quarky comes even cleaner! No waxy build-up!
I have seen the error of my ways.
I have come to accept the general consensus of opinion in this thread.
Consciousness is mechanistic.
Machines can be conscious.
I tried to take it too far, suggesting that there is nothing but consciousness. My angle allowed a hammer to be conscious, but you guys weren't having it, to your good credit.
We needed to draw the line at thermostats, I think.
Accepting the truth, and humiliating myself before you like this, is no cake walk.
I guess it takes some time to adjust.
But now, everything has a dull, anti-sheen, and the wee ones don't think I'm silly anymore. Zippy, the bogus original singularity, has stopped visiting. We used to have coffee. I'm even considering Prozac again, to fill this empty place in my heart, which in the way I use the word, doesn't even exist. The heart is a pumpy thingy with valves.
I've seen them. I used to work in an emergency room. It was part of my punishment for going awol. I saw more poo than hearts, but I saw real hearts too, and when it was young kids in bad wrecks, it broke my heart, even though I know nothing broke. It broke my mind? Nah. Molecules moved within my cranium in a certain way that allowed me to feel grief and empathy? And I made them do it. Whatever I am. If I had more Asperger's flavoring, I might have chosen to move molecules in a different way within my cranium.
The useless sadness might have instead been invested in the up-coming choices I would need to make, in the hospital cafeteria, because, as soon as I got this mess cleaned up and bagged and taken to the morg, it would be dinner break.
And I'd order the usual. I toy with the notion of trying the unusual, but only to seem more fun to myself. Mabel, the cafeteria lady, relies on my reliability. I make her life easier. She seems to not want any surprises in her life. Though I've never asked, which I find suspicious.
If some of you are going glassy eyed, or wondering what the sciency point it is I'm getting to, hang in there.
I think I can nail this in about 25 more posts.
And yes...I'm painfully aware of how un-cool it is to make series of posts without allowing time for interjection.
"Intercourse?, he ejaculated. I have no time for intercourse!"
I have seen the error of my ways.
I have come to accept the general consensus of opinion in this thread.
Consciousness is mechanistic.
Machines can be conscious.
I tried to take it too far, suggesting that there is nothing but consciousness. My angle allowed a hammer to be conscious, but you guys weren't having it, to your good credit.
We needed to draw the line at thermostats, I think.
Accepting the truth, and humiliating myself before you like this, is no cake walk.
I guess it takes some time to adjust.
But now, everything has a dull, anti-sheen, and the wee ones don't think I'm silly anymore. Zippy, the bogus original singularity, has stopped visiting. We used to have coffee. I'm even considering Prozac again, to fill this empty place in my heart, which in the way I use the word, doesn't even exist. The heart is a pumpy thingy with valves.
I've seen them. I used to work in an emergency room. It was part of my punishment for going awol. I saw more poo than hearts, but I saw real hearts too, and when it was young kids in bad wrecks, it broke my heart, even though I know nothing broke. It broke my mind? Nah. Molecules moved within my cranium in a certain way that allowed me to feel grief and empathy? And I made them do it. Whatever I am. If I had more Asperger's flavoring, I might have chosen to move molecules in a different way within my cranium.
The useless sadness might have instead been invested in the up-coming choices I would need to make, in the hospital cafeteria, because, as soon as I got this mess cleaned up and bagged and taken to the morg, it would be dinner break.
And I'd order the usual. I toy with the notion of trying the unusual, but only to seem more fun to myself. Mabel, the cafeteria lady, relies on my reliability. I make her life easier. She seems to not want any surprises in her life. Though I've never asked, which I find suspicious.
If some of you are going glassy eyed, or wondering what the sciency point it is I'm getting to, hang in there.
I think I can nail this in about 25 more posts.
And yes...I'm painfully aware of how un-cool it is to make series of posts without allowing time for interjection.
"Intercourse?, he ejaculated. I have no time for intercourse!"