Adobe has announced a so-called revolution in audio editing which, according to Adobe’s presentation, allows the operator to automatedly analyze a speaker’s voice and resynthesize it to say any arbitrary thing.
The speaker proclaimed that Adobe was making sure to have built-in measures against abuse, but if this technology is possible, we can be sure the government and probably many media outlets already have it and have none of the built-in watermarking to protect against abuse, although I am sure the public version of the software will have such “safe-guards” built in.
According to the presenter in the linked video, the piece of software needs no more than 20 minutes of a speaker’s voice to create convincing results.
So, know that from this point onward (and very likely for the last few years) you can no longer fully trust audio recordings of any kind.
During the past month, I have experienced more self-doubt than I can remember having experienced in my whole life. Am I sane? Am I insane? And what does each of those terms mean?
My mind keeps bringing up proof of my insanity. Why? I guess because I am already used to judge myself for everything that happens in my life. I always seek the error in me. On the internet, I can sometimes hide it, but underneath I always feel that it is my fault. I may write fuck you somewhere, but rest assured that usually I mean: I am bad. I am unworthy. You have sensed it, but I will not admit it, because you can not read that out of a simple text comment.
Every scrap of self-esteem that I thought I had built up crumbled when I was made to doubt the core of my existence. There she stands, one of the judges of the city of Munich. An old woman with a piercing in her nose. I say that men beat each other, that is what we do.
I wish there was a man there to understand and I tell her that she would not understand, because she is not a man. She snarkily remarks that she is lucky not to be one of those. There she stands and declares my insanity while I am bound to the bed, unable to move any limb, unable to even lie on my side within the restraints, forced to take anti-psychotic medicine and Lorazepam, neither of which I want.
It is so fucking unjust. And yet, I guess I attracted that into my life.
Why does one man get to command another to leave a public space and get to push him away with force while the other man gets declared insane for pushing him back and fighting him? Continue reading “The injustice of it all!”
It’s been some time since waterboarding was in the public eye, so I’m not in the trend right now. Nevertheless, emotionalism and human rights are topics that persist like a chronic disease. Kids who drown in comfort seek escape from boredom by meaningfully protesting against something in the streets of big cities. Every week I am at least once bound to be harassed by zealots of some good cause.
My Facebook feed happened to spit out a joke about waterboarding today and I got curious. For a topic that attracts such huge amounts of verbal incontinence, few people seem to know anything about it. Fat slobs or experts who don’t seem to have much experience with pain go around telling everybody how inhumane it is, so that everybody can be part of being against something so terrible they lack the words to describe it.
But anyway, what much is there to know about waterboarding for such a deep, intellectual discussion? It’s not black magic. You need a can of water, a cloth and you need to lie down. What the hell keeps me from trying this?
I want her and I don’t give a fuck what this means for your relationship. If you can’t take that she flirts with me, grow some balls. It upsets me that she flirts with you because she shouldn’t need that. If you honestly want to be with her, have her; to me, you sounded just like one of the hundreds of guys who want to fuck her. But if you break her heart, I will break your bones. No, I don’t want to be with her; I want to fuck her, I am one of the hundred guys. Okay, so you’re going after a girl whom you know to be in a relationship; apparently, you don’t even have values. I take back my blessings; do not contact me again.
I walk past the newspaper stand. Big letters say “He”. Wait, where did I hear that? Oh right, I myself called him the he. The devil. Seems stupid, I only see the picture of a guy at the beach. I laugh out loud. Yeah, he. Uh-huh.
The devil is scary, sure. But there’s some excitement involved in fighting him, undeniably. He is the absolute evil. He is exempt from morals. Or is he?
Ched Evans was convicted and sentenced for rape. I am not going to discuss whether that was appropriate; I think it was not, but that is not the point of my article. Ched Evans wants to play football again. Cool for him; who cares but his friends and fans, right. A big debate arises. A petition is started by Jean Hatchet, some self-proclaimed radical feminist enduring the sufferings of Poe’s law, not to allow him to play football again. It already has some 20.000 signers. Why does she even care? Does she know him? Does she want justice? What is justice?