New Caelifera

New Caelifera

modern methow cabin

My Voice

July 2, 2012 | Comment

What is my voice?  Lacking one, I choose pseudo-plagiary (the original, far more illuminating, can be found here):

The other one, the one called Dave Bacon, is the one things happen to.  I walk through the halls of Google Seattle and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the green glow of code from flat screens, and the blocks and arrows on the whiteboard; I know of Dave Bacon from his email and see his name on a list of (former) professors or in another person’s blog.  I like Borges, mountains, omphaloskepsis, the taste of chiles and the prose of Pynchon; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them histrionic.  It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship;  I live, let myself go on living, so that Dave Bacon may have contrived his theories, and these theories justifies me.  It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages (or more accurately he had great co-authors), but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the science and to experiment. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some bits of information about myself can survive in him.  Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of flipping certain important bits about himself.

Feynman knew that all things change; the electron exchanges a photon with another electron, scattering to a new state.  I shall remain in Dave Bacon, not scattered to another person (if it is true that my evolution is unitary), but I recognize myself less in his papers than in many others or in the laborious strumming of a guitar.  Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the foundations of quantum theory to games correcting quantum computing machines, but those games belong to Dave Bacon now, and I shall have to imagine other things.  Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

I do not know which of us has written this webpage.

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