threebeornothreebe

On the way to the Space Elevator, an improbable view pop ups through the hyperloop oval window. It is the fleeting mirage of a floating ocean - or a gargantuan aquarium - stealing an entire city block. For a fraction of a second I can hear it, smell it, taste it... that is, I feel the seashore with all my senses. It was late afternoon, and a kaleidoscopic (virtually out-of-this-world) sunset had transfixed me, so it takes me a moment to realize that such experience was anything but real. These were not whales, dolphins and fish - just holographic projections rendered in a carefully crafted simulation (kids these days probably don’t mind the distinction; I guess I am too old not to feel cheated).  Dancing voxels of light: not a single flying fish. A short multimedia choreography took my senses by surprise, prompting that primitive part of my brain always eager to believe. These were fish - these were somehow fish - claims an inner voice rapidly gaining ground in my mind [1]. ...

Real intelligence or artificial cognitive enhancement will soon be indistinguishable. Reasoning takes some effort of course, but the elements and pieces that compose it are like “qualia of the thought”: they are ineffable and you cannot break it into more elemental pieces (unless you are using a formal language, and try to solve the puzzle without “thinking” but following some algorithm (like the Chinese room)).  I mean, working memory, speed of thought, all contribute to the feeling that one is thinking and one can direct one’s attention to a problem , but the thinking itself is happening under the hoods.  One can direct focus and attention to pieces of the problem, based on previous knowledge - something you can explain verbally - but intuition and even the elemental pieces of inference are mostly unconscious processes.  Higher IQs are like better natural athletes: they can maybe work to improve some aspects of their body, but then, when performing t...

  Ève , L’Ancienne Six ans de vie commune effacés en un week-end. Le regard de Marc se posa encore une fois sur les carrés blancs sur fond noir marquant l'emplacement des tableaux qu' Ève  avait su emporter à la hâte. Depuis son départ, il n'avait trouvé la force ni de se faire à manger ni de nettoyer la maison (l'avait-il jamais fait tout seul ?). Et puis, depuis quand nettoie-t-on les murs avant de faire la vaisselle ? "Tu vis dans ta tête, mon cher Marc" , avait-elle dit d'un ton qui aurait encore pu passer pour de la tendresse. "Tu n'es qu'un enfant..." enchaîna-t-elle. Cette fois-ci, Marc reconnut le ton pitoyable, ce qui le rendit fou de rage. Mais elle poursuivit de plus belle, ignorant sa réaction. "Je ne sais pas pour qui tu te prends ! Tu es loin d'être parfait, alors arrête de..." Mais c'est elle qui s'arrêta net. Elle hocha légèrement la tête et baissa les yeux dans un geste d’une tristesse infinie et dé...