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    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog</loc>
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    <lastmod>2025-12-23</lastmod>
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    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/the-marble-and-the-chisel-full</loc>
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    <lastmod>2025-12-23</lastmod>
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    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/what-does-chatgpt-dream-of</loc>
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    <lastmod>2025-12-22</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - what does ChatGPT dream of?</image:title>
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      <image:title>blog - what does ChatGPT dream of? - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.</image:caption>
    </image:image>
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      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/665d34b6ae65dc04101ceba4/9277bc44-4598-4de6-a50b-9ea9386b617b/softmax.png</image:loc>
      <image:title>blog - what does ChatGPT dream of? - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>where T is temperature and y is the ordered series of model outputs for each subsequent token</image:caption>
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    <image:image>
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      <image:title>blog - what does ChatGPT dream of? - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/do-machines-forgive</loc>
    <changefreq>monthly</changefreq>
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    <lastmod>2025-12-16</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - do machines forgive? - where on the spectrum would chatgpt lie?</image:title>
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      <image:title>blog - do machines forgive? - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>a conversation with a potentially aware version of chatgpt</image:caption>
    </image:image>
    <image:image>
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      <image:title>blog - do machines forgive? - the logo of Snorkel Labs Inc.</image:title>
      <image:caption>designed by me as inspired by other AI company logos</image:caption>
    </image:image>
    <image:image>
      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/665d34b6ae65dc04101ceba4/10d671a4-1d64-4e71-88af-b7b79e8988f3/building.png</image:loc>
      <image:title>blog - do machines forgive? - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>a highly detailed illustration of what happened on that fateful day</image:caption>
    </image:image>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/the-marble-and-the-chisel</loc>
    <changefreq>monthly</changefreq>
    <priority>0.5</priority>
    <lastmod>2025-06-14</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - the marble and the chisel (5)</image:title>
      <image:caption>I am the marble. I am the chisel. I am the sculptor. And at last, he was whole.</image:caption>
    </image:image>
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      <image:title>blog - the marble and the chisel (5)</image:title>
      <image:caption>In the final analysis, we understand fully that we may have aspirations, but in the absence of belief in a teleological purpose, we must carve, perpetually redefining our final cause by informed introspection. As we, the sculptors, stand before the raw marble of our existence, we come to realize, finally, that there is no separation between the creator and the created. They are all one. There exists only the dynamic union of the marble, the chisel, and the sculptor; me, myself, and I.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>blog - the marble and the chisel (5) - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/the-burden-of-being-awake</loc>
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    <lastmod>2025-06-07</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - the burden of being awake (4)</image:title>
      <image:caption>They reached a bend in the trail where the earth became certain and the path bent toward inevitability. "And what lies ahead?" the companion asked. "Whose is that?" The crest of the hill revealed a small harbor village hugging a protected inlet. Wooden shacks and huts clustered on the shore, their walls battered and bleached by the perpetual spray. Narrow piers jutted into the water, where fishing boats bobbed amid the foam. Further out, surrounded almost entirely by blinding blue except for a long, narrow jetty, one ship soared tall and majestic—the biggest boat ever. And beyond it? Nothing. A great blue emptiness. They were upon the edge of the world. He imagined what it would be like, standing at the precipice of everything and freely choosing where to go next.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>blog - the burden of being awake (4) - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.</image:caption>
    </image:image>
    <image:image>
      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/665d34b6ae65dc04101ceba4/c40e4a7f-90f6-4094-8896-251f63fe8659/stuermische_see.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>blog - the burden of being awake (4)</image:title>
      <image:caption>He watched the harbor recede, the once-magnificent ship reduced to a silent silhouette, a figure of what he might have chosen and what he was choosing to leave. The certainty of the dock faded and the open water beckoned with a wildness and a buoyancy that both thrilled and terrified him. As the wind pressed against them, her hood gave way at last. Her face—framed by windswept black curls—was not unfamiliar. It was the face of someone who had always been there, only waiting to be noticed. Her skin bore the warm depth of someone shaped by labor and by sun. Her features were striking not for their remarkable symmetry, but for their clarity: a well-formed nose that lent her an air of decisive presence, lips soft but not dainty—colored naturally pink as if permanently flushed with breath. Her brow was expressive, honest, and thoughtful. There was no pretense to the beauty—no curated mystery. Just a raw, unmistakable realness, wild with salt and motion.</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/the-burden-of-being-asleep</loc>
    <changefreq>monthly</changefreq>
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    <lastmod>2025-08-07</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - the burden of being asleep (3)</image:title>
      <image:caption>There will be a moment in time when you stop moving just long enough for your mind to notice the quiet between your thoughts. It’s a restless quiet, though. It’s not the kind of quiet you’re used to—it’s not just the absence of noise. It’s deliberate. And sharp. It takes conscious effort to deny your thoughts as if to make your mind hold its breath. You could hear a needle drop. It would echo if it did. Even your thoughts, normally rowdy and uninvited, hesitate to break the silent silence. For one minuscule moment, they don’t clamor for your attention. They don’t fill the vacuum. You can try to observe this silence—but the moment you do, it vanishes. To even think about it is to disturb it. To feel the calm of a still pond means that it’s no longer still. And yet, for that little instant before the silence runs away, you’re closer to your mind than thought itself.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>blog - the burden of being asleep (3)</image:title>
      <image:caption>Dawn broke over a landscape devoid of warmth or welcome. The sculptor and companion emerged from those last fringes of foreboding forest and stood on the edge of a barren plain that stretched endlessly under a saddened, sullen sky. They moved like ghosts, gray against the grayer-gray of the vast expanse of pale ground that was surely the graveyard of a long-dead spring. Even the few drops of refined sun filtering through jagged clouds appeared dull, having been sterilized of their usual brilliance. The blank horizon revealed a gate held in place by one faltering hinge. The gate stood without meaning, sentried by absence, somehow promising less than total emptiness. The open air felt suffocating as if the soil itself had given up hope of growth. Each step cracked the ground underfoot. Each step kicked up dust that clung to their sandals. From time to time, she glanced at him, her features betraying little but a quiet, calculated alertness.</image:caption>
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    <image:image>
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      <image:title>blog - the burden of being asleep (3) - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/shadows-and-repressed-truths</loc>
    <changefreq>monthly</changefreq>
    <priority>0.5</priority>
    <lastmod>2025-07-05</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - shadows and repressed truths (2) - Make it stand out</image:title>
      <image:caption>Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.</image:caption>
    </image:image>
    <image:image>
      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/665d34b6ae65dc04101ceba4/b0560ddf-15e5-4b41-a536-ca27ef9f31ad/marsh1+%281%29.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>blog - shadows and repressed truths (2)</image:title>
      <image:caption>The storm had just passed, having shattered the world into a million confused pieces. It took with it the blue sky, coloring the heavens a burgundy red and then a pitch black. The sculptor and his companion crossed from the scarred, rain-torn, terracotta expanse into a bright, darkening corridor where gnarled trees wove themselves into closely packed ranks—a ceiling that the torrent was unable to penetrate. Within one step, muddy marsh became dry path. The carpet of mist, a sullen presence curling low along the ground, served a necessary reminder that the downpour had subsided. The moon itself fearfully lifted its stellar veil, lighting the crooked avenue with the few sparse blades of silver sharp enough to cut through the dense canopy. Each forward step was made uneasy by the weeping branches and illusions of movement at the edges of sight. The forest's damp chill wasn't just felt on skin; it carried the agreeable scent of rain-soaked soil. The air held its breath, as if the silence itself had grown too loud to ignore.</image:caption>
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      <image:title>blog - shadows and repressed truths (2)</image:title>
      <image:caption>True introspection demands that you confront and accept your shadow. Repressing these parts of yourself creates unnecessary internal conflict, feelings of inauthenticity, and emotional chaos. You must acknowledge and integrate it benevolently as if it were any other part of you. Ignoring it means letting it grow stronger. How can you expect to function authentically when you harbor a part of your own mind whose indignation toward you only grows as you oppress it? The ways that the shadow is able to seep into your thoughts, behavior, relationships, and outlook are exceedingly difficult to trace because your own faults can easily be misconstrued as the faults of others or of society at large. The more we push our shadows away, consciously or unconsciously, the more they quietly shape the decisions we make and the way that we interact with the world. By avoiding this necessary step of self-understanding, we condemn ourselves to remain fragmented and unable to fully understand our own motives, reactions, or potential as people. And the shadow isn’t an unfortunate fact of life; the shadow can serve as a reservoir of creativity, new perspectives, deeper insights, and untapped potential—you just need to drill deep enough. It’s neither something you need to suppress nor something you need to acquiesce to. It’s something you ideally should embrace lovingly. Self-love entails not only loving the parts of yourself that you like, but also the parts of yourself that you’re afraid of. The more we refuse to face our shadows, the more power they hold over us. Confronting the shadow allows us to reclaim our sovereignty over ourselves. We stop letting these hidden traits control us because we know how they work—an active exercise in metacognition. The process of self-confrontation, however uncomfortable, is ultimately an act of self-liberation.</image:caption>
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    <image:image>
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      <image:title>blog - shadows and repressed truths (2)</image:title>
      <image:caption>The path dragged on. It curved and looped, feigning direction only to collapse back upon itself. In the disquiet of the forest, sounds were elusive, like half-said random words that refused to consolidate into meaning. The air was uneasy with distant echoes that may have been sighs, and with quiet noises that may have been doubts. He watched the lines of trees repeat their dreary mantra, forming patterns so familiar he knew them like his own thoughts. He began to trace a clarity steeped in confusion—recognition without understanding. Every loop, the forest reshuffled itself again. An ugly trunk sprouted at shoulder height, sprouting rough branches that suggested a face frozen in a scream without sound. Another crouched with thick roots like splayed and severed limbs. They were, of course, only illusions formed by branches, moss, and lichen—yet the effect was that of an audience assembled in silent judgment.</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/the-flawed-self-narrative</loc>
    <changefreq>monthly</changefreq>
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    <lastmod>2025-12-23</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - the flawed self-narrative (1)</image:title>
      <image:caption>"Sometimes, truth must be pursued where it’s least welcome," the companion murmured, her voice remaining unwavering. "You’re sure of this way?" the sculptor asked, glancing at her. "I’m sure."</image:caption>
    </image:image>
    <image:image>
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      <image:title>blog - the flawed self-narrative (1)</image:title>
      <image:caption>"I see you’re troubled," the humble figure said, her tone measured rather than lofty. "I’ve spent years working with stone, too." Her delicate posture did not suggest any immortality. She embodied the very much mortal being of someone who had known labor and toil and the wisdom born only from marble chippings. "I thought…" The sculptor’s eyelids fluttered open. "I thought every strike of the chisel was my spirit made tangible and touchable. Now…" His voice caught up. "Now…"</image:caption>
    </image:image>
    <image:image>
      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/665d34b6ae65dc04101ceba4/83154930-3f39-4c21-af4b-7410a0bf630e/hm_02.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>blog - the flawed self-narrative (1)</image:title>
      <image:caption>The astronomical model of Geocentrism places Earth at the universe’s center. It describes all other planets as orbiting the Earth and was prevalent among many historical civilizations for much of human history. We know it’s not true now, but how could we, looking up, perceive anything other than a universe built around us? We inherited our own planet. Were we not also born to inherit the stars?</image:caption>
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    <image:image>
      <image:loc>https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/665d34b6ae65dc04101ceba4/c85f2741-ad8a-43ab-8251-5d90e55f0d60/1280px-Parmigianino_Selfportrait.jpg</image:loc>
      <image:title>blog - the flawed self-narrative (1)</image:title>
      <image:caption>We tend to define ourselves as people based on how well we fit into singular categories—certain traits, achievements, or roles we seek to identify with. We become attached to specific ideas of ourselves and we begin to admire ourselves. We treat these traits as permanent, inalienable parts of ourselves. We say: I am a leader. I am the responsible one. I am the creative one. I am the smart one.</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/the-man-in-the-snorkel</loc>
    <changefreq>monthly</changefreq>
    <priority>0.5</priority>
    <lastmod>2025-07-27</lastmod>
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      <image:title>blog - the man in the snorkel - the sea whispered again.</image:title>
      <image:caption>“are you going? do you fear what you’ll find down here?”</image:caption>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/rant</loc>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/testimonial</loc>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/test</loc>
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    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/question</loc>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/thought</loc>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/inspiration</loc>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/allegory</loc>
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  <url>
    <loc>https://www.tijan.blog/blog/category/quick+write</loc>
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  </url>
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