The Mnemonic Stack
Building the Institutions of Time in the Machine Century
“live in order, invest in disorder; anchor where rules are predictable, place bets where energy is abundant” - Radigan Carter, From the Straits
Preface — Why We Are Writing This
Every few centuries, civilisation rewires itself. Venkatesh Rao calls these rewiring phases world-machines—vast systems that take roughly four hundred years to assemble before turning on in a single generation. The first modernity machine, built between 1200 and 1600, ran on trade, gunpowder, and the printing press. Its successor, the post-modernity machine of 1600–2000, ran on finance, industry, and computation.
That second machine is flickering to a stop. Its replacements—AI systems, algorithmic markets, digital archives—already run faster than any political or cultural clock can regulate. The result is a civilisation that feels perpetually out of time.
We are writing now because the new world-machine has just been switched on. It is no longer enough to study energy, capital, or intelligence; what demands invention is temporal governance itself. The question for our century is simple: how will civilisation keep time with the machines it has built?
The answer begins with the concept we call the Mnemonic Stack—the operating system of the new world-machine, designed to manage tempo, continuity, and memory across the desynchronised infrastructures of the twenty-first century.
This essay sits at the intersection of two genealogies. From Venkatesh Rao’s Modernity Machine series it inherits the long rhythm of civilisation—the four-hundred-year cycles through which energy, information, and institutions re-align. From Sachin Benny’s Summertime temporal trilogy—Archival Time, Cozyweb Animals, and Prophetic Soft Technologies—it inherits the lived phenomenology of those shifts: AI as discontinuous archive, communities as affective regulators, prediction as the last ritual of a collapsing futurity. Here those arcs converge: the longue durée of machines meets the short duration of human attention.
It also belongs to a broader canon that has followed the unravelling of modernity: Human vs Machine Surplus examined intelligence that had outpaced purpose; New Rome described a civilisation of recognition without ritual; America’s Afterlife portrayed an empire continuing to accelerate after belief; Stack Wars traced how competing architectures of computation became the new form of sovereignty. Each was a study in desynchronisation. The Mnemonic Stack asks how rhythm might be rebuilt.
To attempt such a repair is not optimism but realism. The next stage of civilisation will be defined by its ability to re-synchronise energy, computation, and culture. Some states already practice fragments of this art: China’s Type-1 expansion—cheap capital goods leading to cheap intelligence, reinvested in the upgrade of human capacity—is a pragmatic rehearsal of temporal coherence. Others will follow more slowly, constrained by politics or myth. The world will divide not by ideology but by phase discipline—by who can keep their clocks together long enough to build.
Angel of America: “Stop moving! Stop progressing!”. Tony Kushner play, Angels in America
Section I – Opening & Context
Every few centuries, the machinery of civilisation changes its design. The alterations are rarely abrupt: they take the form of new arrangements of energy, capital and thought that make the world run at a different tempo. People live through the transition long before they recognise it. By the time they give it a name, the change has already taken hold. The Industrial Revolution was one such redesign; so, too, were the revolutions of writing, coinage and print. The argument of this essay is that another redesign is under way now. The modern world’s basic machine—an order that linked industry, finance and government through the discipline of the clock—is running down. A new machine, whose moving parts are computation, bureaucracy and memory, is switching on. Its task will not be to accelerate the world further but to keep its times in phase. I call it the Mnemonic Stack.
The idea of world-machines belongs to the writer and systems theorist Venkatesh Rao. In a series of essays and the collaborative reading project Contraptions Book Club, he proposed that history can be read as a succession of machines, each built to coordinate a planet increasingly aware of itself. The first “modernity machine,” he suggests, was assembled between 1200 and 1600, during the Mongol and Islamic ages of exchange. It ran on navigation, accounting, and gunpowder. Around 1600, it gave way to the industrial-financial order that powered the modern world. Each machine, he notes, takes about four hundred years to build before being “switched on” in a single generation; each is designed to solve the bottleneck left by its predecessor. The industrial machine solved the bottleneck of energy; the financial machine solved the bottleneck of capital. The next one, he believes, will have to solve the bottleneck of continuity.
The language of machines is useful because it restores the sense of engineering to history. Civilisations are not just stories or ideas; they are systems of coordination. They depend on synchrony—between state and market, law and technology, mind and infrastructure. When that synchrony fails, progress becomes noise. The world of 2025 is noisy in precisely this way. Artificial intelligence learns faster than governments can legislate; markets revise themselves faster than societies can adapt; ecosystems react over centuries to decisions made in minutes. The question that binds these crises together is not one of morality or ideology but of tempo. Who, or what, will keep the clocks in time?
To answer that question, we need to return to the long arc that Venkat redraws. Modernity, in this retelling, did not begin with the Enlightenment but with the commercial and administrative innovations of the thirteenth century. From that starting point we can trace two complete machines—the early modern, which mastered space, and the industrial, which mastered energy—and see how their rhythms brought us to the present impasse. Only then can we understand what the Mnemonic Stack is for: a civilisation-scale attempt to master time itself.
Section II – From 1200 → 2000: The First Two Machines
Venkat’s first machine begins in the thirteenth century, a moment when global history momentarily synchronised. The Mongol empire joined the steppes to the Mediterranean; Islamic merchants connected East Africa to China; the European city-states turned maritime. A single system of exchange emerged across the Old World, policed by horsemen and financed by credit. What made this early machine modern was not its technology—metalwork and wind power were ancient—but its organisation. Venice, Cairo, Samarkand, and Hangzhou all learned to treat information as a medium of power. Ledger and letter became the twin arteries of empire. A clerk in a counting-house could move capital farther and faster than a caravan. Governments responded by inventing bureaucracy: records, audits, charters. The new rhythm of rule was administrative rather than theological.
Between 1200 and 1600, this apparatus of record-keeping, trade, and weaponry gradually fused into the first world-machine. It solved a medieval problem: how to coordinate action across distance. Gunpowder reduced the importance of walls; navigation reduced the importance of geography; print reduced the importance of memory. Together they made a world that could expand without fragmenting. The pattern, as Venkat reconstructs it, is one of downward diffusion: power moved from monarch to oligarch, from oligarch to technocrat, from technocrat to worker. Knowledge became portable; labour acquired leverage. By 1600, the essentials of modernity were in place—clocks to measure, banks to credit, maps to navigate, and the first joint-stock companies to govern at a distance.
The machine that followed, stretching from 1600 to 2000, replaced geography with growth. It ran on the alignment of three clocks: the industrial, the financial, and the bureaucratic. Industrial time measured the pace of production, financial time priced the future, and bureaucratic time promised stability through rules. For a while they kept in step. The steam engine, the stock exchange, and the civil service all accelerated together, producing the distinctive pulse of the modern age. The world became measurable and, in principle, improvable.
Yet the same mechanisms that produced order also installed fragility. The industrial machine depended on acceleration—more output per hour, more capital per quarter. Its politics assumed that the future would arrive on schedule. When the twentieth century delivered crisis instead—depression, war, and environmental constraint—the faith in synchrony faltered. By the close of the century, the three clocks had drifted. Industry ran ahead of policy, finance detached from labour, and bureaucracy sank into procedural delay. What Venkat calls the post-modernity machine—the world of computation and networks—was being assembled amid the noise.
By 2000, its components were visible: microprocessors, global logistics, real-time markets. The old world-machine had expanded as far as it could in space; the new one would expand in speed. It linked every activity to a single, continuous present. The planet, for the first time, operated in real time. But the gain in immediacy came at the cost of memory. The machine could transmit anything except a sense of duration. What the nineteenth century built in brick and steam, the twenty-first would build in seconds and forget just as quickly. The Mnemonic Stack begins as a response to that forgetfulness.
Section III – Desynchronisation
By the start of this century the industrial-financial machine had achieved its ultimate dream: everything connected, everything instant. And almost immediately the world began to fall out of time with itself. The paradox of the networked age is that it delivers simultaneity without synchrony. The infrastructures that promise a single “real-time” planet in fact fracture it into incompatible clocks.
The first of these clocks belongs to the feed: the always-on rhythm of markets, media and metrics. Its unit of measure is the refresh. Value accrues to reaction; reflection is a liability. The second is the clock of the bureaucratic thread—slow, cumulative, reliant on procedure and precedent. It governs parliaments, ministries and standards bodies, institutions that must remember to be legitimate. The third is the clock of the archive, embodied in the frozen datasets of machine learning. Each generation of models is a sealed world, trained on the language of the moment before and already sliding towards obsolescence as it is deployed. Together they form the triangular temporality of the present: feed, thread, archive. The three overlap constantly yet rarely coincide.
This misalignment is not a metaphor; it produces material effects. Financial markets oscillate on information that regulators will analyse next year. Algorithms predict human behaviour from cultural data already two versions out of date. Political decisions are made on the basis of “facts” that have expired in the interval between consultation and announcement. The experience of living amid these lags is what Venkat elsewhere called the perma-weird—a permanent crisis of shared reference in which the world remains familiar but slightly out of phase.
Previous desynchronisations have remade history. The Reformation was born of one: print accelerated faster than theology could adapt. The industrial revolutions were others: steam, then electricity, outrunning the rhythms of law and labour. Each time, civilisation restored coherence by inventing new institutions of time—copyright, the workday, the time zone. What distinguishes the present rupture is its scale. No earlier machine compressed so many orders of time into a single system, or made their friction so visible. The planet has become a single device whose components run on different firmware.
Desynchronisation is therefore the real engine of today’s discontent. The political vocabulary of “crisis”—of democracy, of globalisation, of climate—names its symptoms, not its cause. The deeper failure is one of temporal governance: the inability of our existing institutions to mediate between speeds. The next world-machine will have to rebuild that mediation from the ground up, aligning the rhythms of attention, administration and archive. This, more than any new ideology or technology, is the work that begins in our century.
The drift between speeds is not only mechanical. It exposes a vacuum of ritual, of authority, of reflection. Every prior civilisation faced such a vacuum by inventing new rites, new laws, new pauses. The next will have to do the same.
Section IV – The Mnemonic Stack
When a system breaks down, it does not vanish; it reorganises around its failure. The Mnemonic Stack is what emerges from the desynchronisation described above—a machine designed to keep the world’s mismatched clocks in conversation. It is not yet visible as a single structure, but its components are already at work wherever human and artificial intelligence overlap. The word stack, borrowed from computing, captures both hierarchy and dependency: each layer supports and constrains the next.
At the top sits the layer of feed time, the instantaneous world of metrics and markets. It is the layer of attention, where decisions are made by reflex. Beneath it runs thread time, the slower rhythm of institutions that hold rules, norms, and collective memory together. The lowest layer is archive time, the discontinuous temporality of data and models—periodic freezes of experience, each rendered obsolete by the next upgrade. What defines the Mnemonic Stack is the necessity of synchronising these tempos without flattening them. A society cannot function at the speed of its fastest component any more than an engine can run on a single piston.
Some of the early organs of this new machine are appearing under prosaic names. In public administration they take the form of model registries and audit trails: attempts to record which dataset, and therefore which moment of history, informed an automated decision. In the law they appear as algorithmic accountability clauses that compel systems to declare their training epoch and the assumptions embedded within it. In software and media they appear as deliberate pauses—“cool-down” intervals introduced to slow reaction cycles that otherwise spiral into volatility. None of these interventions solves the problem on its own, but each reinstates a fraction of continuity, a rhythm of verification amid the noise.
To see how this represents an epochal change, it helps to recall how earlier machines enforced order. The industrial world achieved coordination through mechanical standardisation: clocks, timetables, interchangeable parts. The twentieth-century order extended that standardisation to finance and governance. The Mnemonic Stack replaces both with a subtler discipline: the management of temporal integrity. Its function is to ensure that knowledge, decision, and memory remain compatible even as they operate at different speeds. In this sense it is a moral as well as a technical invention, for it defines what counts as responsibility in an age when no human can claim to know the whole process through which power acts.
Every civilisation that survived acceleration learned to ritualise it. Xunzi 荀子, writing more than two millennia ago, warned that human beings left to their own impulses move too quickly; they require rites to teach them rhythm. Rites were not superstition but the technology of coherence—habits that turn frenzy into order. In this sense, the Mnemonic Stack will succeed only if it becomes a ritual system: the audit, the model retraining, the scheduled downtime must become as regular as the old festivals of the agrarian year. These pauses are not inefficiencies; they are the civic ceremonies through which a civilisation teaches itself how to breathe.
The Chinese Legalists would add a sharper edge. Han Feizi 韓非子 believed that order depends on fa法 —law, measurement, and the ability of the ruler to keep time when others cannot. The same applies now: whoever sets the refresh interval, the cooling period, or the update schedule already governs the world. Tempo has become a domain of sovereignty. The legal frameworks we build around automation will not only regulate technology; they will determine who commands the future’s pace. What used to be military logistics has become temporal policy.
Yet discipline and law alone do not restore meaning. The philosopher Han Byung-Chul 한병철/韓炳哲 calls our era one of “temporal dispersion,” a life stretched too thin to accumulate presence. His cure is not further regulation but contemplative time—the right to linger, to let duration become experience again. For the Mnemonic Stack, this means designing intervals of stillness within systems of constant update: slower review cycles, deliberate public reflection, spaces where nothing is optimised. Without such protected uselessness, synchrony will feel like servitude, not peace.
Prior the prophet rejects the Angel’s plea to abandon modernity, Angels in America
Section V – Revelations and Consequences
The Mnemonic Stack is not an abstract speculation; it is the logic implicit in the technologies and institutions we are already building. To describe it is not to predict the future but to read the present for what it is becoming. In that light, three consequences follow—each both revelation and warning.
The first is that time itself has become infrastructure. In the nineteenth century, mastery of energy required the grid; in the twenty-first, mastery of intelligence requires a comparable network for synchronisation. The grid’s units were kilowatts and volts; the new infrastructure’s units are epochs and refresh intervals. When algorithms are retrained on their own outputs, when decisions are automated faster than they can be justified, societies need institutions that stabilise the rate of change. The calendars of the industrial age—fiscal years, product cycles, election terms—are too coarse for this task. The Mnemonic Stack introduces finer regulators: the timestamp, the version number, the audit trail. These are the new pipes of power. To define the interval between updates is now an act of statecraft. In earlier centuries, monarchs set the calendar and bankers the interest rate; today it is the engineer and the legislator who together define how often a model may be retrained, how long data may live before deletion. The regulation of tempo has replaced the regulation of money as the central art of governance. Whoever sets their standards will hold the authority once exercised by central banks and metrological bureaus.
The second consequence concerns legitimacy. The modern state derived legitimacy from procedure: decisions were lawful because they could be traced to rules; rules were valid because they were continuous with precedent. That chain of memory is now breaking. A model that learns from a dataset it cannot disclose, a bureaucracy that outsources judgement to code, acts without historical accountability. The crisis of trust in democratic institutions mirrors the “alignment problem” in artificial intelligence: both stem from the divorce of action from memory. To restore legitimacy, governments and corporations alike will need new forms of temporal transparency—ways to show not only what was decided but when in history the knowledge behind the decision was formed.
But rhythm without virtue collapses into routine. As Xunzi warned, technology amplifies human nature; it does not reform it. The Mnemonic Stack will need not only protocols but cultivation—a civic ethic that teaches its citizens why the pauses matter. Without shared discipline, the new calendar will become another form of noise.
The third consequence is ethical. The industrial age exalted production; its heroes were inventors and builders. The age of the Mnemonic Stack will exalt maintenance. Continuity is labour, and those who perform it—archivists, moderators, librarians, the engineers who keep legacy systems alive—are becoming the central figures of social stability. Innovation may still dazzle, but it will no longer guarantee progress. The defining virtue will be the capacity to repair without erasing. In this sense, the Stack is not a machine of acceleration but of care: a technology of attention stretched across generations.
Continuity matters not only because it stabilises systems but because it restores the possibility of dwelling. By slowing its own tempo, a society creates rooms within time where human life can once again unfold at a human scale. The Mnemonic Stack’s greatest promise is not efficiency but the recovery of depth—the return of hours that can be lived, not merely processed.
Taken together, these shifts reframe geopolitics as a contest of temporal regimes. The United States exemplifies feed time, agile and improvisational but forgetful. China operates in thread time, deliberate and recursive, synchronising five-year plans with technological iteration. Europe, burdened by its own archives, moves cautiously through procedural time. Middle powers such as Singapore and the Gulf states specialise in mediation—designing corridors where these different clocks can meet without collision. The balance of power in the century ahead will depend less on resources or ideology than on the ability to translate between speeds.
See also Radigan Carter, “From the Straits” (2025), a ground-level account of phase discipline in practice: Singapore’s bureaucratic coherence and China’s electro-metabolic expansion as lived expressions of the Mnemonic Stack.
Section VI – Closing Cadence
Every civilisation leaves behind the machine that carried it. The agricultural world bequeathed the plough and the calendar; the industrial world, the factory and the clock. What our own epoch will leave, for better or worse, is the Mnemonic Stack—the attempt to make continuity a collective good. Its appearance marks the end of an old story about progress. For two hundred years, the future was imagined as expansion: more speed, more scale, more information. But a civilisation cannot expand indefinitely in time; eventually it must learn to govern its own duration.
The age now ending was powered by stored sunlight. The petro-industrial world measured wealth by the accumulation of past energy—coal, oil, capital. Its rhythm was extraction followed by exhaustion. The electro-industrial world that succeeds it runs on synchrony: flow rather than stock, balance rather than hoard. Petro-time was geologic, slow but irreversible; electro-time is metabolic, immediate yet fragile. It must be tuned constantly or it collapses. The Mnemonic Stack is the control system for that tuning—the clockwork that keeps an electrical planet from burning itself out.
To speak of the Stack is to speak of the conditions for endurance. It asks how societies remember in the presence of machines that do the remembering for them, and how those memories can remain trustworthy. The paradox of artificial intelligence is that it records everything and understands nothing; the paradox of modern politics is that it remembers selectively and still claims authority. The next civilisation will have to resolve both. Its measure of success will be the alignment between its technologies of memory and its institutions of meaning.
Venkat ends his Modernity Machine II with the remark that the machine built between 1200 and 1600 is reaching end-of-life, and the one assembled between 1600 and 2000 is ready to be switched on. The hum of that switch is what we hear now in the constant recalibration of systems that refuse to sleep. The task before us is not to slow the hum but to tune it. The historian’s eye should not be fixed on apocalypse or utopia but on rhythm: on how the world breathes between its pulses of invention.
The Mnemonic Stack, if it holds, will turn rhythm into responsibility. Its institutions will legislate the interval—the spacing that lets one event be remembered before the next arrives. Its ethic will be maintenance rather than creation, coherence rather than conquest. It will judge intelligence not by how quickly it learns but by how faithfully it recalls the context of its learning. In that sense, the new machine is both technological and moral, the successor not to the factory but to the archive and the calendar.
What follows from this is a new measure of civilisation. A Type-1 civilisation, one operating at planetary scale, will not be defined by dominance but by phase coherence—its energy grids, compute clouds, and cultural calendars moving in rhythm rather than in competition. Its politics will be temporal: ministries of cadence instead of ministries of production, treaties over refresh rates instead of borders. In this sense, the transition from petro-state to electro-state is less an energy revolution than a transformation of time. The planet is learning to keep a single beat.
The historian Adam Tooze likes to say that every economic order produces its own metaphysics of time. Ours is only beginning to appear. The Mnemonic Stack is its infrastructure and its allegory: a civilisation teaching itself, after centuries of acceleration, how to keep time with its own machines. The next superpower, if there is one, will not be the fastest or the richest, but the first that can remember.
Postscript — Toward new Institutions of Time
Every world-machine ends by producing the conditions for its successor. The industrial–financial order gave us global infrastructure and planetary markets but also temporal chaos: systems that run faster than the societies they serve. The Mnemonic Stack is the name for the institutions that can repair that drift. To be useful, the idea must now move from metaphor to programme.
The first task is temporal statecraft. Every advanced polity will require ministries or commissions capable of coordinating the rhythms of technology, finance, and social life—agencies that track not only GDP or emissions but cadence: update cycles, feedback delays, and maintenance intervals. Their work will be to manage the phase alignment between human institutions and machine infrastructures. Singapore’s foresight to action bureaucracy, the Gulf’s futurism turned global cities, and China’s five-year planning cadence are early sketches of this function. None is sufficient, but each recognises time as a policy variable.
The second task is electro-metabolic governance. The transition from the petrostate to the electrostate is not merely an energy shift but a new regime of temporality. Petro-economies stored the past; electro-economies must balance the present. Power grids, compute clouds, and logistics networks all operate on continuous flow, and their failure modes are temporal: overload, lag, oscillation. Managing them requires real-time coordination across political and physical boundaries—what engineers call frequency stability, and what politics must learn to treat as sovereignty. China’s present model—cheap capital goods leading to cheap intelligence, reinvested in the systematic upgrade of human capacity—is the most coherent attempt so far to build such stability at scale. Others will struggle, lacking either the capital discipline or the bureaucratic reach to synchronise technology and society. My suggestion is to ride on China’s coattails.
The third task is institutional patience. Democracies, markets, and media now all privilege immediacy; yet durable progress depends on long feedback loops. The Mnemonic Stack will only hold if societies can design pauses into their systems: mandatory reflection periods for legislation and AI retraining, civic sabbaths for infrastructure, global maintenance days for the planet’s metabolism. These are not utopian rituals but the necessary counterweights to acceleration. Without them, every gain in intelligence will be cancelled by a loss of coherence.
Finally, the work of temporal governance must be joined to material justice. Electrotime still runs on extractive circuits—lithium, cobalt, water, data, and labour. A Type-1 civilisation that achieves global synchrony while exporting disorder to its periphery will fail in the same way the fossil order did. Temporal alignment without distributive fairness is only a new form of imbalance.
What follows from all this is simple. The Mnemonic Stack is not a theory of the future; it is a design brief for the present. Its building blocks are already visible: planning cadences, model registries, grid protocols, and maintenance rituals. The task is to connect them into a functioning nervous system before the dissonance becomes fatal. A civilisation that can do this will earn the right to call itself coherent. A Type-1 civilisation will not be the first to reach the stars but the first to stay in phase with its own planet.
Post-postscript — Limits and Dissonances
Every argument that seeks coherence risks mistaking pattern for law. The idea of four-hundred-year machines is a way of listening to history, not predicting it. Machines overlap; epochs bleed; some turn on unevenly. The Mnemonic Stack should be read in that spirit: as an instrument for hearing tempo, not as a prophecy of order.
Perfect synchrony is neither possible nor desirable. A civilisation that keeps only one rhythm would smother its own capacity for invention. The task is subtler: to cultivate bounded dissonance, a playable tension between speeds. The world must learn not to abolish difference but to coordinate it.
The philosophies that guide this essay—Xunzi’s ritual, Han Feizi’s law, Han Byung-Chul’s stillness—are not blueprints but diagnostics. Each names a function that modernity lost: discipline, sovereignty, reflection. Their synthesis is not a new ideology but a set of habits through which any polity might rebuild temporal literacy.
Nor can temporal politics be separated from material politics. The transition from petro-industrial to electro-planetary order will rely on mines, grids, and human labour as much as on metaphysics. Temporal justice is ecological justice; coherence that externalises its costs is only another form of amnesia.
Finally, the Stack will not emerge as a single operating system. Civilisation is not code; it is an ecology of overlapping clocks. The Mnemonic Stack is best understood as a moral infrastructure—an evolving set of norms for cadence, maintenance, and care—through which the world learns, slowly, to keep time with itself.
If there is a frontier worth building, it is this: the shift from power measured in speed to power measured in phase. The first civilisation to master that shift will not only endure the transition from petrostate to electrostate; it will earn the right to call itself Type-1.
Primary Sources
Venkatesh Rao, The Modernity Machine I & II (2025), and Contraptions Book Club threads — the conceptual origin of the “world-machine”: civilisational systems that take ~400 years to assemble and one generation to activateGmail - The Modernity Machine II.
Sachin Benny, Archival Time (2025) — the idea of archival temporality: LLMs as frozen epochs that force society to invent new rhythms of cultural productionGmail - archival time.
Sachin Benny, Cozyweb Animals (2025) — analysis of post-narrative communities as affective infrastructures; introduced maintenance as moral labour.
Sachin Benny, Prophetic Soft Technologies (2025) — traced prediction markets, memory palaces, and cybernetics as soft technologies built in moments of epistemic crisis; set up temporal governance as the next step after predictionGmail - Prophetic Soft Technolo….
These four essays form the genealogical core: Rao provides the civilisational frame; Benny supplies the temporal phenomenology.
The Cutting Floor Canonical Sequence
Human vs Machine Surplus — intelligence outpacing purpose; the problem of surplus cognition.
New Rome — the empire of recognition and spectacle; the loss of ritual synchrony.
America’s Afterlife — the momentum of a civilisation that accelerates beyond belief.
Stack Wars — the geopolitics of competing computation architectures.
The Mnemonic Stack — synthesises the above into a theory of temporal governance: how civilisation might rebuild coherence after acceleration.
This is mildly unsettling because my own memory isn’t that reliable and I can’t be sure your AI isn’t hallucinating things I supposedly argued. I now have to go back to my posts and try to recall what I said. Feels like a friendlier cousin of gaslighting.
But a lot of this anticipates arguments I’m working out in my offline notes, primarily around the liveness thread I have going elsewhere. Trying to reboot my back burner temporality stuff in a new way.
Sachin has been on a parallel track recently. So looks like a bunch of us are zeroing in on temporality as the key matter here. Or what im increasingly convinced is it’s dual, memory.
First time I’ve seen the nature of time treated as part of our pivoting.