This was 15 years, 10 months ago

some thoughts looking out bus windows, walking on different bricks a different shade of red:


Encryption based upon publicly-available files: a book cipher, but with software versions. Normal encryption/compression involves: ciphertext ==key==> plaintext. In this idea, the encryption involves: ciphertext ==book==> plaintext. Erg - I guess the book is still the key, but the idea is that the ciphertext is so compressable because the book is a large enough file. Maybe it's a stupid idea.


In Doug Aitken's book Sleepwalkers, for his video installation of the same name, there's this great interview with Melissa Plaut, and they talk about the aura of the city, and mystical flows, and segments of time. I can't find it online, but it's great, nothing really special, just filled with small snippets of quiet exuberance. It's less of an interview, more of a coordinated duet, in which they agree with each other, complement each other, weave in and out circling and talking about the same city.


After talking with Clara, I reaffirm: Politics is everywhere. This is simultaneously a reason for woe, joy, and also something quite normal and not warranting exclamation.


Meta-knowledge versus knowledge; the study of understanding knowledge, as a sort of side effect of understanding.



I created this diagram a few weeks ago as part of a computer music project. I kinda like it. It was part of a project based around the idea of subdividing (into segments of time) a room into a series of spaces, and then sonifying those spaces into sounds (that are devoid of time).

"The idea draws from the image of a djinn releasing itself into the air, sublimated as sound. The process of listening involves the process of anti-creation; in listening to the sound, you disturb the forces of creation at work. Every time the space is opened, the recording/generating process stops, and a djinn is released, its inception process is interrupted.

Also: to a solipsistic self, the interior space of the room ceases to exist when I
close the door of a room. From my point of view, my timeline is punctuated at periods by the interior space of the room, and vice versa. Leaving and entering the room is like a thread weaving in and out of a two-sided strip of cloth; on either side of the cloth, there is only a series of disconnected pieces of thread, and empty spaces, in which the thread punctures the cloth and is on the opposite side.

I wanted to explore this idea in terms of a space, in which opening the door releases a sound that is a tangible aggregation of the space/area that was sealed in the room: in other words, the segments of string running on the underside of the strip of cloth. The user’s opening and closing the room divides the room into a series of rooms, like the disconnected pieces of thread. The sound that is released defines the space within that was contained, because the texture and quality of the sound is actually generated by the portion of time that passed -- each sound generated is the aural representation of an entire section of invisible space (with dimensions width x height x depth x time). "

-me, Spaces