Forgotten Something?

You know that feeling you get when something doesn’t ring true? I’ve been getting this a lot lately and I’m almost embarrassed to mention it in case I be carted off to the loonie bin.

There are certain indisputable facts on which all can agree. Such as modern Humans, people just like us, having existed well in excess 200,000 years, closer to 300 with more recent discoveries. We also know from the evidence available that the last ice age ended about 12000 years ago, abruptly, and with catastrophic sea level rise.

History doesn’t have much to say about the ice age because there are no written records of it, but stories of massive destructive floods have been passed down through oral tradition, but because no one thought to write it down at the time they can be easily dismissed as myth, campfire stories invented to entertain the tribefolk in the long winter months or something.

So the story goes, that modern humans, homo sapiens, appeared on earth about 300,000 years ago, give or take, and lived a hunter gatherer lifestyle for about 294,000 years, give or take, until about 6000 years ago, when there was a spark of creative genius and they invented religion, agriculture, writing, and architecture, practically over night. At this time they built massive structures, way beyond our capability to explain, nevermind replicate, all over the world, and then forgot how to do it.

These people were very clever but they had not yet fully understood the importance of documenting all of their developments.

So we know that writing was invented 6000 years ago because that’s how old the oldest discovered writing is. People wrote on stone tablets because they had not yet invented paper, which is lucky because stone tablets have a greater longevity than parchment.

But this is where I struggle. The pyramids are an iconic mystery but their origin doesn’t seem to be up for debate even though the evidence is tenuous at best. There is a bit of graffiti inside the great pyramid that bears the name Khufu, and that is the only tangible thing that can be used, without it, there is no connection to the Ancient Egyptians apart from them being present in ancient Egypt.

The Pyramids are one thing, but the Sphinx was also supposed to be built around the same time, even though it’s clearly weathered by thousands of years of precipitation. I live in North West England, I know what water erosion looks like.

The general insinuation when you don’t readily believe that a statue carved out of solid rock in a desert can show signs of extensive water erosion is that you must be some kind of deviant.

“Well if the ancient Egyptians didn’t build the pyramids, who did? Aliens?”

It’s a hell of a stretch isn’t it? Accept their story, in the face of everything else you know, or get called a name. I don’t have any skin in this game, it’s fascinating to me, but if it doesn’t ring true, I can’t help but ask questions, it’s not my fault the evidence isn’t there.

All in all, I find it baffling that the cataclysm at the end of the ice age doesn’t factor more prominently into human prehistory. What’s more plausible? That humans sat on their hands for 300,000 years, and, at the last minute, and in isolated pockets across the globe, made astonishing leaps forward, beyond what we can fathom today, and then forgot. Or that Humans didn’t take 300,000 years to get their act together, and that by the end of the ice age they were doing rather well for themselves.

Anyone that has a lawn to maintain knows how quickly nature takes back any square centimetre that goes unattended. My garden shed is thirty years old and is rotting away. Soon there will be nothing left of it.

Forty years ago, when I was a young scally exploring my village, I felt the world was permanent. That everything was the way it always was, and I’d be amazed when parents told me about the olden days. I had no idea that my home was only a few years old, and I definitely had no idea that it too would be bulldozed just 20 years later, gone without a trace and replaced with more modern houses. The place is unrecognisable.

Back then I would play on a disused railway. The track was long gone and bridges were filled in. The cuttings themselves have been filled in since and the land returned to agriculture. The only trace of the railway ever existing is now in the maps, and a rough edge that can be seen by lidar.

These substantial changes in a small area happened within my own lifetime. What would remain after thousands of years? And what would survive the cataclysms? Ten million square miles of low lying fertile land was flooded at the end of the ice age. Who knows what went under the waves.

I don’t care either way, I just want a satisfactory explanation, and there are so many questions being ignored because they don’t fit. The experts appear to get cross when anyone says ‘but what about..?’. Doesn’t seem very professional.

Either way, I suppose that, in the end, time will tell.

AI Writers

AI is coming so it seems, if it’s not already here.

Computers have been driving trains and landing planes for some time, but now it’s writing novels and drawing some stunning pictures. It’s scary stuff.

There was a particularly downbeat item in the Spectator about it the other day, the End of Writing it said. Now, have no doubt that before long we’ll be able to go to our TV and tell it that we want to watch a Batman v Iron Man movie in the style of Studio Ghibli, and it will be a great film. But I don’t think it’s the end of writing.

For a start, I write because I have something to say. I want to share my thoughts and insights with anyone that will listen. If I was the last surviving human, living in a cave on a planet at the other side of the cosmos, with zero chance of being found by another being, I would still write. AI wouldn’t. AI will fulfil a request against supplied parameters, it will make connections based on algorithms based on existing work and it will compile them in a way that satisfies a user requirement.

If you keep getting exactly what you want, you soon stop wanting it, because it’s there, and you can have it whenever, so it loses its value.

Sure, AI can answer questions and present information very effectively, but that’s not creative. I see AI, in this context, as a development of the audio visual interface. Like the difference between text based output and graphics.

For all I know, AI will set itself the task of tugging on every loose thread and unpicking the fabric of reality, thus answering all of the questions and handing us the moon on a stick, though I can’t help but think of the Nine Billion Names for God whenever computers are put to the ultimate question.

It could happen though, five years from now the AI could have figured it all out and set us on the path toward a Kardishev Type 10 civilization before the end of the decade. I’m not ruling anything out, but if that’s the case, worrying about writing career options is a little redundant.

My point is that although this is coming, I think readers will still want to connect with other humans. Humans will continue to write what they feel, and others will want to read that, and I think that will go on indefinitely.

It is impossible to predict where AI will take us, and where we will take AI. I imagine it will be misused. 1984 gave us the perfect application for such technology, and don’t think we have much defence against it. What will be will be, and I will continue to write about it all the same.

A few pictures

I haven’t posted anything in ages it seems. It’s not that I haven’t had much to say, I always have much to say about one thing or another, but I’ve been distracted by the seemingly full time job of moving house.

That task is now coming toward a conclusion and I have finally begun to unpack some of the things I have spent the past twenty years packing for this very move.

Like most wannabe creatives I have dozens, if not hundreds of note books stuffed with award winning ideas, scribbles, doodles, and sentence fragments written, barely legible, in faded biro on scraps of paper; betting slips, truth be told.

But taking a break from unpacking I decided to flick through the leaves of an old sketch pad, and that gave me an idea for something to do while I waited for my back to un-seize so that I can peel myself from the floor. I could post some doodles.

A hutch

I don’t remember drawing this hutch, but the caption in the sketch pad tells me it was to do with an abandoned plot device. I’d like to elaborate but there’s still mileage in that device and I will come to revisit it.

Bizarrely, maybe somewhat bizarrely, we now have a hutch much like this in the backyard. Inhabited not by bunnies, we use it for barbecue equipment and accoutrements.

Foster

Many years ago, our youngest child, who had just turned one at the time, had an imaginary friend called Foster. Foster usually stood in the corner where only he could see him, and we’d often hear half of a conversation late at night over the baby monitor.

This is how I imagined Foster to look, had he appeared in our bedroom doorway.

Third Eye

This guy has a third eye, and that’s pretty much all I know about him, except that he has a similar taste in sweaters, and better teeth than me. There is a story behind this chap, but I’ve no idea what it is. I’m sure it will come back to me eventually.

Faces in Food: Number 6

A toothy bread roll ruffian.

With a bruised right eye of baked cheese, and a battered left eye clenched shut. This diabolical bread roll laughs at your plans to flee.

Or perhaps he just witnessed something mildly amusing, like someone incorporating a slip on the ice into their stride and hoping no one noticed.

Either way, this is definitely a face in food.

Faces in food entry 770: Ear, that’s not a face

Admittedly this one is not a face, but it does look like an ear, which is technically part of the face, so it’s an acceptable entry. A beautifully formed ear on a Yorkshire Pudding.

Little Fingers

Little fingers get everywhere don’t they, and when you’ve got small children following you around for twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, it doesn’t take many trapped-in-door incidents to put you on edge and alert to the danger in everything you do.

I’ve trapped fingers in doors, toes in doors, feet in car doors. It’s easily done, they’re like lightning and they get everywhere, like rabbits, but there was no lasting damage, it’s more the shock that upset them, and us.

But it’s been quite a while now, our children aren’t that little anymore, and they move through the house with all the stealth and grace of a marching band, so it’s rare that I might close a door on one of them. Indeed, what’s more likely is that they’ll close the door on eachother, we are not yet through the slamming doors in each others faces stage of child development.

We do have to keep all of the doors closed though. We have a bunny and not all of the house is bunny proofed, and the bits that are get frequently dismantled. It’s a ceaseless task which I would compare to the painting of the Forth Bridge, but that’s an obsolete expression now that they have finally finished painting the Forth Bridge, for now.

This morning however, as I closed the lounge door behind me, I caught a glimpse of a little hand on the door in the periphery of my vision, and I immediately stopped the door from closing any further. When I looked down to see whose fingers they were, I saw as they were withdrawn from sight on other side of the door. It was in that moment that I realised that my children were both at school and I had just returned from the school run, and besides, our children are bigger now, and have themselves learned not to put their fingers in the path of a closing door. This hand was much littler than any hand I knew, and was positioned much lower on the door. This hand could only belong to a preschool age child.

A little finger reaches around the edge of the door.

A chill ran down my spine. I’ve been watching too much horror on the TV, clearly. It puts ideas in your head and you start imagining things that aren’t there. But I was certain that this was there, and, I’m not saying that the house is haunted, but it would tally with the sound of children laughing in the night when everyone is asleep.

I knew that I was alone, but I couldn’t leave the matter uninvestigated so I opened the lounge door fully to see who or what was there, but the room was as empty as I expected. On the back of the door, however, was the explanation I was looking for. Hanging from the door handle was a small pink MacDonalds plushie, with a pink little hand reaching out.

Little Miss Hugs plushie hangs from the door handle.

So that just about covers it. The plushie hand had swung out as the door closed and was spotted in the corner of my eye. Except, I didn’t see a finger protruding as the door closed, I saw a hand, a full four fingers, gripping the edge of the door, didn’t I?

Bed Cosy v Snoozed Alarm

After over forty years of research on the matter of the relationship between how comfortable or cosy a bed happens to be and how close it is to a snoozed alarm going off for the absolute last time, I am now prepared to release my findings.

The comfy of the bed is the inverse exponential of the unequivocal time to get up. A relationship beautifully illustrated in the graph below.

Image of a graph showing showing the increase of comfort/cosiness of the bed increasing exponentially in relation to the proximity of the time to get out of bed.

Faces in Food Entry 619: Bacon Grill Bear

From 04/02/2022. The image of a face scorched upon a slice of bacon grill. Looks much like a bear.

Bacon Grill Bear

Not a face category. Posterior shaped Mushroom. From 27/02/2022.

Mushroom in the shape of a bottom

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