Anonjohn20
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Then I'll consume it often to develop a tolerance.
Only that Indonesian brand, "Kopi luwak."
The Last to Comment Wins
- Thread starter mrsimple
- Start date
Anonjohn20
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A cow resting! Someone find my cattle prod.ShiriririiririririririririririiririririririiriririririririririrRUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Stop! Don't give me your exhaustion! i don't want it!
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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OKAY I AWAKE! I'm going to write 55k words stream of conciousness for a zombie fiction and not care how horrible it is! Then I'll edit and hope to make it readable! LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
Edit: Must not edit... just write...
Anonjohn20
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I fixed it for you.
Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
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:p that just means the withdrawals would be worse
heh heh heh take my sleepiness Jay, it's contagious....Like a yawn, it'll spread to you huhuhuShiriririiririririririririririiririririririiriririririririririrRUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Stop! Don't give me your exhaustion! i don't want it!
ediet: ahhh I remember Jay yo you gave me red bull that has caffein in it to, was this ouyour plan all along
Anonjohn20
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His plan was to give you wings.:p that just means the withdrawals would be worse
heh heh heh take my sleepiness Jay, it's contagious....Like a yawn, it'll spread to you huhuhu
ediet: ahhh I remember Jay yo you gave me red bull that has caffein in it to, was this ouyour plan all along
Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
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hmmmmm =.= LIE, your both working together! first you get me addicted too sugary energy drinks with caffein! Next it's just coffee with lots of sugar then at the end, with your dastardly plans you would feed me straight black coffee too change my ways......NEEEEEEVVVERRRRRRRRRRRR
Doctah_Quack
The Big Bad MotherDucker
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Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
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GET SLEEPY!
Anonjohn20
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It's got an interesting history.
Tempokai
The Overworked One
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Ah, the Viable System Model — that delightful brainchild of cyberneticist and lover of abstract complexity, Stafford Beer. It’s the kind of model you’d expect from a man whose idea of a good time was using algebra to fix a company’s coffee break policy. But fret not, dear reader! You asked for the "for dummies" version, and I shall oblige with sarcasm, scorn, and just enough insight to prevent you from wandering off into the wilderness of managerial despair.
So, buckle in. We're going into the Viable System Model (VSM): A five-part management love story between chaos and control.
At its heart, the Viable System Model is Stafford Beer’s way of saying: "Hey! If you want your organization to survive in a chaotic, unpredictable world full of nonsense and deadlines, maybe — just maybe — you need more than inspirational posters in the break room."
The VSM is about viability — that is, the ability to keep existing. Not thriving. Not innovating. Just not dying. It’s the managerial equivalent of staying alive in a zombie apocalypse by duct-taping forks to your forearms. Functional, awkward, and just enough to work.
Beer says every viable system — from a cell to a multinational conglomerate to, theoretically, your in-laws' passive-aggressive family dinners — has five interacting subsystems. These five systems keep the whole mess from imploding under the weight of its own stupidity.
Let’s break them down.
System 1 is where the real action happens. These are your operational units — the departments, teams, divisions — whatever name your overpaid consultant gave them. They're out there doing the job: making widgets, coding apps, yelling at customers, and creating more problems than they solve.
Each System 1 unit is, hilariously, its own viable system. Yes, you read that right. Beer believes your marketing department is a self-contained organism. Given their obsession with fonts and buzzwords, this explains a lot.
Translation: This is the part of your organization that produces actual results... assuming management doesn’t interfere too much.
System 2 is the nervous system — the thing that keeps all your System 1s from fighting like toddlers over a toy. Think of it as the “coordination” function.
Without System 2, your departments would all operate like rival kingdoms — marketing would schedule a brand launch the same day IT rewrites the entire website and HR holds a mandatory mindfulness retreat. Chaos. Delicious, burning chaos.
So System 2 is there to smooth things out — standard operating procedures, schedules, informal chats over microwaved leftovers. Whatever keeps the machine from devouring itself out of sheer disorganization.
Ah, System 3. The classic middle manager. This is where internal control happens. It monitors System 1, allocates resources, makes sure the departments don’t spend the entire budget on espresso machines, and generally tries to keep the ship from sailing into the Bermuda Triangle of incompetence.
System 3 isn’t interested in your dreams, Karen. It wants metrics. It wants reports. It wants to know why the warehouse has 500 rubber chickens and zero forklifts.
Oh, and it has a secret twin: System 3* (yes, with an asterisk — because academics are allergic to clarity). System 3* goes behind the scenes, doing surprise inspections, random audits, or spying with a pair of binoculars from a bush. It’s how the system gets real info, not just the numbers people made up to hit their KPIs.
System 4 is the strategic part of the model. It deals with the outside world, which, as we all know, is a scary, ever-changing place full of competitors, new technologies, and weird TikTok trends.
This system asks the big questions: Where are we going? What threats are out there? Should we pivot to AI? Should we invest in NFTs? (Spoiler: No.)
System 4 is in constant tension with System 3. While System 3 wants stability, efficiency, and a peaceful Tuesday, System 4 wants change, innovation, and to bet the farm on some shiny new idea. It’s the eternal battle between the "Let’s just keep doing what works" crowd and the "What if we did this totally insane thing?" brigade.
System 5 sits atop the mountain, stroking its chin, pondering the deep questions of existence, and issuing vague mandates that everyone else pretends to understand. It’s about identity, values, ethos — the soul of the organization, if you believe such things exist in a place that uses buzzwords like "synergy."
In more practical terms, System 5 balances the present (System 3) and the future (System 4), resolving their squabbles and setting long-term direction. It asks: Who are we, really? And are we still that thing?
Sometimes, System 5 is a charismatic CEO. Sometimes, it's a culture baked into the walls. And sometimes, it’s a laminated mission statement no one reads.
Now for the kicker. Beer says this whole five-part model isn’t a one-and-done deal. No, it’s recursive — like Russian nesting dolls filled with existential dread. Each System 1 (remember those departments?) is itself a viable system with its own five systems. And those can have their own, and so on, until you reach either total enlightenment or a desperate need for tequila.
It’s like Inception, but with flowcharts.
Because most organizations are flaming clown cars careening down a hill, and VSM — for all its cryptic, cybernetic wizardry — actually offers a way to make things less stupid. It’s not a blueprint; it’s a mirror. It tells you where your organizational hot mess is concentrated.
If System 2 is weak, departments go rogue. If System 4 is ignored, you wake up obsolete. If System 3 is overbearing, everything slows to a bureaucratic sludge. And if System 5 has no clue what it’s doing, congrats — you’re already Enron.
Stafford Beer tried to help organizations not implode, and his reward was being mostly ignored because CEOs prefer flashy nonsense and three-word mantras. But the Viable System Model remains hauntingly relevant — a model that dares to say, “You want to survive? Start acting like a system, not a chaotic conga line of contradictions.”
Now go forth, build your systems, and maybe — just maybe — survive another quarterly review.
Ah, excellent question, dear skeptic of structure — and an especially delicious one. Why, indeed, would anyone in their right or left mind try to shoehorn the Viable System Model, a Frankensteinian monster of management theory, into the pure and sacred domain of storytelling?
Well, let me put down my monocle, straighten my cape, and tell you why this bureaucratic fever dream is actually diabolically brilliant for storytelling. Yes, you heard me. The Viable System Model, with all its cybernetic organs and managerial spleens, can be a potent narrative engine. Like using IKEA assembly instructions to build a cathedral. Pointless? Maybe. But spectacularly structured.
Let’s dig in.
A good story is not just a string of events with a couple of angsty monologues thrown in. No, it’s an interconnected system. Characters, plot threads, themes, world-building — all operating like a dysfunctional family at Thanksgiving dinner. Each part affects the others, often disastrously.
Now, VSM is designed to explain how systems stay alive. If your story is a world (and it is), then you, my sweet literary god, are trying to keep it viable. Characters must evolve, plots must adapt, tension must escalate, and your ending can’t feel like it was stapled on by a drunk intern. That’s VSM territory, baby.
System 1 is where the action happens — and in a story, that’s your main cast. They do the dirty work: rob the bank, slay the dragon, emotionally devastate their ex.
Each protagonist, antagonist, sidekick, or morally ambiguous barista is their own little viable system — with motivations, internal conflicts, and survival instincts. If your characters aren’t viable, they’re just cardboard cutouts waiting to die in Act II.
Want layered character arcs? Think of them like System 1 units — struggling to function while interacting with others in glorious dysfunction.
System 2 keeps the parts of the system from killing each other. In a story, this is your pacing, transitions, and narrative coherence — the stuff that keeps Chapter 3 from feeling like it crash-landed from a different genre.
System 2 makes sure your side plots don’t hijack the main arc, that your flashbacks don’t time-travel into irrelevance, and that your readers aren’t screaming, “Where the hell did THAT come from?”
It’s the story’s ability to self-regulate — think plot threads resolving themselves with timing that feels earned rather than "because the author ran out of pages."
System 3 is management. It’s resource allocation. In storytelling, that’s you, dear writer. You decide who gets the spotlight. You decide when to kill the dog (you monster). You monitor the internal logic of the story universe and crush inconsistencies with a godlike hand.
System 3 is your editorial instinct saying: “No, we cannot have a ninja cowboy in this Victorian drama. I don’t care how cool the hat is.”
Also: remember System 3* — the secret backchannel where you really find out what’s going on. This is what readers infer, not what you told them. It’s subtext. It’s the unsaid. It’s the terrifying truth under the surface of your cozy murder mystery.
System 4 is outward-looking. It scans the horizon. In a story, this is the thematic layer, the world-building, the impending doom — the part of your narrative that grapples with the outside world or greater meaning.
What’s at stake? What’s changing? What external forces press in on your characters, forcing them to evolve or perish? Every good story has to confront something larger than itself, even if it's just the crushing existential dread of suburban life.
System 4 is what lets your story matter beyond its own plot. It's the voice whispering, “This isn't just about a boy and his dragon. It's about colonialism, power, and growing up in a morally bankrupt empire.”
System 5 is the story’s core identity — the unifying voice, tone, and theme. It’s what decides whether your tale is a gritty noir, a whimsical fantasy, or a slow-burning tale of psychological horror disguised as a rom-com.
Without System 5, your story spirals. One moment it’s Jane Austen, next moment it’s Mad Max, and by Chapter 9, it’s just nihilism and bad metaphors. System 5 is what makes the story feel like itself all the way through — the overarching narrative soul, however twisted.
You remember how VSM is fractal? So is storytelling. Your subplot about the rebellious intern? A tiny viable system. Your villain’s backstory? Another viable system.
You can apply the five-part model to any narrative layer — from world-building to character arcs to thematic resonance. If it feels off, odds are one of your “systems” is underdeveloped.
Plot twist not working? Maybe your System 2 is too weak to support it. Climax feels unearned? Your System 4 built up a future the rest of the story ignored. Character choices seem random? System 5 forgot who they were.
Most writers fly by instinct. Which is cute — until you’re 60,000 words deep and you realize your subplot has outgrown your main plot, your tone is somewhere between snark and tragedy, and your protagonist’s motivation is “just vibes.”
The VSM gives you a lens. A weird, cybernetic lens, sure — but one that makes sure your story is coherent, balanced, and actually about something.
Using the Viable System Model for storytelling is like building a haunted house with architectural blueprints from a management seminar. It's ridiculous. It's overkill. And yet... it works.
Because stories are systems. Living, messy, glorious systems that thrive on tension, balance, and evolution. And VSM, for all its jargon, gives you a model to spot the cracks before your narrative collapses like a flan in a cupboard.
So next time you're knee-deep in a draft and everything feels like it's eating itself — take a breath. Look at your Systems. Check who’s viable. And remember: survival isn’t just for companies.
It’s for stories too.
So, buckle in. We're going into the Viable System Model (VSM): A five-part management love story between chaos and control.
The Basic Idea (a.k.a. “How Not to Run Your Organization into the Ground”)
At its heart, the Viable System Model is Stafford Beer’s way of saying: "Hey! If you want your organization to survive in a chaotic, unpredictable world full of nonsense and deadlines, maybe — just maybe — you need more than inspirational posters in the break room."
The VSM is about viability — that is, the ability to keep existing. Not thriving. Not innovating. Just not dying. It’s the managerial equivalent of staying alive in a zombie apocalypse by duct-taping forks to your forearms. Functional, awkward, and just enough to work.
Beer says every viable system — from a cell to a multinational conglomerate to, theoretically, your in-laws' passive-aggressive family dinners — has five interacting subsystems. These five systems keep the whole mess from imploding under the weight of its own stupidity.
Let’s break them down.
System 1: "The Workers" – The Bits That Actually Do Stuff
System 1 is where the real action happens. These are your operational units — the departments, teams, divisions — whatever name your overpaid consultant gave them. They're out there doing the job: making widgets, coding apps, yelling at customers, and creating more problems than they solve.
Each System 1 unit is, hilariously, its own viable system. Yes, you read that right. Beer believes your marketing department is a self-contained organism. Given their obsession with fonts and buzzwords, this explains a lot.
Translation: This is the part of your organization that produces actual results... assuming management doesn’t interfere too much.
System 2: "The Peacekeepers" – Because Apparently Screaming Overlap Isn’t Efficient
System 2 is the nervous system — the thing that keeps all your System 1s from fighting like toddlers over a toy. Think of it as the “coordination” function.
Without System 2, your departments would all operate like rival kingdoms — marketing would schedule a brand launch the same day IT rewrites the entire website and HR holds a mandatory mindfulness retreat. Chaos. Delicious, burning chaos.
So System 2 is there to smooth things out — standard operating procedures, schedules, informal chats over microwaved leftovers. Whatever keeps the machine from devouring itself out of sheer disorganization.
System 3: "The Boss" – Or: 'I’d Like to See the Numbers on That'
Ah, System 3. The classic middle manager. This is where internal control happens. It monitors System 1, allocates resources, makes sure the departments don’t spend the entire budget on espresso machines, and generally tries to keep the ship from sailing into the Bermuda Triangle of incompetence.
System 3 isn’t interested in your dreams, Karen. It wants metrics. It wants reports. It wants to know why the warehouse has 500 rubber chickens and zero forklifts.
Oh, and it has a secret twin: System 3* (yes, with an asterisk — because academics are allergic to clarity). System 3* goes behind the scenes, doing surprise inspections, random audits, or spying with a pair of binoculars from a bush. It’s how the system gets real info, not just the numbers people made up to hit their KPIs.
System 4: "The Futurist" – Peering Into the Abyss of Tomorrow
System 4 is the strategic part of the model. It deals with the outside world, which, as we all know, is a scary, ever-changing place full of competitors, new technologies, and weird TikTok trends.
This system asks the big questions: Where are we going? What threats are out there? Should we pivot to AI? Should we invest in NFTs? (Spoiler: No.)
System 4 is in constant tension with System 3. While System 3 wants stability, efficiency, and a peaceful Tuesday, System 4 wants change, innovation, and to bet the farm on some shiny new idea. It’s the eternal battle between the "Let’s just keep doing what works" crowd and the "What if we did this totally insane thing?" brigade.
System 5: "The Philosopher-King" – God Help Us All
System 5 sits atop the mountain, stroking its chin, pondering the deep questions of existence, and issuing vague mandates that everyone else pretends to understand. It’s about identity, values, ethos — the soul of the organization, if you believe such things exist in a place that uses buzzwords like "synergy."
In more practical terms, System 5 balances the present (System 3) and the future (System 4), resolving their squabbles and setting long-term direction. It asks: Who are we, really? And are we still that thing?
Sometimes, System 5 is a charismatic CEO. Sometimes, it's a culture baked into the walls. And sometimes, it’s a laminated mission statement no one reads.
A Hilarious Truth: VSM Is Fractal
Now for the kicker. Beer says this whole five-part model isn’t a one-and-done deal. No, it’s recursive — like Russian nesting dolls filled with existential dread. Each System 1 (remember those departments?) is itself a viable system with its own five systems. And those can have their own, and so on, until you reach either total enlightenment or a desperate need for tequila.
It’s like Inception, but with flowcharts.
Why Should Anyone Care?
Because most organizations are flaming clown cars careening down a hill, and VSM — for all its cryptic, cybernetic wizardry — actually offers a way to make things less stupid. It’s not a blueprint; it’s a mirror. It tells you where your organizational hot mess is concentrated.
If System 2 is weak, departments go rogue. If System 4 is ignored, you wake up obsolete. If System 3 is overbearing, everything slows to a bureaucratic sludge. And if System 5 has no clue what it’s doing, congrats — you’re already Enron.
The Sardonic TL;DR:
- System 1: Gets things done, mostly.
- System 2: Keeps the children from fighting.
- System 3: Checks the fridge and balances the budget.
- System 3*: Peeks under the bed for monsters.
- System 4: Freaks out about the future.
- System 5: Pretends to be wise and hopes no one notices the panic.
Final Thought:
Stafford Beer tried to help organizations not implode, and his reward was being mostly ignored because CEOs prefer flashy nonsense and three-word mantras. But the Viable System Model remains hauntingly relevant — a model that dares to say, “You want to survive? Start acting like a system, not a chaotic conga line of contradictions.”
Now go forth, build your systems, and maybe — just maybe — survive another quarterly review.
Ah, excellent question, dear skeptic of structure — and an especially delicious one. Why, indeed, would anyone in their right or left mind try to shoehorn the Viable System Model, a Frankensteinian monster of management theory, into the pure and sacred domain of storytelling?
Well, let me put down my monocle, straighten my cape, and tell you why this bureaucratic fever dream is actually diabolically brilliant for storytelling. Yes, you heard me. The Viable System Model, with all its cybernetic organs and managerial spleens, can be a potent narrative engine. Like using IKEA assembly instructions to build a cathedral. Pointless? Maybe. But spectacularly structured.
Let’s dig in.
1. Every Story is a System (Whether It Likes It or Not)
A good story is not just a string of events with a couple of angsty monologues thrown in. No, it’s an interconnected system. Characters, plot threads, themes, world-building — all operating like a dysfunctional family at Thanksgiving dinner. Each part affects the others, often disastrously.
Now, VSM is designed to explain how systems stay alive. If your story is a world (and it is), then you, my sweet literary god, are trying to keep it viable. Characters must evolve, plots must adapt, tension must escalate, and your ending can’t feel like it was stapled on by a drunk intern. That’s VSM territory, baby.
2. System 1: The Characters Doing the Dirty Work
System 1 is where the action happens — and in a story, that’s your main cast. They do the dirty work: rob the bank, slay the dragon, emotionally devastate their ex.
Each protagonist, antagonist, sidekick, or morally ambiguous barista is their own little viable system — with motivations, internal conflicts, and survival instincts. If your characters aren’t viable, they’re just cardboard cutouts waiting to die in Act II.
Want layered character arcs? Think of them like System 1 units — struggling to function while interacting with others in glorious dysfunction.
3. System 2: The Narrative Rhythm That Keeps the Chaos (Barely) Contained
System 2 keeps the parts of the system from killing each other. In a story, this is your pacing, transitions, and narrative coherence — the stuff that keeps Chapter 3 from feeling like it crash-landed from a different genre.
System 2 makes sure your side plots don’t hijack the main arc, that your flashbacks don’t time-travel into irrelevance, and that your readers aren’t screaming, “Where the hell did THAT come from?”
It’s the story’s ability to self-regulate — think plot threads resolving themselves with timing that feels earned rather than "because the author ran out of pages."
4. System 3: The Author’s Cold, Controlling Hand
System 3 is management. It’s resource allocation. In storytelling, that’s you, dear writer. You decide who gets the spotlight. You decide when to kill the dog (you monster). You monitor the internal logic of the story universe and crush inconsistencies with a godlike hand.
System 3 is your editorial instinct saying: “No, we cannot have a ninja cowboy in this Victorian drama. I don’t care how cool the hat is.”
Also: remember System 3* — the secret backchannel where you really find out what’s going on. This is what readers infer, not what you told them. It’s subtext. It’s the unsaid. It’s the terrifying truth under the surface of your cozy murder mystery.
5. System 4: The Themes, the Genre, and the Looming Apocalypse
System 4 is outward-looking. It scans the horizon. In a story, this is the thematic layer, the world-building, the impending doom — the part of your narrative that grapples with the outside world or greater meaning.
What’s at stake? What’s changing? What external forces press in on your characters, forcing them to evolve or perish? Every good story has to confront something larger than itself, even if it's just the crushing existential dread of suburban life.
System 4 is what lets your story matter beyond its own plot. It's the voice whispering, “This isn't just about a boy and his dragon. It's about colonialism, power, and growing up in a morally bankrupt empire.”
6. System 5: Story Identity — The Thing Holding It All Together
System 5 is the story’s core identity — the unifying voice, tone, and theme. It’s what decides whether your tale is a gritty noir, a whimsical fantasy, or a slow-burning tale of psychological horror disguised as a rom-com.
Without System 5, your story spirals. One moment it’s Jane Austen, next moment it’s Mad Max, and by Chapter 9, it’s just nihilism and bad metaphors. System 5 is what makes the story feel like itself all the way through — the overarching narrative soul, however twisted.
7. It’s Recursive — Which Means Subplots Can Live Too
You remember how VSM is fractal? So is storytelling. Your subplot about the rebellious intern? A tiny viable system. Your villain’s backstory? Another viable system.
You can apply the five-part model to any narrative layer — from world-building to character arcs to thematic resonance. If it feels off, odds are one of your “systems” is underdeveloped.
Plot twist not working? Maybe your System 2 is too weak to support it. Climax feels unearned? Your System 4 built up a future the rest of the story ignored. Character choices seem random? System 5 forgot who they were.
8. Why Use It at All? Because Chaos is Exhausting
Most writers fly by instinct. Which is cute — until you’re 60,000 words deep and you realize your subplot has outgrown your main plot, your tone is somewhere between snark and tragedy, and your protagonist’s motivation is “just vibes.”
The VSM gives you a lens. A weird, cybernetic lens, sure — but one that makes sure your story is coherent, balanced, and actually about something.
The Sardonic Summary
Using the Viable System Model for storytelling is like building a haunted house with architectural blueprints from a management seminar. It's ridiculous. It's overkill. And yet... it works.
Because stories are systems. Living, messy, glorious systems that thrive on tension, balance, and evolution. And VSM, for all its jargon, gives you a model to spot the cracks before your narrative collapses like a flan in a cupboard.
So next time you're knee-deep in a draft and everything feels like it's eating itself — take a breath. Look at your Systems. Check who’s viable. And remember: survival isn’t just for companies.
It’s for stories too.
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
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- Mar 22, 2023
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- 153
Older than both, civilization itself started because the nomads were having a hard time finding enough wheat. Alcohol haters will claim that city-states started to be formed so that they could make bread, but alcohol lovers will correctly state that they had no problem making bread when they were nomads; it was the discovery of beer that pushed humans to join together. The oldest one I know of is Mesopotamia; there might be an older civilization I don't know of.
Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2020
- Messages
- 356
- Points
- 133
Sumerians I guess would be the one since they are the ones with the oldest texts