slept my first two cyborg nights and now I feel fucking great. Fresh, unlimited energy. I hate technology but I cannot live without it and I’ve built my life around it all my life is shaped by this paradox and in a certain way I love it. But I will always crave the countryside wirelessless dream.
I learned too late that the only way to become an artist is to become familiar with failure and also loving it to an extent . I can now proceed as a latecomer.
The world is divided in two kinds of people: the ones who know what day it is and the ones who check on a screen. I check on a screen.
Is AI fulfilling the dream of capitalism? The total substitutability of the worker? Between all of those who can use the tool, everyone can substantially get the same result with little effort, hence, the capitalist can tell the condition of the job and if one refuses, it will continue to replace the worker with others until its conditions are met. Utopia or dystopia?
Met Viktor Kossakovsky. Gentle charm and childish – in the best way – enthusiasm makes him a lovely, deep, intelligent and caring man. We had drinks, we got drunk. At 1.10 under a thunderstorm and pouring rain he took off his shoes and coat and disappeared into the storm.
Interior night. Turin Hotel. A lobby boy around my age told me he brings bad luck and misfortune to everyone that stumbles upon him. He is – he said – unfortunate himself. Perspective might teach him that under his same parameters we all are, thus none of us actually is, unlucky. But I held my balls to avert eventual danger anyway as I went into my room, uncovering a very average hotel room which has the discomfort of a bathroom door opening onto the entrance door and over the light switch, hence becoming the hypothenuse of an impenetrable triangular wall that makes operating such switch very uncomfortable. I pissed in the dark and went to sleep.
I have been diagnosed a very bad case, for someone my age and thin and also regularly exercising, of obstructive sleep apnea. The test says that yesterday night I held my breath 271 times, roughly 31,8 times per hour, with a maximum of 142 seconds of consecutive breath-holding. which puts me at the dangerous end of the spectrum. The guy that diagnosed me showed me a black 31,8 over a slighly lighter grey – there wasn’t enough contrast by a stretch which makes the number readable only by people under 35 and likely nearsighted, maybe strategically – on a spectrum that goes up to 50, 50 meaning you’re probably an obese diabetic 65 years-old man and dying. I’ll have to wear a CPAP to sleep for the rest of my life. Have I been a fish in a past life, now struggling to adapt to life on earth, and when I sleep I hold my breath, afraid of being out of water? I don’t know. I don’t identify as a fish.