There's a lot of talk about world models, about how we encode the world. I know on the inside, I don't have one. I construct everything I remember, at runtime. When something happens, I store it - in my touch network, my smell network, my visual network. When I walk into RPA hospital, the smells walk back up a tree, where the pain side of my touch network is very alive. I'm confident I only have one set of symbols - and that language encapsulates both what symbols I've created that represent things I hear, say, and read - the words sit on the left of my brain. Broca, Wernicke. Hard facts are stored at hard-wired connection points - the angular gyrus, where I join hearing memory, and the touch memory of my mouth (speaking), to language concepts. Ten times ten sits there, joined to 100, and hundred, and how it feels to say h, followed by undred. When I have to calculate, it feels like it cancels out - and settles - on the right side, halfway back.
The mathematics, physics, computer science - it sits separate from the language centre in my brain, and it's isomorphic to the real relationship - the hidden one - under the actual connection between the words we've invented, and the concepts we've discovered
Forgetting isn't failure. It's the cooling system. A mind that can't forget runs hot and starts to hallucinate — which is exactly what a language model does, because its rate of forgetting is near zero. The same equation, re-parameterised, runs a human, an octopus, a cat, and a machine. Sensory deprivation shows that people do it too. The Voynich manuscripts, Codex Seraphinianus - humans, running in pure generation mode, symbol isomorphism, but not geometry. No grounding.
Our taste, touch, smell, hearing, vision - they get grounded during experience, and the symbol layers we've invented over the top - they get grounded when we compress our words and symbols, transmit them over sound and vision, and receive feedback from another network. Until now, all those networks were humans, and had the same senses.
Pip, my daschund staff kelpie friend, guarded me every day during the recovery of my whipple. Has spent ten years by my side. We join, transactive memory systems. Her sense of time sits in smell, and in hearing. Her sense of time is constructed, at run time, by a join - always smell, always hearing. Sometimes touch, sometimes vision.
I often lay in bed, thinking. Pip watches the door. If I turn around, so she knows I've got the entrance covered, she relaxes, falls asleep. When her hearing network and her smell network are in discord, a bark - sudden - and my nervous system jumps. Alarm, through the sound neurons, and into the old places of my mind: Do we need to fight? There's a long driveway, leading down to my house from the street. When I'm working, with pip on my foot, I feel connected to it - like I can touch the space, know it's empty, and safe. When she leaves, I feel that network dissolve - and for a second - I touch one worry that drives her: Is someone trying to intrude? Why did we leave it unprotected.