#collapse of wave function

[cadmar]

Hidden Within Thought

Each thought is created by neural patterns and neural patterns are electrical-chemical signals stimulated from sensory pathways located from inside the body and information outside the body. This is well studied. However, what remains unknown is the "focus" aspect of it.

Our consciousness is our awareness and awareness comes from "focus". "Focus" is a range from very general to very sharp, similar to a camera being out of focus to in focus.

Focus is crucial for personal development! If I have a certain reaction to a certain situation and I have guilt about it, how then can one develop oneself from not doing this certain reaction. When I am stressed, I drink, or I take a drug, or I yell and scream at the first wrong thing. Or, I am greedy, I am selfish, I think only of myself, I hate you, or I hate myself, and so on.

Focus demands that one totally accepts one's reaction and behavior. I do not give myself excuses. I do not try to justify my reaction, my anger, my selfishness. I accept that is me. I totally accept.

When you totally and wholeheartedly accept it, then you are focused in sharply to that thing that is deep inside you! Then, with the sharp focus you then ask yourself, "What caused me to have this reaction? What made, inside of me, to do it?" The focus will answer your question. You do not answer it yourself. The focus will give you the answer. And then, if you have the courage, you focus more, you sharpen your focus, and asked, "What caused me to have this particular cause that is inside of me to do it?"

What happens is that your range of focus gets sharper and sharper, more refined, more tuned in to the universe that is all around you.

Focus is from your soul! Focus is 4D. Focus separates you from the 3D world!

[d8tl55c]

as much as i crave (ava 11+) answers

there's a part of me that i think will miss this anxious not-knowing state. the itch that's fun to scratch in different ways. an empty stretch of canvas i tried to fill in different ways, but will ultimately be painted over by the truth

we're never gonna not know what happens ever again

[kyliafanfiction]

I will never understand the 'Coil is simulating timelines' interpretation of his powers that people have (that Coil himself actually wonders about) because it fundamentally makes no sense. Even though Wildbow claims that's the official version.

Coil doesn't simulate the possible outcomes of a choice in the future and then pick the choice and do it. He makes the choice and runs both options simultaneously in real time and then picks the outcome he prefers.

If he's choosing between A and B, he doesn't, before picking, simulate if A or B is the better choice for him. He does both A and B, sees how they play out, at the same time, and then collapses whichever timeline he doesn't like.

It can't be a simulation of both or 'the other choice' or whatever, because once he collapses a timeline, the remaining one becomes the sole reality.

People seem to think simulation makes... more sense? I guess? But we're talking about the Wormverse here. Shards are absolute fucking BULLSHIT.

Wildbow's attempt to make this more... coherent, is the claim that one Coil picks a timeline, his body 'autopilots' him into doing his chosen outcome, but that sure doesn't fucking seem to be how his interlude is written. Nor does that make any sense with the power as described in canon and text.

I don't know why Wildbow chose this more convoluted path to how Coil's power works. He explicitly created Shards to be broken and nonsensical in the nightmare level insane shit they can do sometimes, and somehow parallel timelines is a step too far?

[i-am-sako]

cursed schematic generator

[hpdfag]

been desperately avoiding front so i dont have to like. ""feel things."" shits fucked

[numa-smells]

working on generating a sudoku puzzle through wave function collapse 🌊

except its buggy and gets stuck if it runs out of valid options so i just have it start over :))

[one-shitpost-a-day]

it may surprise you to know that i AM in fact attempting to start my homework but i got carried away trying to read an article about wave function collapse algorithms

[hayleysstark]

call me a probability wave function because i too collapse when i am perceived

[zimpenfish]

Messing about with wave function collapse using some scanned Carcassone tiles. Oddly fascinating to watch.

[darkseldarine]

I was tagged for this by @dawnstarranger! Thank you for tagging me this was fun :D

Last song/album: Creatures of Habit by Kiltro (I reminded myself of it recently and listened to it all day while working lmao)

Favourite colour: Does black count. If not then maybe red?

Last TV show: Dungeon Meshi!

Last film: D&D Honor among Thieves (fifth time watching)

Last thing I looked up online: "accelerator railgun" (my partner said he was a Uriel-guy so I had to look him up)

Relationship status: In a relationship! With my beloved aforementioned partner :>

Current obsession: Ven'axtha (still). I've also been thinking very hard about some fun procgen and shader things that I want to practice and implement but that's locked behind the cold mocking bars of the ADHD executive dysfunction cage right now.

I tag @wojtekbc (and honestly whomsoever else would like to do this!)

[addiekinstudios]

Adding Collision Shapes to your game

[flavorcountry]

You know what, I think I trust Tumblr's opinion more than The Critics, so can someone watch this new Zack Snyder space movie and tell me if it's Actually Bad or Jupiter Ascending "Bad"

[i-am-sako]

[submissive-sl0th2]

I think its plain to see

You're not exactly bringing out the best in me

And you think you know it all

You think you know me well

And the colors of my reckless ways

The danger inside me grows darker by the day

A twisted disarray of expectations unmet

A hope that wilts and fades and blooms regret

How could you be the man that I chose

So monstruously, unreachable, unteachable

Well I made the right choice this time

When I walked throught the door sat you down and said:

I can't do this anymore

I made thе right choice this time

And it's making me ill

It's making mе choke on all the awful things I shouldn't say

But I'm telling you now, it's natural

It's unavoidable to feel this way

You begged me to stay, and it's natural

It's unavoidable to feel this way

You think you know it all

You think you know me well

I made the right choice this time

I made the right choice this time

I can't do this anymore

[existinglimits]

Potential Infinity vs. Actual Infinity

One of the first ways to understand infinity is as a process. For example, if you keep on counting forever, then you will never run out of numbers. This is "potential infinity".

Humans are constrained by time, but infinity is not.

Consider writing the decimal approximations of 1/3, 2/3, and 3/3.

1/3 = 0.3333333333...

2/3 = 0.6666666666...

3/3 = 0.9999999999...

If you think of infinity as a process, then you think of 0.999... as continuously writing another 9. This is natural - we often think of numbers as the symbols that we write down to represent them.

We conflate the idea of a number with the numeral used to represent it.

(Math is Fun article on numbers vs. numerals)

More below the cut.

This never ending process of writing 0.999999999... indicates that there are infinitely many 9's. Since we can always write more, there will always be a 9 that hasn't yet been written.

Still, 3/3 = 1.

So, 0.9999999999... = 1

Which conflicts with the process understanding of 0.9999999999...

We are constrained by time, but infinity is not. We are constrained by numerals, but numbers are not.

Consider splitting a chocolate bar into thirds. Each piece is 1/3 of the chocolate bar. You wouldn't break off 0.3, then 0.03, then 0.003, then 0.0003.... and so on of the chocolate bar to combine them into 1/3 of the chocolate bar. You'd break off 1/3.

1/3 is not a process. All of those infinitely many 3's of the decimal representation are already there, we just can't write them all down.

3/3 is not a process. All of those infinitely many 9's of the decimal representation are already there, we just can't write them all down.

Going from a process oriented view of infinity to actual infinity is challenging, but I find that this connection helped me to begin that process. Something that is "infinite" in one sense, but has a concrete form.

I can see 1/3 of something and it isn't constantly growing in size by smaller and smaller amounts. I can see 3/3 of something and it isn't constantly growing.

The next step in understanding infinity to is accept that there are infinite sets (such as the set of all natural numbers). Then, it follows that there are different sizes of infinite sets (such as the size of the set of natural numbers vs. the size of the set of real numbers). So, there are different sizes of infinity.

A lot of this is from the melting pot of sources and experiences that is my brain, but I did reference wikipedia to make sure my brain wasn't being weird.

Wikipedia contributors. (2024, November 28). Actual infinity. In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved 15:41, January 3, 2025, from https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Actual_infinity&oldid=1259986628

[everrinsly]

a/n; dedicated to all your silly boys, thank you for reading!

by your belt loops. fluff. suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

where he redirects you by pulling on your belt loops... multiple times.

♡ For all your (super touchy and handsy) favorites.

more of your favorite boys here!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐ᯓ⚽⋆⭒˚.⋆🌌

Grocery shopping with him always felt different than doing it alone. 

With him—it wasn’t like you forgot how to function, at least not in that loud ‘oh no, I knocked over a pyramid of cans’ kind of way, but more in that distracted, floaty ‘ooh look, they have fresh milk bread�� oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your cart’ kind of way where you stopped watching where you were going or what you were supposed to be doing.

It wasn’t your fault. 

You were smart, no doubt. You held more degrees than him, multiple certifications and a licensure under your belt. 

You were observant, thoughtful, organized to the point of being endearingly meticulous—he always said so, in that clipped tone of his like he couldn’t understand why it surprised you every time.

But when he was beside you like this—sweatpants slung low on his hips, jacket rolled at the sleeves, hood half up—walking the fluorescent-lit aisles of the local grocery store, your brain just… slowed.

Like your mind had kicked off its shoes and curled up somewhere quiet, trusting him to take care of the rest. 

It was a relief, honestly.

Until it wasn’t.

Like now, for instance.

You’d gotten so distracted by the in-store bakery display that you didn’t notice the towering stack of promotional soy milk crates right in front of you as you walked and stared at the same time.

You were completely absorbed, eyes tracking a particularly fat custard bun that looked like it might collapse under its own delicious weight.

That’s when your foot hit something solid. It wasn’t a forceful hit, not enough to send waves of milk crashing down the aisle, but enough to make one of the bottles at the base wobble, the whole stack teetering ever so slightly.

You blinked.

Oh.

A display. Organic soy milk. Little beige bottles stacked up.

You hadn’t even seen it.

But he had.

Without breaking stride, he reached for you, two fingers sliding smoothly into the belt loop at the back of your jeans. He gave a gentle tug, guiding you out of collision range with practiced ease, pulling you back against him, so your spine slotted into his chest.

Like it belonged there.

His arm wrapped low around your waist, palm pressing against your hip.

Warm. Steady. Deliberate. 

The way only he could be.

Because touching you was his reflex.

“Careful,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice low with amusement, breath brushing the side of your face. 

You mumbled a soft apology, cheeks warming.

“Mm,” he hummed lazily. Then, casually, he gave you two small, absent-minded pats on the underside of your ass. 

You whirled around to glare at him playfully.

“Your ass is cute,” he said, entirely unbothered, mouth barely hiding a smirk. “Also, if you’re gonna let me drive you, I gotta make sure the breaks work, yeah?”

You covered your face with your sleeve, half mortified, half giddy—mostly giddy.

Still, he didn’t let go, didn’t even pause—just adjusted slightly, hand tightening at your side as he started pushing the cart forward again with his other.

It was ridiculous how easily you melted into him.

Maybe that's why you let him steer you into the next aisle, turning the corner as his hand curved a little tighter around your waist, keeping you steady against the slight sway of the cart’s wheel. 

Your eyes lit up at the tea, and you tried to reach for a box of your usual black on the shelf, rising on your toes just slightly to grab it.

But before your fingers could even brush the box, his hand moved—sliding from your waist to your stomach, fingers splaying there like a quiet, familiar reminder. And then, again, with a tug at your belt loops, he eased you back down, pulling you flush against him.

“No, pretty. We still have more at home.”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“Mhm. Of course you did, baby.”

You flushed deeper and gave up, letting him guide you away without protest to the next aisle.

He let the cart roll to a stop in front of a shelf lined with protein bars—rows and rows of them, all in sleek packaging, looking aggressively ‘healthy.’

He didn’t say anything right away—just leaned in a little, voice a smooth murmur behind your ear.

“Alright. Let’s see if you remember.”

“Remember what?”

He nodded toward the shelf. “The ones I like.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to study the boxes, trying to calm the rapid skipping of your heart. “You’re quizzing me now?”

“No pressure.”

His thumb dragged lightly along the waistband of your jeans. Then, with the same casual ease, he gave your ass an encouraging little pat—fond, gentle, and soft enough to make your stomach flip.

“Go, baby. Impress me.”

You huffed and scanned the options quickly, actually using your brain, trying to remember the exact brand he always grabbed—the one with dark chocolate and sea salt, not the chalky kind or the one that left crumbs everywhere.

Your fingers closed around a box, and you held it up for him to see, one brow lifted. “These?”

He glanced at it, slow and unreadable.

Then he looked at you.

A twitch of his lips.

He wordlessly took the box from your hands and dropped it into the cart. His voice dropped lower, quiet and almost absently, he added, “Good girl.”

Your stomach dipped.

It was passive, offhand, but smug in a way that made heat flicker behind your ears, especially paired with the faint squeeze of his fingers on your hip—he knew exactly what he was doing to you and didn’t care to hide it.

You opened your mouth, not even sure what to say, but he just brushed his hand over the small of your back before curling his fingers right back into your belt loop like he'd known you’d get it right all along.

Like you were part of his rhythm.

Still touching. Still steering. Still keeping you close. 

Sure, you got a little (a lot) clumsy around him; your brain went a little (a lot) mushy. And grocery shopping took a while.

But that didn’t matter. Not to him. 

In fact, he wanted you to get distracted.

Because underneath all of that soft, quiet chaos, you trusted him to look out for you. 

And he never rushed you. Never pulled away. 

Just waited. Just let you be.