Museletter the 124th

I have what feels like a somewhat embarrassing admission: No matter how hard I try, when I close my eyes, I cannot picture my mother, or my children, or even my wife. Well, I can… sort of, for a moment… in my mind's eye, I see a brief glimpse of them—almost like seeing their faces through a dense fog—and then the image, dreamlike, quickly fades or changes.

Of course, it's not just my family, or even just faces. I can't really picture anything clearly. The medical term for this condition is "aphantasia"—the inability to form pictures in your mind.

Over the past few years since I learned about aphantasia, I've discovered it's (of course) a spectrum—from literally "can't picture anything," to "hyperphantasia," where folks can conjure incredibly vivid, detailed imagery. And it often extends beyond the visual, to how well people can imagine smells, tastes, and other sensations. In fact, literally as I type this, I realize I cannot for the life of me imagine clearly what cinnamon or even chocolate tastes like, beyond just a hint, a fleeting flash of recognition. How can that be?!

The internet reassures me I'm not alone, with mentions of many famous and accomplished people with various levels of aphantasia. But as someone who has made a career in visual design, it feels somehow particularly wrong.

Or perhaps it makes perfect sense: Because I can't experience it in my head, I find it's particularly satisfying and even sensual to set text and images firmly and beautifully on the page. Even choosing a font (which is ironically called a type "face") becomes a visceral experience for me… seeing it on screen makes it real, so I can feel its effect.

I don't like not being able to do things, much less admitting to it. It's embarrassing being human, with our foibles and frailties. But I'm curious: How rich is your interior world, your ability to see, taste, smell, and feel in your head? On a scale of zero to ten, I think I'm about a four. How about you?

Fair Witness

(A musing from the not-too-distant future…) Do you remember how sweet it was to look at photographs and videos in the old days, before AI made us skeptical of everything? People shared pictures of their holiday trips and their children. But now AI makes us think twice, wondering: Did she really go on that trip? Does he really have children?

I recently saw a beautiful documentary on Netflix about pangolins — the only mammal covered in scales, like a dinosaur… but now I question: The pangolin is so strange, so rare and amazing, that… it can't be a real animal, can it? Was the entire movie made using AI? How would I know?

I'm reminded of that old Heinlein book Stranger in a Strange Land, which included an imaginary profession called a Fair Witness—people who were trained to report facts, without bias or judgement. Perhaps today's real-world Fair Witness is the Content Authenticity Initiative (CAI) and the C2PA, which offer a technological solution to prove provenance (where something is from). Of course, even that requires a modicum of trust.

Our lives, our political and cultural systems, all crumble without trust. Skepticism is so important for critical thinking; yet too much becomes corrosive, eating away at the pleasures of life.

Moral Codes

I'm fascinated by these "rules for defining moral codes," written 20 years ago by Rob Brezsny in his book Pronoia. He's not arguing for any particular moral code; just that whichever you choose should follow these rules:

1️⃣ A moral code becomes immoral unless it can thrive without a devil and enemy.

2️⃣ A moral code grows ugly unless it prescribes good-natured rebellion against automaton-like behavior offered in its support.

3️⃣ A moral code becomes murderous unless it's built on a love for the fact that EVERYTHING CHANGES ALL THE TIME, and unless it perpetually adjusts its reasons for being true.

4️⃣ A moral code will corrupt its users unless it ensures that their primary motivation for being good is because it's fun.

5️⃣ A moral code deadens the soul of everyone it touches unless it has a built-in sense of humor.

What do you think? Is he wrong?

Thank You

I enjoy sharing my musings… and I enjoy hearing yours! Please share this newsletter with a friend, follow me on LinkedIn, and send me feedback. You can always reach me at david@creativepro.com