theparisreview:

I have a nameless wish to go
To some far silent midnight noon
Where lonely streams whisper and flow
And sigh on sands blanched by the moon

William Faulkner’s first published work, from the 1919 New Republic.

My blog’s title obliges me to autoreblog pretty much everything re: Faulkner.

And, every time I see a picture of the man, I think “of course he looked like that.” It’s fascinating to contrast the ubiquity of Hemingway’s image to Faulkner and Fitzgerald; it must tell us something about the reception of their work, though what that “must” is remains pretty ambiguous. 

I’m sure it has to do with the imago Hemingway presented as a model to a whole generation of young men, the form of life which they internalized and took as their model.  Stranger still, the life’s end of the model. Vonnegut once wrote about his suicide as a confusing of life with fiction, as a failure (from a talk, in this book). That conclusion always seemed wrong to me, and I come back to it every now and again. Ultimately, I just think it’s too easy, and that suicide, ‘this strange determination to die’ (#), is more complex and tortuous than such a judgment warrants.

I suppose it’s only appropriate that on the occasion of posting about Faulkner, I actually ended up talking about Hemingway. But, in any case, the blog is named for Faulkner’s novel, and that is no accident.  

Ian Hacking’s critique of the Theory-of-Mind-deficit theory of autism « What Sorts of People

Apropos fiatluxemburg on reverse gestalt psychology.  Made me think…

Our culture almost always envisions AI emerging from an enunciative function, of learning to become self-aware (think, I, Robot or, inversely, Babel-17).

But, what if AI is much more likely to first become … complex, let us say … not based on the level of the symbolic (abstract and abstracted self-conception, language), but on the level of the imaginary (like birds reacting to breast plumage, or dogs reacting to smells or facial recognition), i.e., something automatic and environmental.

Avatars who can recognize anger and run, or happiness and approach. Then, for some crazy reason, like broken machines being used for something, by something, not in their programming, they learn to say “I” …

Ian Hacking’s critique of the Theory-of-Mind-deficit theory of autism « What Sorts of People