From grief to intelligence. From collapse to continuity.
Stepping away from physical performance was a difficult transition, but a personal necessity. After Consent (2020), my body and mind made clear that endurance had reached its limit — continuing would have been a form of self-harm rather than research. The computational practice that followed began not as a turn away from the body but as a different way of remaining inside it.
The practice begins with F0x, a delicate and error-prone text generator trained on translated and anonymised letters from my grandfather. F0x was an instability of memory and grief; when it collapsed, its final broken outputs became poetry — the first sign that machines, like bodies, generate meaning at the edge of failure. From F0x grew 0wl: a more complex, multi-layered system trained on my grandmother's letters, cross-species EEG data from my cat Peerly, the RNN-generated poetry of the Immigrant and a Tree sequence, and the accumulated residues of a decade of practice.
0wl is not a product but a living research system. It does not resolve; it accumulates, drifts, and generates. The poetry it produces carries traces of all its training sources simultaneously — grief, neural rhythms, botanical displacement, inherited language — without hierarchy or synthesis. It is an archive that continues to evolve.
F0x / 0wl marks the point at which PLRM became fully computational without abandoning its embodied foundations. The transition from endurance performance to machine learning was not a rupture but a continuation — the same questions about pain, memory, and duration pursued through different materials. 0wl represents the methodology at its most open: a system that does not arrive at conclusions but remains in process, generative, and relational.