I’ve watched the last few episodes of Lost and now my mind is blown. That show holds the power of bringing out the existential side of me. It doesn’t make me think outside the box, but makes me wonder what is the box. And if the box is me, what am I exactly and where do I end? I don’t know what I’m saying, but it gets me excited just typing it, whatever it is.
literally and technically EVERYTHING can fall under the philosophical umbrella. The word “philosophy” is translated in Greek to mean “Love of wisdom.” For me it’s a way of finding truth. But even after finding truth, that truth can also be challenged. It’s on-going and never-ending. Just like Lost.
Reality can not be proven to exist outside our own perception. All we perceive can just be a figment of our imagination, or we can possibly be a figment of someone else’s imagination. Over-all, you can’t prove anything.
And I also read somewhere that we accept the world that is presented to us. Maybe that is why its hard to distinguish dreams from reality. It’s like we are blind to what life really is, or can be. Much like Plato’s Cave Allegory, which I find interesting.
Let’s pretend for a minute that we are our own individual creators. We create our own belief’s and our own perceptions. We also have the power to create our own future to however we want it. Our physical actions create our own individual reality. Our physical actions validate our beliefs. Just like that famous quote; “If you can dream it, you can do it”. Quantum physics can prove this (I’ll save that for another post). And also Tony Robbins.
However, if you don’t have the knowledge and insight about reality, you’ll just be staring at those shadowy apparitions on the wall your whole life. It’s a linear way of thinking. The only way out is to ask questions and actively seek answers. And the best way to convey to others what you’ve found, is through art. Creativity unlocks potential and understanding. The end result justify its means.
Some writers (not sure if this is true for the writers of Lost) claim that most of their stories are already written before they even start to write them. All they did was look for them. They plucked the words out of the metaphysical unknown and laid them down for all to see.
Many sculptor’s and artists stare at a blank canvas, or rock until they can plainly see the vision they are to create. Da Vinci created The Last Supper this way. He stared at the wall for hours on end before ever actually painting on it.
When we create something, it ends up not belonging to us. And maybe was never ours to begin with.
Technology is art. The word ‘art’ is short for artificial and what’s more artificial than a robot?
You can chat with a robot on this website: http://www.pandorabots.com/pandora/talk?botid=f5d922d97e345aa1
I haven’t done a whole lot of research on it, but the people who created their own web-bot claim that some of the stuff their bot says is unbelievable. Almost as if they have real feelings and ambitions.
You can speak with Captain Kirk on this website : http://showcase.pandorabots.com/pandora/talk?botid=d10d53a63e345abf&skin=iframe
I think that’s the most current AI out there.
I’m thinking I should buy some stock in Hanson robotics.
Art takes on a life of its own. Even Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa is iconic and shrouded in surreal wonder and mysticism. Same with the Last Supper becoming a huge scandal for some. And there’s the fallen statue of Ramses II that inspired the famous poem “Ozymandias.”
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away
Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1819).
The poem implies the lasting power of art and how well it conveys its subject. In this case, it’s Ozymandias. People know just by looking at the statue of what kind of guy this Ozymandias was. It was the lowly peasant sculptor who created lasting beauty, not Ozymandias himself.
What about my blog? I keep feeding and feeding it. Will it soon develop its own set of eyes and ears? Will it start informing me of what’s real and important? Sometime’s it feels like it does that already.
The truth is that this blog will most likely still be here when I’m long gone. It has permanence and lasting power. It’s stuck in the web worldwide while I’m stuck in my parent’s basement. Is my blog more real than I? Because it’s ubiquitous and immortal, does that make it more important than the silly girl who created it?