Instadialectics

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British Cops Want to Use AI to Spot Porn—But It Keeps Mistaking Desert Pics for Nudes

“Sometimes it comes up with a desert and it thinks its an indecent image or pornography,” Mark Stokes, the department’s head of digital and electronics forensics, recently told The Telegraph. “For some reason, lots of people have screen-savers of deserts and it picks it up thinking it is skin colour.”

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“El algoritmo de la policía londinense no distingue un desierto de un desnudo.” (…) “Cuando el programa debía señalar o “flaggear” a personas desnudas fallaba y por mucho, demostrando poseer una mirada especialmente pecaminosa.” (…) “Confundía imágenes del desierto y sinuosas dunas de arena con piel humana, con cuerpos desnudos.”

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bf8zcw9BLmy/?hl=es&taken-by=rentalmagazine

-Send dunes.

sol/suelo/floor

Photograph of his brother, Gustave Caillebotte, with his dog in front of the Louvre, Paris.

 

Parler avec les mots des autres… voilà ce que je voudrais. Ce doit être ça la liberté.

Hablar con las palabras de otros… es lo que desearía. Es lo que debe ser la libertad.

To speak with the words of others… That’s what I’d like. That’s what freedom must be.

Extrait, 1:48:25 – La maman et la putain [1976], Jean Eustache.

aesthetics

¿No lo he dicho ya? – escribía Rilke en “Los cuadernos de Malte Laurids Brigge” – Estoy aprendiendo a ver. Sí, este es el comienzo. Todavía no se me da demasiado bien. Pero me esforzaré al máximo. Por ejemplo, nunca me había preguntado cuántas caras existen. Hay una cantidad enorme de personas, pero hay muchas más caras porque cada persona tiene varias.

[FACES] by Rainer Maria Rilke

“Have I said it before? I am learning to see. Yes, I am beginning. It’s still going badly. But I intend to make the most of my time. For example, it never occurred to me before how many faces there are. There are multitudes of people, but there are many more faces, because each person has several of them. There are people who wear the same face for years; naturally it wears out, gets dirty, splits at the seams, stretches like gloves worn during a long journey. They are thrifty, uncomplicated people; they never change it, never even have it cleaned. It’s good enough, they say, and who can convince them of the contrary? Of course, since they have several faces, you might wonder what they do with the other ones. They keep them in storage. Their children will wear them. But sometimes it also happens that their dogs go out wearing them. And why not? A face is a face. Other people change faces incredibly fast, put on one after another, and wear them out. At first, they think they have an unlimited supply; but when they are barely forty years old they come to their last one. There is, to be sure, something tragic about this. They are not accustomed to taking care of faces; their last one is worn through in a week, has holes in it, is in many places as thin as paper, and then, little by little, the lining shows through, the non-face, and they walk around with that on.”

randomly

“I woke up one day and everything in the apartment had been stolen and replaced with an exact replica. I said to my room-mate, Can you believe this? Everything has been stolen and replaced with an exact replica. He said, Do i know you?

Steven Wright . N.Y. Times.

Random images/ random quotes by Artist David Templeton

“Me desperté un día y todo en el apartamento había sido robado y reemplazado con una réplica exacta. Le dije a mi compañero de habitación, ¿puedes creer esto? Todo ha sido robado y reemplazado con una réplica exacta. Él replicó, ¿te conozco?

Steven Wright . N.Y. Times.

Imágenes al azar/ citas al azar del artista David Templeton

 

Excesiva simetría

“You cannot use a brand new word in an old language because of the very obvious yet always mysterious fact that a word is not a single and separate entity, but part of other words. Indeed it is not a word until it is part of a sentence. Words belong to each other, although, of course, only a great poet knows that the word "incarnadine" belongs to "multitudinous seas.”

V. Woolf

 

DSC01724
Corcubión, Galicia

Después de un parto prolongado, el cráneo del niño se presenta como un molde del estrecho inferior de la pelvis maternal.

S. Freud, «Un tipo particular de escogencia de objeto en el hombre» (1910), trad. D. Berger. J. La vida sexual. París, PUF, 1969 (ed. revisada y corregida, 1977), p. 50-51.

anamnesis material

un lugar para perder el espacio

resuena siempre en futuro, un hueco sobre el alma.

¡Todo huye! Porosa es mi presencia

y la santa impaciencia también muere.

15-16

¡Rompa el cuerpo esa forma pensativa!

ebria en tu carne azul

17

Paul Valéry, El cementerio marino. Versión de A. Gutiérrez Hermosillo.

Wreckage, 2016

Cada uno es mucha gente.

El poeta es un fingidor.
Finge tan completamente
que finge que es dolor
el dolor que realmente siente.

(Autopsicografía)

Comprendí que las cosas son reales y totalmente diferentes una de otra:
Lo comprendí con los ojos, jamás con el pensamiento.
Comprenderlo con el pensamiento hubiera sido encontrarlas
todas iguales.

(Si, después que yo muera…)

F. Pessoa, Tengo pena y no respondo. Antología poética.

 

El show de Truman (1998)

“Truman Burbank es un hombre corriente y algo ingenuo que ha vivido toda
su vida en uno de esos pueblos donde nunca pasa nada. Sin embargo, de
repente, unos extraños sucesos le hacen sospechar que algo anormal está
ocurriendo. Todos sus amigos son actores, toda su ciudad es un plató,
toda su vida está siendo filmada y emitida como el reality más ambicioso
de la historia.” Película online.

Bowie y el pájaro azul

David Bowie, como siempre a su artística y peculiar manera, ya nos avisó con su último álbum Blackstar de lo que iba a suceder, haciendo de la vida, sobre todo de la enfermedad y la muerte, temas centrales de sus últimas canciones. Así, a los 69 años, el pájaro azul (referencia a un poema de Bukowski) como menciona en la letra de esta canción, al fin ha volado libre…
There’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?