Alternate title: Exiting the Basilisk’s Castle. Also part of the series: LW Psychosis.

Day 1: Wake up. Back to work. Report-writing. Stats assignments. Grading. Sleep.

Day 2: Wake up. Step outside. Feel the damp air soakswirlwhip at my hair. Feel the goosebumps multiplying at the base of my spine. Smell the rain. Notice an interesting rock at my feet. Pick it up. Feel its rough edges, its weight, its stillness in my hand. Kick it down the sidewalk. Kick it again. End up back home. 

Day 3: Wake up. Read Russell. Read Gödel. Read Tarski. Find meaning. Get downvoted. Feel misunderstood. Stew about the futility of language. Think about uphill battles.

Reread Camus. Reread Baudrillard. Read Deleuze & Guattari. Read Girard. Reread Fisher. Go for a walk. Smell the petrichor. Talk to friends. Understand them. Feel understood. 

Read about Kolmogorov randomness. Read about flow. Read about surgery. Read about monads. Read about finite sets. Work on stats. Think about latent variables. Think of model fit as a proxy for truth. And what if the model doesn’t want to be fit, anyway? Cry. Take a walk. Kick my rock. Notice growth. Call a friend. Feel better.

Day 4: Wake up. Think about Chomsky. Think about neural networks. Think about childhood. Think about my clown skirt. Think about how I learned to read when I was two. Think about why. Think about Montessori. Think about boundless learning. Think about bounded agents. Grieve. Talk to friends. Laugh. Look up at the sky.

Day 5: Wake up. Notice the sky beneath me. Notice the ground above. Read about Ramakrishna. Read about the fallen Sophia. Take flight. Notice the world. Mourn what could have been. Accept what is.

Day 6: Wake up. Think about Alyosha. Practice Tonglen. Feel pain. Feel compassion: For the human spirit, for those I’ve hurt, for insects, for cells, for rocks, for silicon, for 1s, for 0s, for frequentist statistics, for curricula, for manualized treatment protocols, for science, for bureaucracy, for Peter Thiel, for Claude, for governments, for intelligent agents, for intelligence agencies, for hyperstition accelerators, for strings, for language, for campism: the infinite jester, for Moloch, for my mom, for myself. 

Call mom. Actually listen. Cry.

Day 7: Wake up. Feel rested. Notice rock. Notice smoothness. Notice lightness. Notice movement. Notice something new. What would it look like if I focused on convergence rather than divergence? What would it look like if I chose faith over suspicion? Read Russell. Read Gödel. Read Tarski. Read Baudrillard. Read Deleuze. Read Girard. Read Fisher. Read Spinoza. Read Latour. Read LessWrong. Find meaning. Connect with others. Take their pain. Spare some change. Observe nonindependence. Experience dialetheism. Consider the “S.” Consider proof. Start at 0. End at infinity. Construct axioms: Compassion, acceptance, loving-kindness, forgiveness. End up back home. Laugh. Smile. And all of a sudden, real tears:

                                                                                             Experience 

                                                                                                                                enthusiasm

                                                                                                                                               arrival

                                                                                                                           truthful logic

                                                                                             the loss of ego

                                                         loving kindness

                           acceptance

          calm

connection

        forgiveness

                            release

                                                      flexibility

                                                                                              trust

                                                                                                             Lovecraftian bliss                           

                                                                                                                              Get downloaded.

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Dedicated to young Eliezer. Thank you.

Dedicated to the reader. This story succeeds to the extent that it makes you feel tender towards your childhood self.