Georgia is sinking into Chelyabinskism.
Dachvard
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Photographs
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The Daybook
all entries →Witold Gombrowicz’s Against Poets is correct. Poets are lousy very often.
Recent Writings
A room for Andrej Karpathy as a teacher: one forward pass through a GPT, laid out as a 1960s textbook in ten chapters, each with a clip of him explaining it and a hands-on exhibit running his own code; his experiments in between (char-rnn on Shakespeare, Pong from pixels, the ImageNet race, badmephisto), his newest ideas, and his three rules for becoming an expert.
His Notebook of Things I Don't Know About: 256 scraps of things he said, then eighteen questions he could not leave alone, from his father's wagon and the bird with no name to the wobbling plate, the bongos in Rio, the dancers at Gianonni's, the little arrows of light and a glass of ice water in Washington.
His book, bound again as a book of chapters, each one a thing to play with: a cat who plays with you, a fall from a horse, three remarks of which he forgot one, a ceiling to lie under, and a weathervane that is always right.
An encyclopaedia entry on Borges that behaves like one of his stories, bound with thirteen engraved plates that work: a frontispiece that changes hands, two identical pages to tell apart, a garden that forks, a lottery that decides what this copy contains, a library with every book in it, a point that holds every page of this site, and a coin you will not forget.
The insomniac who put down his own language in his mid-thirties and wrote the most exact French prose of the century in fragments. A sampler of quotations, the whole shelf as a reader's guide, the language switch, the life, and the record - including the 1930s, which this page does not skip.