Social interactions and daily tasks involved in being a successful member of the human species can sometimes feel automated and depersonalizing. Sometimes others appear as malfunctioning machines, repeating the same maladaptive or just menial behaviors. . .and thats when sometimes philosophy is the only consolation, well that and laughing and maybe a mountain hike.

My Statement: I believe we humans live in an environment surrounded by biology and technology, yet a majority of us focus merely on short sighted effects of those things. Contemporary discoveries in science and advances in technology describe an existence in a much more mechanistic way than any of us could have imagined. Being able to incorporate this information into our conscious while maintaining respect for human creativity and emotion will be important for future human technological advancements and environmental management. I also believe life extension "200+ years" via bio-physiological modification is well within the grasp of my generation, and I'll do my best to participate in these efforts.

Location: U.S. Denver

Education: B.S. in Psychology, Minors in Art History and Biology

Political Views: Libertarian Transhumanism

Religious Views: Agnostic

Myers-Briggs: INTJ

Anything I write or comment on can be found in my "Life" tag along with poetry, art I've created, or current happenings.

Poetry Blog:
http://a-cadence-for-catharsis.tumblr.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ctrl.alt.Nate

 

approachingsignificance:

theatlantic:

Obsessive Thoughts: A Darker Side of OCD

"That’s so OCD."
This comment, often traded among high school girls, usually regards someone’s organizational skills: properly spaced tab dividers, arrays of multicolored pens, or an especially neat locker.
If I google “celebrities with OCD,” I discover that I share my disorder with Cameron Diaz, Howard Stern, and Jesse Eisenberg. These interviews mention little more than minor compulsions. (Cameron Diaz is rumored to open doorknobs with her elbows; Howard Stern taps his car radio dial for a certain length of time before switching it on.)
Compulsive tics steal most of the limelight when it comes to Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Comparatively less attention, meanwhile, is given to the obsessive thoughts that characterize the other half of OCD. The content of these obsessions can range from pedophilia to homicide to sexual identity crises; compulsions “atoning for” the thoughts sometimes follow. For example: A woman, distraught by visions of murdering her child, wakes up several times in the night to check on her daughter.  
In discussions about OCD with family and friends, I’ve observed that it is easier for others to adjust to compulsions they can see rather than obsessions they can’t. It is easier for them to understand repetitive hand­-washing than, say, the fear of murdering your parents. Abstract pamphlet language—”recurrent and persistent thoughts, impulses or images”—doesn’t necessarily register in a non­sufferer’s mind as graphic or violent.
Read more. [Image: shioshvili/flickr]


"When I had thoughts of hurting people I loved, I would kiss or press my tongue to the floor, recalling a ritual I’d seen in church."

approachingsignificance:

theatlantic:

Obsessive Thoughts: A Darker Side of OCD

"That’s so OCD."

This comment, often traded among high school girls, usually regards someone’s organizational skills: properly spaced tab dividers, arrays of multicolored pens, or an especially neat locker.

If I google “celebrities with OCD,” I discover that I share my disorder with Cameron Diaz, Howard Stern, and Jesse Eisenberg. These interviews mention little more than minor compulsions. (Cameron Diaz is rumored to open doorknobs with her elbows; Howard Stern taps his car radio dial for a certain length of time before switching it on.)

Compulsive tics steal most of the limelight when it comes to Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Comparatively less attention, meanwhile, is given to the obsessive thoughts that characterize the other half of OCD. The content of these obsessions can range from pedophilia to homicide to sexual identity crises; compulsions “atoning for” the thoughts sometimes follow. For example: A woman, distraught by visions of murdering her child, wakes up several times in the night to check on her daughter.  

In discussions about OCD with family and friends, I’ve observed that it is easier for others to adjust to compulsions they can see rather than obsessions they can’t. It is easier for them to understand repetitive hand­-washing than, say, the fear of murdering your parents. Abstract pamphlet language—”recurrent and persistent thoughts, impulses or images”—doesn’t necessarily register in a non­sufferer’s mind as graphic or violent.

Read more. [Image: shioshvili/flickr]

"When I had thoughts of hurting people I loved, I would kiss or press my tongue to the floor, recalling a ritual I’d seen in church."

wildcat2030:

Why Do Witches Ride Brooms? (NSFW)
 You’re never going to look at sweeping the same way again. 
It started with bread. In the Europe of the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, bread was made, in large part, with rye. And rye and rye-like plants can host fungus—ergot*—that can, when consumed in high doses, be lethal. In smaller doses, however, ergot can be a powerful hallucinogen. Records from the 14th to the 17th century mention Europeans’ affliction with “dancing mania,” which found groups of people dancing through streets—often speaking nonsense and foaming at the mouth as they did so—until they collapsed from exhaustion. Those who experienced the “mania” would later describe the wild visions that accompanied it. (In the 20th century, Albert Hofmann would realize the psychedelic effects of LSD while studying ergot.)
fascinating history..go read..
(via Why Do Witches Ride Brooms? (NSFW) - Megan Garber - The Atlantic)

Girls cheesh.

wildcat2030:

Why Do Witches Ride Brooms? (NSFW)

You’re never going to look at sweeping the same way again.

It started with bread. In the Europe of the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, bread was made, in large part, with rye. And rye and rye-like plants can host fungus—ergot*—that can, when consumed in high doses, be lethal. In smaller doses, however, ergot can be a powerful hallucinogen. Records from the 14th to the 17th century mention Europeans’ affliction with “dancing mania,” which found groups of people dancing through streets—often speaking nonsense and foaming at the mouth as they did so—until they collapsed from exhaustion. Those who experienced the “mania” would later describe the wild visions that accompanied it. (In the 20th century, Albert Hofmann would realize the psychedelic effects of LSD while studying ergot.)

fascinating history..go read..

(via Why Do Witches Ride Brooms? (NSFW) - Megan Garber - The Atlantic)

Girls cheesh.

viperslang:

Atom and the Archetype is a series of letters exchanged between quantum physicist Wolfgang Pauli and psychoanalyst extraordinaire/founding father of analytic psychology Carl Jung (also, my primary reason for studying psychology).

The startling aspect to this communique is how at times if you don’t know the penman at the end of the epistle, you can confuse the scientist for the shrink and vice versa.

Marvelous and confounding and very highly recommended a read.

I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this. Finding and reading ASAP.

The Decline of Morality in the West

anarchei:

BrainPolice:

I believe in objective secular morality, founded on reason and universalism. I think a common mistake is the idea that if we ditch religion, we must fall back on moral relativity. Then the religious people feed on this and get to accuse secular people of being nihilists or hedonists. But I think that an objective secular morality can easily be formulated without relying on an appeal to authority, wether that be an appeal to a deity or an appeal to government. In some ways, I share a lot in common with the philosophy of the Objectivists (Ayn Rand’s philosophy), although I think they make some wrong turns and draw some erroneous political conclusions.

I think that morality has declined in the west because we have abandoned reason for secular forms of faith (often political ones). We are not taught to value ourselves. Rather, we are taught to value an endless array of group-identities. Thus, instead of identifying ourselves as individuals we think of ourselves as a part of imaginary collective constructs, such as political groups, races, nations, economic classes, and so on. Out of the crises of meaning brought on by the relative fall of medievalist religion, we have sought meaning in the wrong places. And the pursuit of science has unfortunately lead us down a path that leads people to erroneously accept determinism, thus denying free will. We need a new enlightenment.

Read More

laofmoonster:

As postmodern icon David Byrne, and his band Talking Heads said: “Stop making sense.”

what the fuck is this shit

Lol, I really like the talking heads but postmodernism is so ridiculous.

Even if you read the Dadaist manifesto they claim to be a cacophony or culture-jam, but their very existence is part of culture, makes a statement, progresses ideas or thoughts … i.e. unless everyone destroys all history or their memory at the exact same time, they exist as a form of modernism because they exist in time space.

The depersonalized individual cannot tell the difference between the way the hands slide against the skin and the way that they hear the sounds of sparks as if from nowhere. They walk around feeling as if their body is being lifted constantly by the weight of the air on the eyes, internalizing the world around them as fragments, letting dogs bite them, sleeping in rain storms for warmth, cutting off all of the human hair of the head to taste again. And not knowing a single song. And not knowing a single true thing. But what is it to know through the body, anyway, what is it to trust it, this knowing.

The Skin Team by Jordaan Mason, page 131 (via closerbones)

What Happened to Psychiatry's Magic Bullets?

s33:

Worth the quick read.

Serendipitous science and hormone imbalance myth? A few months ago I went to a lecture related to this from a visiting prof. who claimed that antidepressants were proven to work no better than placebos, he cited studies to back up his claims and if I remember correctly he also thought depression itself shouldn’t even be considered a pathology. I’m not often an optimist but I find it almost offensive to think that current pharmacological treatments don’t work or that there may be no treatment available for people suffering from depression, perhaps I’ve just bought into the myth, which may be somewhat disappointing considering I was educated as a behaviorist. We shall wait…

anthrocentric:

The Forgotten RescuedAnthrocentric 11 Sept 2013.
Several summers ago, I interned at a refugee center. There I taught an ESL class and a vocational english class. The students of my ESL class were women ranging from 18 to their mid-60s. I never would had known that the 18 year old was only that young; her experiences were worn on her, and you can see it in the twinkle of her eyes, the knowing smile, and the slowed steps she takes and she has to balance herself against the nearest object whenever the room moved too fast. They were all seeking asylum, a place to stay, but the only way they can do that, the only way they could survive was to assimilate and give up their cultural identities — and the first and most effective way to do so was to learn English. Teaching english wasn’t difficult. I took ESOL myself when I was younger for several years — it was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. I feel, for these women, learning english would be the same to them too. 
Every night I went home and reviewed what we went over that day, taking notes on what they struggled with, who struggled, who grasped the what, etc. I wanted to formulate it so that while there was still a standard curriculum, I could focus on those that needed the extra help. Right off the bat, I met a perfectionist and one of the most clever ladies I ever had the fortune to meet. She already knew Arabic and a tribal language. She was extremely proud of how fast she was picking up english. It was evident in the time she put to perfect her “q“‘s and “p“‘s, regardless of how often she said she “was not that good”. She took much pride in her education, wasn’t afraid to ask questions, and enjoyed trying to untangle and decipher our germanic grammar. But she took even more pride in her sons.
You see, the women I worked with were special. The war, they lived through atrocities, saw first hand what war and civil unrest does to people they know and care about. But these women, some came alone. Some came with children. All of them came widowed.
The countries they came from are very patriarchal countries. Every single one of them. One’s cultural identity, societal identity, one’s own sense of identity is highly intertwined with one’s husband and the recognition of those around. It doesn’t matter that Myanmar is in Asia and Iraq is in the Middle East, and the DR of the Congo is in Africa — no matter where you are in the world, your cultural identity and societal identity plays a major role in how you perceive yourself, in how you gauge your personal success and accomplishments. These women all lost that the moment they arrived to America. Most of them lost it before they even arrived to America.  
A month into my internship there, during the middle of a lecture, she broke down. She couldn’t keep going, and one of the other women, a women no one in their right mind would ever dare to cross because she could smack you down with a bat of her eyelashes, took her outside and consoled her in soothing, beautiful, cooing Arabic. I was shaken, and my first instinct was to follow them outside and help console her, but then I realised that as a child, as a non-immigrant, stranger I couldn’t be that comforting. So I continued teaching. I let them miss the day’s class. I signed the attendance sheet for them and after class was over, I took an extra long time cleaning up the classroom, lingering near their table where only their bags laid.
The women eventually came back. Their gait was cool and composed, but the slight puffs around their eyes gave them away, but I pretended I didn’t notice. I smiled knowingly, asking them if everything was alright and if I could possibly help. The sterner, older woman shook her head no. They both apologised profusely for missing the class and I brushed it off, letting know their attendance was marked. They thanked me profusely and left quickly so they wouldn’t miss the bus. 
Being a refugee is stressful. You have to make sure your children are going to school, you have to attend ESOL classes, you have to attend vocational classes, meet regularly with your case worker, you have to get at least one part-time job (getting a full time job’s nearly impossible for refugees), and attend many other mandatory events/classes/interviews, etc. None of these rules have changed much in the last 20 years. Not to my recollection at least. At the very least, it became more demanding.
The next week, after class, she came up to me. This amazingly brilliant, wonderful, clever woman came up to me, but all of her confidence and pride was muted. She was obviously concerned, shaken. She was clutching a packet of papers in her hands. And in a calm, controlled voice, she explained.
She explained that her life was getting out of hand. She had been struggling to get a job, to help her boys with their school work, that she has been meeting a “head doctor” to deal with her PTSD, a physician for her type II diabetes, all along with trying to attend the mandatory english and cultural classes. She told me of the struggles of dealing with a case worker, how difficult it was working with a system that is too preoccupied with saving and rescuing so many people from countries of civil unrest that they don’t have time to help the people they did “save” and “rescue”. She despaired at the loss of communication between her and her sons as the boys have started to refuse to speak Arabic, and when they are forced to do so, speak crude, broken Arabic. She bemoaned at the confusion of navigation the paperwork required of her just to get her bus pass, to get food stamps, to live. 
I let her explain as I took the paperwork and slowly started to navigate it myself. You see, I’m lucky — I’ve filed tens of these forms before. I knew she was telling me about her life, but her story resounded strongly with the stories I heard of so many others throughout my life. The stories of my own family and neighbors, of growing up in a settlement designated to immigrants. If I wasn’t lucky enough to grow up in an impoverished trailer park, I would never had been able to make sense of the novella I was to help her complete. 
She wasn’t an isolated incident. Her story was shared in varying levels with all the women in my class, and just about everyone in the camp. Her story was the story of my childhood immigrant neighbors. Her story was the story of the Pima Indians in Arizona. It resonated with the people in India. The first nations in Canada, aboriginals of Australia. People all throughout the people. The majority of the entire world’s population. All silenced and forgotten. 
We have done well with starting programs to help and “save” others so that we may pack ourselves in the back. I know I was, am, no exception. I was there for only a summer — that was nothing to these women. I barely made a dent in their lives, and only added more instability to their already unstable lives. I wanted to be someone who could help them, but in the end I’m just a fleeting face in their lives. Our system is very similar to that. We create programs to recognise symptoms and treat the symptom. We don’t create any programs to prevent the symptoms. We don’t create programs to treat the cause. We let people slip through the cracks. Countless, nameless people. While we are too busy saving the world, we’ve forgotten to help the people we’ve “saved”.

anthrocentric:

The Forgotten Rescued
Anthrocentric 11 Sept 2013.

Several summers ago, I interned at a refugee center. There I taught an ESL class and a vocational english class. The students of my ESL class were women ranging from 18 to their mid-60s. I never would had known that the 18 year old was only that young; her experiences were worn on her, and you can see it in the twinkle of her eyes, the knowing smile, and the slowed steps she takes and she has to balance herself against the nearest object whenever the room moved too fast. They were all seeking asylum, a place to stay, but the only way they can do that, the only way they could survive was to assimilate and give up their cultural identities — and the first and most effective way to do so was to learn English. Teaching english wasn’t difficult. I took ESOL myself when I was younger for several years — it was the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. I feel, for these women, learning english would be the same to them too. 

Every night I went home and reviewed what we went over that day, taking notes on what they struggled with, who struggled, who grasped the what, etc. I wanted to formulate it so that while there was still a standard curriculum, I could focus on those that needed the extra help. Right off the bat, I met a perfectionist and one of the most clever ladies I ever had the fortune to meet. She already knew Arabic and a tribal language. She was extremely proud of how fast she was picking up english. It was evident in the time she put to perfect her “q“‘s and “p“‘s, regardless of how often she said she “was not that good”. She took much pride in her education, wasn’t afraid to ask questions, and enjoyed trying to untangle and decipher our germanic grammar. But she took even more pride in her sons.

You see, the women I worked with were special. The war, they lived through atrocities, saw first hand what war and civil unrest does to people they know and care about. But these women, some came alone. Some came with children. All of them came widowed.

The countries they came from are very patriarchal countries. Every single one of them. One’s cultural identity, societal identity, one’s own sense of identity is highly intertwined with one’s husband and the recognition of those around. It doesn’t matter that Myanmar is in Asia and Iraq is in the Middle East, and the DR of the Congo is in Africa — no matter where you are in the world, your cultural identity and societal identity plays a major role in how you perceive yourself, in how you gauge your personal success and accomplishments. These women all lost that the moment they arrived to America. Most of them lost it before they even arrived to America.  

A month into my internship there, during the middle of a lecture, she broke down. She couldn’t keep going, and one of the other women, a women no one in their right mind would ever dare to cross because she could smack you down with a bat of her eyelashes, took her outside and consoled her in soothing, beautiful, cooing Arabic. I was shaken, and my first instinct was to follow them outside and help console her, but then I realised that as a child, as a non-immigrant, stranger I couldn’t be that comforting. So I continued teaching. I let them miss the day’s class. I signed the attendance sheet for them and after class was over, I took an extra long time cleaning up the classroom, lingering near their table where only their bags laid.

The women eventually came back. Their gait was cool and composed, but the slight puffs around their eyes gave them away, but I pretended I didn’t notice. I smiled knowingly, asking them if everything was alright and if I could possibly help. The sterner, older woman shook her head no. They both apologised profusely for missing the class and I brushed it off, letting know their attendance was marked. They thanked me profusely and left quickly so they wouldn’t miss the bus. 

Being a refugee is stressful. You have to make sure your children are going to school, you have to attend ESOL classes, you have to attend vocational classes, meet regularly with your case worker, you have to get at least one part-time job (getting a full time job’s nearly impossible for refugees), and attend many other mandatory events/classes/interviews, etc. None of these rules have changed much in the last 20 years. Not to my recollection at least. At the very least, it became more demanding.

The next week, after class, she came up to me. This amazingly brilliant, wonderful, clever woman came up to me, but all of her confidence and pride was muted. She was obviously concerned, shaken. She was clutching a packet of papers in her hands. And in a calm, controlled voice, she explained.

She explained that her life was getting out of hand. She had been struggling to get a job, to help her boys with their school work, that she has been meeting a “head doctor” to deal with her PTSD, a physician for her type II diabetes, all along with trying to attend the mandatory english and cultural classes. She told me of the struggles of dealing with a case worker, how difficult it was working with a system that is too preoccupied with saving and rescuing so many people from countries of civil unrest that they don’t have time to help the people they did “save” and “rescue”. She despaired at the loss of communication between her and her sons as the boys have started to refuse to speak Arabic, and when they are forced to do so, speak crude, broken Arabic. She bemoaned at the confusion of navigation the paperwork required of her just to get her bus pass, to get food stamps, to live. 

I let her explain as I took the paperwork and slowly started to navigate it myself. You see, I’m lucky — I’ve filed tens of these forms before. I knew she was telling me about her life, but her story resounded strongly with the stories I heard of so many others throughout my life. The stories of my own family and neighbors, of growing up in a settlement designated to immigrants. If I wasn’t lucky enough to grow up in an impoverished trailer park, I would never had been able to make sense of the novella I was to help her complete. 

She wasn’t an isolated incident. Her story was shared in varying levels with all the women in my class, and just about everyone in the camp. Her story was the story of my childhood immigrant neighbors. Her story was the story of the Pima Indians in Arizona. It resonated with the people in India. The first nations in Canada, aboriginals of Australia. People all throughout the people. The majority of the entire world’s population. All silenced and forgotten. 

We have done well with starting programs to help and “save” others so that we may pack ourselves in the back. I know I was, am, no exception. I was there for only a summer — that was nothing to these women. I barely made a dent in their lives, and only added more instability to their already unstable lives. I wanted to be someone who could help them, but in the end I’m just a fleeting face in their lives. Our system is very similar to that. We create programs to recognise symptoms and treat the symptom. We don’t create any programs to prevent the symptoms. We don’t create programs to treat the cause. We let people slip through the cracks. Countless, nameless people. While we are too busy saving the world, we’ve forgotten to help the people we’ve “saved”.

isomorphismes:

A plant that turns toward the light, or a worm that writhes after severation, doesn’t do so out of free will.Their internal biochemistry mechanically responds in a deterministic (if stochastic) way. They don’t make choices.
In Vehicles, Valentino Braitenberg asks if we humans aren’t the same way.
 
Even I could take come up with the easy arguments for this claim:
something annoys me → I get in a bad mood → I don’t pay attention to the car that’s pulling out → accident
I read a compelling book about robots → inspired to go to graduate school and dedicate my life to synthetic consciousness → entrenched in a career with no prospects
At the weakest level it’s obvious that people predictably respond to stimuli simply because we avoid people and situations we don’t like and gravitate to what we do like (subject to feasibility constraints).
 
But Braitenberg does something much more convincing. He builds robots to prove his point.
He starts by resolving the problem of Burridan’s Ass stochastically. A phototropic robot might be stuck at θ=0° between two light sources, but since we can’t get it to exactly 0° the robot—without free will or choice—heads toward one of the “bales of hay”.

What seemed like a paradox according to pure thought go away when someone took the paradox seriously enough to build a physical model. 
That problem is resolved with two wires connecting two stimuli to two engines. As the book progresses Braitenberg builds more lifelike robots using more connections—complex networks that reroute external stimuli to mechanistic, deterministic robotic response.

Braitenberg doesn’t get all the way to the dramatic complexity of "I love you! … I know." but given what’s possible with a few tens of connections, what could be possible with hundreds of trillions of connections?

Because of this book I’ve gone through years of my life believing I was probably an automaton. That’s a weird feeling.

This same thing happened to me except it was with B.F. Skinner’s “Beyond Freedom and Dignity.”

isomorphismes:

A plant that turns toward the light, or a worm that writhes after severation, doesn’t do so out of free will.
image
Their internal biochemistry mechanically responds in a deterministic (if stochastic) way. They don’t make choices.

In Vehicles, Valentino Braitenberg asks if we humans aren’t the same way.

 

Even I could take come up with the easy arguments for this claim:

  • something annoys me → I get in a bad mood → I don’t pay attention to the car that’s pulling out → accident
  • I read a compelling book about robots → inspired to go to graduate school and dedicate my life to synthetic consciousness → entrenched in a career with no prospects
  • At the weakest level it’s obvious that people predictably respond to stimuli simply because we avoid people and situations we don’t like and gravitate to what we do like (subject to feasibility constraints).
 

But Braitenberg does something much more convincing. He builds robots to prove his point.

He starts by resolving the problem of Burridan’s Ass stochastically. A phototropic robot might be stuck at θ=0° between two light sources, but since we can’t get it to exactly the robot—without free will or choice—heads toward one of the “bales of hay”.

image

What seemed like a paradox according to pure thought go away when someone took the paradox seriously enough to build a physical model

That problem is resolved with two wires connecting two stimuli to two engines. As the book progresses Braitenberg builds more lifelike robots using more connections—complex networks that reroute external stimuli to mechanistic, deterministic robotic response.

image

Braitenberg doesn’t get all the way to the dramatic complexity of "I love you! … I know." but given what’s possible with a few tens of connections, what could be possible with hundreds of trillions of connections?

image

Because of this book I’ve gone through years of my life believing I was probably an automaton. That’s a weird feeling.

This same thing happened to me except it was with B.F. Skinner’s “Beyond Freedom and Dignity.”

gretzkyfresco:

there’s so much hostility everywhere over everything and nowhere to get away from it. do other people feel like this? what do you do to cope?

Oh well, I often imagine a near futuristic society led by scientists and intellectuals “where all my pedantic qualities are appreciated”. War, violence, over consumption and the monetary system are seen as forms of disorganization and are thus eliminated from our culture… human culture. Any current political,environmental, or economic troubles will soon be remembered as an almost childish view of our biosphere after the roar of consilience has arrived.

Umm so I read articles about scientific/tech advancements, make time to appreciate art and drink a lot of tea. It’s like all the maladaptive behaviors currently taking place on a global scale are just a hiccup which will be resolved by human innovation. I don’t think it’s denial or just being hopeful, I think it’s logical foresight err acknowledgment of longitudinal human advancement.

Or sometimes I just stay in bed all day and watch cartoons.
wildcat2030:

Sexual Fetishes Evolve with Technology
Greek and Roman writings are filled with accounts of people doing the dirty with statues – a sexual fetish so common that it had its own term, agalmatophilia. The scholars Alex Scobie and Tony Taylor argued in 1975 that these sculptures were
… representational in appearance, coloring and size. The statues were placed on street level rather than high up on pedestals. Hence the statues were life-size, life-like and so conveniently accessible as to enable the populace to form personal relationships with them.
Despite its prevalence in ancient times, agalmatophilia is all but unknown today. Over at Scientific American, author Jesse Bering theorizes that the disappearance of this sexual paraphilia is due to changing technology. People who might have been statute-lovers now own RealDolls and robots. According to Bering, “advances in technology mean that we’ve since gained everything from latex fetishism to mechanophilic arousal by automobiles to the electrophile’s sexual dependence on electric currents.” Our sexual natures change along with us. (via Sexual Fetishes Evolve with Technology « NextNature.net)

read more: http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/bering-in-mind/2013/08/08/hearts-of-stone-sexual-deviants-in-antiquity/

wildcat2030:

Sexual Fetishes Evolve with Technology

Greek and Roman writings are filled with accounts of people doing the dirty with statues – a sexual fetish so common that it had its own term, agalmatophilia. The scholars Alex Scobie and Tony Taylor argued in 1975 that these sculptures were

… representational in appearance, coloring and size. The statues were placed on street level rather than high up on pedestals. Hence the statues were life-size, life-like and so conveniently accessible as to enable the populace to form personal relationships with them.

Despite its prevalence in ancient times, agalmatophilia is all but unknown today. Over at Scientific American, author Jesse Bering theorizes that the disappearance of this sexual paraphilia is due to changing technology. People who might have been statute-lovers now own RealDolls and robots. According to Bering, “advances in technology mean that we’ve since gained everything from latex fetishism to mechanophilic arousal by automobiles to the electrophile’s sexual dependence on electric currents.” Our sexual natures change along with us. (via Sexual Fetishes Evolve with Technology « NextNature.net)

read more: http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/bering-in-mind/2013/08/08/hearts-of-stone-sexual-deviants-in-antiquity/

Just in case it’s not made reblogable. Christians often ask me this question, I don’t recall my response being as eloquent.

Just in case it’s not made reblogable. Christians often ask me this question, I don’t recall my response being as eloquent.

retromantique:

Since moving, I’ve made observations of the significant social differences in living in a neighbourhood with a large Arab population. Today, after almost hitting me with their car (and subsequently being told off by myself), three young Arab men waited for me to exit the bakery so they could swear at me and assault me.

It’s easy to write off an incident such as this as a simple altercation, of which there are many, independent of one’s cultural background. But it’s hard to not take this and connect the dots with men who stare at me constantly and the complete lack of women socializing in my neighbourhood.

Until we are willing to have mature, rational discussions about how “imported” cultures can affect our society – a discussion that cannot exist if we are quick to hurl accusations of racism and “Islamophobia” around every time someone criticizes aspects of someone else’s culture – these incidents are destined to repeat themselves, and to worsen.

One of my favorite professors was labeled a racist for pointing out a lack of cultural integration. It’s not even as though he or you are saying they should conform, it’s a matter of acknowledging differences. US culture is ingrained with protestant ideals, and for the most part I like it, I’m agnostic but still appreciate it. Expectation are crucial for social interaction, it’s a type of language that maintains order. Knowing what to expect from people makes sense.