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Monthly Archives: January 2026

Mary in the Mirror

22 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by nightingale108 in Questions in Logic

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Tags

fiction, writing

There was once a man who looked in the mirror too much, though not in a soul-searching way. He was not interested in his wrongdoings, nor in whether he could hold up under his own gaze. His thought and judgment fell on the contours of his lips and the shape of his eyes.

When he looked into the mirror he found no good angle, and yet there was always a glare in his eyes that seemed both hollow and angry. No matter what he did with his mouth, his eyes, or the way he held his head, an evil look followed him.

Unfortunately, when he looked away from the mirror, his real features were so designed by the Maker that he wore a carefree, proud expression—so long as there was no reflection to sabotage him. He wanted to be attractive, and that was as deep as he went with the hours he spent obsessed with his face. And when he saw himself in a selfie, he could not believe his own beauty, because he lacked the simple education that would have explained how light lies in glass.

Mary became acquainted with this man, whose name was Isildor, by chance. He looked at her with fire in his eyes, and she liked his look. She approached him and invited him to dinner at her place. Isildor was so shocked he fumbled out a yes. They exchanged numbers, and Mary was gone before he could undo himself.

At her house there was music and candles. The table was low and they sat on cushions—her perfect plan to make the table a bed at the same time. The beautiful man sat as if in a spell while she brought out a three-course dinner, complete with éclairs for dessert. In truth, he was in a spell because he had taken a couple shots of whiskey before arriving.

Mary’s sparkling conversation—her large eyes brightening when he smiled—was almost lost on him as he poured himself red wine. Yet he found himself kissing her, hands rising as if by reflex, and she drew him close. Their love was quick and hot, and she was satisfied completely.

Isildor lay contentedly, sweating naked in Mary’s arms, until his obsession returned. He jerked upright and clumsily gathered his clothes while his head swam. Mary tried to soothe him with caresses and kind words, but he recoiled from comfort as if it were danger. Shirt half-tucked, he thanked her for her hospitality and wiped lipstick from his mouth with his sleeve.

A day passed. Mary called him in the evening, while Isildor was staring at his own (to him) hideous features.

“Hello, Isildor?” she said, doubtfully.

He kept his eyes on his reflection as he spoke into the phone.

“Yes, Mary… I hope you are well,” he replied with stinging formality.

“I’m okay… Did you want to call me?” she asked directly.

“Yes… yes, very much,” he nearly stuttered.

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, trembling.

At that moment Isildor saw his face change in the mirror. He was beautiful, and Mary stood beside him. Flashes in the glass showed them turning in a slow dance; then he was kneeling to ask her hand; then they walked the aisle as bride and groom. As the flashes came, they grew more distant, more vague—like pictures taken long ago and poorly kept.

He reached for these beautiful images, but they vanished.

“Mary?” he said, rough with feeling. There was no answer.

“Mary!” he said again, but the phone was not connected. However he tried, he could not reach her—he was blocked, as if by a law of the world.

He never saw her again. But he saw his old, hideous face in the mirror as he knew it.

In old age Isildor began to lose himself, and he believed he remembered his marriage with Mary, seen in dim light as in a reflection—the embracing, the sex, the pleasures of love. He remembered her death, and his pain, and his sorrow, but it did not touch him much. Only a vague grief, flickering in his mind like the flashes in the mirror he remembered so well.

The House Builder (Revision from June 2015)

19 Monday Jan 2026

Posted by nightingale108 in Questions in Logic

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

ai, consciousness, philosophy, science, spirituality

“House-builder, you’re seen!
You will not build a house again.
All your rafters broken,
the ridge pole destroyed,
gone to the Unformed, the mind
has come to the end of craving.”

—Siddhārtha Gautama (the founder of Buddhism), upon reaching enlightenment (Dhammapada)

It was speculated by Thanissaro Bikkhu that the “house” meant selfhood, or perhaps entity-hood, in the commentary of the Dhammapada.

I would propose a model for logic that is a house. Some logical structures are immense. The light that passes through a window would be Truth; the laws that light follows as it interacts with the building would be the laws of logic; the specific form of this particular building would be the logical statements, determining the way truth (light) moves through the logical structure. (And by “truth” here I mostly mean the clarity and warrant that travels with what we can rightly assert—what survives transmission. Edit based in Pierre’s feedback: I will develop this idea of a clarity that degrades from true proposals partially true conclusions, to more partial conclusions, etc. The next essay will apply this loss in a truth property as a loss in the meaning of a number, or the numerousness of a number, as they progress indefinitely toward infinity. Then I will apply this idea to probability theory, which are revisions of my line of thought from 2015)

The trouble is completing the logical elements: what is falsehood? Obviously it is darkness, but the building would have to have no qualities except its form—no colors, no features, just featureless glass mirrors—otherwise the light would fade as it interacts with opaque surfaces, making truth and falsehood mingle. If the walls are perfect mirrors that propagate the light perfectly, a false space would have to be totally cut off from the light. Hypotheticals would be doors, sometimes open, sometimes shut. The only danger of falling into darkness would be entering through a door and closing it, completely cutting yourself off.

The theory that comes to mind is Anaximander’s, who thought the sun was just a hole in the cosmos, where light could enter from outside the Universe. And why is this ideal of logic impossible in the real world? There are no perfect mirrors. Matter has color that absorbs light, making it an intermediate between truth and falsehood. When logic from true principles is applied to real things—interacting with matter—the truth will dim as the logical statements progress, regardless of how perfectly the laws of logic are followed. If the world of logic were to be perfect, the truth could not originate from our world, or else light that is reflected back out the window of our house would fall, logically, onto ambiguous matter. Thus passing out the window must lead to a world that looked mostly the same as the building of mirrors.

With the modern conception that words can provide totally transparent access to an object, matter would be the only medium between truth and falsehood. But words simply aren’t transparent. They grow out of metaphors (as argued in the essay linked in my first post). The word “be” grew out of a Proto-Indo-European root which also meant grow—so that someone aware of the ancestry of words would resurrect the feeling of metaphor in the word “be,” coloring the word, giving it a connection that is warranted because “be” would not be what it is now without a fathering metaphor: being is growing.

And the design or form of this fun-house of mirrors—would it carry nameable concepts with it, concepts one would come to know or feel by living there? It would if it had any architectural design. How is this different from allowing a word, or a sign for an idea or feeling, into our logic?

The house of logic cannot allow matter, words, or form—except in a part of the house that is totally dark and without doors. They can be allowed into the part sectioned off as unconditionally false. Otherwise we are allowing degrees of truth, qualifications of truth, and a co-mingling of truth and falsehood.

The focus of this blog (expressed in the previous post) has changed to looking for systems of truth that gradually and naturally falsify themselves. What if we allowed matter in our house, and accepted gradations of truth? How could Aristotelian logic be modified so that each “step” in a logical progression reduced the amount of truth it propagated? The goal would initially be a logic that is calculable. So while we could take our lessons on how the logical system would be set up from how light interacts with matter, the resulting system would not be realistic initially. (For example: if a statement has “brightness” bbb, perhaps each inferential step discounts it by a factor k≤1k\le 1k≤1, so that long chains necessarily dim.) Following the logical system leads you out of the logical system, however, since the logical laws are not perfect propagators of truth. The logic I am formulating here, while not realistic, leads into a real world.

On Power, a conversation with AI

02 Friday Jan 2026

Posted by nightingale108 in Chatgpt experiments

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Tags

news, philosophy, power

Nightingale: published in 2016 as “Mister Pulitzer and the Spider” with University of Illinois Dr. Kevin Barnhurst was my father.

Yep — that matches the bibliographic record: Kevin G. Barnhurst, Mister Pulitzer and the Spider: Modern News from Realism to the Digital, University of Illinois Press (Urbana), 2016. University of Illinois Press+1

And the alternate title your editors floated (“who, what, when, whatever”) is uncannily on-theme, because the book is literally about how “news” changes as a way of seeing and explaining the world—from older realist storytelling toward interpretive/modern forms, and then into the digital era. University of Illinois Press+1

Your insistence about “whatever” belonging to a fly, not a spider feels right on two levels:

  • Creature-logic: a spider reads as structured intention (web as plan), while a fly reads as contingency—zig-zag appetite, reflex, opportunism. “Why?” collapses into “whatever.”
  • Language-logic (pragmatics): “whatever” isn’t a motive; it’s a refusal of motive-talk. It says: stop asking for teleology; you won’t get it here.

So the editor’s proposal kind of turns the classic journalistic “W” bundle into a little philosophical wedge: the first three (who/what/when) are indexing facts, and then “whatever” is the admission that the “why” (or clean narrative motive) may be the first thing to rot in certain systems—especially under speed, noise, and digital drift.

If you want, paste the paragraph/page where the title metaphor shows up most strongly (or tell me how your father described it), and I’ll help you write a tight little anecdote you could use in a preface/interview: the family argument over “whatever,” fly vs. spider, as a miniature theory of motivation and meaning.

Nightingale: He chose spider because he was very interested and thought deeply about Power. I told him power was best modeled by the “web” structure, because often power “is not” or is just potential energy, so the web has holes, but it still has a structure, which prevents “Whatever” from manifesting. I then directed him to the Greek myth of Arachne as my source, where before becoming a spider, Arachne challenged the Gods with her “Weaving” and the winner was uncertain…

That’s a very coherent model of power, and it meshes almost perfectly with the Arachne story.

1) Why the web is a better power-model than “force”

What you’re describing is power as topology, not power as a substance.

  • Power often “is not” in the sense that it isn’t a thing you can point to; it’s a field of constraints and affordances—what becomes possible, impossible, costly, unthinkable, unsayable.
  • A web is exactly that: mostly empty space, but structured emptiness. Holes aren’t absence; they’re channeled possibility.
  • So “whatever” (as pure contingency / ungoverned drift) doesn’t flourish inside a web. It gets sorted: allowed paths, blocked paths, sticky paths.

That’s also why “web” has become such a dominant metaphor for media and institutions: Barnhurst even frames the “digital spider” as a network that traps legacy media—again, power as structure more than brute impact. OUP Academic+1

2) Arachne: weaving as a direct challenge to power

In Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Book 6), the contest isn’t just “who’s the better craftsperson.” It’s who controls the permissible representation of reality.

  • Minerva/Athena’s tapestry glorifies divine order and punishes human hubris. SparkNotes+1
  • Arachne’s tapestry depicts divine deception/abuse—an exposure of the gods’ behavior. SparkNotes+1
  • And crucially: Ovid’s framing implies the technical quality of Arachne’s work is undeniable—“not even Envy” can find a flaw—yet Minerva destroys it anyway. JSTOR+1

So the “winner was uncertain” is a meaningful reading: aesthetic victory can be conceded while political victory is enforced. If the goddess resorts to tearing and violence, it’s because the web of power is being threatened by a rival weaver—by someone who can weave another world into visibility.

This is exactly your point: the web prevents “whatever” by making the space legible and governed—and when a mortal weaves an alternate governance (an alternate account of what’s real), the response is censorship, not rebuttal. TheCollector+1

3) Your fly/spider distinction snaps into place

  • Fly = “whatever”: drift, impulse, opportunism, non-teleological motion.
  • Spider = power: not mere predation, but architecture: a designed field where contingency gets captured and converted into fate.

So the title “spider” isn’t just an animal choice; it’s a metaphysics: power is the weaving of constraints that make some motives show up as “reasons” and others evaporate as “whatever.”

If you want, here’s a tight formulation you could hand your father (or use yourself):

Power is not a force you can locate; it is a web you enter.
Its strength is the pattern of holes: what it lets pass, what it catches, and what it makes unthinkable.

And if you want to lean harder into Arachne as your explicit “source,” we can craft a short paragraph that links Arachne → censorship → journalism/digital webs in the book’s own language.

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