Captain's Log

[sam]

1901190308

It has only been an hour since the great smiley experiment began, and already there is mutiny in the air. I sail into the great unknown. Metaphorically, that is. Actually I've locked myself in the Hotel for the duration. Theo is casting me pitying looks as he guards the door.

[sam]

2036190308



T has handed me a copy of this book to pass the time. I open it to the following passage:

A line (or hyper-plane) circumscribes an area in moral space around an individual. Locke holds that this line is determined by an individual's natural rights, which limit the action of others. Non-Lockeans view other considerations as setting the position and countour of the line. In any case the following question arises: Are others forbidden to perform actions that transgress the boundary or encroach upon the circumscribed area, or are they permitted to perform such actions provided that they compensate the person whose boundary has been crossed? Unravelling this question will occupy us for much of this chapter...

Clearly it's going to be a long night.

[sam]

2348190308

T tells me there is now a poll. "Will people actually give this a try before voting?" I wonder. He shrugs. Then he offers to leave the Hotel and go out amongst the people to practice his mind-melding technique. Practice? I'm not insured for that.

Momentary seriousness approaches. I have to disagree with the majority here. I am afraid I'm an anti-smiley guerilla. I don't feel the need to turn this into some kind of faux approximation of conversation. It's not. Its words. Lots of them. Combined, sometimes gloriously, other times less so, but words they are. And they do what you ask of them.

Emoticons make for laziness. Omit them and you are forced to think about what you write. Jokes should be funny. Tales of woe, tragic. We all have books and stories that make us laugh, cry, care, feel passionate or disgusted or shocked or hopeless or inspired or any other emotion you care to name. Yet, of emoticons, there are none. It's all done with words.

Perhaps it indeed won't work. Maybe I'm old fashioned, forged in the cold, dark, early universe of Usenet, in the days when Top Posters where routinely crucified. But I think Sam's experiment is worthy. Ruin the forum? Nah. I'm here because I enjoy what I read. And it's the words. I'm not here to assimilate your emoticons. Have confidence that the words will do as you ask.

I may have this tattooed somewhere prominent.

[sam]

0759200308

The sun rose this morning, beautifully illuminating the ballroom where only motes of dust now waltz before coming to rest on the cot which T has set up for me. Last night I went to sleep at page 307, Anarchy creased open over my chest.

In our actual world, what corresponds to the model of possible worlds is a wide and diverse range of communities which people can enter if they are admitted, leave if they wish to, shape according to their wishes; a society in which utopian experimentation can be tried, different styles of life can be lived, and alternative visions of the good can be individually or jointly pursued. The details and some of the virtues of such an arrangement, which we shall call the framework, will emerge as we proceed. There are important differences between the model and the model's projection onto the actual world. The problems with the operation of the framework in the actual world stem from the divergencies between our earthbound actual life and the possible-worlds model we have been discussing, raising the question of whether even if the realization of the model itself would be ideal, the realization of its pale projection is the best we can do here...

I've been skipping around though.

The experiment continues, and I wait for those who haven't tried it, not really, to do so before arriving at a judgement. This thing doesn't truly start until they do.

Some discontent was to be expected. A few people announced they are leaving for the duration(!). It seems I have crossed a boundary which they are unprepared to wiggle their toes over. I can only wave my handkerchief as they disappear into the great elsewhere. Apparently my administration over these past three years hasn't translated into enough faith or indulgence to last even a day. The impossible takes a little longer.

There is a grand swell of music. It is not in my head. T has turned on the sound system. I don't know what's playing, as I'm musically illiterate except for the back pages of Dylan and a few other aging hippies. Hey Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

later:
Space is full of black holes

still later:
Singularity