I feel the change all around me. I feel the change inside me. On Easter one feels the miraculous in big and small ways.
Having traveled a not insignificant portion of the Silk Road from Adriatic to Ionia to the Bosporus this week I feel the changing flows of commerce, empire and faith rather viscerally. It sounds grandiose and yet now else can one explain the gravity of time and place?
Being embodied is our human journey. To overcome it is the stuff of myth, faith and religious belief. Understanding its meaning is glimpsed here and there in the natural world but is mostly beyond our ken.
I do not know what is coming or what I will learn in the process. The glory is in being put on the path. Happy Easter.
I spent the night in a port city in Greece as I am making my way back to Western Europe. I’ll be crossing by airplane via polar routes on my way to Colorado next week for an academic conference at my home town university.
I feel like I’ve made it when I am invited to speak on topics like Renegade Futurism. I’m now old enough to have lived a couple rounds in the “dissident technology” discourse so I hope to have something of value to say to new generations.
“You can’t get the little pricks generation gap you.” Molly Millions Neuromancer
On the long drive backfrom Istanbul I am listening to William Gibson’s Neuromancer to set myself in the right mood after the mix of antiquity and modernity I encountered this week.
One doesn’t cross thousands of kilometers and centuries of empires without requiring a bit of an aesthetic change.
Sunnier ports than in Gibson’s Neuromancer
The weather is more sunny Mediterranean Easter weekend than the non-climate skies of a future Japan’s Chiba and Night City, but with really any port city at night I can’t help but think of the famous first line of cyperpunk’s foremost novel.
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
William Gibson’s Neuromancer
And so I tuned in to a story of oligarchy, artificial intelligence, dissident coders and cyborgs with mirror shades. In that near future the protagonists make a stopover in Istanbul too and it involves medically advanced nervous system treatments too. Gibson’s cyborg chop shops are almost as advanced as what I saw this week.
Hyperbaric chamber oxygen therapy
Gibson’s 1984 novel is as relevant in 2025 as it ever was. Our timeline has become his later work in uncanny ways but his cyperpunk aesthetic has become as timeless as the domes of Constantinople.
The elephants eye domes of a hammam
Whatever transition we are about to make as humans as our own Wintermute intelligences arrive will be rocky. I don’t know who will be the dissidents and how centralizing power may prove to be.
I love bathing cultures of all kinds. It’s the beauty girl in me. I’ve been lucky to have worked in a number of wellness and fitness settings professionally and it’s privileged me to experiences that make one feel deeply human.
The modern Korean spas are dazzling and as enjoyable to me as natural Rocky Mountain hot springs. Baltic and Nordic sauna feels like home. One day I’d like to do a Japanese Onsen.
Being in Istanbul I wanted a chance to experience the Turkish hammams. If I was a bucket list sort of person this would be on it.
In a past life I worked on the Standard Hotels whose Miami property has a local spin on hammam culture. I loved the baths and cisterns with the heated floors.
But I’d not had the pleasure of experiencing the real thing until today.
To lay on warmed marble and look up at the light while cocooned in warmth and water is a fine way to be embodied. And for a little aside for a certain set would you believe the name of the hammam? It was qualia. If that isn’t the inverse tugging at me what else could it possibly be.
In a twist that one of my friends described as “an extremely Julie situation” I’m heading to Istanbul tomorrow. I’m in Europe so I’m actually going to drive. Any recommendations for hotels, great meals and must see sights are most welcome.
This then turned into an offer of a tour of the factory by their team (since we are in the market as we plan out our Montana medical spa) that was topped off by an offer to discuss the experience on my favorite podcast.
Apparently manufacturing complex medical equipment in this new era of tariffs and bilateral trade agreements is a topic of interest to many people as Turkey may end up a better trading partner than China for many categories of sophisticated equipment.
The Trump administration is making attempts to reorient more of the world under our trade & defense umbrella rather than China is obviously on everyone’s mind. Turkey is an advanced manufacturing industry from which I have imported in the distant past for textiles so I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from this trip.
I’ve had a week of poor sleep that feels like it’s catching up with me. My mood is sour and my mind is mush. This sort of state leaves me with anxiety.
The running joke in the family is that anytime the markets are about to go off I feel it in my body long before it hits the Bloomberg terminal.
I feel anxious about everything which is to say I am not anxious about anything. It’s simply pervasive. If past market issues caused snowblindness this feels more like swamp gas. It stinks, is favored by conspiratorial types and is a fantastic excuse for seeing things you shouldn’t.
I’ve never been much for listening to music while I do work. I’ve always found it distracting if not downright annoying. I don’t really believe I’m capable of multitasking. If a task requires my focus and coordination it will get the sum of it.
Being an android, Data is able to easily mimic the doctor’s movement after being shown them. But as he learns to the nuances involved in waltzing with the partner he tells doctor (paraphrasing)
As Data tries to integrate the dance moves, their joint body language, the changing direction, and variable speeds you get a visceral sense of why embodied compute requires more processing than intelligence tasks. The final challenge? Smiling while coordinating it all.
Resting Android face? Data tries to smile while waltzing via Memory Alpha
A friend recently texted excitedly about seeing spotted owl near their urban home. In cities it’s rare to spot these birds. Just a few days later we got our own visitor. A pair of owls hooting and calling to each other over the barn.
The Japanese associate them with good fortune. Similarly in Hinduism owls are associated with Lakshmi and her abundance and wealth.
But the nocturnal predator has other meanings that are darker. In China they are omens of evil or misfortune. In Africa the undercurrent is more mysticism as the birds fly between worlds. Babylonians similarly associate them with Lilith and dark magic. We revere and fear what we don’t know.
I just learned that a group of owls is called a “parliament” which is seems balanced between good fortune and death. Government can go either way. Maybe it brings good fortune. Maybe it is death. Maybe it is both? Modern finance will bring back all kinds of divinations as we go forward.
Over the winter we did a mold test on our bedroom after I had had a batch of sub-optimal bloodwork and flares in my autoimmune condition. We wanted to be thorough in assessing potential reasons for any issues from environmental to pharmaceutical.
I was suspicious that mold would be a culprit. Or perhaps I did not want it to be a culprit. Mold has always seemed like an excuse the professionally sick lean on like a crutch. You can imagine some worried well Goop reading white woman blaming mold.
I don’t know if this is engrained ableism on my part (lol) but no one wants to be that annoying sick woman with the litany of vague issues plaguing her life. And yes I fear this about myself because I do have to manage an autoimmune condition.
So I went into mold testing with some cynicism. It’s mike making a claim you’ve got a diagnosis of fibromyalgia. Sure both mold and fibromyalgia are real but I’ve learned from experience that you must avoid both lest you be seen as someone unserious.
The wall next to bed.
Alas it has turned out to be serious. It took most of the winter to work through the breaking down the walls part but once Alex began pulling back the walls it was dramatic and easy to spot.
The bedroom getting ripped apartment.
As it turns out the wall on my side of the bed has quite a bit of mold types growing happily. As best we can tell it must be some type of small leak in the pipes.
Gnarly white spores
There’s a couple hydronic heater pipes right by the baseboards so the current theory is maybe one developed a tiny pinhole leak for a bit that sealed itself back up. Don’t ask me about that one as it’s on Alex.
His plan for now is to remediate it, patch things back up, fog the room and have the carpets steam cleaned. Which is a bigger job than we might like but much better than it could have been.
April Fool’s Day is just the worst. Practical jokes were much more enjoyable when telling the truth was still a widely accepted social norm. Our moment is one of a thousand falsehoods.
Our commitment to the truth and a shared sense of what separates truth from falsehoods has never felt shakier to me. It’s one strategic lie after another from all our institutions and leaders.
If you are living in our era of lies, half truths, and various flavors of misinformation & disinformation the idea of dedicated a day to falsehoods seems perverse. I don’t want to be on the Internet or a part of discourse on a day when deliberately lying gives you social capital.
Alas this is an ancient human custom in many places. The Indian festival of Holi, medieval Feast of Fools, and the Roman Hilaria are all early spring celebrations of pranks, jokes and foolishness. The prevailing theory dates to France and the change to the Gregorian calendar.
April Fools’ Day back to 16th-century France. In 1564, King Charles IX adopted the Gregorian calendar, moving New Year’s Day from late March (around the vernal equinox) to January 1. Those who continued celebrating the old New Year date on April 1 were mocked as “April fools” and became targets of pranks, such as receiving fake gifts or being sent on “fool’s errands.”
I rather imagine that the religious traditions mentioned above all valued truth as a foundational virtue. To know the truth of the world and the truth of your soul are the twin ambitions of human life.
Perhaps I’m being too sensitive. Or too rigid. Humans are evolved primates and we play status games that involve deception in the entire primate family. But I’d still prefer that we communicate true information to each other as both a norm and as an aspiration. That’s not a joke.
Back in my distant Williamsburg hipster past I lived in a loft above a furniture store called Future Perfect. I am lucky enough to have acquired a couch from them but that’s a different story.
I didn’t envision exactly the kind of Future Perfect that I and the aforementioned coach would come to inhabit. Both the couch and my current life would have seemed crazily out of reach to me in the middle aughts.
This isn’t to say that life turned out perfect but it feels closer than I might have imagined. Many aspects of the future I was hoping to live seem almost comically small in their scale compared to what’s actually possible.
I hope this remains true for the future perfects that are yet to come. I see the rapid change in technology and I feel hopeful. Then I remember human nature and I have more trepidation. Either way, all I can do is take good care of myself now.
