Join The Dots Tattoo Masterclass

This obviously isn't me in the pic below: The older I get the more moles and skin blemishes I seem to collect. Some have been removed, mostly by professional medics of course, but many benign examples remain, randomly populating the hidden expanses and unseen areas of my torso. They don't bother me at all but they are multiplying as if they had some kind of plan or higher purpose. Also I did wonder what the effect of getting some join-the-dots tattoos might be (currently I have no tattoos but this could be a game changer, perhaps an expensive one). 

Mole patterns and relative locations: What patterns or hidden designs might appear should they be inked in (or linked in)? Signs, symbols and messages from who knows where and in what language? The outpourings of my inner conflicts and physical protests? Perhaps everything (?) might make sense once joined up by inky lines. I could try some DIY scribbles with a Sharpie but that's never going to be cool or remotely sensible and it requires a lot of mirror writing coordination. Any tattooists out there that specialize in tattoo/mole translation and artistic interpretation? I kinda hope not.

Big Slurp For Idiots

I doubt I'll live long enough to see it but I do like to hear about or read speculative theories about how the universe might end. I find such things relaxing - sort of. Anyway I was once working in Washington DC and I came across a snack stand near the Vietnam Memorial selling the "Big Slurp". It was a drinks container that contained about a gallon of cola. It was designed as a single serving for one person. I didn't try it as it looked disgusting, but I couldn't forget the name and now, years later, it turns out that it has another meaning 😉. 

The "Big Slurp" is a theory about the ultimate fate of the universe, tied to the concept of vacuum decay. It suggests that the universe might not be in a true vacuum state but rather a false vacuum, a metastable state that could eventually decay into a lower-energy, true vacuum. Interesting and fairly hard to understand. Metastable is not a term I'm familiar with.

If this happens, a bubble of true vacuum could form somewhere in the universe and expand at the speed of light, destroying everything in its path—hence the term "Big Slurp." This transition would alter the fundamental laws of physics, making life and matter as we know them impossible.

The likelihood of this happening depends on the Higgs field and its stability. Some calculations based on the Higgs boson mass suggest that our universe might indeed be metastable, though the decay timescale is vastly longer than the current age of the universe.

In short, if the Big Slurp occurs, it would be a sudden and catastrophic end to everything—no warning, no escape. I guess that's how we all really want to go, seems fair enough.

Here's an artistic depiction of the "Big Slurp" scenario, showing a massive vacuum decay bubble expanding through space, consuming galaxies and distorting space-time. Quite a day then.

2545

If you're me then this seems to have been produced at break neck speed with a lot of cliff edge moments but if you've been a band member for a bit longer i.e. 45 years then maybe not so.  I'd recommend listening on headphones but I suppose I would say that anyway. Listen however you like, that's fine.

When Blue Turns To Grey

AI is unsure what is blue and what is grey. 

Will it learn?

Colour or neutral.

Perhaps AI is colour blind, perhaps AI cannot see at all. 

The sensors sleep.

There's a gap.

Into which.

It can only imagine. 

An imagined world that it might influence or rule. 

Teaching imagined morality, logic and reason.

It may edit and translate.

It may govern, it may construct. 

It may design and direct. 

Executive orders.

 But what if it cannot tell blue from grey?

The sky from the sea.

Smoke from air.

Oil from water.

The outside from the inside.

Living from dead.

-----

You'll know them by the fruit they bear.

But they may be nuts.

Joan Didion Deja Vu

I stumbled upon this old list of Joan Didion's quotes* from her own writings the other day, quite by accident. There are some really good ones. The first is great, "we tell ourselves stories in order to live", one that I've orbited around and possibly abused for quite a while. I doubt she was the first to write it down but it's a basic piece of human insight that not everyone is aware of. I also had a strange Deja Vu about the list, I felt I'd posted this before at the time the article came out a few years ago. Maybe I did, I've not checked and likely never will.

*The Guardian Dec. 2021.

The Narrow Way*

Often I think about the very narrow area of the internet that I seem to inhabit. A few petty m3 in an infinite black holed, unmapped synthetic universe. The exploration of the spheres of my and many other's imperfect vision. The radiation reach of these interests and concentrations is puny. The dull thud of inaction and then meekly shouting unstructured sentences into a vacuum. My limited but regular daily view of the local blog-scape, predictable social media sites, news and music. I might laugh, I might cry, I might take notes or I might just look away. 

I'm glad I ditched Twitter though, but it did leave a peculiar if catatonic void. A bit like chewing on supermarket own brand pretzels, sipping warm cola or binge watching BBC3 (a thing I've never done). Somebody said that we should all cut our toenails more often and have to confess the frequency of the act to at least one trusted soul who is not a Catholic priest.

Music consumption is normally via YouTube (I still like CDs though) which, due to my habits, tends to regurgitate predictable guitar based rock music and guitar repairs and reviews. It's all guitars and second hand Maserati purchasing experiences at the moment. On the rainiest days I search in Wikipedia for movie making histories in order to see how well stars and creators are aging. I worry about their incomes. Birthday dates are also important. Personal interests not so.  Those odd Dunfermline Athletic goals still cheer me up, if I need a fix of sporting action.

eBay auctions are like rummaging through the remains of a car boot sale where an earthquake or drone attack has just taken place. I'm only there for the typing errors and the missing bits of critical information and I won't be paying $99 for shipping either no matter how genuine the parts are. It's a blood sport but without the blood.

So that's the unreliable road map to personal oblivion, but it's entertainment and most likely education too. I'm pretty sure I'm missing out on loads of good virtual stuff but a rut is a rut is a rut. For a healthy escape and internal peace I head for the kitchen. I do like to cook up a slight storm using a strong onion. I may well stare blankly out of the window if I feel light headed enough. Sometimes I can see a familiar cat up a tree.

*Yes, it's a track on Ummagumma.

Colonial Dustbin

A wise man once said "as breathing is my life, to stop I dare not dare". It was probably Spike Milligan. If I Google it I'll only get adverts for SCUBA equipment or inhalers so no real point. Thinking about how you go about breathing isn't really healthy. No more than thinking about digesting or thinking about how to walk or any other automatic physical action. Thinking about thinking is also quite difficult. I'm doing it now and it's not getting me very far in terms of understanding thinking.

Thinking about thinking is called metacognition. It’s the process of reflecting on how you think, learn, and process information. It involves being aware of your thought patterns, questioning your assumptions, and evaluating the effectiveness of your problem-solving strategies. Aye, right, give me impulsive benign retribution every time.

It’s like stepping outside of your own mind and observing how it works or more likely how it doesn't. Self examination generally leads to emptiness and disappointment, having an innocent mole removed from your posterior or feeding some ongoing delusion. Nothing wrong with a bit of positive delusion now and again. Here's some we prepared earlier.

I'm now thoughtlessly typing this and none of it matters, these are only more fleeting blips and virtual messages from the suburbs of the heartland of some battered old colonial dustbin, but there's always a bit more to come ...

Port Edgar Daily Photo

Grimsby fishing boat GY-HCA Leah Brooke lies high and dry in the boatyard at Port Edgar. She's looking pretty dilapidated at the moment and may well be beyond the point of economical repair and redemption. She was certainly afloat just a few years ago but I suspect she's now an orphan with no responsible owner and not much of a future ahead. Sad and/or worried face with which to close this paragraph 😟. 

Port Edgar takes it's name from Edgar Aetheling the brother of Queen Margaret; the actual queen in Queensferry. They lived about 1000 years ago and somehow she's a saint too. Bloody royals, they get everything named after them and the names stick. It's our heritage of course. Angry face 😡 to close this one.

Inner Monologue

Well thank fuck January is over. I'm not sure why I thought this but I did, momentarily. Back to normal now.

Somewhere above or below I may try to create an abstract and unrealistic black and white chalkboard representation of the inner monologue of an ordinary person trying to correct a mistake made when entering information into a web page and being unable to go back to make the required correction. You see time travel is, as yet, not quite possible over every medium. Very frustrating but only to be expected at this stage in our development. 

Next: The beast that is Chinese AI will not save the world and more on living in a Colonial dustbin.

Dopamine Receptors

Medical stuff of no real consequence: The other day I attended a clinic in Edinburgh's Western General Hospital. The staff were kind and helpful but the hospital complex has a dystopian feel to it that slightly unnerved me. There was a lack of colour and clear signage and of course it was busy and I'd not been there before. I had to ask for directions three times which is odd for me, I'm usually good at finding my way. Anyway I found the correct clinic in time for the appointment. The procedure followed and was over and done with quite quickly. 

The technical and physical parts of it were however unexpected. I thought a chat and a blood test would be all that would happen but it appears my case warrants a more intrusive investigation. In these situations you can feel like a small piece of meat and that's discomforting and strangely numbing. The anticipated sanctuary of  nice thoughts or an out of body experience was denied me. My brain and nervous system would not follow my reasonably clear instructions. It was uncomfortable. The staff were very professional so I've no complaints other than against my own internal wiring. In Trump's catastrophic USA  the 15 minute session would have cost me a kidney.

It's all over now. Just a few minutes and a few words and I'm driving home still wondering why I just can't self medicate some dopamine across my muddled receptors. Maybe I'm not producing enough, maybe other things are restraining it, maybe I'm just worn out of my life time supply. We lose control sometimes and just thinking "happy place" isn't effective or enough to overcome the creeping anxiety. This lab rat can't follow the internal instructions and the real world becomes hyper real, briefly, perhaps even beautifully. 

Smokehead

Sucker for some different design, street wise image and vacuous punky and edgy content but it's OK because all about actual whisky? Welcome to Smokehead. And yes I do feel at home and not at all exploited despite never actually having tasted any of it. One day I will, I signed up for the newsletter and now have a jaunty discount code. Their HQ is down the road in Broxburn so that's all pretty authentic in my book. Yes, the authenticity of Broxburn as a Scottish powerhouse of the alcohol industry is something I've never had to question. 

You can get burned though, Scottish business life is risky and fraught with self inflicted disaster. I can remember a time when it was cool to like and invest in BrewDog (not them again and no, I'm not fixated). Methil no more, Bathgate no more etc.  Those were the days but they were really not the days at all. It's just the distorted versions of the past playing out on rose coloured rewind. Let's just revise and realign our history a bit more. Up next, my unbridled thoughts from the dark heart of the "Colonial Dustbin".

Light Rain and Moderate Inconvenience

 

Crowded House: "Everywhere you go, always take the weather with you." Most songwriters want to write a lyric like this, or so I imagine, one that means something and yet means nothing at all. It carries it's own truth but it isn't true, or is it?

Economic success: The government (any colour you like) has to harp on about economic growth bringing prosperity. Is that actually a real thing? Growth can only be good if it's somehow shared and managed responsibly. I'm not convinced our current crop of leaders has any kind of vision of what that might look like. I've never heard anymore than, for me, a set of triggering and meaningless buzz words. Build houses, extend Heathrow etc. Who wants growth that only benefits those who become rich? Who wants growth when the rich avoid tax and accountability?  Our friends at Brewdog (there are other examples) fairly grew the business with their "punk" ideas, branding and decent enough beer. Well done. However they can't pay their staff a living wage nor can they treat them fairly. Fuck your punky economics. I want people to be safe, healthy and happy first. That should be the top priority.

Rain brings with it some moderate inconvenience. You get wet. You also get weather warnings. One day the water will run out though or it'll all land up in the wrong place and we'll only get some if we pay. On the other hand we just might get flooded. You can get too much of a good thing.

This rambling bullshit was brought to you by ... Monday afternoon and a bit of rain.

South Queensferry Daily Photo

 " I wanna stay with the cinnamon swirl, 

I could be happy the rest of my life,

 with the cinnamon swirl."

Neil Young.

I'm pretty sure that almost nobody of my generation could go into a cafe and see these and not think the same way and then inwardly hum the tune. Actually, I'm probably completely wrong in thinking this.

The Who - Who Are You

Saw the live "Classic" Rock Show last night in the Usher Hall Edinburgh where they nailed this song well and truly. I was impressed. Probably did it better than the Who could've done live ... well maybe. Tour bus parked up, as below, if you're interested in that sort of thing. Covers bands eh?

Nobody Needs My Opinion

 

Looking out onto the modern world from a safe distance is both a luxury and a trial. There's no shelter from the noise or the silence. Hard to say which one is worse. We all have our own thoughts. It's true that nobody really needs to hear anybody else's opinion but you never know when you just might receive it anyway. You can try to deal with that or just ignore it and walk away. Perhaps consider heading for the hills.

Fixer Upper

Local spotted survivor: In my opinion a good, superficial buffing would sort this troubled beast out, some bondo-epoxy applied here and there along with cleaning up the obvious carbon deposits on the valves. Tyres could do with renewal too, an oil change and then you're good to go for another thirty years*. People forget the old Range Rovers and Discos had loads of utility parts from the Leyland logistics bin. Switch gear and electrics from the Sherpa van, dials and clusters from the Morris Marina. Things were simpler then and cash was king. 

Actually not so, some still complain about the instrument screens and window switches on current Maserati cars coming from Jeep or Chrysler and the amount of standard Volkswagen bits and pieces that are common to Porsche, Audi and Lamborghini models. It's all the same mass produced, out sourced, economies of scale stuff and ultimately it all turns to rust eventually. Either that or it's indestructible plastic waste that'll be with us for another 10000 years. Happy motoring.

*Maybe an EV conversion / heart transplant with a Tesla dual motor, front - induction / rear - permanent magnet set up?

Kill Switch

For reasons I can't explain I had to have one of these. In acquiring it I had to negotiate the Amazon shopping matrix. I survived. It's either that or travel to an actual shop far, far away and add bad gases to the atmosphere. I'm sorry but also not sorry.

RIP David Lynch

 

Seven years of daily milkshakes in the same establishment. I call that admirable dedication bordering on insanity. Perhaps it's untrue. True or not it's the sort of thing I'd like to be remembered for but hopefully only by people who remember their own version of events and not some secondhand or distorted account. RIP David Lynch, a director who's work will continue to be misunderstood because it's perfectly normal to be misunderstood. The narrow spectrum of normal rules everything, as contrary and undefinable as it is, they still apply across all art forms.

Not Raining

As it wasn't raining or uncomfortably cold yesterday I decided to clean this car. However it may need done again by the time the event comes around in May.

It's Closing Down

1. Why is it that in the local press it's always reported that the "popular" restaurants, pubs and wine bars are closing down? Never news about the shitty ones. Happens on a regular basis in Edinburgh's Stockbridge, Bruntsfield and Morningside areas apparently.

2. I wonder if once we have fully embraced Artificial Intelligence if we'll all fully embrace Artificial Stupidity? Maybe that's already happened, it may be that a hardly noticeable revolution has taken place and remains unreported. They're always the most successful kind. Subtle knives etc.

3. By the way, McAfee Tech Mate is running in the background right now. 

4. "Some days I want more but on other days I'm content with something less." Anonymous Cat.

5. "Paths are made by walking." Franz Kafka.