- Junior Bear Alfred Korzybski "Manhood of Humanity : The Science and Art of Human Engineering" (1921)http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25457
- Junior Bear But he is wrong. We are animals that think. Evil men demarcate between men and animals not at all and use man as animals. Enlightened men demarcate between men and animals not at all and understand we are part of the whole of all demensions.
- Junior Bear "the map and the territory..." was recast in the 1970's as the "Territorial Imperative". All animals (perhaps all life) have a territory and they demarcate it (map it) on the the ground and in their minds and along the borders they fight for more an to protect what they have. Even plants, lichen on a rock, do this. Territory is niche, and niche is required for life and life is required for evolution.The next may not be earth animal. It may be AI or Grey Goo or it may not be any more than what has been, but in a parallel form.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
animal emotion thinking logic territorial imperative niche and survival
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Let It Go She Said....Grump Spit Sputter Growl & Piss
There were 40 people on the tour's motor coach originally built for 60. thus there was 30% more leg room and 30% more ability to recline and 30% more window for everyone. Of course things weren't wider, but it made for a pretty nice comfortable tour. One I would recommend to anyone over 50.
There were two sub-groups within the tour. One from Kansas City which numbered 25 or so (never figured it out for sure) and a group of six from different parts of the country that were kinfolk to one another or long time friends. Then there was the rest of us. At the very first boarding, the tour coordinator watched how slow I was moving with my cane and all and tagged me as his "aisle blocker" as opposed to any of the others. So he took me aside and assigned me the front right seat reserved for the handicapped and ask me to get on and off either last or first. At my speed that meant always last. The seat actually had less leg room than the other seats because there wasn't a seat in front of it, but it looked directly out of the front window. As a photographer that pleased me greatly, and even offset to some degree the "handicapped" designation which I found embarrassing.
Forty people on board, 38 of who were gracious friendly kind and helpful. Then there was me and this other guy. He was in the group of six. He was 69, slim trim and healthy and very active, as were all in his cadre. They were the ones that went to all the shows and river rafting and the little hiking trips and so forth. He and his wife had claimed the seat across from us and just behind the driver. 3&4 of his group was behind them and 5&6 were right behind us. They were all nice people. He, not so much as nice. It seems somewhere in the process he wanted the best seat for photographs. (His camera was a Nikon DSLR with lens that inter-changed) But instead I had it. Whoops.
He really wasn't a photographer. He was a poser. Double meaning that word. He posed as a photographer and as a photographer he like to com-pose his photographs by posing people in them.
Now you begin to see why my wife says, "Let it go!" No, no, not me.
He took away a big chunk of my peace of mind with little side remarks, none so offensive that anyone could challenge him on them. He didn't appreciate that the tour guide had placed us in the handicapped seat, where he wanted to be. So for five days he nibble away, and I behaved. But still I hate his type. Just saying, my meds really are working and he is a lucky guy that they are. The wife says he will always be miserable because nothing will ever be quite good enough for him. Well I don't do schadenfreude, I like immediate open revenge or let revenge grow cold then have at it. I don't remember his name. Made a point of that. So I'm writing this little tirade to dispose of my last bit of spite for him, knowing that there are others others out there like him. I just hope they sit several seats down from me next time and I'll take my tunes to block out their mutters.
There were two sub-groups within the tour. One from Kansas City which numbered 25 or so (never figured it out for sure) and a group of six from different parts of the country that were kinfolk to one another or long time friends. Then there was the rest of us. At the very first boarding, the tour coordinator watched how slow I was moving with my cane and all and tagged me as his "aisle blocker" as opposed to any of the others. So he took me aside and assigned me the front right seat reserved for the handicapped and ask me to get on and off either last or first. At my speed that meant always last. The seat actually had less leg room than the other seats because there wasn't a seat in front of it, but it looked directly out of the front window. As a photographer that pleased me greatly, and even offset to some degree the "handicapped" designation which I found embarrassing.
Forty people on board, 38 of who were gracious friendly kind and helpful. Then there was me and this other guy. He was in the group of six. He was 69, slim trim and healthy and very active, as were all in his cadre. They were the ones that went to all the shows and river rafting and the little hiking trips and so forth. He and his wife had claimed the seat across from us and just behind the driver. 3&4 of his group was behind them and 5&6 were right behind us. They were all nice people. He, not so much as nice. It seems somewhere in the process he wanted the best seat for photographs. (His camera was a Nikon DSLR with lens that inter-changed) But instead I had it. Whoops.
He really wasn't a photographer. He was a poser. Double meaning that word. He posed as a photographer and as a photographer he like to com-pose his photographs by posing people in them.
Now you begin to see why my wife says, "Let it go!" No, no, not me.
He took away a big chunk of my peace of mind with little side remarks, none so offensive that anyone could challenge him on them. He didn't appreciate that the tour guide had placed us in the handicapped seat, where he wanted to be. So for five days he nibble away, and I behaved. But still I hate his type. Just saying, my meds really are working and he is a lucky guy that they are. The wife says he will always be miserable because nothing will ever be quite good enough for him. Well I don't do schadenfreude, I like immediate open revenge or let revenge grow cold then have at it. I don't remember his name. Made a point of that. So I'm writing this little tirade to dispose of my last bit of spite for him, knowing that there are others others out there like him. I just hope they sit several seats down from me next time and I'll take my tunes to block out their mutters.
Connections
In all of life and art there is an underlying theme of order and mathematics. Make of it what you will, but no mater how and why the universe functions there is this underlying connection of everything to everything and back again. Whether by design, random occurrence, or utter chaos the connections are never broken. Meaning or no meaning, they are always there, and they are always satisfying and beautiful.
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