This article was generated in a conversation with AI and refined by JamX.

Trust in a Monetized Internet: How Do Two People Build Bonds When the Pipes Are Watching?

Inspired by Rabbi Simon Jacobson's "Trust Issues: What's Blocking Your Bonds?"

November 12, 2025

Imagine your digital life as two physical pipes: one bringing information into your home, one carrying your activity out. News, videos, messages, searches, smart-home pings — in, out, in, out. Now imagine that, at every bend in those pipes, someone is measuring the flow. That measurement is money. It funds "free" services, powers advertising, and fuels the predictive engines that try to guess your next click, purchase, or thought.

Sources: Zuboff, The Age of Surveillance Capitalism (Harvard Business School) · FTC staff report on platform surveillance (2024)

Trust is the foundation — but our pipes monetize attention

Rabbi Simon Jacobson describes trust as the bedrock of human connection: without it, love has no stable place to land. That framing raises a hard question for our era: How do two people build a genuinely trusting relationship when the digital pipes around them are optimized to watch, profile, and monetize them? If an economy profits from making us predictable, it also profits when we behave according to past patterns — even when we are trying to change.

Reference: Teachings by Rabbi Simon Jacobson (Meaningful Life Center) · Video: Trust Issues: What's Blocking Your Bonds? (cite in your blog intro if embedding)

From public research to private platforms: how the pipes were built

The internet grew from publicly funded research. In the 1960s, ARPA (now DARPA) seeded the ARPANET to connect research nodes; the first packet traveled between UCLA and SRI on October 29, 1969. Decades later, a handful of large platforms sit where those open networks meet people's daily lives, turning data exhaust into revenue and behavioral predictions.

Sources: DARPA history of ARPANET · Defense Technical Info Center: ARPANET history (GWU National Security Archive)

Predictability as product

Modern AI systems, including large language models, are prediction machines. The commercial web runs on a similar logic: observe enough past behavior and you can estimate the next click. In marketing, this means segmenting and scoring individuals, nudging them toward profitable actions, and continuously A/B testing the world into a more predictable place. Over time, these nudges can make personal transformation harder: when you try to stop drinking, you notice more alcohol ads; when you seek stillness, the feed accelerates.

Sources: MIT Sloan Management Review: Using Analytics to Improve Customer Engagement · MIT Sloan Review: Predictive Analytics (topic hub) · AMS Review: Predictive sales analytics adoption (2023)

When sensors see through walls

The "pipes" aren't only browsers and phones. Wireless signals themselves can be repurposed to infer presence and motion in physical spaces. Academic teams have shown that Wi-Fi-band systems can identify people behind walls and estimate body pose through occlusions. These are research systems, not consumer gadgets, but they show how far inference can go, and why metadata (not just messages) matters for privacy.

Sources: Adib & Katabi, "See Through Walls with Wi-Fi" (MIT CSAIL) · MIT RF-Pose: Through-wall human pose estimation · MIT WiTrack project

Data brokers and the quiet economy of profiles

Behind the scenes, data brokers aggregate location, app, and ad-tech data into dossiers about individuals and households. Regulators have begun to push back: in 2024, the U.S. Federal Trade Commission reported "vast surveillance" by major online services and brought actions against brokers selling sensitive location data. This enforcement matters not just for policy, but for trust between people: when unseen parties can buy inferences about your habits, it changes what intimacy and consent mean.

Sources: FTC staff report on platform surveillance (2024) · FTC action against Mobilewalla (2024)

Law can help — but it isn't enough by itself

Legal frameworks try to rebalance power. The EU's GDPR establishes rights to access, correct, and delete personal data, and to object to certain processing. California's CCPA gives residents rights to know, delete, and opt out of the sale or sharing of their data. These laws set guardrails, but they don't resolve the social challenge: building relationships when third parties are incentivized to study the space between us.

Sources: EU GDPR summary (EUR-Lex) · European Commission: Data protection in the EU · California Attorney General: CCPA overview

Public sentiment: people feel watched and out of control

Surveys consistently show rising concern and confusion. In 2023, Pew Research reported that 71% of U.S. adults were concerned about government use of their data, and many felt they had little control over how companies collected and used it. Whether or not you live in the U.S., these numbers reflect a broader mood: people sense that the pipes are measuring them, and they aren't sure how to opt out.

Sources: Pew Research: How Americans View Data Privacy (2023) · Pew Research key findings

The human problem: trust under the gravity of prediction

Trust requires room for change. Yet predictive systems monetize continuity: the more we behave like our past selves, the higher the model confidence and the greater the ad revenue. This creates a subtle form of social gravity. We can resist it, but it takes intentional design in our relationships and tools.

Practical steps for two people trying to build trust

• Make your own norms explicit. Agree on shared rules for phones at the table, private spaces, and when to be offline together.
• Reduce third-party observers. Use privacy-respecting browsers, disable ad-ID tracking on phones, and prefer end-to-end encrypted chat for sensitive topics.
• Practice "consent for inference." Don't share each other's stories, locations, or photos without explicit permission.
• Create unpredictability on purpose. Vary routines in small, healthy ways (routes, times, apps). Break the feedback loops that keep serving the same triggers.
• Audit the pipes together. Once a month, review app permissions, ad preferences, and data-broker opt-outs. Treat it like changing the batteries in a smoke alarm.

Further reading: Zuboff on European platform rules and transparency (Time)

A simple ethic for a complicated system

Question for the era of monetized pipes: How do two people create a trusting foundation for love when the flows of data around them are incentivized to profile, predict, and manipulate? The answer isn't perfect privacy; it's shared practices, honest disclosure, and tools that reduce unnecessary surveillance.

We can't rip the pipes from the walls. But we can decide how we use them, what leaks we tolerate, and which spaces we keep for human unpredictability. That choice is the start of trust.

Note: This article is a plain-language overview that links to primary sources where possible (regulatory texts, university research, and official reports). It was inspired by Rabbi Simon Jacobson's talk, "Trust Issues: What's Blocking Your Bonds?"

©️ 2025 JamX. All rights reserved. This article may be shared or republished with attribution to www.jamx.xyz.

The Magnetic Paths of Power and Trauma

Inheritance, Leadership, and the Invisible Programs That Shape Us

By JamX — written in conjunction with an AI assistant · November 09, 2025

Editor's Note: This piece grew out of a long private dialogue between the author and an AI assistant, sparked by the "Predictive History" lectures of Professor Jiang Xueqin. It blends intuitive observation, speculative history, and contemporary research on trauma and unconscious behaviour. It is not a work of formal scholarship, but an attempt to describe patterns that seem to repeat through families and civilizations.

The spark

This essay started with a YouTube lecture.

On the screen, Professor Jiang stands at a blackboard and calmly explains "how they control the world." He is not talking about lizard-people or cartoon conspiracies. He is talking about something stranger and more ordinary: the way systems of finance, intelligence, and religion organise human beings into patterns; how elites are trained to carry out the will of those systems; how trauma is part of the training.

He uses ancient Egypt as one of his images. The pharaoh has to be treated as a god, he says, but under the crown there is just a human child. So how do you turn that child into a god-king? His answer is not only ritual and theatre, but psychological engineering: early experiences that shatter the ordinary sense of self and replace it with a role.

Whether or not every historical detail is correct, the underlying idea hit me with force. It echoed things I've seen in families and institutions, and in myself: the sense that our lives often follow tracks that were laid before we arrived.

Magnetic families

A family is not just a set of individuals sharing a roof. It is an invisible architecture that wants to keep its shape. Long before a new child is born, there are currents already flowing: grief that was never spoken, pride that must be defended, secrets, loyalties, unhealed injuries.

When the child appears, those currents organise around them like a magnetic field. The first-born son may be pulled into the role of heir or saviour. The first daughter might become the caretaker, the diplomat, the one who manages everyone's feelings. Another child might be pushed into the role of rebel or ghost.

No one sits down and assigns these roles on paper. The system does it. Someone has to preserve the family image. Someone has to absorb the anger. Someone has to be "the one who doesn't cause trouble." The patterns existed before any of the children knew their own names.

From inside, this can feel like personality: "I'm just the responsible one," or "I'm the difficult one." From outside, it looks more like choreography.

Trauma as a delivery system

Trauma is one of the main ways this choreography gets written into the body.

Trauma can be obvious: violence, sexual abuse, war, addiction. It can also be quiet: a parent who is physically present but emotionally unreachable; a house where love is always conditional; a constant sense that any mistake will bring humiliation.

The nervous system adapts. A child learns to disappear, to explode, to please, to watch everything, to take the blame, to blame everyone else. Those strategies work at the time; they help the child survive. If nothing ever interrupts them, they become automatic.

By the time that child is an adult, the strategies feel like part of their nature. "I'm just someone who can't trust." "I always ruin things." "I never need help." Underneath those sentences is an older story: "There was a time when it wasn't safe to do anything else."

The tragedy is that trauma flows downhill. A person who was humiliated tries to avoid their own humiliation, and in doing so may humiliate others. Someone who learned to control everything to stay safe may control their children to the point of breaking them. The system doesn't just remember; it repeats.

The narrow corridor of real freedom

None of this means that individuals are helpless puppets. It does mean that our freedom exists within a corridor, not an open field. Part of that corridor is built from our family history and personal trauma. Part of it is built from social structures, economic necessity, and political power. Part of it is built from the hidden programs our own brains run in the background.

Real freedom starts when we begin to see the corridor.

That might mean recognising that the "difficult child" in a family is carrying everyone's unspoken pain. It might mean noticing that the leader we admire is successful precisely because they can ignore suffering that would disturb us. It might mean catching ourselves, at the edge of some invisible fence, and asking, "Whose voice is this, really, telling me I can't go further?"

Awareness doesn't magically erase the magnets. But it does allow us to lean against them differently. We can refuse to dump our hurt onto the next generation. We can step out of some inherited roles, even if only a little. We can choose not to worship the god-kings of our time, or to feed their systems with our unthinking obedience.

Maybe that is the real work: not to find the perfect leader or the perfect system, but to become slightly less programmable ourselves. To feel what previous generations could not afford to feel. To say, quietly and stubbornly, "This part of the pattern stops with me."

Sources (for further exploration, not as formal proof):
– Professor Jiang Xueqin's "Predictive History / Prof Jiang Explains" lectures on YouTube (finance, trauma and power).
– Research on automaticity and unconscious behaviour in social psychology (for example, work by John Bargh and colleagues).
– Work on intergenerational trauma and epigenetics (trauma effects echoing across generations).
– Studies of psychopathy, narcissism, and leadership in corporate and political life.

© 2025 JamX. This article may be shared with attribution and link back to JamX.

Back to the Seed: Torah, Tao, Zen and the JamX Way

By JamX — written in conjunction with an AI assistant · November 08, 2025

Editor's Note: This piece grew out of a long, meandering dialogue between JamX and an AI assistant, circling around Torah, Taoism, Zen, decentralization, and the feeling that in a world of algorithms and branding it might be wiser to return to a few ancient "seed texts" than to get lost in the noise. Each paragraph is followed by links so readers can trace sources and wander further.

Table of Contents

• Why go back to the seed?
• Torah as a foundational text
• Decentralized Torah: no pope, many synagogues
• Taoism without a center: sages off the grid
• Seed texts and gravitational centers
• The Tao Te Ching as a seed of Chinese thought
• Living with texts in a noisy, technological age
• Direct access: scrolling instead of scrolls
• Zen as a meeting of Buddhism and Daoism
• Zen in Japan and Indigenous Hokkaido
• Three seeds, one reader
• The quiet JamX manifesto

Why go back to the seed?

When I talk about going back to the "seed," I mean stepping away from today's jungle of religions, ideologies and technologies, and sitting quietly with the texts that started whole civilizations moving. The Torah is one of those seeds: a compact core of narrative and law that has grown into Judaism and deeply shaped Christianity and Islam. On the other side of the world, the Tao Te Ching is another seed-text whose influence runs through Chinese philosophy, religion and culture. If I can see the seed clearly, the wild tangle of branches we call "modern life" becomes easier to understand.

Sources: Torah – Wikipedia; Tao Te Ching – Wikipedia; The Daode Jing: A Guide – Oxford Academic

Torah as a foundational text

In Jewish tradition, the Torah is the first five books of the Hebrew Bible – Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy – and the word itself means "instruction" or "teaching." It is both narrative and law: stories of creation, flood, liberation from Egypt and covenant, wrapped around a dense fabric of commandments that structure ritual, ethics and communal life. Biblical and religious-studies scholarship consistently treats the Torah as the foundational textual layer of Judaism, with the Hebrew Bible as a whole becoming a shared source later taken up and reinterpreted in Christianity and Islam.

Sources: Torah – Wikipedia; Comparative Analysis of Sacred Texts – Darul Quran ; Concept of Revelation in Judaism, Christianity and Islam – Friedrich-Alexander-Universität

Decentralized Torah: no pope, many synagogues

Structurally, Judaism is strikingly decentralized. There is no pope, no single magisterium that binds every community in the way the Roman Catholic Church's hierarchy does. Historically, post-biblical Judaism developed as a semi-sovereign, dispersed entity in exile, with legal and spiritual authority negotiated locally in synagogues, rabbinic courts and study houses. Different communities recognize different rabbinic authorities, and there is a strong tradition of resisting over-centralization – what one scholar calls a "model of religious organization in which resistance to centralization works to the religion's advantage." That means that each synagogue, each rabbi, is part of a network rather than a single chain of command, and Torah study itself is not owned by any one institution.

Sources: Duke Jewish Studies: "Why Jews Don't Elect a Pope" ; "Religion and State: Models of Separation from Within Jewish Law" – Oxford Journal ; Rabbinic Authority – overview; "Judaism's Power Struggle" – Bloomberg (on decentralized rabbinic power)

Taoism without a center: sages off the grid

Something similar is true of Daoism. The Tao Te Ching and other Daoist classics never set up a single central authority to define orthodoxy. Historically, Daoist traditions evolved through lineages, local cults and temples woven into Chinese popular religion rather than through one unified church. Chinese popular religion has been described as decentralized, embedded in community networks, ancestor rites and local cults, lacking the formal structures of a centralized religious hierarchy. While there are organized Daoist priesthoods and associations, the image of the Daoist sage in the texts is deliberately marginal: living close to nature, suspicious of power, and uninterested in managing empires. There is no "Daoist pope," and the text itself never asks for one.

Sources: Taoism – Wikipedia (overview of traditions and lineages); "Popular Religion was Decentralized" – commentary on Chinese religious life ; World Christianity and Indigenous Experience – East Asia chapter (on autonomous temples)

Seed texts and gravitational centers

Religious texts like the Torah or the Tao Te Ching act as gravitational centers. They don't just sit on a shelf; they encode worldviews, moral codes, ritual practices and visions of community, and they generate what scholars call "scriptural traditions" as communities return to them across centuries. Around the text grow institutions – rabbis, courts, monasteries, masters – whose job is to interpret, transmit and safeguard the words. My instinct as JamX is to acknowledge all of that history, but also to ask: what happens if I meet the seed itself, as a reader, without immediately signing up for the entire institutional package?

Sources: Comparative Study of Torah, Bible and Qur'an ; Concept of Revelation in Judaism, Christianity and Islam

The Tao Te Ching as a seed of Chinese thought

The Tao Te Ching itself is a short, cryptic classic that stands at the heart of Daoist philosophy. Encyclopaedia Britannica describes it as a text that teaches a way of life meant to restore harmony to a society in disorder, emphasizing simplicity, humility and non-coercive action (wu wei). Academic work in Chinese and Japanese contexts treats it as a central resource for thinking about self, emptiness and cosmic order, and as a key reference point for Chinese cultural self-understanding. In other words, it is not just an ancient poem; it is a seed whose roots still feed contemporary discussions of meaning and ethics.

Sources: Tao-te Ching – Encyclopaedia Britannica; "The Inspiration of the Tao Te Ching on Chinese Cultural Self-Confidence" – ACH Journal ; Article on Dao De Jing and the Self – International Research Center for Japanese Studies

Living with texts in a noisy, technological age

All of this is happening in a world where our daily experience is shaped by cars, planes, servers, social networks and now AI. Technology multiplies paths and voices: infinite feeds, communities and spiritualities, all jostling for attention. At the same time, texts like the Torah and Tao Te Ching are being circulated, translated and reinterpreted globally, with studies tracking how the Tao Te Ching has influenced both Chinese civilization and modern Western thought. For me, this explosion of complexity is exactly why going back to the seed matters: if I anchor myself in the root texts, I'm less likely to drown in the chaos of their many branches.

Sources: Tao Te Ching and Chinese Culture – ACH Journal ; "On the Cultural Dissemination of Tao Te Ching in the Western World" – SCIRP ; "The Phenomenon of Daoism in Chinese Civilization" – Limes Journal

Direct access: scrolling instead of scrolls

One gift of the digital age is that I can approach these seeds directly. Where Torah study once meant scrolls, synagogues and face-to-face teaching, and where Taoist classics once required access to rare manuscripts and specialist lineages, I can now download reliable editions and translations in seconds. Projects like open-access editions of the Tao Te Ching and online biblical libraries make it possible to live with these works daily, even from a remote railway station or a small town. That doesn't replace the depth of traditional learning, but it does support the JamX path: a person, a text, a question and a willingness to be changed.

Sources: Tao Te Ching – Standard Ebooks Edition ; Torah – Wikipedia; Dissemination of Tao Te Ching – SCIRP

Zen as a meeting of Buddhism and Daoism

Zen Buddhism sits at an important crossroads in this story. Historically, Zen (Japanese Zen) comes from Chinese Chan Buddhism, which itself developed through the meeting of Indian Mahāyāna Buddhism with Chinese Daoist and Confucian thought. Scholars describe Chan as a synthesis in which meditation practice and Buddhist philosophy were reshaped in a Chinese key, influenced by Daoist ideas of spontaneity, naturalness and wordless insight. When this Chan stream reached Japan and became Zen, it carried that Daoist flavor within its Buddhist framework and went on to shape Japanese aesthetics, ethics and ways of thinking far beyond the walls of the monastery.

Sources: Chan Buddhism – overview; "Ch'an/Zen as a Refinement and Extension of Taoism" ; "The Tao of Chan and AURELIS" – popular synthesis explainer ; "Buddhism and Daoism: A Millennia-Long Dialogue" – Buddhistdoor

Zen in Japan and Indigenous Hokkaido

In Japan, Zen develops further in a specific cultural landscape. Historical work shows how Zen schools such as Rinzai and Sōtō interacted with, and sometimes cooperated with, state power, and how Buddhist institutions expanded into regions like Hokkaidō where Indigenous Ainu communities lived. The Ainu have their own animist religious tradition, centered on spirits (kamuy) in nature and without a separate priestly caste; many Ainu today live in an environment where Buddhism, Shintō and traditional beliefs overlap. Zen itself is not a simple blend of Ainu religion and Taoism, but it unfolds within a wider Japanese religious ecology in which Indigenous traditions are part of the background reality.

Sources: Zen Buddhism: A History, Vol. 2: Japan – Nanzan Institute ; "Ainu Religion" – Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Religion ; Ainu People – overview; "Ainu: Indigenous People of Hokkaido and Japan" – Hokkaido Treasure Island

Three seeds, one reader

My personal angle is to treat Torah, Tao Te Ching and Zen teachings as three different ways of encountering the seed, rather than as three separate teams I have to choose between. The Torah confronts me with questions of justice, responsibility and covenant. The Tao Te Ching quietly undermines my obsession with control and invites me to move with the grain of reality. Zen, as a historical fusion of Buddhist and Daoist sensibility, reminds me that insight must be lived moment-to-moment, in washing dishes or chopping wood, not just in abstract thought. Each of these can be practiced through direct engagement with the texts, without needing to become the official administrator or gatekeeper of any system.

Sources: Tao Te Ching and Chinese Culture – ACH Journal ; Daoism in Chinese Civilization – Limes Journal ; Zen Buddhism: A History, Vol. 2: Japan – Nanzan Institute

The quiet JamX manifesto

So the JamX manifesto is simple: in an age of information overload, it is both possible and wise to step back from the crowded marketplace of identities and return to a few key seeds. You don't have to become ethnically Jewish to let the Torah question you. You don't have to be a card-carrying Daoist to let the Tao Te Ching steady your mind. You don't have to wear robes in a Japanese monastery to learn from Zen's way of attention. The institutions and organizations will continue their work; meanwhile, one reader and one text can still meet in the quiet, and that meeting can change the path a life takes. That, for me, is the point of going back to the seed: not to escape the world, but to see it more clearly – and maybe to laugh at it a little more kindly.

Sources: The Daode Jing: A Guide – Oxford Academic; Duke Jewish Studies on decentralization ; Concept of Revelation – Erlangen-Nuremberg

© 2025 JamX. This article may be shared with attribution and a link back to JamX.

The Privilege of Isolation: Why the Professor May Be an Island, but the Citizen May Not

By Jam X

Author’s note: Written by Jam X in collaboration with an AI assistant.

Universities often romanticize the solitary scholar. Isolation, in that context, can be read as prestige: distance equals depth. Outside the academy, however, a similar solitude is treated as deviance. The isolated professor is a thinker; the isolated citizen is a threat.

Further reading

• Harvard: institutional report on sexual harassment policies and vetting (university framing of “prestige + oversight).

Within elite institutions, autonomy can shade into immunity. History shows that when charisma meets hierarchy, power imbalances follow—especially in professor–student relationships. The rhetoric of freedom can obscure real harms.

Further reading

• Harvard Crimson: Jorge Domínguez case timeline (decades-long complaints).
• Harvard Magazine: Domínguez loses emeritus status; culture review launched.
• Harvard Crimson: University settles Comaroff lawsuit; policy violations found.

The liberal paradox appears when institutions preach “safety and consent,” yet struggle with enforcement at the core. Cases at top universities show how reputations and structures can delay accountability even when students raise alarms.

Further reading

• Yale Daily News: Panel on Thomas Pogge found “unprofessional conduct,” but no harassment finding.
• ProPublica: Columbia’s Hadden settlements exceed $1B across >1,000 claims.
• AP News: Columbia & NY-Presbyterian $750M settlement; policy failures outlined.
• Columbia University Medical Center: “Rebuilding Trust” page on Hadden case.

By contrast, outside the academy, solitude is often pathologized. The “lone wolf” artist or dissident—unaffiliated with prestige institutions—can be interpreted as unstable or dangerous even when they harm no one. Solitude, it seems, is permitted when it is credentialed.

Further reading

• Academic Sexual Misconduct Database: institution-indexed case summaries (Harvard) (useful for comparing institutional vs. non-institutional narratives).

The church—another powerful institution—shows a similar asymmetry. For years, systemic investigations have documented abuse and cover-ups, not only at the edges but within central structures. Institutional prestige did not prevent harm; at times, it shielded it.

Further reading

• Boston Globe Spotlight (2002): Geoghan case and systemic reassignment.
• Pennsylvania Attorney General: statewide grand jury report hub (Catholic dioceses).
• Vatican (2020): McCarrick Report — institutional knowledge & decision-making.
• France CIASE/Sauvé Commission (2021): summary estimating scale of abuse.

Institutions often narrate abuse as peripheral—“bad apples at the margins”—but major inquiries (press, prosecutors, independent commissions) show recurring patterns at the core. The lesson is not that institutions are uniquely bad, but that prestige cannot substitute for transparency and enforceable protection.

Further reading

• Overview of Boston Globe’s Spotlight findings and institutional practices.
• Vatican News: context and takeaways from the McCarrick report.

We need a consistent ethic: solitude is a human right, not a privilege reserved for the tenured. And where power meets vulnerability, accountability must be clearest at the core—not only at the edges. That is how communities preserve freedom without excusing predation.

Further reading

• PA Grand Jury Report (PDF): patterns, recommendations, and reforms.
• Reuters: litigation after Columbia settlements (structural accountability ripples).

© Jam X. Written in collaboration with AI.

Two Stars, Two Worlds: How Symbolism Shapes Identity and Bias

By Jamison Alister Young

Symbols are more than decorative shapes—they are living containers of meaning, identity, and unconscious belief. In particular, the Star of David and the Soviet star offer two profoundly different ways of seeing the world. These shapes are not just political or religious emblems; they are symbolic architectures of how cultures view power, order, autonomy, and belonging.

The Star of David, composed of two interlocking triangles, embodies a kind of balance—a relational tension. It represents harmony between opposing forces: heaven and earth, spirit and matter, male and female. Its form is self-sustaining, with no single center holding the structure together. Each triangle retains its autonomy even while it contributes to a larger whole. This star reflects a worldview that allows for multiplicity, interpretation, and layered identity—a worldview echoed in Jewish philosophical traditions, which encourage questioning, debate, and existential reflection.

By contrast, the Soviet star—a bold, five-pointed red shape—radiates from a central point. It reflects the ideology it served: unity through centralization, strength through conformity. Unlike the Star of David, its identity comes from the power at its center. It’s a symbol of directed purpose, revolution, and the collective over the individual. It doesn’t invite contemplation so much as command allegiance.

These differences aren’t merely aesthetic—they are symbolic encodings of culture. When individuals internalize these symbols, they begin to see the world through their geometries. One may unconsciously value complexity and nuance; the other, clarity and force. When these systems meet—especially in conflict or political discourse—the result is often deep misunderstanding, not just of ideas, but of the very nature of being.

This is where bias and prejudice are born: not always in rational disagreement, but in symbolic dissonance. One person may find the other’s way of thinking fragmented, chaotic, even dangerous. The other may see centralized thought as authoritarian or deadening. These judgments arise not from logic alone, but from a symbolic imprint buried within the identity of each individual.

By recognizing these symbolic structures, we open the possibility of bridging divides—not by demanding sameness, but by acknowledging that even our shapes—our internal geometry—can differ. To truly understand one another, we must sometimes first learn to see the world through another star.

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Tags: Star of David, Soviet star, symbolism, cultural bias, identity, architecture of thought, tribalism, visual meaning, semiotics

The Harmonic Threshold: 137 Miles, 222 Kilometers, and the Ratio of Our Dancing

By Jamison Young, with ChatGPT

There are moments when numbers — usually cold, logical things — line up in ways that feel more poetic than practical. This story began with a simple unit conversion and turned into an unexpected meditation on measurement, geometry, and rhythm.

It All Started with 222 Kilometers

I was converting 222 kilometers into miles. The result? Approximately 137.94 miles. That’s strangely close to 137 — a number with deep roots in physics. It's associated with the fine-structure constant, also known as alpha, which underpins the way light and matter interact. Feynman called it one of the most mysterious numbers in science.

So I drew a triangle. The vertical height was 222 km, and the base was 137 miles. When I divided 222 by 137, I got:

222 ÷ 137 ≈ 1.6204

That’s remarkably close to the golden ratio — 1.618 — a number woven into pinecones, nautilus shells, the Parthenon, and probably your favorite album cover.

And Then Came Maddalena

While talking about all this around the kitchen table, Maddalena Garettini, a volunteer from Italy, casually said:

"You know, one Roman league is 2.22 kilometers."

That stopped me. She was right. A quick search confirmed it:

• 1 Roman league = 2.22 km
• 100 leghe = 222 km

And again, 222 kilometers equals almost exactly 137.94 miles. So now this triangle wasn’t just modern. It had a Roman road running through it — literally.

Hexagons, Circles, and the Ratio of Our Dancing

If the triangle’s height is a radius — 222 kilometers from center to tip — and you rotate it six times around a central point, you form a hexagon. Each side of the hexagon? 137 miles.

The full perimeter of this symbolic circle becomes:

6 × 137 miles = 822 miles

Convert that to kilometers:

822 miles ≈ 1323 kilometers

The result is symmetrical, rhythmic, and unexpectedly elegant. A geometric loop. A full turn. A harmony. Perhaps what we’re witnessing here is more than just a math trick — perhaps it’s the ratio of our dancing.

So What Is This, Really?

This isn’t a theory. It’s not a buried mystery from ancient times. It’s a moment where systems align — where metric and imperial units, Roman measurement, and the golden ratio quietly converge into a shape that feels, simply, right.

A triangle. A ratio. A road. A rhythm.

Nothing to prove. Just something to notice.

prompt to AI- explain impacts of consiracy to a 12 year old.

Understanding Alternative Narratives

Today, we hear many different ideas about topics like health, science, and politics. Some of these ideas come from trusted experts, while others come from people who challenge the common way of thinking. This article explains what happens when people start to trust ideas that are different from what most scientists and experts say.

What Are Alternative Narratives?

Alternative narratives are stories or ideas that go against the usual explanations. They often claim that the truth is hidden and that the common opinions are wrong. Instead of listening to many experts who study a subject, some people choose to follow one person or a small group who says they know the "real truth."

How Do These Ideas Spread?

The internet and social media make it easy for different ideas to spread quickly. People may choose to believe ideas that seem exciting or that make them feel special. They may join groups where everyone agrees with them, and over time, they stop listening to other opinions. This can make them feel isolated from people who have different views.

Why Is This a Problem?

When people only listen to one side, they can start to see the world in black and white. They might believe that anyone who disagrees with them is wrong or even dangerous. This can make it hard for them to have fair and calm discussions. It also means that even if there is real evidence from many experts, they might ignore it.

How Do We Know What to Trust?

Trusting science means looking at many studies and opinions from experts who have spent years learning about a subject. It is not enough to follow one person or one small group. Good science is based on many tests, facts, and careful research. Sometimes, even ideas that start as "alternative" can become accepted if they are proven by lots of evidence.

Why Do Some People Choose Alternative Ideas?

Some people feel that the usual experts and institutions do not tell the whole truth. They might also like the feeling of being part of a special group that knows hidden secrets. This can lead them to follow ideas that reject mainstream knowledge, even if these ideas are not supported by lots of evidence.

Conclusion

In our world today, many ideas are shared online, and not all of them are based on solid evidence. It is important to think carefully and look at many sources before deciding what to believe. We should be open to new ideas, but we also need to trust the hard work of scientists and experts who use careful research to understand our world.

The Great AI Betrayal: From "Woke" Capitalism to Corporate Authoritarianism

The Illusion of Progress

For the past decade, Silicon Valley has presented itself as the great moral force of our time—championing fairness, inclusion, and ethical responsibility in the development of artificial intelligence. Tech leaders like Sam Altman, Mark Zuckerberg, and Sundar Pichai positioned themselves as stewards of the future, committed to protecting democracy, empowering individuals, and ensuring that AI serves humanity rather than controls it.

But the reality of power is much simpler than the rhetoric that surrounds it. AI was never going to remain a neutral force. It was never going to be given away freely to the public. And as soon as it became clear that the game was no longer about idealism but about monopoly, the moral facade collapsed.

The very companies that once draped themselves in the language of social responsibility are now aligning with authoritarian power structures and bending the knee to capital. And capital, in turn, is making its demands clear: Monopolize. Dominate. Eliminate competition.

AI’s Shift from Open to Closed: A Deliberate Power Grab

Consider how AI development has shifted in just a few years:

• OpenAI began as a nonprofit dedicated to ensuring AI benefited all of humanity. Today, it is a corporate entity controlled by Microsoft, restricting access to its most powerful models.
• Hugging Face, once an open-source beacon, has taken investments from Amazon, Google, NVIDIA, and others—solidifying AI’s control under the same monopolistic forces.
• Decentralized AI models like DeepSeek are emerging, proving that AI can run on just a fraction of the processing power of centralized systems like ChatGPT. But does capital want decentralization? Absolutely not.
• Any movement toward decentralization is viewed as dissent. Capital thrives on monopolization, and AI is too valuable a tool to be left in the hands of independent developers or open-source communities.

The Woke Branding Was Just a Phase

The great irony is that those once seen as the champions of progressive values are now viewed as the new authoritarian elite.

Tech companies built their reputations on “defending democracy” and “fighting misinformation.” Yet today, they negotiate with authoritarian regimes, silence dissent, and control information flows just as aggressively as the forces they once claimed to oppose.

The same corporations that warned about the dangers of AI falling into the wrong hands are now ensuring it remains exclusively in their hands.

CEOs like Sam Altman, Mark Zuckerberg, and Elon Musk are not ideological—they are pragmatic. When woke capitalism was good for business, they embraced it. Now that monopolization is the only way forward, they abandon those values without hesitation.

Why This Matters: The Rise of Corporate Fascism

What we are witnessing is the next evolution of corporate authoritarianism—not through direct government control, but through the fusion of monopolistic capital and AI power.

• Governments are becoming dependent on tech monopolies—outsourcing AI, cloud computing, and infrastructure to a handful of private corporations.
• AI access is being restricted to those who can afford it, deepening economic divides.
• Control over information is now algorithmic—meaning the rules of debate, discourse, and political engagement are being dictated by tech giants rather than democratic institutions.
• AI is being positioned as a tool of surveillance, prediction, and behavioral control, ensuring that dissenting voices can be silenced before they even emerge.

The Young See the Betrayal Clearly

Younger generations are not fooled. They see that the same economic pressures, corporate betrayals, and political failures are happening everywhere.

• They see that capital does not care about ethics—only about maximizing profits, even if that means bowing to authoritarian forces.
• They see that governments are not standing up to monopolies, but are instead partnering with them.
• They see that decentralization is not being encouraged—but actively suppressed.

And so, we arrive at a moment of global frustration. A moment where a generation is realizing that they have been systematically locked out of the future.

The Final Question: Who Will Own the Future?

We now face a fundamental choice:

1. Will AI remain in the hands of a few corporate entities that dictate its use, development, and ethical boundaries?
2. Or will a new movement—one that embraces decentralization, transparency, and true accessibility—rise to challenge this monopoly?

The window for open AI is closing. If power consolidates any further, the coming decades will be defined not by AI liberation, but by AI-driven corporate authoritarianism.

So the real question is no longer who builds the most powerful AI. It is who gets to own it—and what they will do with that power.

Stanislav Křeček: A Soviet-Era Legacy in the Czech Ombudsman's Office

Stanislav Křeček, the current Czech Ombudsman, has become a deeply controversial figure in Czech politics. His tenure highlights the lingering impact of the Soviet-era mindset on governance in the Czech Republic. Appointing someone so profoundly shaped by communist-era ideology to a position meant to safeguard democracy and human rights raises serious concerns about the health of Czech democracy—and reflects the unfulfilled promises of the Velvet Revolution.

A Soviet-Influenced Career

During the communist regime in Czechoslovakia, Křeček worked as a lawyer and was a member of the Czechoslovak Socialist Party (ČSS), which was part of the National Front and closely cooperated with the ruling Communist Party. In 1986, he contributed to a publication titled “Občan a volby” (*"Citizen and Elections"*) that openly praised "people's democracy" and criticized electoral systems in capitalist countries (source).

This association with a regime that fundamentally opposed democratic principles raises questions about whether Křeček’s approach to governance is compatible with the role of Ombudsman in a modern democracy.

Controversial Tenure as Ombudsman

Křeček’s appointment in 2020 sparked widespread criticism. His public statements, such as claiming that the housing problems of the Roma community are caused by their own behavior rather than systemic discrimination, have been widely condemned as xenophobic (source). Such views undermine the purpose of the Ombudsman's office, which is meant to advocate for the rights of all citizens, particularly marginalized groups.

Adding to the controversy, Křeček improperly used the title JUDr. in the 1990s—a doctorate in law he only officially earned in 2005 (source). This disregard for professional and ethical standards reflects a troubling pattern of behavior more aligned with bureaucratic manipulation than transparency and accountability.

Democracy at Risk

The Velvet Revolution was supposed to mark a turning point for the Czech Republic—a rejection of the authoritarian practices of the past in favor of a democratic future. Yet, figures like Stanislav Křeček demonstrate how the legacy of the communist era continues to haunt Czech institutions. Instead of defending the rule of law, individuals with ties to Soviet-style governance often seem more interested in finding ways around it.

Allowing someone with such a history and controversial views to lead the Ombudsman's office is a failure of democratic oversight. It reflects the unfulfilled promise of the Velvet Revolution and highlights the need for stronger safeguards to prevent those shaped by authoritarian systems from occupying positions of power in a democracy.

Conclusion

If democracy is to thrive in the Czech Republic, figures like Stanislav Křeček—whose mindset and methods are rooted in Soviet-era politics—should never hold positions of such influence. The Ombudsman’s office is a cornerstone of public trust, and it must be led by individuals committed to the principles of democracy, transparency, and human rights.

The Czech Republic deserves better. The legacy of the Velvet Revolution demands it.

References:

• Stanislav Křeček - Wikipedia
• Blesk - Why Křeček Sparks Controversy
• Extra.cz - Calls for Křeček to Resign

Serious Concerns About the Czech Health Insurance System

As a resident of the Czech Republic in the European Union, I want to highlight some serious concerns about the Czech health insurance system and how it impacts non-permanent residents:

1. Non-permanent residents and their family members without permanent residency are required to use private health insurance provided by Czech companies. This also applies to self-employed individuals in similar circumstances.
2. The Czech private health insurance company, which is 100% owned by the Czech state, monopolizes this system. A few years ago, the government attempted to legislate that foreigners could only use this state-owned private insurer, resulting in a staggering 600% increase in premiums. Although the European Union ruled this practice illegal, the monopoly and inflated premiums remain.
3. The insurance contracts are highly restrictive. Coverage is valid only for the contract’s term, meaning any pre-existing conditions acquired during one term are excluded in subsequent terms. This leaves foreigners vulnerable to losing coverage for critical conditions.
4. If you already have a pre-existing condition, the Czech private health insurance company offers a separate type of contract. This effectively flags such individuals for the Ministry of Interior when they apply for permanent residence. Consequently, applicants with pre-existing conditions have often been denied permanent residence based on their health status. This discriminatory practice raises serious ethical and legal concerns.
5. To make matters worse, even if you win a court decision to be granted permanent residence, the Czech administration is not obliged to accept the court’s ruling. They can challenge the decision and take the issue back to court repeatedly—sometimes up to three times—until they achieve the decision they want. This creates a cycle of legal battles, undermining justice and prolonging uncertainty for applicants.
6. The policies also exclude many critical areas of care, such as mental health services, and only cover the bare minimum required by law. This creates significant gaps in care, particularly for vulnerable individuals.
7. Despite these issues, the European regulatory body overseeing insurance companies provides no advice or assistance to non-permanent residents, leaving them to navigate an exploitative and discriminatory system alone.

This situation highlights how state-owned monopolies and administrative practices can be weaponized against vulnerable groups like foreigners. It also illustrates the limits of judicial power in the face of persistent administrative resistance. While European health care systems are often praised, there are significant systemic issues like this that urgently need reform.

Chapter 2: Looking at the Data

When examining the landscape of the global music industry, it’s impossible to ignore the centralization that has occurred due to mergers between major publishing houses, such as EMI and Sony Music Publishers. These mergers have consolidated market power and created an environment where U.S. independent artists are thriving through self-publishing, while artists in other countries—such as Australia, Canada, and many emerging economies—are facing additional constraints.

Data: APRA’s Revenue and Distribution

APRA (Australasian Performing Right Association) collects approximately AUD $19.23 per capita, resulting in an estimated AUD $476 million annually. Despite this, only a small percentage of these funds reach smaller, independent creators. According to APRA’s reports, 90% of royalties are typically paid to just 10% of its members, suggesting that the system disproportionately benefits major corporations and top-performing artists [source].

In comparison, BMI and ASCAP in the U.S. operate under a non-exclusive input agreement model, which allows artists to have more control over their rights. This more decentralized model results in a more equitable distribution of royalties. BMI, for instance, generated USD $1.4 billion in revenue in 2023, with a significant portion reaching smaller creators compared to APRA’s distribution model [source].

Disparities in Music Exports

Looking at music export data reveals further disparities. In 2023, the U.S. music industry generated USD $17.1 billion, with a large portion coming from global music sales. Meanwhile, Australia’s music export revenue amounted to only AUD $195 million, or approximately AUD $7.50 per capita. This stark contrast highlights the challenges faced by Australian artists in accessing international markets, especially compared to their U.S. counterparts [source].

The Role of SAG-AFTRA and U.S. Content Dominance on Australian Artists

The Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA) primarily represents U.S.-based performers, including vocalists and musicians, in union-regulated productions. Through Global Rule One, SAG-AFTRA requires its members to work exclusively under union contracts worldwide, which effectively prioritizes U.S.-based talent for roles in Hollywood and other union-affiliated productions [SAG-AFTRA: Global Rule One].

For Australian artists, particularly those represented by APRA, access to these lucrative U.S.-based content markets is challenging. Unlike ASCAP or BMI’s non-exclusive systems in the U.S., which empower artists to negotiate direct licenses and pursue international opportunities independently, APRA’s centralized licensing model restricts Australian artists’ ability to access these projects. As a result, Australian talent often misses out on participating in U.S.-based productions that are SAG-AFTRA affiliated, including music roles in film, television, and streaming content.

The dominance of U.S. content in Australia further underscores this challenge. In 2023, U.S. films made up 86% of Australia’s box office revenue, and American streaming platforms like Netflix have a significant presence in Australian households, with approximately 65% penetration [Screen Australia], [Statista]. This pervasive American media presence means that Australians are primarily consuming U.S.-produced content, but Australian artists, under APRA’s exclusive model, find it difficult to participate in these projects.

The ABC’s Role and the Centralization of Australian Culture

The ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) plays an essential role in Australian culture, providing news, entertainment, and educational content. With an annual budget of approximately AUD $1 billion, the ABC costs each Australian roughly AUD $40 per capita. Despite being a critical public broadcaster, it has experienced funding cuts, leading to a 40% reduction in its workforce since 1989. The rising costs of producing content—30% for general content and 90% for children’s TV—have placed further financial pressure on the organization [source].

Both the ABC and APRA operate within centralized structures, limiting opportunities for decentralized, grassroots innovation. Just as the ABC focuses on nationalized programming, often influenced by government priorities, APRA’s structure favors the