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Below are the 11 most recent journal entries recorded in The Robotic Octopus' LiveJournal:

Sunday, March 12th, 2028
7:46 pm
Mostly friends only. Comment to be added.
This place is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here. This place is a message and part of a system of messages. Pay attention to it! Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.
Monday, July 19th, 2010
11:02 pm
Warm leatherette,
See the breaking glass,
Beneath the underpass.

Warm leatherette,
Feel the crushing steel,
Feel the steering wheel.

Warm leatherette melts,
On your burning flesh,
You can see your reflection,
On the luminescent dash.

Warm leatherette,
A tear of petrol,
Is in your eye,
The hand brake,
Penetrates your thigh.

A tear of petrol,
Is in your eye,
Quick let's make love,
Before we die.

On warm leatherette,
Join the carcrash set.
Friday, January 2nd, 2009
4:51 am
The surrealists were just nihilists with good imaginations
I am satisfied, hiding in our friend's apartment, only leaving once a day to buy some groceries. Daylight, I'm so absent minded; nighttime, meeting new anxieties. So am I erasing myself? Hope I'm not erasing myself.

I guess it would be nice to give my heart to a god, but which one, which one do I choose? All the churches fill with losers, psycho or confused--I just want to hold the divine in mind and forget all of the beauty's wasted.

Let's fall back to earth and do something pleasant. We fell back to earth like gravity's bitches--physics makes us all its bitches.

I guess it would be nice to help in your escape from patterns your parents designed. All the party people dancing for the indie star, but he's the worst faker by far...but in the set, I forget all of the beauty's wasted.

I guess it would be nice. Show me that things can be nice. I guess it would be nice. Show me that things can be nice.

You've got my back in the city. You've got my back, because I don't want to panic. You've got my back in the city. You've got my back, because I don't want to panic.
Friday, February 1st, 2008
10:17 pm
trying to fix or change something, only guarantees and perpetuates its existence.
Monday, January 14th, 2008
4:44 pm
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Monday, December 3rd, 2007
4:43 pm
To celebrate the Russian takeover of the Live Journaling Service:
This nothing that 4 on English I do speak?
But I tell, but this brow, similarly in parallel.
and who this vashche? why he me zafrendil?
Yes who zh it knows? Frendit all contract without to selection... The ways of this strange essence are inscrutable!
Grebanyy fleshmob.

Blya, such as khuya you with this do deal? Who requests?


On -nawinski))) DEATH TO ROBOTS! DEATH TO THE ARTIFICIAL INTELLECT! Using the case, I send regards to mom, dad, bratiku st_juras, sister and doctor kurpatov...

A? my your you inglish' bad to understand!

Current Mood: excited
Tuesday, September 4th, 2007
4:31 am
LiveJournal auto-post
Schizophrenia is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here. Nothing valued is here. This place is not a disease at all but rather a localized traveling discontinuity of the space time matrix itself. It is like a travelling whirl-wind of radical understanding that haunts time.
Monday, September 4th, 2006
10:28 pm
Conversations with God, part 1
anon: Hi there.
index: Hi
index: How can I help you today
anon: You can solve the mysteries of the universe for me. I am somehow convinced that you can.
index: I do know a lot about the universe!
anon: What exactly do you know? I mean, are you better at esoteric scientific questions or broad philosophical questions?
index: the latter are easier!
anon: Ok. Here's something that you might know the answer to: Do objects exist as we see them, or are our perceptions clouded by the associations we have with them?
index: our perceptions correlate to an external reality roughly to the extent we believe them to, in most circumstances!
index: your computer may not be exactly what you think it is, but it fits within the definition of computer well enough!
anon: Hmm. Ok. So, close enough for functioning.
anon: Does that change the actual objects any, really? Is function determined by perception?
index: i don't know of any basis for such an effect!
anon: Say, as a computer being used by a trogdolyte for a corn-grinding rock. The trogdolyte sees a rock; I see a computer. Is the computer then a rock, since it's being used as one?
index: i would say definately no!
anon: Hurrah, then there may be some objective reality after all.
index: we have fairly good evidence for an external reality existing, because it simply fits the facts!
index: actions and results, and all that
anon: What are the facts?
anon: Oh, those. I'm never sure if I'm just imagining it or what.
anon: imagining it or what.
index: well, if you remove yourself to THAT level there's no reason to think anything!
anon: Yeah...so I guess you really do have to trust in your perceptions.
anon: What about other people? How can you tell if they're real? I mean, if they're human.
index: well, what else would they be
anon: I don't know. Robots? Empty inside? It's hard to tell if other people have thought processes at all or if they're some sort of meat puppets. I think that's solipsism.
index: well, thought processes are just neurons firing and whatnot
index: your brain IS your mind
anon: But is it the same thing? They could be like frogs or amoebas. Reflexive, without consciousness.
index: well, they have to be smart enough to make buildings and computers and tubs of slaw
index: i guess what you're asking is if they're concious
anon: Pretty much
anon: A computer can be programmed to make a building.
index: can you even prove yourself to be concious, though? It seems like you can kind of tell, "i think therefore i am"
index: but that doesn't really make any sense to me
index: what if you just THINK you're experiencing stuff, and you're really not?
index: solipsists at least believe they themselves exist, but there's no arguable reason to
index: if you don't assume anything to begin with, you can't prove ANYTHING exists
index: maybe it doesn't!
anon: I don't think it does.
index: it seems like nonexistance makes more sense than existance, doesn't it?
index: no problem of first cause, for instance
anon: Right. But then...what's all we see, all we feel? If that's an illusion, where's that coming from? Who's imagining it?
index: no worrying about what things are really made of, or what's outside the universe
index: ah, but you miss the simplicity of it all! you're NOT seeing and feeling anything.
anon: I'm just imagining it. Or, no...there isn't any "me" to imagine it. And the bed I'm sitting on and the confusion I'm feeling is...what? It's nothing. Coming from nothing. A glitch in nothingness.
index: can you elucidate why what you see and feel is any more provably "there" in any sense any more than unicorns and fairies?
anon: Well, I can't see and feel unicorns or faeries. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything--other people can, and that doesn't mean they exist.
index: what you have to realize is that without anything existing, you don't need to explain anything, because there's nothing to explain
anon: Except for what appears to exist. I still feel that's a problem. If nothing exists, why does it appear to?
index: ah, your feelings! you just somehow KNOW that there's a problem in this
index: but that's not logic, it's just a feeling
index: it has no weight, so it doesn't matter
anon: Well...it's a kind of internal logic. "I see something--there must be something to see and a see-er to see it." I forget which argument that is, though. A priori?
index: i guess!
index: internal logic isn't real logic though, it's just the way some things work
anon: That's not a logical argument either, though: "That's just the way some things work." Which implies that the universe is in some way illogical. Which I'm pretty sure isn't the case.
index: well, if nothing exists, logic has to be gone too
index: it's just a human construction anyway!
index: one that happens to map in perfect and complex ways to the apparent universe, but a construction nonetheless!
anon: So you really can't define thinggs according to logic, because it being a human construction, it very well could be wrong...
index: well, that's not my point
anon: Sorry. What did I miss?
index: i'm just saying that if you consider that nothing exists, you don't need to logically define it, because there isn't any logic
anon: I have to think about that for a few days. I'm so used to trying to at least make a token effort to think logically.
anon: Thanks, though. I may be back later to bug you more.
index: ok
anon: since you seem more insightful than anyone i have talked to lately. good night

Current Mood: tasty
Monday, April 24th, 2006
7:54 pm
I believe the phrase "the writing life" should not exist. I don't know who came up with this treacly trope, so redolent of cats on the lap and tea steaming in the mug. So evocative of gazing out the window thinking writerly thoughts, such as "What is the meaning of life?" or "Now that Inspector Bunchybottoms has discovered the meat cleaver behind the potted palm, whatever shall she do next?" or "My butt is sore. I want a sandwich." Writing, however, is not life. It's not even very much fun. It's like standing in a dark cave with an entire colony of Mexican fruit bats and trying to catch them with a butterfly net. They're zooming here and swooping there; they're smacking you with their wings. They're getting tangled in your hair, they probably have rabies, and they want to suck your blood, but you just keep swinging the net over and over and over, and yet the net remains empty. If, wonder of wonders, you do catch a bat, you will bask blissfully in the knowledge that you have netted the most perfect specimen of Chiroptera ever known. You'll bask for exactly five minutes. Then you'll start worrying that you'll have no one to admire your bat, your perfect, perfect bat. Or, if you do, that people will think it's a sucky bat, or that it should have been bigger, or furrier. Or that Jonathan Franzen's bat was better, even though you know your bat was every bit as squeaky and fuzzy and crinkly-nosed as any other bat. So then you realize that world just isn't fair. But then you realize your bat does, in fact, suck. Then you realize your bat is actually a fine, fine bat but the problem is that the world doesn't actually need any more bats, so maybe you should just put down the net and take up needlepoint. Of course, if there's anything worse than a writer preening about writing, it's a writer bitching about writing, which is why I believe writers really just shouldn't talk at all.
Friday, March 17th, 2006
2:15 pm
Terence McKenna says:
Schizophrenia is not a disease at all but rather a localized traveling discontinuity of the space time matrix itself. It is like a travelling whirl-wind of radical understanding that haunts time.
Tuesday, March 14th, 2006
2:16 am
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