Language and Generative AI: A Journey through Midjourney

I am not a fan of Midjourney v7. I prefer v6.1. And I want to write about the correspondence of language, per my Language Insufficiency Hypothesis.

Let’s start with the language aspect. Notice how distant the renders are from the intent of the prompt.

This is my initial prompt. I used it about a year ago to generate the cover image with v6.1, but I wanted to see how it renders in v7. Let’s take a trip all the way back to the beginning.

cinematic, tight shot, photoRealistic light and shadow, exquisite details, delicate features, emaciated sensual female vampire waif with vampire fangs, many tattoos, wearing crucifix necklace, gazes into mirror, a beam of moonlight shines on her face in dark mausoleum interior, toward camera, facing camera, black mascara, long dark purple hair , Kodak Portra 400 with a Canon EOS R5
Image: Midjourney v6.1 render set (from about a year ago)

As you can see, these renders are somewhat lacking in photorealism, but the “sensual” term in the prompt was not blocked.

Midjourney v7

Initially, I encountered a hiccup. After a couple of rejections on the grounds of morality, I removed the word ‘sensual’ and received the output. All of the output uses this prompt absent the sensual term.

As mentioned, I have generated several images (including the cover image) with this prompt, but Midjourney is inconsistent in its censorship gatekeeping.

Image: Midjourney v7 render set

Notice that 3 of the 4 renders in the v7 set don’t even have a mirror. The top right one does, but it’s not evident that she’s a vampire. In fact, I could say that any of these are vampiresses, but perhaps that’s what they want you to believe. In place of a necklace, the lower right wokan sports a cross tattoo.

Midjourney v6.1

Image: Midjourney v6.1 render set

Again, these renders don’t appear to be vampires. The one on the lower left does appear to have snake-like fangs, so I guess I’ll give partial credit.

My next attempt was interrupted by this message.

It rendered something that might violate community guidelines. The funny thing is that one can watch the image generate in process. It only takes one “offensive” image to disqualify the whole batch.

Midjourney v6

Image: Midjourney v6 render set

Yet again, not a vampire to be found. Notice the reflection in the lower left image. Perhaps vampire reflections just behave differently.

Midjourney 5.2

Image: Midjourney v5.2 render set

Midjourney v5.2 was a crapshoot. Somehow, I got vampire lips (?), a Wiccan, a decrepit Snape from Harry Potter lore, and Iron Maiden’s Eddy reading a book. It’s something. I’m sensing gender dysphoria. Dare I go back further?

Midjourney v5.1

Image: Midjourney v5.1 render set

It gets worse. No comments necessary. Let’s turn back the clocks even more.

Midjourney v5

Image: Midjourney v5 render set

To be fair, these all do have occult undertones, but they are weak on vampireness.

Midjourney v4

Image: Midjourney v4 render set

To be fair, the render quality isn’t as bad as I expected, but it still falls short. There’s further back to travel.

Midjourney v3

Image: Midjourney v3 render set

Some configuration parameters no longer exist. Still, I persist for the sake of art and science at the cost of time and ecology.

As much as I complain – and I complain a lot – this is how far we’ve come. As I recall, this is when I hopped onto the Midjourney bandwagon. There’s still more depth to plumb. I have no idea how much of the prompt is simply ignored at this point.

Midjourney v2

Image: Midjourney v2 render set

What the hell is this? 🤔🤣 But I’m not done yet.

Midjourney v1

Image: Midjourney v1 render set

The damned grandpappy of them all. Apparently, colour hadn’t been invented yet. You can’t tell by these thumbnails, but the resolution on these early versions approaches that of a postage stamp.

Midjourney Niji 3

Image: Midjourney Niji 3 render set

I had forgotten about the Niji models from back in the day. There were 3 versions. I don’t recall where this slotted into the chronology. Obviously, not down here. I’ve only rendered the newest one. I think this was used primarily for anime outputs, but I might be mistaken.

Bones Content 1: Video

Video: Midjourney Render of Purported Vampiress

This is a video render of the same prompt used on this page.

Bonus Content 2: Midjourney v6.1 Content from 34 weeks ago

Same prompt.

Image: Midjourney v6.1 render set (several passes)

The upper left image reminds me of Kirsten Dunst. Again, notice the female breasts, highlighting Midjourney’s censorial schizophrenia.

Midjourney Boundaries

I promise that this will not become a hub for generative AI. Rather than return to editing, I wanted to test more of Midjourney’s boundaries.

It turns out that Midjourney is selective about the nudity it renders. I was denied a render because of cleavage, but full-on topless – no problem.

Both of these videos originate from the same source image, but they take different paths. There is no accompanying video content. The setup features three women in the frame with a mechanical arm. I didn’t prompt for it. I’m not even sure of its intent. It’s just there, shadowing the women nearest to it. I don’t recall prompting for the oversized redhead in the foreground, though I may have.

In both images, note the aliasing of the tattoos on the blonde, especially on her back. Also, notice that her right arm seems shorter than it should. Her movements are jerky, as if rendered in a video game. I’m not sure what ritual the two background characters are performing, but notice in each case the prepetition. This seems to be a general feature of generative AI. It gets itself in loops, almost autistic.

Notice a few things about the top render.

Video: Midjourney render of 3 females and a mechanical arm engaging in a ritual. (9 seconds)

The first video may represent an interrogation. The blonde woman on the left appears to be a bit disoriented, but she is visually tracking the woman on the right. She seems to be saying something. Notice when the woman on the right stands. Her right foot lands unnaturally. She rather glitches.

The camera’s push and pull, and then push, seems to be an odd directorial choice, but who am I to say?

Video: Midjourney render of 3 females and a mechanical arm engaging in a ritual. (12 seconds)

The second video may represent taunting. The woman on the left still appears to be a bit disoriented, but she checks the redhead in the foreground with a glance. Notice the rocking of the two background characters, as well as the mech arm, which sways in sync with the woman on the right. This is a repetition glitch I mentioned above.

Here, the camera seems to have a syncopated relationship with the characters’ sway.

Summary

The stationary objects are well-rendered and persistent.

Assignment

Draft a short story or flash fiction using this as an inspirational prompt. I’m trying to imagine the interactions.

  • The ginger seems catatonic or drugged. Is she a CIS-female? What’s with her getup?
  • The blonde seems only slightly less out of it. Did she arrive this way? Did they dress her? Why does she appear to still have a weapon on her back? Is it a weapon or a fetter? Why is she dressed like that? Is she a gladiatrix readying for a contest? Perhaps she’s in training. What is she saying? Who is she talking to? What is her relationship to the redhead? Are they friends or foes – or just caught up in the same web?
  • What is the woman wearing the helmet doing? She appears to have the upper hand. Is she a cyborg, or is she just wearing fancy boots? What’s with her outfit? What’s with her Tycho Brahe prosthetic nose piece?
  • What is that mechanical hand? Is it a guard? A restraint? Is it hypnotising the ginger? Both of them? Is it conducting music that’s not audible?
  • What’s it read on the back wall? The two clips don’t share the same text. Call the continuity people.

Ridley Park Propensity

frantic woman, pen and ink

As some of you know, I publish speculative fiction under the name Ridley Park. Propensity is one of several recent releases – a novella that leans philosophical, brushes up against literary fiction, and steps quietly into the margins of sci-fi.

It’s not about spaceships or superintelligence. It’s about modulation.

About peace engineered through neurochemical compliance.

About the slow horror of obedience without belief, and the behavioural architecture that lets us think we’re still in control.

The ideas explored include:

  • Free will as illusion
  • Peace as compliance
  • Drift, echo, and the limits of modulation
  • Obedience without belief
  • Institutional horror and soft dystopia
  • Consent and behavioural control
  • Narrative as residue
  • Collapse by calibration

Though filed under speculative fiction, Propensity [US] is best read as a literary artefact – anti-sci-fi, in a sense. There’s no fetishisation of technology or progress. Just modulation, consequence, and the absence of noise.

This PDF contains selected visual excerpts from the physical book to accompany the free audiobook edition. For readers and listeners alike, it offers a glimpse into Ridley Park’s world – a quietly dystopian, clinically unsettling, and depressingly plausible one.

  • Title page
  • Copyrights page
  • Table of Contents
  • Chapter 10: Memorandum. This chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the form of a memo.
  • Chapter 26: Simulacra. This chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the format of a screenplay.
  • Chapter 28: Standard Test: This chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the format of a standardised test.
  • Chapter 34: Calendar. This chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the format of a calendar.
  • Chapter 39: Carnage. This chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the form of a Dr Suess-type poem.
  • Chapter 41: Leviathan. This chapter is excerpted in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered with an image of the cover of Hobbes’ Leviathan and redacted page content.
  • Chapter 42: Ashes to Ashes. This chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the form of text art.
  • Chapter 43: Unknown. A description of this chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the form of an ink sketch.
  • Chapter 44: Vestige. A description of this chapter is read in the audiobook. The inclusion here is for visualisation as it is rendered in the form of text art.

For more information about Ridley Park’s Propensity, visit the website. I’ll be sharing content related to Propensity and my other publications. I’ll cross-post here when the material has a philosophical bent, which it almost always does.

The Emperor’s New Models: Box, Lawson, and the Death of Truth

We live in an age intoxicated by models: climate models, economic models, epidemiological models, cosmological models—each one an exquisite confection of assumptions draped in a lab coat and paraded as gospel. Yet if you trace the bloodline of model-building back through the annals of intellectual history, you encounter two figures who coldly remind us of the scam: George Box and Hilary Lawson.

Box: The Gentle Assassin of Certainty

George Box, the celebrated statistician, is often credited with the aphorism: “All models are wrong, but some are useful.” However, Box himself never uttered this precise phrase. What he did say, in his 1976 paper Science and Statistics, was:

The “some are useful” flourish was added later by a public desperate to sweeten the bitter pill. Nevertheless, Box deserves credit for the lethal insight: no model, however elegant, perfectly captures reality. They are provisional guesses, finger-paintings smeared across the rough surface of the unknown.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on this topic.

Lawson: The Arsonist Who Burned the Map

Hilary Lawson, contemporary philosopher and author of Closure: A Story of Everything, drags Box’s modest scepticism into full-blown philosophical insurrection. In a recent lecture, Lawson declared:

Where Box warns us the emperor’s clothes don’t fit, Lawson points out that the emperor himself is a paper doll. Either way, we dress our ignorance in equations and hope no one notices the draft.

Lawson’s view is grim but clarifying: models are not mere approximations of some Platonic truth. They are closures—temporary, pragmatic structures we erect to intervene effectively in a world we will never fully comprehend. Reality, in Lawson’s framing, is an “openness”: endlessly unfolding, resistant to total capture.

The Case of the Celestial Spheres

Take Aristotle’s model of celestial spheres. Ludicrous? Yes. Obsolete? Absolutely. Yet for centuries, it allowed navigators to chart courses, astrologers to cast horoscopes, and priests to intimidate peasants—all without the slightest whiff of heliocentrism. A model does not need to be right; it merely needs to be operational.

Our modern theories—Big Bang cosmology, dark matter, and quantum gravity—may well be tomorrow’s celestial spheres: charming relics of ignorance that nonetheless built bridges, cured diseases, and sold mobile phones.

Summary Table: Lawson’s View on Models and Truth

Conclusion

Box taught us to distrust the fit of our models; Lawson reminds us there is no true body underneath them. If truth is a ghost, then our models are ghost stories—and some ghost stories, it turns out, are very good at getting us through the night.

We are left not with certainty, but with craftsmanship: the endless, imperfect art of refining our closures, knowing full well they are lies that work. Better lies. Usable lies. And perhaps, in a world without final answers, that is the most honest position of all.

Questioning Traditional Families

I neither champion nor condemn tradition—whether it’s marriage, family, or whatever dusty relic society is currently parading around like a prize marrow at a village fête.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast on traditional families.

In a candid group conversation recently, I met “Jenny”, who declared she would have enjoyed her childhood much more had her father not “ruined everything” simply by existing. “Marie” countered that it was her mother who had been the wrecker-in-chief. Then “Lulu” breezed in, claiming, “We had a perfect family — we practically raised ourselves.”

Now, here’s where it gets delicious:

Each of these women, bright-eyed defenders of “traditional marriage” and “traditional family” (cue the brass band), had themselves ticked every box on the Modern Chaos Bingo Card: children out of wedlock? Check. Divorces? Check. Performative, cold-marriage pantomimes? Absolutely—and scene.
Their definition of “traditional marriage” is the vintage model: one cis-male, one cis-female, Dad brings home the bacon, Mum weeps quietly into the washing-up. Standard.

Let’s meet the players properly:

Jenny sprang from a union of two serial divorcées, each dragging along the tattered remnants of previous families. She was herself a “love child,” born out of wedlock and “forcing” another reluctant stroll down the aisle. Her father? A man of singular achievements: he paid the bills and terrorised the household. Jenny now pays a therapist to untangle the psychological wreckage.

Marie, the second of two daughters, was the product of a more textbook “traditional family”—if by textbook you mean a Victorian novel where everyone is miserable but keeps a stiff upper lip about it. Her mother didn’t want children but acquiesced to her husband’s demands (standard operating procedure at the time). Marie’s childhood was a kingdom where Daddy was a demigod and Mummy was the green-eyed witch guarding the gates of hell.

Lulu grew up in a household so “traditional” that it might have been painted by Hogarth: an underemployed, mostly useless father and a mother stretched thinner than the patience of a British Rail commuter. Despite—or because of—the chaos, Lulu claims it was “perfect,” presumably redefining the word in a way the Oxford English Dictionary would find hysterical. She, too, had a child out of wedlock, with the explicit goal of keeping feckless men at bay.

And yet—and yet—all three women cling, white-knuckled, to the fantasy of the “traditional family.” They did not achieve stability. Their families of origin were temples of dysfunction. But somehow, the “traditional family” remains the sacred cow, lovingly polished and paraded on Sundays.

Why?

Because what they’re chasing isn’t “tradition” at all — it’s stability, that glittering chimera. It’s nostalgia for a stability they never actually experienced. A mirage constructed from second-hand dreams, glossy 1950s propaganda, and whatever leftover fairy tales their therapists hadn’t yet charged them £150 an hour to dismantle.

Interestingly, none of them cared two figs about gay marriage, though opinions about gay parenting varied wildly—a kettle of fish I’ll leave splashing outside this piece.

Which brings us back to the central conundrum:

If lived experience tells you that “traditional family” equals trauma, neglect, and thinly-veiled loathing, why in the name of all that’s rational would you still yearn for it?

Societal pressure, perhaps. Local customs. Generational rot. The relentless cultural drumbeat that insists that marriage (preferably heterosexual and miserable) is the cornerstone of civilisation.

Still, it’s telling that Jenny and Marie were both advised by therapists to cut ties with their toxic families—yet in the same breath urged to create sturdy nuclear families for their own children. It was as if summoning a functional household from the smoking ruins of dysfunction were a simple matter of willpower and a properly ironed apron.

Meanwhile, Lulu—therapy-free and stubbornly independent—declares that raising oneself in a dysfunctional mess is not only survivable but positively idyllic. One can only assume her standards of “perfect” are charmingly flexible.

As the title suggests, this piece questions traditional families. I offer no solutions—only a raised eyebrow and a sharper question:

What is the appeal of clinging to a fantasy so thoroughly at odds with reality?
Your thoughts, dear reader? I’d love to hear your defences, your protests, or your own tales from the trenches.

The Church of Pareto: How Economics Learned to Love Collapse

—or—How the Invisible Hand Became a Throttling Grip on the Throat of the Biosphere

As many frequent visitors know, I am a recovering economist. I tend to view economics through a philosophical lens. Here. I consider the daft nonsense of Pareto optimality.

Audio: NotebookLM podcast of this content.

There is a priesthood in modern economics—pious in its equations, devout in its dispassion—that gathers daily to prostrate before the altar of Pareto. Here, in this sanctum of spreadsheet mysticism, it is dogma that an outcome is “optimal” so long as no one is worse off. Never mind if half the world begins in a ditch and the other half in a penthouse jacuzzi. So long as no one’s Jacuzzi is repossessed, the system is just. Hallelujah.

This cult of cleanliness, cloaked in the language of “efficiency,” performs a marvellous sleight of hand: it transforms systemic injustice into mathematical neutrality. The child working in the lithium mines of the Congo is not “harmed”—she simply doesn’t exist in the model. Her labour is an externality. Her future, an asterisk. Her biosphere, a rounding error in the grand pursuit of equilibrium.

Let us be clear: this is not science. This is not even ideology. It is theology—an abstract faith-based system garlanded with numbers. And like all good religions, it guards its axioms with fire and brimstone. Question the model? Heretic. Suggest the biosphere might matter? Luddite. Propose redistribution? Marxist. There is no room in this holy order for nuance. Only graphs and gospel.

The rot runs deep. William Stanley Jevons—yes, that Jevons, patron saint of unintended consequences—warned us as early as 1865 that improvements in efficiency could increase, not reduce, resource consumption. But his paradox, like Cassandra’s prophecy, was fated to be ignored. Instead, we built a civilisation on the back of the very logic he warned would destroy it.

Then came Simon Kuznets, who—bless his empirically addled soul—crafted a curve that seemed to promise that inequality would fix itself if we just waited politely. We called it the Kuznets Curve and waved it about like a talisman against the ravages of industrial capitalism, ignoring the empirical wreckage that piled up beneath it like bones in a trench.

Meanwhile, Pareto himself, that nobleman of social Darwinism, famously calculated that 80% of Italy’s land was owned by 20% of its people—and rather than challenge this grotesque asymmetry, he chose to marvel at its elegance. Economics took this insight and said: “Yes, more of this, please.”

And so the model persisted—narrow, bloodless, and exquisitely ill-suited to the world it presumed to explain. The economy, it turns out, is not a closed system of rational actors optimising utility. It is a planetary-scale thermodynamic engine fuelled by fossil sunlight, pumping entropy into the biosphere faster than it can absorb. But don’t expect to find that on the syllabus.

Mainstream economics has become a tragic farce, mouthing the language of optimisation while presiding over cascading system failure. Climate change? Not in the model. Biodiversity collapse? A regrettable externality. Intergenerational theft? Discounted at 3% annually.

We are witnessing a slow-motion suicide cloaked in the rhetoric of balance sheets. The Earth is on fire, and the economists are debating interest rates.

What we need is not reform, but exorcism. Burn the models. Salt the axioms. Replace this ossified pseudoscience with something fit for a living world—ecological economics, systems theory, post-growth thinking, anything with the courage to name what this discipline has long ignored: that there are limits, and we are smashing into them at speed.

History will not be kind to this priesthood of polite annihilation. Nor should it be.

Metamodernism: A Postmodern Critique

The genesis of the Modernity Worldview Survey was Metamodernism. Is this still a thing? In recent years, metamodernism has emerged as a supposed successor to postmodernism, claiming to transcend the seemingly irreconcilable tensions between modernist sincerity and postmodern irony. Yet, upon closer examination, this framework reveals itself not as a genuine paradigm shift but rather as a modernist invention that fails to escape the very critiques it attempts to address.

Video: Introduction to Modernity Worldview Survey concepts

The Modernist Roots of Metamodernism

Despite its claims of oscillation between poles, metamodernism betrays its modernist underpinnings through its implicit teleology and notion of progress. The very framing of “meta” as beyond or transcending suggests a linear progression that is fundamentally at odds with the postmodern rejection of grand narratives. Metamodernism positions itself as forward-moving whilst attempting to recapture elements of premodernity, revealing an anxiety about being perceived as regressive or naive.

Podcast: Audio version of this content

This desire to have it both ways—to acknowledge the constructed nature of meaning whilst still pursuing transcendent meaning—doesn’t represent a resolution so much as a psychological coping mechanism. The cognitive dissonance created by attempting to simultaneously hold contradictory positions is assuaged through a clever rhetorical move: claiming that oscillation itself is the point.

A Rebranding Exercise

What metamodernism presents as novel is ultimately a recombination of elements from premodern, modern, and postmodern frameworks without resolving their fundamental contradictions. Rather than being mutually exclusive from these earlier paradigms, it cherry-picks aspects of each whilst maintaining the basic ontological framework of modernism.

The notion that one can meaningfully “oscillate” between accepting objective and subjective realities is particularly problematic. Either reality has objective features, or it doesn’t—pretending otherwise doesn’t create a new philosophical paradigm but rather a convenient means of avoiding the implications of either position.

Postmodern Irony in Motion

Perhaps the most intriguing interpretation of metamodernism is not as a sincere attempt to move beyond postmodernism but as postmodernism performing its own critique. Viewed through this lens, metamodernism becomes postmodern irony in motion—a knowing wink at the impossibility of escaping construction whilst performatively engaging with the desire to do so.

The irony deepens when we consider that “postmodernism” itself is essentially an externally imposed label rather than a self-identification. Most thinkers characterised as postmodernists reject the label, which functions primarily as a modernist attempt to categorise and contain ideas that fundamentally challenge its frameworks.

Art vs. Philosophy

Where metamodernism succeeds is as a descriptive label for certain artistic and cultural productions that deliberately play in the space between irony and sincerity. Works like David Foster Wallace’s “Infinite Jest,” the television series “BoJack Horseman,” and Wes Anderson’s films effectively combine postmodern techniques with sincere emotional engagement.

However, what works as an artistic sensibility fails as a comprehensive philosophical framework or moral compass. The oscillation that enriches art becomes paralysing when applied to ethics or ontology. A moral framework requires some stable reference points; constantly shifting between believing in objective moral truths and viewing morality as entirely constructed provides no reliable guide for actual decision-making.

Insider vs. Outsider Perspectives

Like religious frameworks that balance literal and metaphorical interpretations, metamodernism may function as a lived experience for those who embrace it, even if it doesn’t hold up to external philosophical scrutiny. The cognitive manoeuvres that appear as tricks or inconsistencies to outsiders often feel like natural, intuitive ways of navigating complexity to those within the system.

This insider/outsider divide recalls Thomas Nagel’s famous “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” (PDF) thought experiment—there may be experiential aspects of inhabiting a metamodern worldview that aren’t fully comprehensible from the outside. Yet this doesn’t invalidate external critique; inconsistencies and contradictions still matter philosophically.

Conclusion: Beyond Labels

Perhaps the most postmodern insight is recognising that we cannot escape having an ideology—even a position of having no ideology is itself an ideology. What distinguishes various approaches isn’t whether they have ideologies but how explicitly they acknowledge them, how consistently they apply them, and how willing they are to subject them to revision.

Metamodernism, for all its aspirations to transcend earlier frameworks, ultimately reveals more about our contemporary psychological condition than it offers as a coherent philosophical position. It captures our desire to maintain meaning in a world where we’ve recognised its contingency—a desire that may be fundamentally human, even if philosophically untenable.

Rather than seeking yet another “-ism” to resolve our existential and philosophical tensions, perhaps we might more honestly confront the limitations and partialities of all our frameworks, recognising that the search for a perfect synthesis may itself be a modernist fantasy.

Modernity Survey Results

I’ve added a permanent page to summarise the modernity worldview categories. If you haven’t yet taken the survey…

Click here to take the survey

This post explains how to interpret the ternary plot chart’s visualisation. The ternary chart on the survey results page will render something like this. This is an admin page with additional functionality, but it’s similar enough. The blue dot represents the average of all responses. The star represents where I guessed the average would land–mostly modern with some residual premodernity and a touch of postmodernity.

Under the title in the header is a textual assessment of the visualisation. In this case, the response illustrates someone moderately modern with postmodern influences. Although this person also has some premodern tendencies, they are relatively insignificant to the context.

The three possible worldviews are at the vertices (the corners) of the triangle. Each side is a scale progressing from 0% to 100%—100% coincident with the label. For example, the bottom side runs from 0 on the left to 100 on the right, which would indicate a score of 100 per cent Premodern, which the output deems Pure Premodern.

Notice that each vertex has green and yellow shading that serves as visual aids representing the strength of the relationship to the corner. Green is strong, and yellow is moderate. The white section outlined by an interior triangle with a red border is decidedly mixed, showing no strong inclination to any of the extremes.

In the example above, the red plot point illustrates a response (as shown below the chart) that is 20.7% Premodern, 52.1% Modern, and 27.2% Postmodern. These numbers should always sum to 100, though there will be some drift due to rounding. The star represents where I thought the average response would be. Follow the tickmarks on each side, and you’ll notice they correspond with the plot point as a 3-tuple (20, 70, 10).

In the future, I expect to render a view that plots the average survey response as a reference.

Below this chart is an expository account of the response choices. You can render this content as a PDF for your personal archive.

Final Word

If you have any questions or suggestions related to this topic, please feel free to leave them in the comments below.

Language Insufficiency, Rev 3

I’m edging ever closer to finishing my book on the Language Insufficiency Hypothesis. It’s now in its third pass—a mostly subtractive process of streamlining, consolidating, and hacking away at redundancies. The front matter, of course, demands just as much attention, starting with the Preface.

The opening anecdote—a true yet apocryphal gem—dates back to 2018, which is evidence of just how long I’ve been chewing on this idea. It involves a divorce court judge, a dose of linguistic ambiguity, and my ongoing scepticism about the utility of language in complex, interpretative domains.

At the time, my ex-wife’s lawyer was petitioning the court to restrict me from spending any money outside our marriage. This included a demand for recompense for any funds already spent. I was asked, point-blank: Had I given another woman a gift?

Seeking clarity, I asked the judge to define gift. The response was less than amused—a glare, a sneer, but no definition. Left to my own devices, I answered no, relying on my personal definition: something given with no expectation of return or favour. My reasoning, then as now, stemmed from a deep mistrust of altruism.

The court, however, didn’t share my philosophical detours. The injunction came down: I was not to spend any money outside the marital arrangement. Straightforward? Hardly. At the time, I was also in a rock band and often brought meals for the group. Was buying Chipotle for the band now prohibited?

The judge’s response dripped with disdain. Of course, that wasn’t the intent, they said, but the language of the injunction was deliberately broad—ambiguous enough to cover whatever they deemed inappropriate. The phrase don’t spend money on romantic interests would have sufficed, but clarity seemed to be a liability. Instead, the court opted for what I call the Justice Stewart Doctrine of Legal Ambiguity: I know it when I see it.

Unsurprisingly, the marriage ended. My ex-wife and I, however, remain close; our separation in 2018 was final, but our friendship persists. Discussing my book recently, I mentioned this story, and she told me something new: her lawyer had confided that the judge disliked me, finding me smug.

This little revelation cemented something I’d already suspected: power relations, in the Foucauldian sense, pervade even our most banal disputes. It’s why Foucault makes a cameo in the book alongside Nietzsche, Wittgenstein, Saussure, Derrida, Borges, and even Gödel.

This anecdote is just one straw on the poor camel’s back of my linguistic grievances, a life filled with moments where language’s insufficiency has revealed itself. And yet, I found few others voicing my position. Hence, a book.

I aim to self-publish in early 2025—get it off my chest and into the world. Maybe then I can stop wittering on about it. Or, more likely, I won’t.

Tiny Dancer

Continuing my short series, I recommenced asking for a dancer.

To be fair, I got some. It looks like sleeping/dead people crept in. The top left wasn’t at all what I was seeking, but I liked it and rendered a series.

It’s got a Steinbeck Grapes of Wrath-Oklahoma Dust Bowl vibe, and I love the muted colour tones, yet it still has warmth. Dancing isn’t working out ver well. What if I ask for a pirouette?

Not really. Cirque du Soleil as a keyphrase?

Ish. Cyborgs?

Meh. Why just faces? I guess these are cyborgs.

I want to see full bodies with feet. I’ll prompt Midjourney to have them tie their shoes.

Ya. About that… What the hell is that thing on the lower right? I got this. Once more…

Nah, mate. Not so much. The top left is just in time for Hallowe’en. I guess that’s a cyborg and an animatronic skeleton. What if I change up the aspect ratio for these cyborgs?

Nah.

Take me to church

This next set is supposed to be a high-angle shot in a church.

Not really. Let’s keep trying. Why is the top-left woman wearing pants in church – sans trousers? How about we ask for a gown?

OK? Churches typically have good lighting opportunities. Let’s see some stained glass.

Nope. Didn’t quite understand the assignment. And what’s with the Jesus Christ pose? Church reminds me of angels. How about some wings?

Not the most upbeat angels. Victoria’s Secret is on the lower left. I want white wings and stained glass. What sort of church is this anyway?

Butterfly wings on the lower right? More butterfly.

Why are some of these butterfly wings front- and side-loaded?

Anyway, let’s just call this a day and start thinking of another topic. Cheers.