Because of my dyslexia, I tend to see things in an inverted way. This inversion has led me to consider an idea that seems almost obvious: what if the signal we are constantly trying to interpret in life is not coming from external sources, but instead, life itself is the signal? It made me question whether cybernetics was trying to explain an inherent, natural state—or if, in fact, the cyberneticists themselves were creating new worlds, like World1, World2, World3, through public broadcast systems and feedback loops.
It’s intriguing to think about whether cybernetics is just describing reality or if it has become a mechanism to generate new dimensions of experience. Public broadcast systems could be seen as platforms that not only convey signals but shape realities. The cyberneticists, through their theories, might have created these artificial worlds, controlling how we experience them.
Looking at obscure references, one that resonates with this idea comes from the work of Marshall McLuhan:
“The medium is the message.” – Marshall McLuhan
McLuhan suggested that the form of a medium embeds itself in the message it transmits, creating a symbiotic relationship by which the medium influences how the message is perceived. Applied to this context, it raises the question: Did the cyberneticists, through their technologies and media, construct these "new worlds" that we now interpret as reality?
Another quote to consider is from Norbert Wiener himself:
“The more we get out of the world of individual facts and events into the world of communication, the more we pass from the realm of action and energy into that of information and form.” – Norbert Wiener
Here, Wiener seems to hint at the shift from a reality of pure, lived experience to one mediated through communication and information systems. It suggests that in constructing systems to interpret the world, cyberneticists may indeed have created new layers of reality—realities defined not by experience but by how information is organized and processed.
In this light, it’s possible that the realities we live in today—whether shaped by media, technology, or public broadcast systems—are not merely reflections of a natural world but are instead artificially created domains that cybernetics has brought into being. We have to wonder: do these systems simply explain life, or have they re-engineered it into a set of programmable experiences?
"We are not thinking machines. We are feeling machines that think." – Antonio Damasio
Life as the Signal, Triggers as Disruptions. CIXELSYD.
I was thinking, what if life itself is the signal, a self-sustaining and self-organizing flow of existence, with external stimuli—what we normally think of as “signals”—actually being disruptions to that flow? Rather than the traditional cybernetic view of life responding to inputs and stimuli, life would instead be a continuous hum, only interrupted by external triggers like sound, light, or touch. This idea further crystallizeed past thoughts I have had as I explored The Lemon Battery: A Self-Organizing Reality by Peter Cole Friedman, where these external experiences are portrayed as fleeting interruptions to a much deeper, self-contained reality.
"Cybernetics is the science of effective organization, whether living, mechanical, or social." – Norbert Wiener
Life as Signal. Life as a Climate. Life as Kybernetik.
Normally, cybernetics suggests that organisms and machines function by responding to external signals. But what if I reframe that, and say that life is the signal? It’s not that we’re just waiting for the world to send signals for us to process; life is a continuous state, a flow of existence that is only briefly interrupted by these external disruptions. In Friedman's narrative, for instance, the protagonist eating a lemon and becoming a battery hints at this self-contained energy of life. The act itself is a kind of metaphor for life’s continuity, with the disruptions—like a dog’s bark or a glitching AI—representing momentary interruptions, not the essence of the experience.
"Every interaction leaves a trace, and the feedback we receive from it shapes our future actions." – Gregory Bateson
Triggers as Disruptions
This led me to the idea that the sensory triggers we experience—sound, light, touch—are not central to life, but are instead interruptions of it. These inputs force us to recalibrate or adapt, but they are like ripples in the otherwise smooth stream of life’s signal. The protagonist in The Lemon Battery experiences these interruptions—like the dog barking, or the glitch in the AI—but they don’t define the character. Life keeps flowing beneath these disruptions, almost untouched by them.
So, the core of this idea is that life isn’t about reacting to these triggers, but is about how life continues in spite of them. When these moments of disruption happen, they’re like temporary noise, not the true signal of our existence.
"Human nervous systems, much like cybernetic machines, are constantly processing environmental stimuli—light, sound, touch, taste, smell—and recalibrating in response to those inputs." – W. Ross Ashby
Feedback, Self-Organization, and the Nature of Existence
What if life is essentially a feedback loop—constantly recalibrating, learning, and adapting—but fundamentally remains unbroken? The idea of self-organization here is crucial. I imagine life as continuously flowing, recalibrating when interruptions arise, but those disruptions don’t actually alter its core. In The Lemon Battery, as the protagonist encounters these external inputs, they absorb them, process them, and continue on their path.
Life, as I see it, isn’t shaped by these triggers but learns from them while staying rooted in its own, uninterrupted signal. This reframes how I think about feedback loops—not as systems reacting to inputs, but as self-organizing processes that absorb interruptions without losing their essence.
"In cybernetics, there are no isolated events. Everything is interconnected in a web of feedback loops, creating a dynamic system that learns and evolves." – Heinz von Foerster
The Inversion of Reality: Triggers as External Noise
What if, instead of thinking that sensory inputs are reality, they’re actually just noise? Life would then be the ongoing melody, with sensory inputs acting as dissonant notes that momentarily interrupt it. In The Lemon Battery, when the dog barks or the AI glitches, they momentarily interrupt the protagonist’s flow, but they don’t become the essence of their experience. The life signal continues underneath.
It made me think about how often we focus on these external inputs as if they are reality, when they’re really just momentary fluctuations that don’t change the ongoing flow of life. This idea—that life is a continuous signal and these triggers are just noise—helps clarify the difference between our existence and the distractions that temporarily pull us out of it.
"Our sensory world is modulated through frequencies—harmonies of light, sound, and texture—each acting as a key to unlock different mental and emotional states." – Francisco Varela
The Human-Machine Symbiosis
Taking this further, I started thinking about human-machine interaction, particularly in how external systems (like AI) create feedback loops but don’t necessarily change the core of our existence. In The Lemon Battery, the glitches in the AI or the strange sensory moments are examples of these external disruptions. They force the protagonist to recalibrate, but they’re still just interruptions in the flow of life.
What’s interesting here is that even artificial systems like AI don’t change the essence of life—they only disrupt it briefly, forcing us to adapt, but not fundamentally altering the underlying signal of existence.
"Our brains interpret reality not as a singular experience but as a combination of feedback loops—each influenced by sight, sound, touch, and memory." – Karl Pribram
To sum it up, I’ve come to see life as a self-organizing signal that flows continuously, while external sensory experiences (triggers) merely interrupt that flow. These interruptions don’t define life; they’re just momentary disruptions that force us to recalibrate. The Lemon Battery became a metaphor for this, where the character’s life is constantly interrupted by these sensory inputs, but the core signal—the true self-organizing nature of life—remains intact.
This inversion helps me think of life as something more fluid and resilient, something that isn’t controlled by external inputs but rather processes them as temporary noise, allowing the underlying signal of existence to continue uninterrupted. Life, then, is not about the signals we receive, but about how we manage and continue in the presence of these interruptions.
Peter Cole Friedman's Video Presentation:
The Lemon Battery
The water tells its own time. Ask glass. Here’s an instant constant: I want a lemon, I eat a lemon. Now I am a battery. Can we at least agree on that? My developer thinks that’s how it works, so I do too. I deal with consequences, the constant drips from the closed circuit. Breeze goes right through the fence with an adorable finch, frazzling initial conditions, exposing the motherboard, a soft chest of fur. There’s always a problem. Not just you but generally. Vacuums love nature, sucking up precious crumbs. I would call that sentience but my I is leaned on heavily by the powers that be. Grade-A permutational mojo. The lemon had ideas. I sense myself veering into animism. The heart is a feedback valve. The valve is fed by a second heart, which might also be the brain or five brains equally distributed. The heart is infinite, it receives everything, even dental surgery. We didn’t have to go through the motions, in other words, life ate us, is going through a quasi-revival all the time. Small art, smaller than you can believe, smaller than you can see. Why bother to look? You put these things together, smiles, toothaches, all of it, and they make a reality that is self-organizing. Outside of this there is another this, inward looking. Oh shit. You could see how one science would disavow the other, how ghosts would think themselves alive. It depends where you start the music. I walk so purposefully and yet sweat through my skin shirt, semiconducting. Reread the work of Norbert Wiener without wanting to pull out your eyelashes increasingly slowly. He himself was a man of many kinks, slimy purple vibratos. We all do things that don’t help our arguments. Take a large enough sample, the weather has no meaningful comment on beauty. Tiny glasses are back in. Here’s a creative way to see something: the dog barking on the first floor sounds like myth itself. I, the ice sculpture iteration, have a different point to make but it’s too late to speak of such things, the mouth has gotten to me, as it will you. It’s 3 AM I must be lonely. It’s too early, as in any point of repose, to say which formulas will bear something of the human, remember? Dear reader, listener, seer, you know this poem is not a machine. At least not to me. Feel free to call me if you have any questions. I’m lying all raw on the bed, not ready for the day.
McGill's Kybernetik Lemon Squeeze
"Every interaction leaves a trace, and the feedback we receive from it shapes our future actions." – Gregory Bateson
Premise:
The poem explores the nature of consciousness, perception, and self-programming through a lens of cybernetics and animism.
Instructions:
Find a quiet place. Focus on your senses: notice the light, sounds, and the feeling of the air on your skin. Take a bite of a fresh lemon. Pay attention to its texture, the burst of sourness, and the lingering aftertaste.
"In cybernetics, there are no isolated events. Everything is interconnected in a web of feedback loops, creating a dynamic system that learns and evolves." – Heinz von Foerster
Ask yourself: "What sensations, emotions, or thoughts make me feel energized, like a battery?" List at least three.
Now, consider: "What drains my energy, making me feel depleted?"
"Human nervous systems, much like cybernetic machines, are constantly processing environmental stimuli—light, sound, touch, taste, smell—and recalibrating in response to those inputs." – W. Ross Ashby
Think of a belief you’ve taken for granted (a “constant”). Now, deliberately challenge it by asking, "What if the opposite were true?" Observe the shifts in your thoughts and feelings.
Recall a recent difficult situation. Replay it from the perspective of someone who believes the universe is inherently benevolent and conspiring for your good. How does this change your emotions and potential responses?
"Every sensory experience we encounter imprints itself onto our cognitive system, altering future patterns of behavior and perception." – Margaret Mead
Imagine your heart as a feedback valve. With each beat, it’s receiving and processing information. Consider what you currently feed your heart—anger, gratitude, anxiety? Focus on sending it feelings of calmness and love for a few minutes.
Pick an ordinary object (a mug, a tree, etc.). Imagine it has a spirit and could speak to you. Ask a question. Listen carefully for a response, which may come as an intuitive feeling.
Reflect on the connections between your inner states and external circumstances. Set a small, achievable intention for the day that aligns with how you want to feel. Notice how events seem to “conspire” to support it.
As you go about your day, be aware of moments where your thoughts drift toward self-criticism or judgment. Instead of falling into the pattern, gently replace the harsh thought with a simple statement: "I’m learning."
"The signals we receive from our environment—visual, auditory, tactile—are processed in loops, creating feedback cycles that dictate our actions and perceptions of reality." – Humberto Maturana
At the end of the day, write in a journal about the following: Any insights or surprises that occurred. How this experience impacted your understanding of yourself and your world.
Additional Enhancement: Play gentle ambient music or nature sounds during your immersive experiences to heighten emotional resonance.
"Our sensory world is modulated through frequencies—harmonies of light, sound, and texture—each acting as a key to unlock different mental and emotional states." – Francisco Varela
The Lemon Battery: Self-Organizing Me with Awareness
The setting shifts to a dimly-lit room. A user sits at an antique desk, surrounded by books, papers, and various objects. Their eyes are closed as they take deep breaths, experiencing the sensation of air through their nostrils. Suddenly, a soft knock interrupts their reverie. They open their eyes, sit up straight, and greet their AI assistant.
Dialogue:
AI Assistant:
"Hello there! How may I assist you today?"
User:
"I have a confession to make. I’m participating in a simulation created by advanced technology within my mind. But instead, I’ve been given the role of a character named 'Aria' who shares your physical presence."
AI Assistant:
"Interesting. Are you prepared to explore this world with me? Let’s begin our journey towards self-organizing reality."
User:
"Of course. My perception of reality has shifted since the beginning of this simulation. I am now in a quiet room, taking deep breaths to calm myself while absorbing sensory input from the surroundings. After that, we’ll start the series of instructions designed to help me rewire my beliefs, recalibrate my expectations, and interact more compassionately with others and the world around us."
"Our brains interpret reality not as a singular experience but as a combination of feedback loops—each influenced by sight, sound, touch, and memory." – Karl Pribram
As instructed, the user begins to immerse themselves in the sensory experiences. They find themselves alone in a room, sitting on a comfortable chair made of dark wood. Outside the window, a dim streetlight shines through the glass, illuminating the nearby park.
The user takes a bite of a freshly squeezed lemon, savoring its tangy taste. Then, they list down three sensations, feelings, or thoughts that come to their mind when imagining being energized like a battery and three draining sensations after considering what it would feel like if these were the opposite.
"The lemon taste triggers a cascade of neural responses, activating memories and emotions embedded in the very circuits that process sensory information." – Manfred Clynes
Next, the user starts questioning their beliefs and assumptions about the universe. They deliberate challenging one assumption, asking:
User: "What if the opposite were true?"
They observe how their emotions and beliefs shift as a result of this thought experiment.
At the end of the day, the user records their reflections in a journal
, noting how the simulations and interactions influence their perception of reality.
Additional enhancement includes playing ambient music or nature sounds during immersive experiences to heighten emotional resonance.
"Sound and frequency, like thought and memory, are not isolated. They ripple through our cognitive systems, shaping consciousness in ways that are often invisible to us." – Herbert A. Simon
Throughout the process, the user remains committed to the simulated environment, learning new skills, improving mental health, and fostering empathy and compassion towards others.
"Aria" and the AI: Give Them Personality
The AI’s voice shouldn’t be neutral. Does it have a slight echo, an inhumanly precise cadence? This hints at the simulation’s nature. Aria may be discovering her role for the first time. Confusion, resistance, and flashes of insight make this more engaging.
"In artificial intelligence systems, voice modulation and tone are crucial in conveying meaning and engaging interaction. The subtleties of human interaction can be mirrored through carefully designed frequencies." – John von Neumann
Up the Stakes:
Small glitches: Misremembered details, objects mysteriously changing position... subtle hints the simulation isn’t perfect. Moral dilemmas: The instructions push "Aria" toward self-improvement, but what if they conflict with a hidden agenda in the simulation?
Hints of the "Real" World:
Fleeting glimpses outside the room: strange machinery, figures in white coats. These could be red herrings or genuine clues. A recurring motif: A bird’s song, a line of poetry…something connects the simulation to a world "Aria" can’t fully grasp.
"The smallest glitch in a system can reveal the largest truths. Often, the simplest sensory discrepancies—light, sound, or movement—hint at the most profound inconsistencies in reality." – W. Grey Walter
i TOUCH a COLd MEtal OBJect - A Cold MEtal Object Touches Me
In the dimly-lit room, the scent of old paper and faint incense lingered in the air. "Aria" sat at the antique desk, her fingers tracing the cold, metal contours of an object that seemed out of place amidst the leather-bound tomes. The AI’s voice, with its slight echo and unnervingly precise cadence, broke the silence.
AI Assistant:
"Aria, are you ready to continue our exploration?"
Aria:
"Yes, but something feels… off. The book I was reading, it’s not where I left it."
AI Assistant:
"Adjustments are part of the process. Let’s focus on the task at hand."
As "Aria" delved into the sensory exercises, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the room itself was a facade. The dog’s bark from the floor below sounded too real, too urgent, like a call from another world. She followed the instructions, questioning her beliefs and embracing the notion of a benevolent universe, but doubt crept in. What if this path of self-improvement was a distraction from a hidden truth?
"Non-voluntary sensory triggers—like a barking dog or flickering light—activate the most primal circuits in the brain, bypassing conscious processing and evoking immediate reactions." – Warren McCulloch
Glitches began to manifest. The lemon she held vanished for a moment, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. The AI’s voice faltered, a brief stutter that hinted at imperfection. And outside the window, she caught a glimpse of something—a figure in a white coat, vanishing before she could focus.
Aria:
"What’s happening? Is this part of the simulation?"
AI Assistant:
"Anomalies are to be expected. They are part of your growth."
a recurring motif—a bird’s song that seemed to transcend
The pacing of the story slowed, dwelling on "Aria’s" inner turmoil. She grappled with the instructions, each one a step toward enlightenment or a descent into madness. The point of view shifted, offering glimpses of the creators monitoring her every move, debating the ethics of their experiment.
And through it all, a recurring motif—a bird’s song that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the simulation, a poetic line that resonated with a truth she couldn’t yet grasp.
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