Just a ride

Life is like a ride in an amusement park. And when you go on it you think it's real, because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and around and around, it has thrills and chills and is very brightly colored. And it's very loud and it's fun for a while.

Some have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question is this real or is this just a ride? And other people have remembered and they come back to us and they say: "Hey, don't worry, don't be afraid ever - 'cause this is just a ride!" and we kill those people.

"Shut him up. I have a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real!"

It's just a ride...

But we always kill those good guys who try and tell us that - did you ever notice that? - and let the demons run amok..

But it doesn't matter, because it's just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It's only a choice - no effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a choice right now - between Fear and Love."

- Bill Hicks
Diciembre 16, 1961 – Febrero 26, 1994
Comediante, satirista y músico estadounidense.

Daisy, Daisy....

En 1962, la IBM 704 se convirtió en la primera computadora en cantar. Un momento enormemente significativo para la historia de la ingeniería informática, se trató de la primera vez que a un equipo se le enseñó a hacer algo distintivamente humano; expresarse a través de una canción.

La canción elegida para semejante proeza fue "Daisy Bell", melodía compuesta por Harry Dacre en 1892. Las voces fueron programadas en los laboratorios Bell por John Larry Kelly, Jr. y Carol Lockbaum y el acompañamiento musical corrió a cargo de Max Mathews.

Esta fría y ominosa interpretación que -sin embargo, consigue evocar una extraña sensación de nostalgia e inocencia- fue lo que inspiró la icónica escena de 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) cuando el protagonista, Dave Bowman se enfrenta a la supercomputadora HAL 9000. Bowman desconecta los módulos de memoria y los procesadores de HAL y éste, durante su agónica desactivación gradual, regresa a su primera memoria programada; cuando su instructor, el señor Langley le enseñó a cantar "Daisy". HAL prosigue a entonarla con su característica voz monótona, desvaneciéndose poco a poco en perturbadores tonos graves hasta que se funde en la estática del vacío interestelar.

El resto es historia: Vocaloids, Moogs, Vocoders, MIDIs y cientos de invenciones musicales posteriores superaron a la IBM 704 en refinamiento técnico. Sin embargo, esta interpretación maquinaria guarda un lugar muy especial en los anaqueles de la psicología y de la informática.

No se trata sólo de la demostración más antigua conocida de la síntesis de voz a través de una computadora. Se trata de la primera vez en que programamos algo para que tratara de ser como nosotros. Una inteligencia artificial que buscara imitarnos en todos los sentidos. Y tenía que ser con una canción de amor. Una entidad inteligente, cuyos procesos lógicos y posibilidades matemáticas nos superan infinitamente, irremediablemente enamorada.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do
I'm half crazy all for the love of you
It won't be a stylish marriage
I can't afford a carriage
But you'll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.

Don't you wonder sometimes?

Pale blinds drawn all day
Nothing to do, nothing to say
Blue, blue
I will sit right down,
Waiting for the gift of sound and vision
And I will sing, waiting for the gift of sound and vision
Drifting into my solitude,
over my head
Don't you wonder sometimes
'Bout sound and vision? 

"Sound and Vision"
- David Bowie (Enero, 8, 1947)
Músico, artista, pintor, actor y productor inglés.
Para el álbum Low (1977).


*¡Feliz cumpleaños número 68, David Bowie!

El Hombro de Pallas Atenas

Hoy, cuando observo algún especimen de Carine Noctua, procuro mirar a través de sus grises zarpas, ver más allá de sus blancas manchas alineadas, como fuegos artificiales en su enjuta frente. En su lugar, trato de ver el ave cuya imagen acuñaron los Griegos en sus monedas, posa pacientemente cerca del oído de la Diosa Pallas Atenea, compartiendo silenciosamente con ella su sabiduría.

Quizás, en vez de medir los emplumados mechones que rodeas sus oídos, deberíamos especular con lo que pudieron escuchar esos oídos. Quizás cuando estudiemos la forma en que se coge a la rama, con dos dedos de frente y el opuesto agarrándose detrás, deberíamos pararnos un momento y pensar que esas mismas garras, tal vez un día, hicieron brotar sangre en el hombro de Pallas.

-Alan Moore
Escritor y guionista de historietas británico.

En Watchmen (1987)

Lévy flights

How do we look? How exactly is it that we conduct our quests? Is it just a series of random occurrences the ones which lead us to the grand discoveries, those which rattle us to the core and shape our existence? Or is it something more, something more meaningful programmed deep inside, ready to astonish us at every unexpected curve? This seemingly simple question has resulted in an enormous effort of scientific research in recent decades. From the enigmatic flight of the Wandering Albatross (Diomedea exulans) to the most basic constituents of our everyday searches, all of these apparently insignificant manifestations are part of the same behavior, a random pattern discovered by a very bright french mathematician called Paul Pierre Lévy, conveniently baptised as "Lévy flights".

And what did this very bright french mathematican said? He said that everytime we set sail for a new skyline, after a certain number of steps, the distance from the origin of the random walk tends to a stable distribution. Short movements which precede long displacements. Basically, that no matter how much we try to hide it, we lose ourselves within the boundaries of the unknown-known.

Whether an animal foraging, a rescue team trying to locate a plane that has crashed in the middle of the ocean or an algorithm searching for information on a database, all of these cases require an optimal strategy to efficiently locate a target. So do we. Sometimes we scramble through our surroundings and find a restaurant that we like. We return. We take friends. We throw parties. It becomes ours. Until one day we no longer like it as much as we used to. Then we change restaurant and begin the process again.

We go out, we fall in love, we roam and collapse, we get up and go back to the hunt for beauty, we don't give up, we never give up. We break hearts, we let people down. We succumb to our doubts. We tear ourselves apart. We hit the bottom and escape. We move, we search, we look-look-look until we think we may have exhausted all stocks. Then we go out again to a lovely, new, wild trip. To catch that gleaming, never-ending promise that we're not supposed to obtain. And that, my boy, is human nature.

Fly, Felix, Fly.