the next hype

the next hype is not new music, a new sound or a new groove,

it wont be a pair of trainers or a new south london slang term

the next hype isnt a show like lost, that leaves people perplexed and wondering

what the next hype is all about,

it isnt a flash mob a.k.a. group of people acting smug because they know what the next hype is all about

it wont be a film

or a diet

a new way of wearing a tie/shoes with jeans/skirt/scarf

it isnt shopping trolleys

or meow meow or some deadly drug

it isnt a book that we can all discuss banally over an equally bland overhyped super food

it wont be swine flu, mad cow disease, flesh eating virus, bird flu

the next hype will be born out of boredom of hype

the next hype will be the no-hype hype

the next hype wont need magazine articles to further illustrate the subtlties required to get the next hype completely right

no

the next hype will be you

bored and tired of hypes

switching off and being into your life

with all of its normal idosyncrasies

the next hype wont be for everyone

it will be only for you

the next hype will be loving your life

and you friends

loving the fact that you can sit on the sofa and enjoy the sunshine streaming through your window

or sitting on the train bored silent

the next hype will be the endless detail in the ordinary

the song thats in your head that you cant quite shake off

the next hype wont mean shit to anyone else

the next hype is you, digging yourself

Godels Theorem Part 2

I felt bad. So I decided to speak to Sam on the subject in more depth. I caught up with him in the toilets. Women have often known the toilets are a good place for in depth conversations. Besides I find that peeing is a great leveller, theres no ego, attitude or coyness possible when you stood peeing next to a friend. The fact that your easing yourselves put you both immediately at ..... ease.
I also like it because I sometimes get bored of people easily, peeing gives you just enough time for a 90 second conversation (including zipping and waggling) perfect for a non commital like me.
I asked Sam, when he first became interested in AI, he told me that when he was 17 he read a GEB and that I should read it.
"I'll write down I couple of books down for you, you should read them and let me know your thoughts"
"Cool"
Sam brightened up. I think he felt less like a blabbering idiot now someone shared his enthusiasum. Mission accomplished. Just need to shake ,zip, wash and go!
* * * *
That was over 3 months ago and I still hadnt called Sam. Mainly because I HAVENT FINISHED THE BLOODY BOOK... its that deep.


In the book the author draws parallels between the mathemetician Godel, the composer Bach and the Artist Escher.

Godel proved

"All consistent axoimatic formulations of number theory include undecidable propositions"

..... I didnt understand neither, but the book broke it down nicely.

It just says

"Whenever you try to define a bunch of stuff using a language, you'll always find that theres some bits that you cant define".

this usually happens when your bunch of stuff contains self references
for example if our bunch of stuff is sentences and our language is english ,
you might try defining the following sentence in english :
"a definition of a sentence"

Its kinda impossible - yet we know definitions exist. The dictionary is full of them!

This property extends to all things, and this problem reminds me of a quote by Alan Watts :-

"Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth."

the author is particularly interested in Escher and Bach because they write music and draw pictures with a lot of self references.

The book points out that our intelligence is greater than anything we can define -

We appreciate the self references in Escher , weird tiled pictures, and the Canonical or (Repeating Structure) of Bachs Fuges.
But as soon as we try to extract this intelligence and represent it in any other form out side ourselves; be it english, computer programming or numbers, we are doomed never be able to suceed.

While reading I thought: If Sam didnt realise this at 17 he's never gonna know.
I wished I could have told Sam that while we were having a piss.
I wished I could have told him to give up - go home and try to get laid.

Godels Therom

Im reading a book called GEB an eternal golden braid , it was suggested to me by a dude whose own intelligence seemed tortuous to him. Sitting around in a pub he explained stuff which interested (or troubled perhaps?) him.
"Talk to Greg" Gabriel says , "He's into AI too"
I turn to face Sam, who runs his hands strenously through his hair and speaks
"I just want to know, what is it that drives us, what is intelligence?, can we capture it or is it something that will remain elusive to our species, our own nature?"
My girl turns up and I immediately start thinking about sex, its probably been a week since I got laid - Sam continues relentless. He turns to me.
"You've created intelligent computer programs , thats soo cool, what did you learn, do you feel that computer captured even a small piece of what we are?"
I'm kinda caught unawares, OK I like programming , and I get kicks out making 'clever' programs, I studied AI with a view to making a program that could make money and electronic markets, but was beat to the post in the real word by hoards of money hungry PHD mathematicians and finance companies. My pursuits in AI were never so noble. I start stroking my girls leg under the table, I reckon I'm getting lucky tonight. Meanwhile, the best I can muster is:
"Computers just do what you tell them to, very quickly. "
The fact that I create intelligence in machines and have no interest in its philospical consequences tortured Sam no end. He drew inwards after that and spoke less from then on.
I felt the tingle of the beginnings of a hard-on.

The best programmer in the world

I love interviews!
I've been looking for a new job and the whole interview process has raised my intensity (I feel I need to discuss this - but later ).
I'm twice as intense twice as productive and life seems a lot more exciting when I'm managing way more than I should be dealing with.
Anyway I went for a job in Luton (I know - I know , I needed the practise) for a Senior Web/Architect Developer thing.
It was for a Finnish Consultancy called TientoEnator (pronounced tee - en - toe - en - ah - ta). Part of the interview process was to complete a technical assignment.
It arrives in my inbox , my agent is dead casual - she tells me to do a good job on it.
They gave me three days. I took it easy on the first two , then worked like a saint on the third. I didnt sleep that night, I was heavy coding.
Each time I solved a sub-problem, the assignment revealed more subtleties that aluded me. Half way through the night, I could recite all of the equations for velocity at time t given a constant rate of acceleration with respect to any variable, my skin developed a semi-mucuosal layer due a combination of sweat and pizza grease, my lips had the texture of a toffee apple - hard and crispy on the outside, with a gooey sticky spit mixture in the corners (due to incesant mutterings to myself). It was 7 o'clock in the morning when I finished. The sky was that weird inbetween disorientating blue that i'm familiar with when stepping out of a club.
I emailed in my submission; before going to work then decided to put my head down for 5 minutes.
I slept for 5 hours!
* * * *
The interview is somewhere in a industrial estate
At the interview the guy points out a couple of things wrong with my code, I'm like well yeah, I guess I could have ironed those out given more time ( a bath, a unemployed status, etc ). He's unimpressed.
I asked him where he found the test from. He says casually that he pulled it from the web.
Later, after recieving news of a rejection, they scored me about (7/10) , I search for the source of the assignment.
I find it after 10 minutes.

1995 ACM World Scholastic Programming Contest Finals sponsored by Microsoft ®
I'm dazed and the same thought keeps echoing in my mind :
"They want the best programmer in the world....."
"......They want the best programmer in the world move to an industrial estate in Luton"

Floating

I'm in Berkley Square
I've had no sleep cus I've been fiddling with my new PC , Pentium 805 Processor
Word on the street is that is overclocks like a beast ( I dont think Dell quite realise yet, dont worry they soon will)
So I'm so sleep deprived that I feel like I'm floating.
I see that dude, you know the homeless guy with the dog , sitting under the folly in the centre of the square, I think most people tell him to fuck off away from the corporate buildings during the day. And I'm looking at him and staring and thinking, you poor fucker, think how much of his life he's wasting watching each day go by , like that , what a friggin waste. He gives me a dirty look and I look away quickly.
While my eyes are diverted I notice a leaf falling from one of the venerables oak trees that shroud the square. I cant help noticing that its got the colour of the perfect piece of toast (slightly overbuttered mind). It falls in slow motion; I stop to watch it fall. It spins a little I notice that at the corners is the colour of a juicy granny smith apple. From my floaty perspective it falls in slow motion and the city drone dulls in my minds ear, I'm thinking , well what the fuck have I achieved, how much have I wasted my life, behind my desk dicking around with computers. How much better to be out here , watching , breathing , feeling, doing fuck all, alone with your thoughts. The leaf lands with a plop. I look up and continue walking. My attention drifts to lunch, my last thought on the subject is 'he's noble, and his path isnt easy, but I like my knackers to be warm and cosy at night'. The Alsatian raised an eyebrow.

Selling my babies

.
Wanted to use this image for our team project homepage,
was afraid the other developers might find it upsetting.

You see we sit in a backroom with montonous whirring of computer fans and the crunching of harddisks coding. We hand craft programs , tweak them here and there until they are running smoothly. Then hand them over to some flash harry with slicked back hair and an expense account to sell for us. He takes our work and turns into cash.
This final transmutation of craft to money is all that is recognised.

Im not going to make it our team website logo - Sometimes a joke is too close to the truth.

G.

Lying in Bed

I'm in bed with my girlfriend , yes I do have a girlfriend but she reads this blog so I'll call her the nameless one from her in.
Anyway, I'm in bed and we've just finished having sex and my mind is popping and fizzing the way it does afterwards if youre a man.
Kinda feels like your heads full of water and someone has dropped an alka-seltzer in there, mixed with a complete inability to function of someone who has just woken up, together with the smugness and satisfaction of someone who has completely over-indulged in thier favourite vice.
So I'm in bed , looking like a corpse and feeling like an angel, all this stuff starts flashing through my mind. Its like GoogleMaps when you plot a route, I can see streets highlighted by coloured bars from one place to another.
I can see the complete route to nameless's house from mine as if plotted by googlemaps. Its a new perspective and an inspiration to be able to think about one place topologically as opposed to the arcane way I usually navigate.
Instead of thinking what road i am on , I navigate by ques.
Inside Gregs Head:
Continue on road until you get to small side street with 3 cracks on the pavement outside chicken shop.
Turn right at Sainsburys.
Continue along the road until you get to the traffic lights with a broken lightshade
Turn left
Continue until you get to the bumpy bit of road
Go straight until the road stops being bumpy then stop, look up and you should be there.
THIS, this is how I am able to drive from place to place without knowing where the hell i am at any one moment.
My navigation skills are as crap as they come. And rely on a whole host of secret markers. If asked to renavigate around a road and join the road, I can't do it.
If someone repairs the pavement , I get lost!
But lying in my bed with my head fizzing, butt naked - I could see a different way of being.
nameless snuggles up and asks me what I'm thinking
"I'm thinking about maps"
Kinda killed the moment.....

Ramalla R@*@

Crazy light and heat.
Humidity and music.
She traded like for like;
London for Ramalla.
Feeling:
thumping,
spinning,
drinking,
sinking,
trite.

Now, the broken bowl,
of night!

Prodigal friends,
(Whilst she in Cerulean
bright and blue as the sky
took flight,
by taxi cab perhaps or bike)
,Looked on,
too drunk to cry.

Ramalla

Today I admit , everythings not right with the world. I have a friend somewhere in the middle east trying to do her best for human rights abuses in Palestine. I wrote her a poem before she left. We'd been getting close, ever since she showed up at my party one time in Brixton I knew I wanted her. We got quite close, in fact we almost had a relationship but I screwed it up. I don't regret doing it, I am just thankful that I managed to leave 'the hateful place', but it is a shame. I dont think she even wants to be friends. She invited me to her leaving do, I turned up with Press my drinking buddy, and I remember we stood by the bar like drunken demons looking for trouble. She hardly spoke to me, when I approached her, her (twin?) sister told me - ' that R@*@ has moved on' and something to the effect that she doesnt need my kind of hassle.
So I drank with Press and Danced, the night became a whirl of music and heat.
Stumbling out of the club in the morning the sky was that muted blue it gets just before the sun rises. The very same colour of her skirt ,I caught a glimpse of it as she dashed to a (car, taxi?) to catch her plane. That was the last time I saw her before she went to Ramalla. I don't know if she's back. She doesnt answer my calls.
Fair enough, I just hopes she makes a difference.

Stupid Thought

Babies taught us the word Mama.