Belief Shopping: Are we a science experiment?

We interpret reality on the foundation of what we already believe about reality. I'll try to demonstrate.

A spaceship landed in my back yard last night.
Do you believe that? I could tell the people closest to me that, and about 98% of them wouldn't believe me. It conflicts too much with their existing belief structures - what they already believe about the world.

Can you do something with your eyes closed? Something you've done so many times that it becomes automated?

Beliefs are the same way. If you think something over and over again, or interpret events through a certain belief structure (all of which are conveniently and intricately designed to reinforce every belief structure you currently hold) over and over again, it becomes automatic. 

Once you recognize that, you can toss the ones that aren't working for you (I hate myself and I want to die, you're nothing but a failure and a loser, your sole purpose for existing to give others a reason to live) it pulls the thread out of your belief structure scaffolding.

So far, I haven't been able to not have beliefs entirely. I suppose I could master that if I wanted to. What I've found to be more fun is to try on different beliefs and see if I like them or not. One of the funnest ones I've tried so far has been the belief that we're a genetics experiment by alien races.

One of the more notorious fringe beliefs is that we are ruled by a secret group of reptilians (the alien races). Most of this stuff comes from Zecharia Sitchin (http://www.sitchin.com/), and is supposedly based on an assload of work he did on the Sumerian Tablets (like the guy in Stargate). The reptilian-thing has been made more famous (I think) by David Icke, but I don't know if they collaborate. Sitchin I had heard of always spoken with disdain, and to this day there's nothing on his website that makes me think otherwise. Icke, on the other hand, is good stuff when you're belief shopping. If he's pure snake oil, he's damn good at his job. That video is worth a watch even if it's just to see a master at work.

However, the lunatics aren't necessarily wrong. I wasn't going to write of the possibility he was wrong, Poking around into the Oxford translation of the Sumerian Texts reveals he didn't stray too far from the beaten path. At least it's Oxford This looked official enough to me: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/

Enki and Ninḫursaĝa: c.1.1.1
First he put his feet in the boat, next he put them on dry land. He clasped her to the bosom, kissed her, Enki poured semen into the womb and she conceived the semen in the womb, the semen of Enki. But her one month was one day, but her two months were two days, but her nine months were nine days. In the month of womanhood, like fine (?) oil, like fine (?) oil, like oil of abundance, Ninnisig, like fine (?) oil, like fine (?) oil, like oil of abundance, gave birth to Ninkura.
52-60. When Father Enki goes forth to the inseminated people, good seed will come forth.
When you go looking for ancient astronaut theory, you'll find what you need to believe it. I think that's what seek and ye shall find really means. If you seek the truth, you'll find something you believe is the truth. Funner to keep seeking, I say. 

I haven't written off the secret cabal being of a specific bloodline - families of successful interbreeding with the alien races. 
Captain Kirk would do it.

Maybe aliens did create us through tinkering with the genes of prehistoric man. Maybe it was a long trip back and they didn't bring enough women. Maybe they put their hybrid children in charge and now live beneath the Denver airport. 

I wonder if it has a statistically higher rate of missing persons. They eat humans, you know. Perhaps a suspiciously low homelessness rate?

I honestly didn't find anything that caused me to write the whole thing off. It seems more plausible to me than just straight evolution. I look at what we're tinkering with these days and wonder:
Maybe we're just like our father.... species that is.


What if reality broke?

More specifically, what if the continuity of reality broke. Sort of like in the Butterfly Effect - but without the childhood journal nonsense.


More like quantum leap, but with no Al. Just... 
"WTF, I'm apparently Ted Danson today."

Would you grow less attached to who you were up until the day reality broke over time, or cling as tight as possible to those memories?


CrowdSourcing the End of Unemployment

Being unemployed sucks. Working sucks too.

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but humans don't really need to work anymore. Here's a shot at how to get from here to there.

Some of the people don't have jobs.
So have the ones that do work less, 4 hours a day instead of 8.

But then the ones working less won't be able to afford the shiny things.
So make the shiny things free. You can start with cheaper. You know, ease into it.

How do we make the shiny things cheaper?
You have 7 billion minds on the planet. Surely someone can come up with something. In fact, someone somewhere, or a team of someones somewhere can solve every logistics problem we face. That's what got us to the top of the food chain.

How ridiculous is it that an hour of your time is worth $17, and an hour of your equal's time is only worth 17 cents?
No wait, he's not your equal? You've been through highschool, and bullying, and endless hours of regularly scheduled programming. He's been living in a hut washing his hands with water you wouldn't piss in. You're more skilled, more qualified...


Sand Castles

You know what really gets me about the super-rich and the super-powerful? Their shortsightedness.

How is it that their massive egos haven't caused them to recognize the potential creative power of the individual human mind? How have they not set about harnessing that resource?

You've seen those ridiculously intelligent baby commercials, right? Why aren't all babies being schooled that way? Not all parents can afford it. Why can't all parents afford it? Because people are mouths and shoveling arms and remedial calculators, fleshy whiny machines that make us money.

Sand castles. They build sand castles with us, competing with each other about who has the biggest castle. The tighter they squeeze, the more we slip through their fingers.

img source:  http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ultimate_Sand_Castle.jpg


The Need

I have a need to write right now, but I'm hesitant. My internal judge and my plans and schemes and maybe even beliefs stand in my way. As you can tell, I decided to say 'to hell with that' and sit down and start typing.

I have this notion about gaming the system, of broadcasting in the most effective way - reducing the noise, increasing the signal. This makes me think that there's an optimum way to go about it. That certain things should be blog posts, certain things should be tweets, on others just posts on social networks.

My plots and schemes have been to tweet the base ideas, all summed up neatly within 140 characters. That the really rough stuff, the in-process exploration of the thought - while it's cooking in my mind - should be social network posts. Then, that something of a finished product - a painting of the bigger picture should be what I post here (despite that I've named the place Raw Thought). Turns out I'm staying truer to the blog's name than my plans would have me do. I'm not sure what to make of that.

I saw my (maybe) son for the first time in person on Sunday. There's been no DNA test (the mother refused). I'd like to put that story out there, how it happened - particularly the improbability of it all. I'd like to publicly question my interpretation of that synchronicity. Yet, I'm not. I'm not sure that I won't. If I do, I'm not sure that it will be here. I've created a couple of communities on G+ (one public, one private). It might be fare best suited for the private one.

Who to share with, where to share, whether or not it will resonate or be received merely as noise. These are the questions that haunt - but the need is there. My inner judge that calls the endless monologues I constantly compose to you as unworthy, not good enough, holds only limited sway - for here I am telling you my secrets anyway.

My plans and schemes fall victim to procrastination and the notion that the circumstances aren't right. I don't have a private place to write you. I don't even have a desk at the moment. These are the things my mind tells me I need to have in place before you will hear me - before there will be resonance with what I broadcast. Every now and then though, the need wins out - and I write you anyway. Pouring what I can squeeze past the judge and underneath my plans. Missives from the cell in which my ego has me imprisoned.