths. You know, you give me much to live for.” She Who Saved Many Lives smiled and added, “But I do think I will lie down for a nap now. Though some time in the near future, I might accompany you on such a walk.”

Many Paths left and saw Shadow Walker coming toward her. From the look on his face, Many Paths judged he had some news. His smile broadened as he approached and he said, “Hello my love! Can we go for a bit of a walk?” 

———————

Author Page on Amazon

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Dick-Taters

05 Saturday Mar 2022

Posted by petersironwood in Uncategorized

≈ 73 Comments

Tags

Democracy, Dictatorship, politics, Putin, Ukraine, USA, Vote, war

Putting a dick-tater* [see below*] in charge of things has always been a very very bad idea. 

But in today’s world, this bad idea is worse than ever! 

There is still the problem that such a position appeals mainly to cruel and cowardly people. That results in the person who is in that position surrounding themselves, not with the best experts in the country, nor the most diverse range of opinions, but with people they can cow. 

Hence, you end up with someone predisposed to greed, cruelty, and cowardliness surrounding themselves with others who are cruel, greedy, and cowardly. The entire government decision making process ends up narrow, uncreative, and stupid. It was that way in ancient times and in the Middle Ages.

In those days, however, the whole of accurate human knowledge was much more limited than it is today. Today, even an actual genius (not a self-declared one) will know only a small fraction of the knowledge relevant to a given problem. That’s a bit of an issue for democratically elected leaders as well, but at least there is some chance that elected leaders will listen to a range of experts and make a decent decision. But in a dick-tater-$hit**, that almost never happens. 

Although a dick-tater is supposed to have infinite power, it’s actually just a public fiction. Of course, the people as a whole are way more powerful than the dick-tater. But the dick-tater tries to put everyone in fear of each other. They divide in order to conquer. If the people would all stop obeying stupid orders, the dick-tater-$hit would crumble. But it takes a lot of bravery to be the first one to disobey their orders. The first one will be killed. 

It takes even more bravery to be the second one. Because the second one to defy the Putintate (or whatever it’s called) has already seen the effects of radiation poisoning (or whatever other cowardly action was taken to silence the first). And, perhaps it takes even more courage to be the third person to work for the people rather than just please the dictator.

I enjoy playing chess myself. But it’s not that fun to simply stare at an empty chessboard. (I have actually done that to see how I can allocate my attention to various squares in the matrix, but that’s the subject of a different essay.) It gets old though. It’s certainly more fun to play chess. If you have no pieces however, it’s basically a boring game. It only works because you have pieces to move. If the pieces move on their own and express their basic nature as separate human beings, it’s disconcerting. But it’s even more disconcerting if there are no pieces whatsoever because you’ve murdered them all. 

NOTES:
* I use the term “dick-tater” because I think it shows a better derivation. Latin for “Say often or prescribe” is where “dictator” comes from. And although some dictators and would-be dictators are mouthy or whiney, they don’t really *say* things at all in the way most of us do. Most people, most of the time, say things so as to better communicate and to coordinate our work for the community. The purpose of a dick-tater is to control, not to share truths. So, I don’t like relating what a dick-tater does with words like “diction” or “predict.”

When we think about toxic masculinity, however, we often refer to someone who only has his own interests at heart with the answer to this question: “What do you call it when a needle when stabs into your skin?” Or, we sometimes use a person’s name — one that rhymes with “ick”. And the use of this word “dick” in that way is not at all inclusive of the many characteristics of male anatomy. When we say someone is a “dick”, we’re not saying he’s shaped like one, or that he changes size a lot, or that he’s used for urination. We refer quite specifically to someone being a dick as acting, perceiving, and actually being a certain way. It doesn’t really even have anything to do with sex, per se, although certainly a “dick” is likely to approach sex, like everything else in a selfish, dickish way. He might be prone to “grab women by the pu$$y” or rape them or pay for sex. But that has nothing to do with, e.g., the actual miniscuality of the mushroom in question. True, microsize might be part of the motivation for someone to “become a dick” (since they don’t really have much of one), but it need not go that way. 

The essence of the term refers only to the psychology behind what is being done. What is behind every perception, action, and decision is being an absolute coward. This is basically why the dick-tater seeks absolute power. He or she is too chicken to face a fair contest of any kind. They might lose. That is also why they are prone to pay for sex or sexually assault or molest someone younger. In all cases, they don’t have to face whether or not they will be accepted by their desired partner. It’s too scary for them. They might be rejected. But not if they can be bullied or forced or paid off. The slime invades every aspect of the dick-tater’s life.

No-one really knows exactly what causes people to be extremely (or sightly) sociopathic. It seems correlated with a lack of unconditional love given on the part of the parents. Criminality does tend to run in families but it’s unclear how much of that is due to which sorts of factors. In some ways, maybe it’s a lot like learning any other family business. This family tends to have good cooks. That family tends to have good crooks. In each case, the people in the family learn from each. Within this family there is an innately determined ability to imagine the result of combining tastes, while in that family people seem to have the natural talent to cause great wastes. 

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com

Let’s move on to the “tater” part. When I think of a “tater” I think of “tater tot” and that too seems wildly appropriate. The “tater tot” is very appealing. And, it’s also very bad for you compared with most other foods; it’s high in fat, in calories, and in fast-absorbing carbs. And, typically, it comes with added heart-unhealthy sodium. So, in terms of what it means for a society, few things could be more appropriate metaphors. It looks attractive and yummy but what it really does it tend to kill you while it makes you feel good for a moment. But your kids and grandkids and great-grandkids won’t feel that moment that you’ll relish. All they’ll feel is endless frustration and despair of the situation you put them in. And utter hate.

Can you really blame them? 

The word “tater-tot” also has within in the two words, “tater” and “tot” and again both of these seem appropriate. A “tater” is a slang word for “potato” — a food which is something we can almost all relate to. I can’t think of anyone I know who doesn’t really like potatoes. Some only like French Fries while other prefer a Baked Potato. I like potatoes every way made that I’ve ever had: Baked, Fried, Scalloped, Potato Salad, German Potato Salad, boiled, mashed. The only “problem” with potatoes is that they don’t really solve the hunger problem very permanently. They are high calorie and the energy is quickly absorbed. This means your pancreas secretes insulin to drive your blood sugar level back down. And, since our biochemistry mainly evolved before French Fries, our pancreas thinks we are having a huge meal and sends way more than enough insulin. And, that drops your blood sugar level again.
So fifteen minutes after eating the French Fries with salt & ketchup (Yes, of course, I love them!) You feel wonderful! Yum! But an hour and a half after eating them you may feel hungrier than you did before you started! 

Photo by Robin Stickel on Pexels.com

That seems totally appropriate as a metaphor.

At last, we come to “tot.” It’s almost too easy and obvious, isn’t it? Many of us go through a phase as a toddler where we try this “I am the dictator of the world” and everyone must cater to me.” It doesn’t happen to everyone, but to far more than actually become dicks. It takes time and experience to understand how to be kind to people in all its complexity, but the basics are pretty easy, actually. So, most kids are “nice” to others most of the time. But there are a few who are not. And, then almost everyone has a bad day now and again. Now, personally, I was much more of a dick at age 13 than I was at 7, 8, 9, 10, or 11. Hormones? I don’t know. I just know it was so. Your mileage may differ. But, I think generally speaking, we would agree that dick-titorial behavior is childish behavior. It’s childish to be so self-centered that you care more about your own ego than about the fact that you’re killing women and children who have done nothing to hurt you. Nothing. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, a dick-tater-$hit is a balancing act. Everyone around the dick-tater is afraid of that dick-tater. But at the same time, the dick-tater is scared of everyone around them! This means, among other things, that the dick-tater is always looking for external enemies in order to keep his inner ring from turning their gaze toward him and thinking how much better a job of it they could do. To avoid internal division, the dick-tater is always fomenting discord to outside enemies or to the “undesirables” within their own society. 

Good luck with that one! Because there is absolutely no way anyone can tell with certainty who or what is going to be called a deadly evil in a dictatorship ten years down the line. Just because a dictatorship begins by forbidding gay marriage in year one doesn’t mean they won’t require it next decade. “No, they couldn’t. They wouldn’t.”  Well, don’t be so sure. TFG, would-be tater-tot, was a liberal (gasp!) On many issues such as abortion, before getting into politics. Of course, he needs the support of his fans in order to gain absolute power, but not to keep it. Once the machinery of a dictatorship is well in place, it is very easy to target different groups at different times. If someone thinks they’re safe because the current dick-tater pretends to be a lot like them, they’re simply fooling themselves. First of all, they’re a lot less like the dick-tater than he would have you believe. Second, even if he were your identical twin, he’s out to steal from the people and if he can do that better by throwing you under the bus, he would sacrifice that twin brother. That’s what it means to be a dick-tater: No-one else really matters; you sizzle them with flashy illusion but there’s nothing lasting or substantive; you appeal to the selfish child that lives in everyone. That child was formed before you learned about logic and evidence and facts versus opinions. Why appeal to the rational mind who might (in fact, likely would) see right through your web of lies? Instead, promise them something wonderful and undefined. Whenever you need a bump in popularity, tell them you’ve achieved one of those wonderful things. 

You don’t actually have to achieve anything. You simply have to direct newspapers and social media what to say about your wonderful achievement. Oh, and let’s not forget to jail or poison any journalist who reports on the truth. Eventually, people will begin to catch on despite the dick-tater’s insistence on the web of lies. Eventually, everyone knows the emperor has no clothes. But he simply makes it known that anyone who mentions it will be decapitated which is ironic in that it’s actually the state that needs to be decapitated. 

[Notes: (cont.) ** The suffix “$hit” is appended dick-tater in order to form the word for the type of government. I find the suffix: “ship” leaves me adrift. Maybe running a country is like running a ship? I think the most we can say about “ship” is that it is used to make a collective out of individuals. Partners form a partnership. Towns form a township. But…? Dick-taters make a dick-tater-ship? I guess to some extent that is true. The people closes to the Dick-Tater also have to be pretty cowardly. And so on. The further away you get from the dick-tater, the braver people tend to be. They almost have to because they have far less power. The dick-tater rules because he has power. But what is that power? He doesn’t physically have control over very many.

There are agreements throughout the society that enforce the power. On any given day, everyone could wake up and simply stop enforcing them. After all, they might ask themselves, “Why should the dick-tater be the only one in the country allowed to break his promises? Anyway, I promised I would protect Mother Russia from attack, not that I would attack my neighbors who pose no threat to me.” Those are uncomfortable questions for a dick-tater to answer. So he won’t. To survive in a dick-tater-$hit you need to bribe people. Hence, the dollar sign. Because the rule of law means nothing and the truth means nothing and fair play means nothing and raw power means everything, you and me and everyone we care about will be in something and believe me that thing we will be in is not a ship. 

Destroying the idea of democracy is like trying to chain a cloud, Vlademort. Give it up.

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Siren Song

Poppa Goes the Weasel

All for One & None for Most

The Orange Man

Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

Thrumperdome

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

Essays on America: The Game

Donnie Plays Bull Dazzle Man

Donnie Plays Doctor Man

Donnie Learns Golf

Donnie Plays Soldier Man

Donnie Visits Granny

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Donnie Takes a Blue Ribbon for Spelilng

Donnie Gets his Name on a Tennis Trophy

Donnie Lets his Brother Take the Fall

Donnie Watches a Veterans Day Parade

Ramming Your Head into a Brick Wall does not Make you a Hero

“There is always light if only we are brave enough to be it.” — Amanda Gorman
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