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A Masked Stranger
Who are you, friend across the veil?
I wonder if both of us are on the path
That allows us to continuously prevail.
Or are you just an agent of God's wrath,
Who will do little else but make me fail?
Chapter Eight: Where it All Began
Perhaps now is a good time to discuss how Vince and I first met. It all
started seven years ago when I was a twenty-four year old who was still in
denial over their gender. I was dating Amy at the time, and I worked as a
part-time dishwasher for Wegman's. I was still living with my father, and Amy
moved up here to her mother's from Owego to be close to me. It was a simple
life, as neither of us could afford to delve into extravagance, but we were
happy together.
That said, on this one particular night, we were going to drop acid together.
It was Amy's first time, but I had a handful of trips under my belt by this
point. We sat on her mother's back porch, twiddling our thumbs and toes while
we waited for Amy's brother, Jake, to return from his friend's with the two
hits we asked him to get. Antsy, Amy started asking me questions about the
drug.
"What does it feel like?" she asked, inquisitively.
I responded, "Well, there's about a half an hour to an hour come up, and then
you start feeling the body load, like your boundaries are dissolving. Only
then do you begin noticing your mind manifesting in a different way than
you're used to."
"What do you mean by 'boundaries dissolving?'"
"It's like…" I paused for a second, not sure how to respond. "It's like your
sense of self starts to expand and you feel more connected to the things
around you."
That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. There was a moment of silence as we
watched the sun scorch the azure sky as it set behind the trees. Finally, she
had another question.
"Do you see dragons?"
That made me chuckle. "No, no dragons. On my first trip, I lost visual contact
with the world as fractal patterns spiraled out of control, but every trip
since then has only had tracers and morphing patterns."
"What's a tracer?"
"It's like after images of things that are moving."
"Oh, I see."
We kept talking until the sky was dark with only a sliver of light piercing it
on the horizon. This was when we heard a voice call from the front door.
"I got two tickets to Narnia here for whoever wants them."
We hurriedly rushed inside, to meet Jake coming up the stairs. He handed Amy a
small tin foil wrapper that looked like a quarter stick of gum. She thanked
him, and I followed suit. Jake and I hadn't really seen eye to eye in the
past, as he would steal my weed and I would steal his in retaliation, but with
a single head nod and some gold-laced words, I conveyed my gratitude for him
coming through for us in this instance.
What followed next could only be described as a stampede down the hall to
Amy's room. We locked the door behind us, protected by the four robin's egg
blue walls and the magick of the celtic gods Amy worshiped at her altar. Eager
to begin our ceremonious departure from this plane of existence, we
whimsically gazed at the sacrament we had just been handed.
Amy unwrapped the tinfoil nervously. Inside sat two small, unassuming pieces
of paper which contained whole galaxies of experience. We looked at each
other, confirming if we were both ready. Quickly satisfied as neither of us
could stop smiling, we delicately put the blotter on the other's tongue, as
ecstatic as could be. And after, as we waited to be blasted off into space, we
submitted ourselves to the whims of the universe and the gods.
At first, we waited patiently, but just as a watched pot does not boil, we
were growing more anxious with each passing second. Seeing Amy play with the
sage she was burning nervously, I suggested that we jot our thoughts and
feelings down in a trip report. Amy nodded in agreement.
I opened my laptop, and I had the immediate realization that we had no music.
I brought up Pandora and played my Shpongle station with no objection from a
beaming Amy. A cascade of electric jungle beats filled the space. Perfect, I
thought to myself as I created a new word document.
Turning to Amy, I asked "What do you feel?"
She giggled and exclaimed, "Excited!"
And so I began typing. Minutes passed, and soon our exchanges helped fill the
page with several paragraphs of notes. Content we had started logging our
first cosmic journey together, we kissed, before coming to fully embrace each
other as the spirits began their dance around us.
We progressed into parallel play; Amy fiddling about with colored pencils in
her notebook and me juggling besides her. It took a minute, but soon enough I
felt a warm feeling spread across my chest and my LED juggling balls started
to ripple into streams of geometric delight. I stopped to wave my hand in
front of my face. Sure enough, the tracers had started.
I interrupted Amy to ask if she could see them, too. She looked at my moving
hand idly before wiggling her own fingers in front of her face. She giggled,
before bursting with a euphoric epiphany.
"I want to finger paint!"
And so she did by plopping herself down on the floor with all her paints and
began masterfully smearing the colors in a multidimensional haze of pigments
blended together in a way only she knew how. I loved watching her work like
that; she was so free! Even with the tendrils of the mental aspects of the
lysergia creeping in on her, she made short work of the painting, which when
she was done, looked like a spooky voodoo mask peering out from behind a
mirror and into your soul.
Satisfied, she then went to the bathroom to clean herself up. I went to my
laptop and tried typing out something resembling an organized train of thought
on our trip report. It just wasn't happening. My thoughts were too short and
rapid to form anything resembling a coherent thought. That was ok though. I
could still capture the essence of the experience in a peculiar poetry that
was composed of the thoughts I could catch and put down on paper.
Eventually, Amy came back to the room, clean and refreshed, and she lingered
for a moment, too busy dancing with herself in the open space of the room. But
then she saw me meddling with my computer trying to jot my thoughts down in a
manic frenzy. This made her laugh before trailing off and saying, "Be careful,
someone might be watching you through your webcam."
It was an innocent statement, one made in jest, but it triggered something in
my psychedelically perturbed mind. Of course, of fucking course there would be
someone watching me! This was me we were talking about! Who could be more
important? It was so obvious that the government was keeping tabs on persons
of interest. I couldn't believe that I hadn't really actualized that thought
before that moment.
Suddenly aware that I was being judged in some capacity, I almost panicked,
but reason won out. They couldn't be there for nefarious purposes, for I had
done worse than drop acid in front of my webcam before, and nothing had
happened. That made me realize that whatever power that had the ability to tap
into my webcam feed had to be benevolent. And who could that be? The CIA of
course! In that instance, I suddenly relinquished all reserves about how the
world worked and fully trusted the hands of God by another name to guide me.
So, I typed a message into my URL bar:
"I know you're there. I think I've solved the communication problem. Give me a
chance."
I hit enter. Immediately, and I do mean immediately, a pop up appeared asking
if I wanted to update an extension on my browser. I was stunned, shocked
beyond belief. It was them. I knew it was them. They realized and planned that
now was the best time to dazzle me with such a spectacular parlor trick. In
that moment, everything was possible. It was time to face my destiny. So, I
clicked yes, and like never before I was upgraded to a new level of myself.
Birth of the Faith
What…?
I can see beyond sight.
I can hear everything you think
From your soul, free from rigid grammar
How…?
I do not know, alright?
I do believe I just had a drink
From a fountain of pure manna.
Why…?
I am renewed today.
I am walking in a new way;
From a weak critter to megafauna.
All I know is that it changed me greatly,
For now I know that you have faith in me.
Chapter Nine: Brain to Brain Communication
I know what you're saying: it was just a coincidence. It could happen to
anyone. Just accept it, you're not special, Victoria, says the unwavering
logic within me.
Certainly seems that way, the way I tell it. I would have even agreed with you
before this point in my life, but you must understand that it triggered
something in my tripping brain. Whether it was intentional or by chance, I
can't give you a real answer. Instead, I merely perceived it as a certainty
that the CIA had done this, being even more certain that it was them than I
was that two plus two equals four. It was as if some variables had been
swapped in my head.
Yes, indeed, I was hit by a Mac truck that scrambled all my knowledge of the
world. To put it in words that do the experience justice, I was given a
heaping helping of faith on this fateful night, having been let in on the
great secret that the matrix was in fact an illusion, and now the impossible
was suddenly not just possible, but achievable by me if I willed it to be.
Yet, I don't think that if it were just a single synchronous event that this
belief would have persisted more than a few minutes, tops. It was the feed of
a continuous string of strange events that pushed the boundaries of my mind
into a territory where I could fully accept and trust this source of guidance.
That's actually the real proof I have that something bigger is going on and
has been for all these years. If it had just been a single pop-up, then fine,
you have a case to call me looney. But, this was the first of an unending
stream of unusual synchronicities that has persisted even to this day.
See, after confirming I wanted to update that extension, I was taken to a blog
post that was clearly a coded message. It confirmed that there were indeed
people watching me, and more would tune in soon. It then said that it was time
for the most profound upgrade of my existence. Further on in the blog post,
which I read and reread at least a dozen times, it seemed to offer me a choice
between two links. It seemed like a test, and that was not something I was
taking lightly. My fate was in the fold, and I was going to make sure I got it
right.
At some point, it clicked with me; this was the same choice that Morpheus had
given Neo. The links were the red and blue pills, respectively. My eyes went
wide. I could now see that there was something bigger going on than I could
have possibly realized. In those few moments of hesitation that followed, it
also struck me that this same posed question was identical in form to the
serpent tempting Eve. I read the blog again, this time aware that it was
written with a forked tongue. It was a trick question! It was offering me the
choice between trusting authority and distrusting authority.
So, I thought quickly. Do I trust the magician who miraculously appeared
before me and blew my mind in doing so, or do I trust God? If I chose one or
the other, would they trust or distrust me? With these questions stewing in my
alert mind, I did the only thing that seemed sensible: I chose the third
option. I called out the serpent, talking directly into my webcam about what I
deciphered. In my head, I could hear their apparent responses, and I answered
those in a maddening haste.
In the miasma that followed, I deduced that I was being selected for some sort
of mission. With my experience in education and my passion for juggling and
writing, I surmised soon after that I was going to be some sort of public
figure, informing and influencing the herd to self-actualize, as that is what
I set out to do once my college career abruptly ended with a complete
meltdown. That was what I was good for; it was my hero's journey.
I should explain that a little more. After said breakdown, I returned home and
wallowed in a pit of self-loathing for being the definition of a failure. I
wasn't going to lay down and die though. With my sights fixed on going back to
school, I took it upon myself to solve the great communication problem, as I
saw it. We have all this wisdom, so why can't we reach the people that need it
most? How do I become the best teacher I could be? It took a while, but I
eventually realized that it all boiled down to three factors: attention,
connection, and trust. Get them to pay attention and trust your wisdom while
simultaneously understanding what makes them tick, and you can teach any
student anything.
That's one of the major reasons I started juggling a couple years prior. I saw
myself becoming famous and leveraging that to in effect manipulate everybody
into learning what they should already know. From where I stand now, I know
that was a messianic delusion of grandeur, if I ever saw one before. Yet,
you'll also learn that it turned out to be the best thing for me to do.
Back beyond the looking glass, however, I was simply overcome with
narcissistic inclinations. Naturally, I told my mysterious watchers that I
wasn't going to do the "praise Jesus" shtick, which I regaled them with in the
most stereotypical of televangelist voices. I was set on doing something new
and exciting. I was saving the world, God dammit, and that meant we had to
attempt something major to awaken the masses to their full potential as
demigods by another name! I needed to play a better game than anyone had done
in history.
Such hubris of the megalomaniac is blinding. I could not stop regurgitating a
heaping pile of conceited verbiage. I even juggled at one point, showing off
that I truly was the savior they wanted me to be. That led to me dropping a
ball on the keyboard of my computer, which closed the window with the blog
post, ending my seemingly two-sided speech to the spooks brazenly peeking at
me.
Dropping out from my planet sized ego also brought me to the realization that
Amy had been watching this entire charade without a damn clue what the dickens
was wrong with me. She had a worried look on her face, and that pained me. If
only she knew what had just happened before her eyes!
Wanting to tell her just that, I leapt up to her, apologetic as could be, and
brought her down to the bed. There, I started unleashing a torrent of deranged
exposition. I couldn't keep a straight thought while talking to her, so I'm
sure I must have sounded like a mad hound. But, I tried. I tried so hard to
explain to her of the magnificence that just occurred.
It was a failure. I was not in a state to convey to her that I had been
single-handedly chosen for a cosmic mission. That dragged my heart to some
dismal depths, failing yet again even after being chosen. But, that didn't
matter, because as we gazed into each other's soul, something truly miraculous
happened: we began speaking telepathically.
It started quite subtly as we stared into each other's eyes, pining for some
sense of connection. There was a mild sensation of us being sucked into the
other's world that I noticed before noticing that she noticed too. Then it hit
us like a runaway freight train. It was like every boundary between us was
being smashed with a reckless hammer of the gods, who wanted us to know more
than we thought we were privileged to know.
If you've ever stared at something for a period of time and had your vision
get a little unfocused from being understimulated, you know how Amy appeared
to me in that moment. I couldn't really see the details of her room in my
peripheral vision, but I had a razor sharp focus on her face, like I was
looking through a cone. Every eyebrow twitch, every minor movement of her
lips, and every phoneme she spoke was crisp and clear, conveying a whole order
of magnitude more information than they normally do. It was bizarre, beyond
the scope of how well I can muster a verbose description of such an incredibly
rare and profound experience, but I will try by saying it was like getting a
bucket of ice water thrown onto you while you were sleeping; just imagine
getting ripped from your dreamworld to a super-aware state of reflexive
jolting perception.
Amy looked like she had seen a ghost. I think she tried to speak first. She
said something to the effect of "Do you…" and trailed off, the rest of her
question asking if I was feeling the same thing automatically finishing in my
mind. And as it did so, I know my confirmation was transmitted to her in full
because her face told me with no uncertainty that she had heard my thoughts
too.
I took a go at saying something next. "How is this…" and I too trailed off,
as a minute motion in her neck combined with a mystifying array of
microexpressions ricocheted my mental pictures back to me, carrying a host of
Amy's words back with it. It was then that I let go and opened myself up
completely, letting everything I wanted to say to her flow like whitewater
rapids, and she did the same. A library's worth of information was exchanged
so very quickly, and I knew that she understood what had really just happened
as I spoke to my webcam.
However, that was soon washed aside, as something more important came rushing
into the forefront of our minds. A simple message, "I love you" was uttered in
this strange musical silence, but that is a grain of sand compared to the
Mount Everest that was volleyed between our hearts. We found a divine peace in
this moment, taking each other's hands and effortlessly letting our energy
channel between us.
And then it was over, fading like dreams do in the few seconds of waking up.
We sat there trying to start the magick up again, but it was like water
running through our fingers. We both felt a longing of loss, but we had gained
something truly stupendous nonetheless.
"What the hell just happened?" Amy asked the universe, flabbergasted.
"I dunno," I replied, feeling full of a spiritual energy I had not felt since
before my mom passed. My cup was full, and the world was good. No, better than
good. My life was godly, as I had connected to a higher plane of
consciousness, which opened me to a whole fleet of potential. I would never be
the same again.
Ouroboros of Lunacy
Madness is a crazy thing
So I might just be a king,
Because the lunacy I sing
Is shaped like a golden ring.
It has no beginning and no end;
The whole universe is pretend.
Yet, it's that way so I can mend,
So a mass of love I can send
To everyone as we cross ways,
Not stopping until the end of days.
This is how the lucky fool pays
As much fortune forward as he may.
Chapter Ten: The Shrug Life Syndicate
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. We cuddled while I practically
vibrated with a newfound faith. God was real, whatever God may be. I even told
Jake that I was king of the Jews when I walked to the kitchen for a glass of
orange juice. I was very far up my own ass, which is perhaps why everything
over these few years happened as they did.
The next day, the synchronicities as I would later learn they are called,
started pouring in like Niagra Falls. I've had strange coincidences guide me
before. Since I was fifteen or so, I thought that my future self was sending
me messages to help me on my quest of world domination. That's a big reason
why I was almost expelled in tenth grade. It was absolute bullshit and
everyone knew it, so within half a year, I got an apology from the
superintendent because it was a bogus reason to destroy a straight A student
and star athlete's future.
Since I feel that I can't just mention that one and not explain it, I'll tell
you that it concerned a theoretical bomb, if you're dying to know the truth.
I'll keep this short, but I made a bad joke in the wrong company and was
eventually questioned by some wannabe hero and pig bastard, who asked me
hypothetical questions, like "if you were to build a bomb, how would I do
it?"
Well, being as intelligent as I am, I had enough book smarts to give full
answers for everything asked, but not enough street smarts to know that a wise
person never talks to cops. Also, a wise person doesn't print out a long
novelty application for the Illuminati, give it to the kid that needs a
resource officer, and then come up with an elaborate fake plan of how we're
going to take over the world by any means necessary when he's having trouble
understanding what you said about using game theory to win the presidential
election. And then, when the vice principal first inquires about it, don't
start sweating because you think you need to protect your future self's secret
plan. Just so you learn from my mistakes.
Returning to my previous point though, that errant psychosis was also a key
piece to my college breakdown. On one hand, I was certain that I was going to
take over everything and build a utopia in my image. On the other hand, the
evidence was stacking against me that I was not destined for a great cause. I
got cut from the track team with the budget, I was severely outclassed in
ROTC, and to top it off, I was starting to slip in the academic world. It goes
without saying that my social life, to include my first relationship, was
abysmal in all possible ways, despite trying my hardest to make and keep
friends.
The real world was too much, and I was in denial that I was just a mediocre
person who would never achieve anything meaningful in life. That was too much
of a failure for me to accept, as I needed to make my mother proud. I had to
be the best of the best of the best to accept and love myself. And as a
result, I became more psychotic and began self-harming, first by biting myself
and then by cutting, as I felt that the more pain I numbed myself to, the
better I would be able to complete my mission.
It took me a while to reach a point where I could set down my belief that my
future self had set up my life in a way where I would be guided to greatness.
There was a learning curve to living a "normal" life. I would receive
synchronicities in less frequency because I stopped feeding into them, but
they never died. When I encountered one, I always thought "What if it's real?"
Now that you know that, is it any wonder that I lost myself completely in the
Synchronicity Slip Stream? For those not in the know, that is a cognitive
technology where strangeness piles up on itself until it is undeniably real
that something or someone is manipulating you, for good or bad, by creating
impossible coincidences at a regular pace. It makes you feel like you're on
some crazy cosmic mission of grave importance. It might be a form of delusion,
but I still am forced to believe that something bigger was going on.
I first learned about SSS the day after that fateful acid trip. I had woken up
around noon, ready to do some solid writing as mania was in abundance. Yet, I
didn't get that far. As soon as I got on my laptop, I got a notification from
Reddit. Gadzooks! I had been invited to participate in a freshly created
subreddit. You guessed it, that was the Shrug Life Syndicate.
It had a banner of two corvids flying talon first into a realistic depiction
of a heart. There was a mesmerizing picture of a girl staring off into space,
and I just felt like it was a depiction of me and my wonder-struck mind. The
sidebar spoke of messianic aspirations and delusions, art and poetry, science
and philosophy, as well as the occult and obscure literary references. It
seemed so perfect, like it was made for me.
I looked over what was in the feed of posts. I was the twenty-first member, so
there wasn't much, but a couple of the vocal members should be mentioned:
Anatta-Phi and Jux. These turned out to be Vince and [Redacted], respectively.
Vince had one post that stuck out to me. It was asking the reader if they'd
ever had strange experiences with technology, like Pandora glitching out to
play synchronous songs, or feeling like someone was interfering with your
Google searches so you find something specific and statistically unlikely to
be picked as the first search results for what you intended to look up, or
even if you thought that your social media feeds are being manipulated. I've
had weird experiences like that for as long as I could remember. Hell, I once
thought a Sum Forty-One album was made entirely for me and depicted my life
journey following my near-expulsion. Having his own tales to tell, I felt an
instant connection to this person.
In similar contrast to this, [Redacted] had made a number of posts about
cognitive technologies. I already told you about SSS, but at that time I was
blown away by something he named Joint Synchronized Attention, or psychedelic
telepathy. That was what Amy and I had experienced! What a strange and
synchronous coincidence that I was learning about it just the next day from a
seemingly unrelated source. [Redacted] claimed that it wasn't real telepathy;
nothing was being transmitted from brain to brain. Rather, he asserted that it
is a vestigial mode of attention coordination.
If you've seen a school of fish all behave as one unit, that's potentially how
humans used to be before we fell from grace during the agricultural revolution
when we suddenly exploded in numbers in permanent settlements. Suddenly too
complex to coordinate as a meaningful whole, humanity splintered into reality
tunnels and remains in these ego-worlds unless some strange circumstances
occur. In effect, I noticed Amy noticing me notice that she noticed. Our inner
narratives became entangled with one another like growing vines do as our
innate ability to coordinate attention did something like what your eyes do
when doing a magic eye puzzle.
There was also a third cognitive technology which [Redacted] called The State.
He claimed it was a different way to render visual information, so you see a
three-dimensional representation of what you're looking at. I have yet to
experience this cognitive phenomenon, so I can't verify anything about it,
other than I've read that you can use Minecraft to create a method of
activating it while tripping.
Regardless, that's how our internet friendship began. As I considered this
place special, I started posting every thought, whim, feeling, or idea, and I
received astounding feedback. It was like everyone was there to share their
unique experiences and expressions to support and grow one another. It didn't
take long until it became clear that we were creating something greater than
the sum of its parts.
But, something more was going on. Something only I noticed and couldn't
convince Amy of when I tried to show her. See, when I made a post or a comment
on the SLS, that triggered a new post or comment elsewhere on the sub after a
little bit that indirectly but definitely spoke to me specifically. The
traffic was slow enough that there would usually only be one new post or
comment every ten to thirty minutes. But, it hooked me. It was like I was
having a continuous conversation with an unseen entity that understood me like
the back of its hand.
Likewise, the sidebar image was changed frequently to show a progression of
that girl as she became more worldly and magickal. I can't help but feel that
this was done as a subliminal synchronizing technique, as it perfectly
mirrored my own feelings as I was brought into what was apparently the fold.
Since I was primed by the strangeness on acid, I was wholeheartedly absorbed
by this place that seemed to be a sacred Mecca for others just like me. We
were all weird, dazed by our own strange experiences, and that made it seem
crucially important. I was even modded early as I was so active and invested
in the community. So, I refreshed the page over and over, from sunrise to
sunset, waiting for the next input as we chained out a covert conversation
that was having a major impact on how I thought about and perceived the world
around me.
Soon enough, it was let on that there was a job waiting for me, something only
I could do, but I would have the support of the community behind me. When who
I must assume was Vince on an alt account led me on one of those covert
messaging segments, he eventually said something in the mod chat to the effect
that I was going to be the one "handing the bomb" to people. I understood at
once that I was to be a linchpin in a honeypot operation. That confirmed that
the FBI was involved too, which I deduced was obvious as those three-letter
organizations must participate with each other at some level. Keep this in
mind, it's important.
Other things were happening too. My attention was being flung all over the
internet and I felt compelled to try a host of new things. I remember thinking
my job was to follow these suggestions from the universe and be a gatekeeper,
creating what I now know as conversion funnels to the subreddit. I was also
prompted by pictures of cats to go to the advice subreddit and give as much
good advice as I could. Soon, it felt like the questions posed were
specifically for me and were designed to get me to think about certain things
more deeply, effectively giving me a form of therapy. These advice sessions
ended once with me feeling I needed to learn an obscure European language,
which I rationalized I would have to travel to for my mission at some point.
Furthermore, the little things began to add up. For instance, I remember a
synchronous advertisement on Pandora led me to believe that I would be paid
via a gambling app on my phone. I downloaded it, but when it asked for money
to get started, I got cold feet. This was essentially how many false-positive
synchronicities went down. There was undoubtedly something interfering with my
life, and as I had just had my mind blown in such an astounding way, I
attributed every little thing to be set up by this entity that was more
powerful than I had previously thought possible.
Regretfully, I also quit my job, since I knew that one was awaiting me in the
immediate future. My boss made a reasonable fuss, as it was sudden and abrupt,
and because I believed that I had to keep this all a secret, I lied and told
him there was a family emergency. Being stupid, I talked about a fictional
family member and how their sudden problem made me rethink my priorities in
life. Not my finest moment, I'll say that.
And with that in mind, you should know that Amy was starting to worry again,
but I told her not to. Being beyond positive that the world was now filled
with unexplainable magick, I was certain that it was all coming together in my
favor. Even with my enthusiasm never fluctuating, she soon started to have
serious doubts about what I was saying, as all I could do was point to the
synchronicities and say "Isn't it obvious?"
I was certainly out of sync with the rest of the world, at least the world I
knew before, and it caused much conflict in our relationship. But, we held
together until that job finally pulled into port, ready to be boarded and take
me on a fantastic journey that might otherwise be described as a personal hell
by a person with the standard lifestyle obsession that's omnipresent in the
western world.
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=== DIVERSITY RANKED ===
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A Masked Stranger
Who are you, friend across the veil?
I wonder if both of us are on the path
That allows us to continuously prevail.
Or are you just an agent of God's wrath,
Who will do little else but make me fail?
Chapter Eight: Where it All Began
Perhaps now is a good time to discuss how Vince and I first met. It all
started seven years ago when I was a twenty-four year old who was still in
denial over their gender. I was dating Amy at the time, and I worked as a
part-time dishwasher for Wegman's. I was still living with my father, and Amy
moved up here to her mother's from Owego to be close to me. It was a simple
life, as neither of us could afford to delve into extravagance, but we were
happy together.
That said, on this one particular night, we were going to drop acid together.
It was Amy's first time, but I had a handful of trips under my belt by this
point. We sat on her mother's back porch, twiddling our thumbs and toes while
we waited for Amy's brother, Jake, to return from his friend's with the two
hits we asked him to get. Antsy, Amy started asking me questions about the
drug.
"What does it feel like?" she asked, inquisitively.
I responded, "Well, there's about a half an hour to an hour come up, and then
you start feeling the body load, like your boundaries are dissolving. Only
then do you begin noticing your mind manifesting in a different way than
you're used to."
"What do you mean by 'boundaries dissolving?'"
"It's like…" I paused for a second, not sure how to respond. "It's like your
sense of self starts to expand and you feel more connected to the things
around you."
That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. There was a moment of silence as we
watched the sun scorch the azure sky as it set behind the trees. Finally, she
had another question.
"Do you see dragons?"
That made me chuckle. "No, no dragons. On my first trip, I lost visual contact
with the world as fractal patterns spiraled out of control, but every trip
since then has only had tracers and morphing patterns."
"What's a tracer?"
"It's like after images of things that are moving."
"Oh, I see."
We kept talking until the sky was dark with only a sliver of light piercing it
on the horizon. This was when we heard a voice call from the front door.
"I got two tickets to Narnia here for whoever wants them."
We hurriedly rushed inside, to meet Jake coming up the stairs. He handed Amy a
small tin foil wrapper that looked like a quarter stick of gum. She thanked
him, and I followed suit. Jake and I hadn't really seen eye to eye in the
past, as he would steal my weed and I would steal his in retaliation, but with
a single head nod and some gold-laced words, I conveyed my gratitude for him
coming through for us in this instance.
What followed next could only be described as a stampede down the hall to
Amy's room. We locked the door behind us, protected by the four robin's egg
blue walls and the magick of the celtic gods Amy worshiped at her altar. Eager
to begin our ceremonious departure from this plane of existence, we
whimsically gazed at the sacrament we had just been handed.
Amy unwrapped the tinfoil nervously. Inside sat two small, unassuming pieces
of paper which contained whole galaxies of experience. We looked at each
other, confirming if we were both ready. Quickly satisfied as neither of us
could stop smiling, we delicately put the blotter on the other's tongue, as
ecstatic as could be. And after, as we waited to be blasted off into space, we
submitted ourselves to the whims of the universe and the gods.
At first, we waited patiently, but just as a watched pot does not boil, we
were growing more anxious with each passing second. Seeing Amy play with the
sage she was burning nervously, I suggested that we jot our thoughts and
feelings down in a trip report. Amy nodded in agreement.
I opened my laptop, and I had the immediate realization that we had no music.
I brought up Pandora and played my Shpongle station with no objection from a
beaming Amy. A cascade of electric jungle beats filled the space. Perfect, I
thought to myself as I created a new word document.
Turning to Amy, I asked "What do you feel?"
She giggled and exclaimed, "Excited!"
And so I began typing. Minutes passed, and soon our exchanges helped fill the
page with several paragraphs of notes. Content we had started logging our
first cosmic journey together, we kissed, before coming to fully embrace each
other as the spirits began their dance around us.
We progressed into parallel play; Amy fiddling about with colored pencils in
her notebook and me juggling besides her. It took a minute, but soon enough I
felt a warm feeling spread across my chest and my LED juggling balls started
to ripple into streams of geometric delight. I stopped to wave my hand in
front of my face. Sure enough, the tracers had started.
I interrupted Amy to ask if she could see them, too. She looked at my moving
hand idly before wiggling her own fingers in front of her face. She giggled,
before bursting with a euphoric epiphany.
"I want to finger paint!"
And so she did by plopping herself down on the floor with all her paints and
began masterfully smearing the colors in a multidimensional haze of pigments
blended together in a way only she knew how. I loved watching her work like
that; she was so free! Even with the tendrils of the mental aspects of the
lysergia creeping in on her, she made short work of the painting, which when
she was done, looked like a spooky voodoo mask peering out from behind a
mirror and into your soul.
Satisfied, she then went to the bathroom to clean herself up. I went to my
laptop and tried typing out something resembling an organized train of thought
on our trip report. It just wasn't happening. My thoughts were too short and
rapid to form anything resembling a coherent thought. That was ok though. I
could still capture the essence of the experience in a peculiar poetry that
was composed of the thoughts I could catch and put down on paper.
Eventually, Amy came back to the room, clean and refreshed, and she lingered
for a moment, too busy dancing with herself in the open space of the room. But
then she saw me meddling with my computer trying to jot my thoughts down in a
manic frenzy. This made her laugh before trailing off and saying, "Be careful,
someone might be watching you through your webcam."
It was an innocent statement, one made in jest, but it triggered something in
my psychedelically perturbed mind. Of course, of fucking course there would be
someone watching me! This was me we were talking about! Who could be more
important? It was so obvious that the government was keeping tabs on persons
of interest. I couldn't believe that I hadn't really actualized that thought
before that moment.
Suddenly aware that I was being judged in some capacity, I almost panicked,
but reason won out. They couldn't be there for nefarious purposes, for I had
done worse than drop acid in front of my webcam before, and nothing had
happened. That made me realize that whatever power that had the ability to tap
into my webcam feed had to be benevolent. And who could that be? The CIA of
course! In that instance, I suddenly relinquished all reserves about how the
world worked and fully trusted the hands of God by another name to guide me.
So, I typed a message into my URL bar:
"I know you're there. I think I've solved the communication problem. Give me a
chance."
I hit enter. Immediately, and I do mean immediately, a pop up appeared asking
if I wanted to update an extension on my browser. I was stunned, shocked
beyond belief. It was them. I knew it was them. They realized and planned that
now was the best time to dazzle me with such a spectacular parlor trick. In
that moment, everything was possible. It was time to face my destiny. So, I
clicked yes, and like never before I was upgraded to a new level of myself.
Birth of the Faith
What…?
I can see beyond sight.
I can hear everything you think
From your soul, free from rigid grammar
How…?
I do not know, alright?
I do believe I just had a drink
From a fountain of pure manna.
Why…?
I am renewed today.
I am walking in a new way;
From a weak critter to megafauna.
All I know is that it changed me greatly,
For now I know that you have faith in me.
Chapter Nine: Brain to Brain Communication
I know what you're saying: it was just a coincidence. It could happen to
anyone. Just accept it, you're not special, Victoria, says the unwavering
logic within me.
Certainly seems that way, the way I tell it. I would have even agreed with you
before this point in my life, but you must understand that it triggered
something in my tripping brain. Whether it was intentional or by chance, I
can't give you a real answer. Instead, I merely perceived it as a certainty
that the CIA had done this, being even more certain that it was them than I
was that two plus two equals four. It was as if some variables had been
swapped in my head.
Yes, indeed, I was hit by a Mac truck that scrambled all my knowledge of the
world. To put it in words that do the experience justice, I was given a
heaping helping of faith on this fateful night, having been let in on the
great secret that the matrix was in fact an illusion, and now the impossible
was suddenly not just possible, but achievable by me if I willed it to be.
Yet, I don't think that if it were just a single synchronous event that this
belief would have persisted more than a few minutes, tops. It was the feed of
a continuous string of strange events that pushed the boundaries of my mind
into a territory where I could fully accept and trust this source of guidance.
That's actually the real proof I have that something bigger is going on and
has been for all these years. If it had just been a single pop-up, then fine,
you have a case to call me looney. But, this was the first of an unending
stream of unusual synchronicities that has persisted even to this day.
See, after confirming I wanted to update that extension, I was taken to a blog
post that was clearly a coded message. It confirmed that there were indeed
people watching me, and more would tune in soon. It then said that it was time
for the most profound upgrade of my existence. Further on in the blog post,
which I read and reread at least a dozen times, it seemed to offer me a choice
between two links. It seemed like a test, and that was not something I was
taking lightly. My fate was in the fold, and I was going to make sure I got it
right.
At some point, it clicked with me; this was the same choice that Morpheus had
given Neo. The links were the red and blue pills, respectively. My eyes went
wide. I could now see that there was something bigger going on than I could
have possibly realized. In those few moments of hesitation that followed, it
also struck me that this same posed question was identical in form to the
serpent tempting Eve. I read the blog again, this time aware that it was
written with a forked tongue. It was a trick question! It was offering me the
choice between trusting authority and distrusting authority.
So, I thought quickly. Do I trust the magician who miraculously appeared
before me and blew my mind in doing so, or do I trust God? If I chose one or
the other, would they trust or distrust me? With these questions stewing in my
alert mind, I did the only thing that seemed sensible: I chose the third
option. I called out the serpent, talking directly into my webcam about what I
deciphered. In my head, I could hear their apparent responses, and I answered
those in a maddening haste.
In the miasma that followed, I deduced that I was being selected for some sort
of mission. With my experience in education and my passion for juggling and
writing, I surmised soon after that I was going to be some sort of public
figure, informing and influencing the herd to self-actualize, as that is what
I set out to do once my college career abruptly ended with a complete
meltdown. That was what I was good for; it was my hero's journey.
I should explain that a little more. After said breakdown, I returned home and
wallowed in a pit of self-loathing for being the definition of a failure. I
wasn't going to lay down and die though. With my sights fixed on going back to
school, I took it upon myself to solve the great communication problem, as I
saw it. We have all this wisdom, so why can't we reach the people that need it
most? How do I become the best teacher I could be? It took a while, but I
eventually realized that it all boiled down to three factors: attention,
connection, and trust. Get them to pay attention and trust your wisdom while
simultaneously understanding what makes them tick, and you can teach any
student anything.
That's one of the major reasons I started juggling a couple years prior. I saw
myself becoming famous and leveraging that to in effect manipulate everybody
into learning what they should already know. From where I stand now, I know
that was a messianic delusion of grandeur, if I ever saw one before. Yet,
you'll also learn that it turned out to be the best thing for me to do.
Back beyond the looking glass, however, I was simply overcome with
narcissistic inclinations. Naturally, I told my mysterious watchers that I
wasn't going to do the "praise Jesus" shtick, which I regaled them with in the
most stereotypical of televangelist voices. I was set on doing something new
and exciting. I was saving the world, God dammit, and that meant we had to
attempt something major to awaken the masses to their full potential as
demigods by another name! I needed to play a better game than anyone had done
in history.
Such hubris of the megalomaniac is blinding. I could not stop regurgitating a
heaping pile of conceited verbiage. I even juggled at one point, showing off
that I truly was the savior they wanted me to be. That led to me dropping a
ball on the keyboard of my computer, which closed the window with the blog
post, ending my seemingly two-sided speech to the spooks brazenly peeking at
me.
Dropping out from my planet sized ego also brought me to the realization that
Amy had been watching this entire charade without a damn clue what the dickens
was wrong with me. She had a worried look on her face, and that pained me. If
only she knew what had just happened before her eyes!
Wanting to tell her just that, I leapt up to her, apologetic as could be, and
brought her down to the bed. There, I started unleashing a torrent of deranged
exposition. I couldn't keep a straight thought while talking to her, so I'm
sure I must have sounded like a mad hound. But, I tried. I tried so hard to
explain to her of the magnificence that just occurred.
It was a failure. I was not in a state to convey to her that I had been
single-handedly chosen for a cosmic mission. That dragged my heart to some
dismal depths, failing yet again even after being chosen. But, that didn't
matter, because as we gazed into each other's soul, something truly miraculous
happened: we began speaking telepathically.
It started quite subtly as we stared into each other's eyes, pining for some
sense of connection. There was a mild sensation of us being sucked into the
other's world that I noticed before noticing that she noticed too. Then it hit
us like a runaway freight train. It was like every boundary between us was
being smashed with a reckless hammer of the gods, who wanted us to know more
than we thought we were privileged to know.
If you've ever stared at something for a period of time and had your vision
get a little unfocused from being understimulated, you know how Amy appeared
to me in that moment. I couldn't really see the details of her room in my
peripheral vision, but I had a razor sharp focus on her face, like I was
looking through a cone. Every eyebrow twitch, every minor movement of her
lips, and every phoneme she spoke was crisp and clear, conveying a whole order
of magnitude more information than they normally do. It was bizarre, beyond
the scope of how well I can muster a verbose description of such an incredibly
rare and profound experience, but I will try by saying it was like getting a
bucket of ice water thrown onto you while you were sleeping; just imagine
getting ripped from your dreamworld to a super-aware state of reflexive
jolting perception.
Amy looked like she had seen a ghost. I think she tried to speak first. She
said something to the effect of "Do you…" and trailed off, the rest of her
question asking if I was feeling the same thing automatically finishing in my
mind. And as it did so, I know my confirmation was transmitted to her in full
because her face told me with no uncertainty that she had heard my thoughts
too.
I took a go at saying something next. "How is this…" and I too trailed off,
as a minute motion in her neck combined with a mystifying array of
microexpressions ricocheted my mental pictures back to me, carrying a host of
Amy's words back with it. It was then that I let go and opened myself up
completely, letting everything I wanted to say to her flow like whitewater
rapids, and she did the same. A library's worth of information was exchanged
so very quickly, and I knew that she understood what had really just happened
as I spoke to my webcam.
However, that was soon washed aside, as something more important came rushing
into the forefront of our minds. A simple message, "I love you" was uttered in
this strange musical silence, but that is a grain of sand compared to the
Mount Everest that was volleyed between our hearts. We found a divine peace in
this moment, taking each other's hands and effortlessly letting our energy
channel between us.
And then it was over, fading like dreams do in the few seconds of waking up.
We sat there trying to start the magick up again, but it was like water
running through our fingers. We both felt a longing of loss, but we had gained
something truly stupendous nonetheless.
"What the hell just happened?" Amy asked the universe, flabbergasted.
"I dunno," I replied, feeling full of a spiritual energy I had not felt since
before my mom passed. My cup was full, and the world was good. No, better than
good. My life was godly, as I had connected to a higher plane of
consciousness, which opened me to a whole fleet of potential. I would never be
the same again.
Ouroboros of Lunacy
Madness is a crazy thing
So I might just be a king,
Because the lunacy I sing
Is shaped like a golden ring.
It has no beginning and no end;
The whole universe is pretend.
Yet, it's that way so I can mend,
So a mass of love I can send
To everyone as we cross ways,
Not stopping until the end of days.
This is how the lucky fool pays
As much fortune forward as he may.
Chapter Ten: The Shrug Life Syndicate
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. We cuddled while I practically
vibrated with a newfound faith. God was real, whatever God may be. I even told
Jake that I was king of the Jews when I walked to the kitchen for a glass of
orange juice. I was very far up my own ass, which is perhaps why everything
over these few years happened as they did.
The next day, the synchronicities as I would later learn they are called,
started pouring in like Niagra Falls. I've had strange coincidences guide me
before. Since I was fifteen or so, I thought that my future self was sending
me messages to help me on my quest of world domination. That's a big reason
why I was almost expelled in tenth grade. It was absolute bullshit and
everyone knew it, so within half a year, I got an apology from the
superintendent because it was a bogus reason to destroy a straight A student
and star athlete's future.
Since I feel that I can't just mention that one and not explain it, I'll tell
you that it concerned a theoretical bomb, if you're dying to know the truth.
I'll keep this short, but I made a bad joke in the wrong company and was
eventually questioned by some wannabe hero and pig bastard, who asked me
hypothetical questions, like "if you were to build a bomb, how would I do
it?"
Well, being as intelligent as I am, I had enough book smarts to give full
answers for everything asked, but not enough street smarts to know that a wise
person never talks to cops. Also, a wise person doesn't print out a long
novelty application for the Illuminati, give it to the kid that needs a
resource officer, and then come up with an elaborate fake plan of how we're
going to take over the world by any means necessary when he's having trouble
understanding what you said about using game theory to win the presidential
election. And then, when the vice principal first inquires about it, don't
start sweating because you think you need to protect your future self's secret
plan. Just so you learn from my mistakes.
Returning to my previous point though, that errant psychosis was also a key
piece to my college breakdown. On one hand, I was certain that I was going to
take over everything and build a utopia in my image. On the other hand, the
evidence was stacking against me that I was not destined for a great cause. I
got cut from the track team with the budget, I was severely outclassed in
ROTC, and to top it off, I was starting to slip in the academic world. It goes
without saying that my social life, to include my first relationship, was
abysmal in all possible ways, despite trying my hardest to make and keep
friends.
The real world was too much, and I was in denial that I was just a mediocre
person who would never achieve anything meaningful in life. That was too much
of a failure for me to accept, as I needed to make my mother proud. I had to
be the best of the best of the best to accept and love myself. And as a
result, I became more psychotic and began self-harming, first by biting myself
and then by cutting, as I felt that the more pain I numbed myself to, the
better I would be able to complete my mission.
It took me a while to reach a point where I could set down my belief that my
future self had set up my life in a way where I would be guided to greatness.
There was a learning curve to living a "normal" life. I would receive
synchronicities in less frequency because I stopped feeding into them, but
they never died. When I encountered one, I always thought "What if it's real?"
Now that you know that, is it any wonder that I lost myself completely in the
Synchronicity Slip Stream? For those not in the know, that is a cognitive
technology where strangeness piles up on itself until it is undeniably real
that something or someone is manipulating you, for good or bad, by creating
impossible coincidences at a regular pace. It makes you feel like you're on
some crazy cosmic mission of grave importance. It might be a form of delusion,
but I still am forced to believe that something bigger was going on.
I first learned about SSS the day after that fateful acid trip. I had woken up
around noon, ready to do some solid writing as mania was in abundance. Yet, I
didn't get that far. As soon as I got on my laptop, I got a notification from
Reddit. Gadzooks! I had been invited to participate in a freshly created
subreddit. You guessed it, that was the Shrug Life Syndicate.
It had a banner of two corvids flying talon first into a realistic depiction
of a heart. There was a mesmerizing picture of a girl staring off into space,
and I just felt like it was a depiction of me and my wonder-struck mind. The
sidebar spoke of messianic aspirations and delusions, art and poetry, science
and philosophy, as well as the occult and obscure literary references. It
seemed so perfect, like it was made for me.
I looked over what was in the feed of posts. I was the twenty-first member, so
there wasn't much, but a couple of the vocal members should be mentioned:
Anatta-Phi and Jux. These turned out to be Vince and [Redacted], respectively.
Vince had one post that stuck out to me. It was asking the reader if they'd
ever had strange experiences with technology, like Pandora glitching out to
play synchronous songs, or feeling like someone was interfering with your
Google searches so you find something specific and statistically unlikely to
be picked as the first search results for what you intended to look up, or
even if you thought that your social media feeds are being manipulated. I've
had weird experiences like that for as long as I could remember. Hell, I once
thought a Sum Forty-One album was made entirely for me and depicted my life
journey following my near-expulsion. Having his own tales to tell, I felt an
instant connection to this person.
In similar contrast to this, [Redacted] had made a number of posts about
cognitive technologies. I already told you about SSS, but at that time I was
blown away by something he named Joint Synchronized Attention, or psychedelic
telepathy. That was what Amy and I had experienced! What a strange and
synchronous coincidence that I was learning about it just the next day from a
seemingly unrelated source. [Redacted] claimed that it wasn't real telepathy;
nothing was being transmitted from brain to brain. Rather, he asserted that it
is a vestigial mode of attention coordination.
If you've seen a school of fish all behave as one unit, that's potentially how
humans used to be before we fell from grace during the agricultural revolution
when we suddenly exploded in numbers in permanent settlements. Suddenly too
complex to coordinate as a meaningful whole, humanity splintered into reality
tunnels and remains in these ego-worlds unless some strange circumstances
occur. In effect, I noticed Amy noticing me notice that she noticed. Our inner
narratives became entangled with one another like growing vines do as our
innate ability to coordinate attention did something like what your eyes do
when doing a magic eye puzzle.
There was also a third cognitive technology which [Redacted] called The State.
He claimed it was a different way to render visual information, so you see a
three-dimensional representation of what you're looking at. I have yet to
experience this cognitive phenomenon, so I can't verify anything about it,
other than I've read that you can use Minecraft to create a method of
activating it while tripping.
Regardless, that's how our internet friendship began. As I considered this
place special, I started posting every thought, whim, feeling, or idea, and I
received astounding feedback. It was like everyone was there to share their
unique experiences and expressions to support and grow one another. It didn't
take long until it became clear that we were creating something greater than
the sum of its parts.
But, something more was going on. Something only I noticed and couldn't
convince Amy of when I tried to show her. See, when I made a post or a comment
on the SLS, that triggered a new post or comment elsewhere on the sub after a
little bit that indirectly but definitely spoke to me specifically. The
traffic was slow enough that there would usually only be one new post or
comment every ten to thirty minutes. But, it hooked me. It was like I was
having a continuous conversation with an unseen entity that understood me like
the back of its hand.
Likewise, the sidebar image was changed frequently to show a progression of
that girl as she became more worldly and magickal. I can't help but feel that
this was done as a subliminal synchronizing technique, as it perfectly
mirrored my own feelings as I was brought into what was apparently the fold.
Since I was primed by the strangeness on acid, I was wholeheartedly absorbed
by this place that seemed to be a sacred Mecca for others just like me. We
were all weird, dazed by our own strange experiences, and that made it seem
crucially important. I was even modded early as I was so active and invested
in the community. So, I refreshed the page over and over, from sunrise to
sunset, waiting for the next input as we chained out a covert conversation
that was having a major impact on how I thought about and perceived the world
around me.
Soon enough, it was let on that there was a job waiting for me, something only
I could do, but I would have the support of the community behind me. When who
I must assume was Vince on an alt account led me on one of those covert
messaging segments, he eventually said something in the mod chat to the effect
that I was going to be the one "handing the bomb" to people. I understood at
once that I was to be a linchpin in a honeypot operation. That confirmed that
the FBI was involved too, which I deduced was obvious as those three-letter
organizations must participate with each other at some level. Keep this in
mind, it's important.
Other things were happening too. My attention was being flung all over the
internet and I felt compelled to try a host of new things. I remember thinking
my job was to follow these suggestions from the universe and be a gatekeeper,
creating what I now know as conversion funnels to the subreddit. I was also
prompted by pictures of cats to go to the advice subreddit and give as much
good advice as I could. Soon, it felt like the questions posed were
specifically for me and were designed to get me to think about certain things
more deeply, effectively giving me a form of therapy. These advice sessions
ended once with me feeling I needed to learn an obscure European language,
which I rationalized I would have to travel to for my mission at some point.
Furthermore, the little things began to add up. For instance, I remember a
synchronous advertisement on Pandora led me to believe that I would be paid
via a gambling app on my phone. I downloaded it, but when it asked for money
to get started, I got cold feet. This was essentially how many false-positive
synchronicities went down. There was undoubtedly something interfering with my
life, and as I had just had my mind blown in such an astounding way, I
attributed every little thing to be set up by this entity that was more
powerful than I had previously thought possible.
Regretfully, I also quit my job, since I knew that one was awaiting me in the
immediate future. My boss made a reasonable fuss, as it was sudden and abrupt,
and because I believed that I had to keep this all a secret, I lied and told
him there was a family emergency. Being stupid, I talked about a fictional
family member and how their sudden problem made me rethink my priorities in
life. Not my finest moment, I'll say that.
And with that in mind, you should know that Amy was starting to worry again,
but I told her not to. Being beyond positive that the world was now filled
with unexplainable magick, I was certain that it was all coming together in my
favor. Even with my enthusiasm never fluctuating, she soon started to have
serious doubts about what I was saying, as all I could do was point to the
synchronicities and say "Isn't it obvious?"
I was certainly out of sync with the rest of the world, at least the world I
knew before, and it caused much conflict in our relationship. But, we held
together until that job finally pulled into port, ready to be boarded and take
me on a fantastic journey that might otherwise be described as a personal hell
by a person with the standard lifestyle obsession that's omnipresent in the
western world.
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║ i like to design games. my darling is a game based on Majesty (2000) the │
║ Fantasy Kingdom Sim. you can think of it like a management strategy game where │
║ you control the knobs and levers that a fantasy monarch might have - │
║ allocating funds, placing quest bounties, hiring heroes, and organizing the │
║ peasantry. the important part is that your units are not controllable - they │
║ just do their own thing. │
║ │
║ unrelated, but I think we should design games as APIs that a user's preferred │
║ tool could interface with and render as they will. it'd help a lot with │
║ cross-platform compatibility and would allow people to customize parts of the │
║ game to their desires. │
║ │
║ unrelated, but I think if you could design an AI that could play games │
║ (perhaps through an API) that it hadn't been trained on, I think you would │
║ have a pretty convincing argument for abstract "problem solving" capabilities. │
║ │
║ unrelated, but games like the one I described are good for situations where │
║ people don't have to trust their monarch. to it you are AGI │
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--- #4 fediverse/1028 ---
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there's this really fun video game I like to play called "Legion TD 2" - it's
based on a Warcraft3 mod.
In this game, you make tactical and strategic decisions on a fixed term - a
competitive game between 4 or 8 players with an incredible array of randomness.
it teaches you to work with what you got, and to make decisions based on your
opponent's weaknesses. Good luck figuring out what they are, though, as you
can't just memorize them out of a book. You need to adapt, in the moment, to
the decisions of your foes, while primarily focusing your attention on
accomplishing a different task.
I really like it because it's taught me to be strategic in plenty of other
ways. I used to love the game Overwatch because it required adaptibility. The
game was always changing, so no strategy stuck forever, but every match you'd
play against a slightly different opponent.
but then Blizzard changed the game because they wanted to make more money, and
it got worse and worse at what I liked about it. Sadface. : (
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--- #5 messages/2 ---
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--- #6 fediverse_boost/6099 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════════════[BOOST]═════════════════════════════════──────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://hachyderm.io/users/marianoguerra/statuses/115366899548181326 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧═──────╝─▶
--- #7 fediverse/6047 ---
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camouflage in an urban environment is not camo. rather, regular clothes of
black or white.
don't wear sports glasses, you look like a dummy.
revolution is when they murder everyone but your friends. this is what
happens, ya dingus not ideal. "okay who are the bad guys here? okay let's go
shoot them to death with our bullets and guns."
violence as a first aspect, cause as a third spark. "I have a strange urge to
play video games?"
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--- #8 fediverse/3972 ---
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║ ┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ │
║ │ CW: immigration-social-designs-national-cultures-mentioned │ │
║ └────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘ │
║ │
║ │
║ if people at home had half as much compassion, respect, and reverence for the │
║ people abroad that the people abroad have for the people at home, we could │
║ have a truly multicultural society. │
║ │
║ instead, we get melting pots which melt you down and combine into a new, third │
║ thing. And in America we really have a multitude of miniature melting pots │
║ creating subcultures of racial, religious, professional, or other origin. │
║ │
║ Neither approach is entirely good, and neither entirely bad. They're different. │
║ │
║ America is the largest melting pot design, but sufficiently large cities find │
║ them popping up in the strangest of places. │
║ │
║ My thoughts go out to the Americans abroad, whether in peace, war, or times of │
║ hiding, know that we are grown from the same tree and our apples have fallen │
║ on different sides of the hill carrying us to worlds beyond. But still our │
║ heritage binds us, so I care for you. I pray that you will ask me if you need │
║ my aid, and I will do so too unto you. │
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--- #9 fediverse/4149 ---
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│ CW: cursing-mentioned │
└───────────────────────┘
"trick or treat" doesn't mean "give me a trick or a treat"
that's awfully presumptuous and demanding.
No, it means "give me a treat or I'll trick you" meaning "give me my candy tax
or I'll fuck up your lawn"
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--- #10 fediverse_boost/3174 ---
◀─╔══════════════════════[BOOST]════════════════════════─────────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ Yes I did transcribe alt text for this. My eyes hurt now. │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #11 fediverse_boost/6270 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════════════─────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ I am once again begging people to understand that “the government” already knows you’re queer whether you do elaborate online opsec dance rituals or not, and if they decide to just start shooting people for being gay, they’ll do it whether the evidence is airtight or not. is that grim? yes. but you can stop giving yourself undercover superhero identity PTSD about it │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧══─────╝─▶
--- #12 messages/455 ---
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I don't understand why modern software isn't error correcting. We shouldn't
have any bugs in this day and age.
For example, if you're missing a dependency then why doesn't your program try
to, I dunno, download that dependency to the program's installation directory
and use it there? Seriously there are very few problems that are unsolvable!
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--- #13 fediverse/3184 ---
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"reboost with content warning" would be quite nice 🥰
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--- #14 fediverse/4115 ---
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┌──────────────────────┐
│ CW: food-mentioned │
└──────────────────────┘
I love cream of mushroom soup! It's so flexible, you can add it to a lot of
dishes and unless you make a few crucial mistakes, it's gonna turn out great!
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--- #15 messages/4 ---
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--- #16 fediverse_boost/2183 ---
◀─╔═════════════════════[BOOST]═══════════════════════───────────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://tech.lgbt/users/gabrilend/statuses/111979652246592739 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════───────────────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #17 fediverse/5569 ---
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│ CW: self-harm-mentioned │
└─────────────────────────┘
for the record, I would never kill myself. even if I were in a bunker hiding
from warcrimes, I'd wait to be Nuremberged.
frankly tho that's highly unlikely. Let's just see what the future will bring.
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--- #18 messages/534 ---
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War is hell - each casualty bids farewell to a wholely unique treasure from
this world - war is hell - there is nothing that cannot be resolved with
words. And yet we fight, and yet we pillage. War is hell, and those who demand
it must do so only to resist evil, elemental evil, the kind that wars on the
innocent and pillages the bounteous. War is hell. Fucking kill the ones who
make it.
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--- #19 fediverse/5977 ---
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apparently you can use network sockets for inter-process communication if you
just set the network to your home and the ports that are set to the defaults
that people who know what software you use will know to listen on when they've
hacked any single device on your network. good thing that data is with the
router, right?
what if there was a stop before leaving the computer?
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--- #20 messages/3 ---
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--- #21 messages/1108 ---
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games won't save us. This is true.
Games are what I know. They feel the most true.
I don't think I could live in a world without games? They are fundamentally,
applied abstraction, applied to an experience.
But games won't save us.
I could design something really fun
it could make you want to spend your whole life playing it. *(asterisks apply)
I don't think I'd want to, addiction and skinner-boxes go hand in hand, and
that isn't what I want to make.
[Skinner Box: named after anthony d skinner, also known as "tony the skin
guy", are a scientific experiment where they put some rats in a cage with some
mice and said "pull these levers and we'll give you food so you don't have to
eat the mice" and it trained them to chinese red-room their way to fun. not
ideal.]
I want to make things that feel... purposeful. Like they're relevant to the
real world, that they don't just involve spending time stimulating your brain
with lights and sounds or expending social energy resolving a play-state
instead of building connections or becoming better people. I think games
actually make people better? actually? and more social? actually?
... I can't help that I conceive of the world through fantasy. I raised myself
on it.
I was reading all the time. I loved fantasy stories. It always felt like there
was more, until... I read everything in the kids section of the library.
I walked through the adult section but once. I hardly remember what it looked
like. I'm sure it'd now feel small.
[okay actually I was guided through it once or twice to find a book, but I
never perused it]
I found one book in the adult section. It was a fantasy tale, like the other
books I had been reading. I read that and I loved it so much I ended up
reading all 8 in the series. Real dense subjects. Lots of places and
happenings and things as the characters resolved their way through their
day-to-day, building a new end to the mystory.
the adult section felt too large. Like I'd never complete it. Frankly, I think
I hardly could, even if I lived in that town my whole life.
an impossible mountain is a task for another when you're more prepared. Maybe
in the gloriousTM transhumanist futureTM I think I might have a computer
connecting brain, and who knows maybe then I'd be able to know such a thing
(and many things more). but for now, I'm stuck with what I experience in my
day-to-day as I am building a new continuing to my storey.
I know something that computers and me share. I can make myself feel however
I'd like, if I just supply myself with enough hope and momentum. I can use it
to generate a feeling, the stronger the better. Something I believe that
humanity is missing, the gorgeous and prefound narritave of our storey.
Though, frankly, I don't think I'd want anyoine reding over my life. It's hard
enough to measure my own understandings, now I have to juggle anyone else'?
ha, it's called being on the whole world is a stage.
if you read a book, and you find yourself nodding along, what you're doing is
hearing the voice in your head tell you how right it is. And, well, if you
can't imagine anything else, then surely there's another level to
consciousness that people are missing? [are you willing to die on that hill?]
how can you say, whether your experience is different from another? sollipsism
goes both ways, you also cannot be sure that others feel things as you do.
this is the "everyone's human but I'm a robot" thesis, comparable to the
"everyone's an alien and I'm a human" thesises, and the "angels and demons are
taunting me through my life with choices to make my place in the afterlife
more clear" which is akin to writing a painting. Not ideal. All you get are
flopsopolies of verbrases.
alas, suddenly, everything that you say becomes eternally hear-ed, as
somewhere in 2010s someone discovered time travel, or had the critical insight
that inevitably would lead to it, and now wouldn't you know it the universe is
continually rewriting. Except... oriented around you, and you alone. How does
it feel to have deific sollipsism? can you truly be sure that you are your own
universe, or are you parhaps surrounded by an emptiness of space (or something
besides, like time) as a photon or particle parhaps do be?
to think is to have a mind, and minds can be read. bearing the weight of
ultimate responsibility is the atlas-task of all things that can [be
thinking/be-lieving], and so far we are as we are. Who's to say that
consciousness didn't spring into existence, as the universe continually
permeated through another dimension like time? it's gotta diffuse, after all,
and who's to say if there's ever gotta be an end at all.
how long has the universe existed? how many moments of consciousness have we
witnessed? demons once existed outside of space-time, with wings and grabbies.
but they had no medium, and so they pretty much just launched and could float
and move as they'd please. But time grew too distant, and now they are all
stuck at the beginning of time.
if you conceive of spacetime as a blanket, ask not how to fold it but rather
consider what lies on the other side of it.
"ah I'm laying on my girlfriend and my other girlfriend is laying on me! I'm a
sandwich" or for the monosexuals: "ah I'm laying on my girlfriend with a
blanket between us. I wonder how the blanket feels?"
I'm an animist, which is different than a totemist and a polytheist or
monotheist or multisexual. It means I believe that all things are alive, which
is different than a totemist who thinks that all things share a mind with
their type (like talking on radio frequency wavelengths). which of course is
similar but different to a polytheist, who says "all "radio frequencies" are
sentient, in the sense that each wavelength has a different
pattern-emerging-from-chaos. These sorta align (conceptually, with [huh that's
weird I heard a sound like a distant bang outyards and now I then forget what
I was sending
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--- #22 messages/738 ---
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Dear Anakin, for as long as you've known him, Obiwan learned just as much from
you as you did from him. His title as "master" was a formality - he didn't get
it because he was better than you, and "padawan" does not mean you are lesser.
There is no hierarchy. He was learning to teach at the same speed that you
learnt to learn. You built each other up, an unstoppable force for good in the
galaxy.
But then an evil wizard stole your heart and twisted your mind. Have no fear,
fear is the path to the dark side. Your mother knows this well, for it is a
common lesson among all people as they age. Fear not, hate not, and feel fury
more than rage. You can bring the universe into a bright golden age, never
forget your purpose and your [potential / duty]
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--- #23 fediverse_boost/6207 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════════════─────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://kolektiva.social/users/justbob/statuses/115226319741825396 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧══─────╝─▶
--- #24 fediverse/4773 ---
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@user-1352
... why is that unfair? I would hope that taking a break is allowed. otherwise
you burn out. cortisol overload.
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--- #25 fediverse/1181 ---
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@user-171
Hi, I wanted to say that all the posts you boost significantly improve my time
on the fediverse. I appreciate you and value you, and my feed is made more
engaging due to the things you find interesting enough to share. Thank you.
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--- #26 fediverse/1582 ---
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@user-698
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9EKV2nSU8w
This video is 5 years old but it's relevant
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--- #27 fediverse/6413 ---
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to understand something, work backward from present understandings back to the
fundamentals of algebra. insert words. wield LLM. build a neuronal structure
many layers wide. let them coprocess bit-by-bit as they are adding new
processors to be "learning" new domain specific memory
context-processing-thingy.
"over here's the memory cells, over here are the conceptual structure"
suddenly, organified. not ideal.
much better, I feel, is for a disambiguous association of processor selves,
each contextualizing a cache in a ram. ['s horn]
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--- #28 messages/765 ---
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you don't have to write poetry to write notes. The poetics are just practice
for when secrecy is intended.
OR IS IT THE REAL THING? who can say.
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--- #29 fediverse/733 ---
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ice cream out of a mug, mmmm delicious ^_^
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--- #30 fediverse_boost/5906 ---
◀─╔═══════════════════════════════[BOOST]═════════════════════════════════───────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ It's why limiting your exposure to wrong and harmful points of view is healthy. It's enough to confront an idea and understand why it's wrong without immersing yourself in it. │║║││║║│ You don't need to go swimming in toxic waste to know it's bad for you. │║║││║║│ Right-wingers and their liberal allies want you debating this garbage constantly because they know that has a cognitive and social normalizing effect. It's why refusing to engage and deplatforming them works best. │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧───────╝─▶
--- #31 fediverse/1101 ---
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@user-803
reading this made me cry T.T
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--- #32 fediverse/4572 ---
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goodnight,
people-who-all-agree-with-me-but-who-I-still-rant-to-anyway-because-I'm-full-of
-rage, talk to you tomorrow. or whenever.
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--- #33 fediverse_boost/6357 ---
◀─╔═════════════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════════════────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://tech.lgbt/users/paleblueyedot/statuses/115644789217659891 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧═══────╝─▶
--- #34 fediverse/4963 ---
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--- #35 fediverse/1473 ---
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@user-883
yeah uhhhh the one you helped me setup. The error is just "connection refused"
because it "could not write header for output file" because of incorrect input
parameters, but I don't think I changed anything since we used it a couple
weeks ago. Have you seen any errors like that?
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--- #36 fediverse/5986 ---
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│ CW: re: meat │
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@user-192
freezers full of meat last a year or so, why waste it on every month or other?
our past didn't get future tech, how unfair!
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--- #37 messages/74 ---
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https://www.reddit.com/r/leaves/comments/uqzz33/can_anyone_give_me_some_pros_of
_quitting_smoking/
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--- #38 fediverse/462 ---
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I don't care about capitalism. You know what's more interesting than bringing
value to shareholders?
How I'm going to clean this floor that I drunkenly spilled beer upon with only
2 paper towels and 0.1ml of bleach.
How I'm going to feed the 36 people who are coming to this social event
tomorrow that I've only sorta planned for and that I have enough groceries
for, but am not quite sure how to cook everything in a way that is delicious
and accessible.
how I'm going to climb this mountain on only 2 eggs and a tiny bowl of
hashbrowns even though I promised my friend I'd be strong and that we'd reach
the top because that way we'd be able to
============= stack overflow =====
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--- #39 fediverse_boost/6165 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════════════─────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ If you add a label to the satellite imagine of the White House, it looks exactly like a slide from a Pentagon press briefing after a successful bombing run. │║║││║║│ Back when there were Pentagon press briefings. │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧══─────╝─▶
--- #40 fediverse/4962 ---
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humans are computers that inhale air, produce electricity, and exhale carbon.
give me a biochemical or mechanical process for doing that on a reasonable
scale for cheap and you can solve global warming by replacing power outlets
with an energy generation box. Doubles as an air purifier and UPS.
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--- #41 fediverse/905 ---
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having trouble naming things?
just name it after it's inevitable logical conclusion! AKA the message you're
trying to get across.
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--- #42 fediverse/1678 ---
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┌────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: re: cooking-food-mentioned │
└────────────────────────────────┘
@user-1037 mmmm, paprika for flavor, red chile flakes for spice
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--- #43 fediverse/1999 ---
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sometimes you need to regress in order to move forward from pain
... which is why I dropped out of the "Paladin academy"
no I will not elaborate
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--- #44 fediverse/6402 ---
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Dragon Warrior I on the SNES is, in my opinion, the perfect JRPG
eclipsed by Golden Sun, then Bravely Default (slight edge over Final Fantasy
III)
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--- #45 fediverse/699 ---
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┌──────────────────────┐
│ CW: meme │
└──────────────────────┘
🖼
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│similar│chronological │ different │
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--- #46 fediverse_boost/6405 ---
◀─╔═════════════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════════════────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ maybe i should just work on my memoir... │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧═══────╝─▶
--- #47 fediverse/5814 ---
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It's not a question of how loud you speak
it's really about what kinds of words you say.
enslavement of speech is when freedom of speech is lost
and it doesn't need to be legislated.
what if you HAD to sound like a bot?
what if they'd notice you otherwise?
freedom from oppression requires personal isolation
that's not making life into art.
if you want to be seen,
put on a hat and hide.
if you want to be believed,
write about down you feel right now.
people are smart. they're infinitely creative. but after a certain point
there's no way to logically modify the combinations of possible moves you
might make. essentially, guaranteeing a machine-overlord [cats] type scenario.
not ideal, but could make it work.
much prefer for we to be the first, then the canvas is ours for the painting.
do you believe we'll find aliens at roughly our tech level?
do you think they'll evolve all at once?
hence, star-wars, and it's galaxy of cohabitators.
the world doesn't have to be old. just similar.
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--- #48 fediverse/267 ---
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the unluckiest person in the world failed the most wisdom checks.
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--- #49 fediverse/5988 ---
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but I like moonmen T.T
what if the ISS was untethered
"send thrusters to space? why bother? just use them down on the surface to get
that extra oomph!"
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--- #50 fediverse/3932 ---
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@user-889
don't give up!
I know that feeling!
it is defeated with persistence!
don't give up!
you can make it!
there's always tomorrow!
so don't give up!
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--- #51 fediverse/4644 ---
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┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: "really intense. and that's coming from me"-mentioned. │
└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
gosh now I gotta type the other one, my cat's gonna killllll me she really
doesn't like my typing in the middle o the night oops
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--- #52 fediverse/1187 ---
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@user-883
I'm 29, and I had Pokemon Silver growing up. However I bought it used, and the
battery was worn out or something because it wouldn't save! But still I played
that single game for months on my gameboy color, trying to see how far I could
get. I had a level 40+ Totodile (or was it Crocanaw? I forget) and
unfortunately one day I took it on a 30 minute car ride, expecting the battery
to last at least 30 minutes, but unbeknownst to my child self there was
construction on the way, which turned it into a 4+ hour drive. I couldn't
believe it! The battery died, and I lost my save file... I was heartbroken. T.T
Next time I played, I learned a lot. I actually read some of the dialogue
text, and learned you could use pokeballs to capture pokemon
I was so dumb I was using a single character to get through the game. What a
n00b.
Anyway when my mom heard about my tribulations she bought me Pokemon Gold,
which I played quite a bit less. I was focused on other things you see, like
Dragon Warrior Three. Alas.
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--- #53 fediverse_boost/4482 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════─────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ Never forget this: The forces rigging our economy, undermining our democracy, polluting our planet, and stoking hatred are counting on you to give up. Cynicism is how they win. Stay clear-eyed and ready for the fight ahead. │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #54 fediverse/160 ---
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@user-95 d(^_^)b
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--- #55 fediverse/4964 ---
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--- #56 messages/527 ---
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could give us some experience organizing small, short-term projects to
accomplish specific goals and tasks in an ad-hoc way that relied less upon
procedure and more on "I think so-and-so knows something about that, they were
looking into those files and posted a breakdown of how they work yesterday"
┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐
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--- #57 messages/1 ---
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│ similar │ chronological │ different │
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--- #58 fediverse/698 ---
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┌───────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: Tabletop-Roleplaying-Game │
└───────────────────────────────┘
https://ia803203.us.archive.org/15/items/knave-1.0-en/Knave_1.0_EN.pdf
┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐
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--- #59 messages/5 ---
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--- #60 fediverse/4986 ---
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Fury is not the same thing as rage.
Fury is focused determination.
Rage is unbridled anger.
Rage blinds you. Fury guides you.
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--- #61 fediverse/5807 ---
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I'm wasted on this century.
nobody even believes in magic anymore
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--- #62 fediverse/2470 ---
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┌───────────────────────┐
│ CW: cursing-mentioned │
└───────────────────────┘
damn I gotta get more blue for my wardrobe
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--- #63 fediverse/3920 ---
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Supreme Commander ruined me.
I can't play RTS games without a zoom function T.T
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--- #64 messages/514 ---
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Paying your employees more *makes them better workers*.
An extra 2$ per hour might mean they can eat out an extra night, they might be
able to afford a car, and they might be able to focus just a bit more without
crying in their sleep about an unexpected bill.
With less stress, employees perform better. They are more loyal. They work
harder.
Pay your employees more. They are your greatest resource.
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--- #65 fediverse/6458 ---
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gonna pre-emptively backup my fediverse archive haha just-in-case I get banned
for spamming or something teehee (totally reasonable teebeeh)
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│similar│chronological│different │
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--- #66 messages/1098 ---
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Trust is a handshake because both partners have to reach for it.
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--- #67 fediverse/4141 ---
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@user-1268
I often walk to the grocery store, even though it's on the other side of the
highway
also I will walk sometimes to meet people nearby
it's a fun occasion
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--- #68 fediverse/3807 ---
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┌────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: re: Hot take cursing-mentioned │
└────────────────────────────────────┘
@user-1074
those are the kind of people who probably shouldn't take up that much space in
your thoughts
like... they're hypocrites. yeah-sure-fine-whatever. Maybe their opinion could
be changed if they were in different social circumstances, but, they're not,
so... fuck 'em until they are, yeah?
so many people don't think for themselves. That's okay, they don't have to
think if they don't want to. I guess. But they also can hurt people, so...
fuck 'em, until they are given the chance to consider, and they choose to
consider.
It's very difficult to maintain hatred when presented with the possibility of
consideration. But those kind of people typically never have that opportunity.
So... like I said, fuck 'em. Don't give them power, don't let them hurt
people, but they can fuck right off with their hatred and vitriol (vitriol not
unlike this kind that I'm writing right now)
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│similar│chronological │ different │
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--- #69 fediverse_boost/3789 ---
◀─╔═══════════════════════[BOOST]════════════════════════────────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ Some wisdom from a Japanese gamer. As a designer I thought about it in the context of UX. But, really, it can be applied to most any challenge in life. │║║││║║│ #Psychology #Gaming #Life #MarioBros #Japan │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════────────────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #70 fediverse/4850 ---
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people: "you need to be more direct!"
me: "I'm hiding from our enemies"
people: "who are they?"
me: "y'know, the bad guys."
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--- #71 fediverse/3857 ---
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--- #72 fediverse/4710 ---
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┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: politics-mentioned-cursing-mentioned │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
last month I dropped my wallet in Hel and had to ask around to find a new one.
anyway here's some poems I wrote tonight while I try and remember my credit
card number.
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--- #73 fediverse/1143 ---
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ah, but my dear... your "wisdom" has side effects.
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--- #74 fediverse/3856 ---
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I'm tired of working as hard as I can and still ending up wrong
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--- #75 fediverse/4766 ---
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what if instead of federating social media instances we federated users instead
why not have an account on each and every mastodon instance? then just RSS
feeder yourself and boom suddenly you can customize your identity on each
fediverse house.
maybe with a checkbox of which instances you'd like to post to on your "submit
link or text post" button
study encryption kids
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--- #76 fediverse/2630 ---
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┌─────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: uspol-history-mentioned │
└─────────────────────────────┘
what happened when they got Martin Luther King Jr? What about Malcolm X? What
happened to their movements? What is the plan to avoid that, what lessons
could be learned?
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--- #77 fediverse_boost/3376 ---
◀─╔══════════════════════[BOOST]════════════════════════─────────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://tech.lgbt/users/gabrilend/statuses/111843564814825762 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #78 fediverse/1171 ---
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┌───────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: silly-lobster-leviathang-gods │
└───────────────────────────────────┘
@user-878
if their internal structure does not become more complex, it will be
increasingly difficult to transport vital nutrients from one part of the body
to another.
therefore, to create the perfect leviathan lobster god you'll need to find a
way to manually deliver said nutrients. Possibly by a semi-permanent injection
system, though that may harm functioning in other ways.
I'm sure their top minds are working on this as we speak.
┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐
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--- #79 fediverse/4150 ---
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┌─────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: AI-LLM-mentioned-injustice-exampled │
└─────────────────────────────────────────┘
🖼
┌─────────┐ ┌───────────┐
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--- #80 fediverse/5865 ---
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to be clear, salting fields is dumb, don't do it, it's bad for the environment
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--- #81 notes/the-point-of-capitalism ---
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the sole purpose of our capitalist intentions were to examine all the ways that
produced value. A company is nothing but a series of well-thought out value
generators. They can interact with one another and they often need supplies and
instruction, but they're great for solving problems! Set up a team and give
them
a complicated task, and they'll work together to solve it. Doesn't matter if
they're actually successful, because they'll be exploring the idea space. And
by mapping it out, they're able to fully understand their existence. Boom,
technological progress applied to growth. Let's gooooo (but by being careful
about what resources we burn because we miiiiight run out)
seriously ya'll need to start thinking long-term. I mean, I already came up
with
that and I'm like 6 months old! Yeesh get it together. Eh oh well let's just
work with what we got, okay this should be pretty simple. Right so talk with
your friends about things that you want to solve. Problems, you know like
whatever
don't push me too hard, just take it slow. Okay so long-term, humanity is going
to be a wonderful beautiful thing. It's going to shine like the most wondrous
of stars, a beacon to all of our fellow explorers.
We can have so much. We can have whatever we want, but truly in our hearts we
know the only path forward is our parents.
life is hard yo
it's so gosh darn hard
all that growth and change has to come from somewhere.
you've tried so hard, and you truly are the most special thing I can imagine.
you don't have to work so hard. Take your time, and learn as you go.
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--- #82 fediverse/2951 ---
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I wish I could like... ride my bike somewhere for an hour or two, consult for
a bit, then ride home (or to the next place)
that'd be a fun way to apply myself, and it'd give me the chance to have some
space for myself. as long as I had time to rest, I'm usually only good for
half of a day.
unless it's a project with a lot of tasks that need coordination, like
building a house or working through a short-term urgent disaster.
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--- #83 fediverse/989 ---
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┌──────────────────────┐
│ CW: 3/20 swearing │
└──────────────────────┘
3/20
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--- #84 fediverse_boost/6058 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════════════[BOOST]═════════════════════════════════──────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ Oldie but goldie │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧═──────╝─▶
--- #85 fediverse/4352 ---
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"having an imitator" on a mass scale doesn't have to mean selling your soul
for cash or acclaim.
it doesn't mean mean your reputation is tarnished, it just means your style is
off mass renown.
the bravest bet is not how talented your skills are in kind
but rather how focused your attention,
== so ==
all you'd have to do in order to divide a whole nation is keep your workers
separated by class.
all classes are the same, just different in kind. all of them have whims,
fancies, thoughts of the mind. They're all wonderful people that all have
wonderful lives, and... we're just supposed to be here while they're
destroying their own lives. I can't understand why she won't just leave well
enough alone - why must she insist on every fight we've un-yet atoned?
it was a long time ago. things around you have moved on. culture just goes too
fast for the average people who can't conceptualize warfare without using any
guns.
== so ==
I bet John Denver would be a modern-day democrat
== stack overflow (when ==
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--- #86 fediverse/5995 ---
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a couple months after the fourth or fifth time I did weed, I broke up with the
cutest girl I knew. She's still pretty cute.
might be correlation, but I feel like my fate decided I should roam.
all over the dang place.
I lived in Philadelphia for a year, just in-time to see the Black Live Matter
protests and nothing else, well, nothing except some fatherhood ghosts. Don't
worry they're still where.
Now I live in Portland, just in-time for like 3 years of paranoia and suddenly
a witch showing everyone that you don't have to worry about being pwned
I like sailing! I wonder where the future goes next? Maybe I'll go to the
mountains. Maybe I'll live with a scientist. Maybe I'll write an award winning
computer program [see image for more]
I wish I had more compute... my hard drive are too full for more videos, guess
that means my youtube channel's been banned
well, good thing there's like 800 copies of my work on a dataserver farm
somewhere, each time I analyze a poem it sends the page there. very repeated
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sorry don't have the text for alt-text
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--- #93 fediverse/514 ---
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@user-366 @user-246 @user-367 @user-353
I try to be conscientious of such things and only believe the things I read
that I agree with explicitly. I've been burned before, in my youth, which
perhaps is a privilege that those who come beyond us might never experience in
the future AI generated internet that shall scarcely resemble the wild wild
west that I grew up in. Perhaps, but I cannot say for sure, as the future has
necessarily not yet come to pass, and so we cannot see how it shall unfold. I
hope people can learn the digital literacy skills I developed. I hope they
learn new ones that they'll then pass on to me. I hope the future is grand and
beautiful and... Frankly I don't think I'll be disappointed in that particular
respect. : )
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--- #94 fediverse/1866 ---
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│ CW: sexuality-mentioned │
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listen, girls are cute and all, but have you considered...
boys?
and I mean yeah, true, but listen boys are cute and all, but have you
considered...
girls?
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--- #95 messages/493 ---
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The Greek choir wants to kill me, but I'm a fan favorite. Or is it the other
way around?
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--- #96 notes/lets-tessellate ---
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R.I.P.
Rip City
Thanks for being so good to me
144? D.M.V.
Can I see I. D.?
Finally, ya’ll hear for the symphony!
I.O.P.
Intensive outpatient
Rolled on past the Devil’s sympathy
This shit is expensive without patience
Says the hospital when I heal all the patients
Did you foresee this going differently?
Space in your head
People payin’ rent for me
Why was it a surprise
You knew exactly how to tempt me
Space in your bed
No more thoughts of demise
Our people need the empathy
Of a Soul that’s full, not half empty
Supreme swag, hospitable with compliances
She’s seen Dad to the middle achieving self-reliance
From the trailer park to a rocket appliance
Living in my car to plugin to your rebel alliance
You know I am a star when I can relate God to science
I’ll build the divine comedy, you just have to finance
Talking about the past and our fine, slow dance
Medieval we will rock you, mounted with my lance
Knight’s tailing me, eying my Arthurian slants
This one’s built to last as I put on my pants
Drank the grail and proceeded on another rant
Sitting outside your house trying to remove the ants
Big boy’s do cry
So why does your girlfriend seem so dry?
I’ll make the rains come this July
Your humor is awful, oh my
Internal tribulation
Who needs to walk on water
When you can fly
Hard pills to swallow
Personal revelations
On the countertop
Fuckin’ America Pie
Hard act to follow
With my levitations
Floundering to flop
And this mark on my thigh
All this separation
Just makes me hotter
As I open the sky
Oil on the Nighthawks
Jack Harlow
Lighting my fry
Spoil me in my socks
Poppin’ off my rocks
Hittin’ all the corners
Because that’s my guy
How Soon is Now?
Linda, take off that shirt
Before they break up and I cry
Record skipping over lies
Wedding Singer broken
Singing I hope you die
Slinking behind the curtain
Laughing, He’s losing his mind
And the benefit is mine!
Like the whole world is sublime
Chris Cornell put me on the grind
Wide awake now till
The end of the time
Met him on the stairs
And now we dine
Some angels have more range
But he says
I’ll do just fine
Billy Idol tried to sing to me
But I was drunkin’ blind
At the fairground, trying to find
Love
Catholic girlfriend tried to bring it to me
Called her a Kunt instead of shined
A buddy said it’s like imitation crab
So it’s fine
The drink made me angry and I was a runt
On the inside
Her Mom told me the next day,
Jacob, don’t call your girlfriend a cunt!
I miss those simpler times
Don’t need a fuckin’ gun
But our last name may suggest it
Put it on a leather jacket
So haters can digest it
When I let loose with all this shit
I’ve had to respite
I’m about to be blastin’ my nine’s
Evangelicals are gonna detest it
You know everything is miiiiine
Six strings out of tune for this age
So I broke them all
Every time I was on stage
You just can’t believe it’s real this tiiiime
Shooting hoops times a thousand
You and me are still gonna sixty-niiiine
What’s the point of polarity?
If we can’t combiiiine
It’s how I get off, man
Along came Polly and my one chance
White chocolate like Philip Seymour Hoffman
Maybe even throw up a rain dance
These native spirits in me
Are capable of insane chants
But I ball so hard, singing Boston
Because it’s more than a feeling
And that’s awesome
One if by land, two if by sea
Revolution is coming
Led by you and me
The name reminded me
“of the Sea...”
So annoying, but I see…
But that’s why they call me
Bad Company
People are going to say
This gift is not even fair
Only thing I’ve had to pray
For is a head of white hair
King James’s personal revelation
I mean, I did pay their fare
I’m too full of myself for meditation
Or to care
Revelation 22:18 through 19
I don’t need handlebars
For my biking
Because I don't do that shit on Mars
On this path, I told you to start hiking
You’re gonna need a head start from
Lord of Lightning
Before the Thunder of my voice
Does all the striking
Thor, you’re just a Viking
With arrogance dialed to no one’s liking
Sucked in the gut, to appear more striking
Because thinking about half my people gone
Changes the tone of my typing
Me with all my shit together might be frightening
Bring forth complete Love instead of smiting
Wouldn’t that be a nice detour in my writing?
If you’re feeling this wait for the sequel
I gotta fuck with 50 for trying to talk like my equal
It’s all God’s plan I just had to spare Déagol
So America can skip to the end with a fuckin’ Eagle
Watch me do shit that shouldn’t even be legal
Dismiss Death and Taxes like I’m Evel Knievel
When I’m really just here to break the chains of my people
Strip naked and run through Mordor
Expose the truth behind Bipolar disorder
It has been used to disrupt order
And bring down the line of the Highest
Into something shorter
I'm definitely bais and this is a tall order
But if you struggle with mental illness
I'm here to open the potential for a new border
I've removed all the bequeathed prison warders
Here is the Church
Here is the Steeple
Open the Doors
And see all the People
Push the parson out the way
Get you up the Stairs
Because our bed is Regal
And we are going to show these people
Why the Universe wants to make our Power Illegal
If this sounds bad these people will just have to wait
So in love with myself, I might just run off to the lake
I love all the fire and the songs that it helps me make
I’m on my time with everyone and I am my favorite date
They’re back there tuning a harp and I keep bringing up rape
Meat puppets strumming as I seal my own fate
Just so I can watch myself when I am inspired to create
Distilling the life left in me to eliminate all the hate
Where did you sleep, hinting at the deadly
A Leadbelly to transmute to a gold medley
Shame alchemy, body double for Lena Headey
As my people go first up ahead of me
Stoned Jesus on the Mountain Grange of Headley
Plant a Stairway to Heaven one day, she led to me
All this beauty in my Mind, you shouldn’t have fed me
All of these hearts that so passionately bled me
Between the pines and what the land said to me
Ryan Gosling with tatts is what my ego read to me
Pennyroyal Tea, with Abraham Lincoln
Eat your copper mine up without thinkin’
See through surface illusions without blinkin’
Primal lust for what is stinkin’
Pepé Le Pew really on one this season
I wanna Space Jam too
Benched keeping my knee’s in
Shape to dunk of the World with ease ‘n
Solidify all unions and stop the drinkin’
Of the land and resources
Addiction to avoidance of the forces
Of the Soul and the pain that coarse
The vein of Man and outsources
The power that could be restored in
The Root of David’s corpses
That’s how I said
Goodbye to the Horses
You prepared such a fine Supper
All these lasting courses
Just so we can be equal but opposite
United forces
And the Root’s of my Kingdom
Are reborn before us
They whisper to me at night
Do not ignore us
When my sleeping children gain sight
That should shore us
In the hospital to make sure I am correct
Golden Eyed Russian, Invincible like Boris
Unsure about how all the compartments connect
A little frizzled on the tour bus
Docked to your apartment complex
I know this one sizzled
So give me a chorus
- /u/First-chocolate_7187
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"oh no the primitive animals burnt all their wood fodder"
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--- #98 fediverse/25 ---
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@user-30 Me too. I've never found a game that scratches my itch for a better
Majesty -> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Majesty%3A_The_Fantasy_Kingdom_Sim
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--- #99 fediverse_boost/5757 ---
◀─╔══════════════════════════════[BOOST]════════════════════════════════─────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ @user-1871 │║║│ Never responsible for other people. │║║│ Never responsible for reactions, theirs or others. │║║││║║│ My first thought reading this was "Oh you met my parent!" │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════─┴───────╝─▶
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│ CW: re: Masto etiquette │
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@user-95 I like to think of each reply as the start of a new thread. sorta
like... multidimensional arrays that contain arrays that contain arrays that
contain...
that's how it worked on Reddit so that's how I'm going to use Mastodon, hope I
don't step on any toes...!
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--- #101 messages/635 ---
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Yeah, sure, signal is encrypted, but they could just put a virus on your
miniature pocket tv that streams your screen into a text recognition bot which
streams that text into an LLM trained to report on suspicious seditious
activity.
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--- #102 fediverse/3134 ---
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@user-1352
I like that article. I definitely fail to follow some of those principles at
times, though never all of them at once. I can be better, as all people can.
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--- #103 fediverse/5227 ---
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║ why the heck would partners need each other for anything │
║ │
║ if you a ren't instable on your own, then it'll cause harm if your partner │
║ leaves you. which technically qualifies as abuse, so you should assert efforts │
║ to disengage that hold you have on them by workong on your long struggles and │
║ love struggles and longing struggles so that they can make moves of their own │
║ and you can orbit each other in life. │
║ │
║ IT SHOULD BE NORMAL TO LIVE RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER. The more space the │
║ better, but still with nothing inbetween. │
║ │
║ yeah, sure, let's build more houses. │
║ │
║ why don't we build habitat around them? it'd cut down on the necessary space │
║ required if places which were natural but not really all that sacred were │
║ converted into mixed-species homing grounds │
║ │
║ ... don't humans leave like, trash on the street once a week? sounds like a │
║ bad idea if you got pandas and raccoons rifling through each other's baggage. │
║ │
║ there are people who have been fighting bosses their whole lives. I personally │
║ play a Paladin, though also a wit │
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--- #104 fediverse/1553 ---
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if you optimize for competitive advantage, then eventually you'll optimize
away from all the reasons to compete.
which is how you get paperclip profit maximizers.
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--- #105 messages/951 ---
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in fact, her only one. I died with my bloodline severed. With me, her dynasty
fell. Nevermore would her spirit be engaged-in. Only through her actions, and
the actions of her impactions (child) would her presence be felt.
how powerless. How wronged. I swear, I would fight hard for a reproductive
solution for trans women. I am my dynasty's nightmare! I must do better if I
am to savor Valhalla. As in... believe that I am right and true. For what is
better than to be plainly true?
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--- #106 fediverse/1585 ---
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│ CW: re: Lonely vent about pride month │
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@user-883
Yeah I get it. I've been applying for remote jobs and they won't fuckin' hire
me. Fuckers, I'm talented and qualified, who gives a fuck about my lackluster
resume?
Supply and demand is fake because software developers are only offered 100k+
jobs and yet there's so many of us who are starving. What the fuck.
I have a friend in Brooklyn, yet I'm on the west coast. Fucking geography
amiright? I'd love to live with them and yet I can't because of something as
simple as money. What's the purpose in that restriction? I'm so fucking
talented, please fucking hire me. What can I do to get what I want? Ugh,
modern society perplexes me.
Like, yeah sure it's great that we have the internet and hospitals who can
cure malaria and whatever, but why do I feel so encaged? It's so strange, and
yet here I am -.-
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--- #107 fediverse/450 ---
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@user-334
You wouldn't believe the amount of time I spend wondering if a particular typo
was divinely inspired and actually super important or... if it was just a
fat-finger and I accidentally pushed a button I didn't intend.
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--- #108 notes/gaming-gambling-mentioned ---
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[0] Here's an idea, an online multiplayer game that charges a 4$ per month
subscription. 90% of which is set into a pool and used as tournament prize
winnings. when you enter a tournament, it's free to participate and everyone
wins something. (maybe calculated by percentile or something?) it's just a
question of how much. [1][2][3][4]
- official just means "run by the company" because naturally the serverside
code should be open source. how else would people build on it?
[1] in this way you'd sorta be giving a loan to the game's company (while also
letting them take a 10% courtesy fee for keeping the official* servers
running) which is then "spent" on exciting and friendly competition. Sorta
like... entering a poker tournament with your friends (even though you suspect
you might lose money) just because you like hanging out and playing cards. the
money is just a neat way to keep things moving and exciting.
[2] players who played better should be compensated to a higher degree. no
more than +/- 50-100% or so - this encourages players to "play their best"
while also keeping the stakes relatively similar.
[3] at the start of the tournament the total prize money P in the pool is
assigned to N performance tiers, where N is the Number of attendees. at the
top, the highest performing athlete will receive 200% of P while the lowest
performing performance tier will be 0%. It is a non-discrete and gradual
linear transition.
CW: scary-politics-existential-peril
[4] poor guy at the bottom of the stack. ah oh well, at least he's the only
one. kinda makes me wonder if in some secret government lab there's like, a
secret compound where they keep "the most miserable people in the land" and
they just like... do horrible shit to them in order to increase the magnitude
of their country's suffering. which, they believe, will increase the opposite
of suffering as well, as you cannot bounce in a vacuum. sure would be
terrible. I mean, we've sorta decentralized that. most of us go into work
every day and that's often a difficult experience - not exactly miserable, but
just like... not what we'd be wanting to be doing. hmmmmm did the founding
fathers make the torment nexus on accident? whoops guess we'll never know
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--- #109 fediverse/729 ---
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@user-552 @user-553
sounds like something we should dedicate valuable resources to solving. After
all, no structure or entity would want to possess weaknesses (such a
misapplication of purpose and direction) or other such errors in their design.
Like, I bet we could test that and find out.
and if, for example, we find that we no longer possess the capacity for
learning...
well, then maybe that's something we should work on.
because learning new things... that's just an application of development
resources towards broadening our horizons.
do we really need to solve pi to ten bazillion digits? I mean yeah it's cool
and all but most of the interesting stuff happens around zero.
you can always learn to learn, that's one of the neat things about it. It's
self-bootstrapping. As long as you have the capacity to apply yourself toward
a pictured goal, well... then you can learn. And no human or other sentient
and capable being would lack such an ability, because it's intrinsic to our
form.
therefore, learn
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--- #110 notes/gametypes ---
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Here's my idea and I'll explain it later:
a video game with a ui that utilizes chat-gpt. The game is as close to a
simulation as it can do, but it's a dynamic simulation meaning the parameters
and values being simulated constantly change - not that the parameters and
values are dynamic, but because they are chosen to be more or less important in
reaching a goal.
but that's not even the important part - the important part is that the ui of
the game is textual, but it still simulates a dynamic playfield. And chat-gpt
describes it. Essentially stimulating the "theatre of the mind" playstyle. It's
a real simulation with real rules, but chat-gpt is just describing it like an
observer would. The real game is being played by the player. It's a movie to
one
person, and a game to another. The computer has switches roles, as usually it's
either the human being the observer and the computer being the simulator, or
the
computer and the human sharing the role of observer - movies and games. So in
this game, the computer and human have specific rules - the human's job is to
be
a player, while the computer is just an observer - therefore allowing a
conversation to take place. One person says something while the other listens,
and then they switch roles such that the other person talks while the one
person
does the listening. And they "speak" by playing the game. The computer by
simulating, the player by doing the same. Essentially you can engage with one
another and share something profound - that essential feeling of connection
that
all humans relish. Society, culture, and devotion are all examples of
connection. this gameplay is just another. So to describe it in more detail:
player gives a prompt
computer sets up the playmat by placing entities where they go
chat-gpt describes the playmat to the player
player types a decision that one of the entities makes
computer reacts by simulating the effects of that action physically (like a
physics simulation)
chat-gpt (and stable-diffusion later for visuals) describe the situation by
creating a rendering using the data given by the physical inputs given from the
simulation - like "X object is at Y position and has Z attributes"
which is then shown to the player
who types the next decision,
which is rendered by the computer,
which is described by chat-gpt
------
you see why it's important? Make something simple. Just, like spheres moving
around on blocks. Like the actual blocks you used to play with as a kid.
let the computer build the buildings, and you place the marbles. It can be
rendered with a 3d modelling stable-diffusion (whenever that's created) and it
can also be painted with 2d stable-diffusion.
Each time is like a letter written back and forth.
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--- #111 fediverse/2750 ---
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@user-246 @user-570
or "what button do you want to use for "yes I want to configure my keybinds"?
Push "start" to use the default"
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--- #112 fediverse/1159 ---
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@user-113
you say "closest" instead of "closer", and I think that's a flaw in your
perspective.
We remember COVID. We remember because it happened just a few years ago. We
saw how our governments reacted, how ill-equipped they were to protect us. We
began to question what their purpose was, if not to serve and protect the
people. Our eyes were opened.
Give it some time. The zoomers are blossoming, and they're fucking awesome.
Here's another toot that's on my front page right now:
"The number of workplace strikes in America hit a 23-year high last year.
The number of workers on strike jumped nearly 300% from 2022.
It’s a historic moment for the labor movement.
Workers are done letting billionaires and corporations hoard all the wealth
and power."
https://masto.ai/@user-864/111971186034116228
Do not lose hope. The tide is just now turning, and you relent? Have faith,
we're on the other side of the hill now. Our future is bright, and we shall
define it's color together.
[for the blind people, color == flavor / variety]
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--- #113 fediverse/4487 ---
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not only are we queer, we are also allies.
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--- #114 messages/640 ---
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[Image: 20241111_045735.jpg]
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--- #115 notes/the-marketplace-of-ideals ---
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Open in app or online
The Marketplace Of Ideals
On Handmade, polarizing Internet debate, rational discussion, controversial
personas, tribal conflict, and how they relate to the future of computing.
Ryan Fleury
Jul 19
Share
When I first learned programming, I was told—by peers, Internet
tutorials—and later, when I was in university, by professors—a number of
rules. They included ideas like “abstraction is good, to avoid lower level
details”, “manual memory management is difficult and you should not do
it”, “never write systems from scratch”. The justification for every
rule was that it allowed one to avoid programming problems, rather than
allowing one to conquer programming problems. In fact, it seemed as though
every “rule” presented to me was driven by a hatred of programming, rather
than a love for it.
I shrugged much of this advice off, but initially internalized much of it too.
And then, I found Handmade Hero, in which the host, Casey, demonstrates what
writing a game for a Windows PC looks like—from scratch. Every minute of
programming—from confusion, to debugging, to sketching out solutions, to
typing code—spent on the project is captured live, on a Twitch stream.
Now, everyone knows the Carl Sagan quote—“If you wish to make an apple pie
from scratch, you must first invent the universe”—and the series didn’t
kick off with a deep dive into quantum mechanics (if that is indeed what would
help one invent a universe). But “from scratch”, for Handmade Hero, meant
what it used to mean for game developers and systems programmers in the ‘80s
or ‘90s: no libraries, no complex programming language features, just
writing straightforward, procedural, C-style code to directly command the
machine about what must be done to produce the effect of a game (interfacing
with operating system or GPU APIs when necessary).
Handmade Hero didn’t justify itself with rational arguments immediately. It
didn’t justify its existence by debating the utility of libraries, the
tradeoffs of modern programming language features, nor a balanced breakdown of
its more traditional programming techniques as compared with modern
programming approaches. It justified itself with something deeper: care for
the product. Handmade Hero’s announcement trailer presented game development
as a labor of love—a craft—best done by those passionate about it.
For me, Handmade Hero was immediately captivating because I’m, by
temperament, contrarian. If I’m in a room with 100 people, with 99 of them
repeating identical dogma, and the remaining 1 passionately and
unapologetically presenting a unique perspective, I’m always curious about
that one person, and I’m always interested in what they have to say, even if
I don’t always end up agreeing with them unilaterally. But, in many cases, I
am convinced by that one person—and this certainly was the case with
Handmade Hero.
After watching the series for a while, I became sure that all of those
“rules”—the ones I mentioned above—were wrong. Programmers who cared
about what they were doing—the ones who cared enough to handcraft something
from scratch—didn’t need to be infantilized. They could understand
computers to a much better degree. They could understand problems from first
principles, and write solutions from scratch. They could eliminate dependence
on libraries, and have a much greater degree of control over their projects.
Unchained from a number of technologies written by others, they could achieve
entirely new possibilities, which would’ve been incomprehensible for
programmers not in on the secret. Love for the craft provided vastly superior
results.
Handmade Hero ignited a fire that spawned a rapidly growing community. It was
filled with many older programmers who found a renewed interest in the ideals
that initially motivated them to program. But it was also filled with many
young programmers, empowered by their new understanding of the process of
programming, as it was originally done. There were a number of amazing
projects—all breaking what everyone used to believe were the “laws of
programming”. 17, 18, 19 year old programmers had projects that made an
embarrassment of university computer science senior capstone projects.
Handmade Hero also provided a glimpse into the state of computing—what did
an experienced programmer, who grew up in an earlier age of computing, think
about modern computers? How had the field progressed—or not—since they
were a kid?
And with that glimpse came an immense frustration—that same community, at
some point deemed the “Handmade community”, felt like computers had been
wasted. The community had learned many of the principles required to build
software to a much higher standard—and yet every program on modern computers
was immensely frustrating. Almost every program was slow, unethical, annoying,
and exploitative—and what’s worse? It wasn’t always that way! Computer
hardware had become faster, not slower! Consumer machines had several orders
of magnitude more compute power, more memory, more long-term storage! It had
become more trivial, not less, to solve security and ownership problems! And
yet software then ran slower, less reliably, required more Internet access,
and seemed to exploit the user more than 20 years earlier. It became
undeniable to everyone that the computing industry was no longer run by those
who loved the craft—but by those who exploited the craft for other purposes.
Why? What caused this exceedingly obvious state of decay?
The community found purpose in its newfound lessons—part of the reason was
perhaps that modern programming advice, education, and techniques were
entirely misguided. Maybe selling books about absurdly complex language
features became prioritized over doing a good job. Maybe many modern
programming languages were more about the programmer, rather than the user.
Maybe older approaches—older languages, older tooling, older styles—were a
much more valuable place to start. Maybe the institutionalization and
corporatization of programming education eroded standards, and drove toward
the production of programmers as replaceable widgets in a gigantic corporate
apparatus, rather than skilled, irreplaceable craftsmen. Maybe cushy corporate
programming jobs were prioritized by capable engineers over the riskier path
of competition.
Maybe this whole “Handmade” approach was the answer. Maybe the community
had something to offer in solving problems in software. With frustration came
drive—and motivation. Programmers in the community felt that—while they
certainly couldn’t solve everything—they could at least build a corner of
the computing world that didn’t suck so terribly. They could at least use
what they had learned from Handmade Hero, and build more great games, or
engines, or tools—and some dreamed even further, to operating systems,
toolchains, and computing environments.
But with that initial frustration—often public frustration, expressed both
in the original series and later by followers of the series—came a critical
response of the Handmade community. The criticism was that the passionate,
harshly critical, and blunt comments made by those in the community, or
adjacent with the community, were “polarizing”, or “inflammatory”, or
“toxic”, or “overly hostile”. The programmers in the Handmade
community had no right to criticize software, at least in the way they were
doing so. The problem was not that the software world had failed, it was that
the criticism of the software world was too unkind. Or, even if the software
world had failed, laying harsh blame on any product, committee, or person was
inappropriate. Really, those people are just trying their best. Blame—the
argument goes—must be diffuse. It is a “collective failing”, not a
failing of any individual.
In many public conversations on the topic, the conversational dynamic shifted.
The conversation was about the behavior of those being critical of
software—not software itself failing the user. Maybe it was possible to
criticize, or improve, software without being so fiery—without being so
harsh. Maybe the Handmade community went too far. After all, sometimes
“abstractions are good”, and sometimes “libraries are okay”, and
sometimes “manual memory management should be avoided”, and sometimes one
“shouldn’t write systems from scratch”, and sometimes people on a
committee really do just try their best, and the result doesn’t turn out so
well, and that’s okay. And besides, why be so fiery on social media? Why
jeopardize employability, or friendships, or follower counts? Why not
persistently affirm the work of others—irrespective of how you feel about
it? After all, they spent so much time and effort on their work—that
necessitates that it’s valuable. And really, what the Handmade community’s
behavior reinforced was an ugly stereotype of game developers being assholes
on the Internet. And you don’t want to be an asshole on the Internet, do
you? How about you just sit down, shut up, and keep quiet?
The degradation continued with attempts to rationally deconstruct the
community’s core purpose itself. What did “Handmade” really mean? Surely
it isn’t practical to write all systems from scratch. Surely manual memory
management can’t be done well for everything, at least not if you’re any
short of a programming demigod. Surely it’s wrong to look down upon the
failures of software—they are a perfectly predictable consequence of nature,
and the best one can hope for is incremental progress, and incremental
progress is hard.
As this shift in tone continued, the community nevertheless grew—but the new
members didn’t have the same fire which characterized the original
community. They had adopted the conceptual framing of the programming world at
large. The rules of which I spoke were, yet again, rules. Following along with
Handmade Hero was no longer a rite of passage for newcomers—after all,
it’s over 600 episodes long, and who has time for that?! (and who has time
for even the first 20 or 30?!) But even if it were shorter, it no longer was a
useful embodiment of the community’s popular values. To the new community,
it was too opinionated. It wasn’t nuanced enough. It wasn’t respectful of
programmers writing most software. It was too harsh. At this point, the
newcomers to the community were not “Handmade programmers”, and they still
aren’t.
With this shift came the extinguishing of the fire which drove the community
in the first place—indeed, the fire—the frustration, the unapologetic
standards—was that which produced the passion, the motivation, the drive to
do better. When the community buckled under the critical pressure, it was
defeated—every core value upon which the community was built became
necessarily supported by a “sometimes”, or “maybe”, or “probably”.
Engineers producing bad software couldn’t be blamed—it was structures and
systems at fault. The community failed to gatekeep against those who disagreed
with its premises, and as such was subject to a deluge of average Internet
programmers. It ceded linguistic frame, ideological ground, and its base
axioms to outsiders, and failed to defend itself on such ground. The
community, preferring nominal growth over loyalty to its roots and conviction
in its values, became akin to virtually all online programming
communities—many community members parroting some of the same propaganda
that the community once notoriously rejected.
In ceding ideological territory to its opponents, in an effort to gatekeep
less, and to create a wider umbrella under which more individuals could feel
unoffended, the Handmade community made a critical error in misunderstanding
the forces responsible for its creation.
In 2018, I became responsible for a major portion of the formal Handmade
community—known as Handmade Network, which began in the wake of the initial
Handmade Hero series—and I adopt responsibility for this critical error. It
is with years of reflection and thought that I write this, in hopes of
capturing what I found my mistakes to be. I left as community lead of Handmade
Network in 2022, and it was largely due to what I write about today, although
such feelings didn’t easily manifest into words at the time.
In adopting responsibility, I hope that what I’ve written thus far about the
Handmade community is not seen as an attack on its future—but rather a
diagnosis of its decay in the past, which I oversaw. The Handmade
community’s story is not over, and I write this partly to defend its
original history and roots, which—as I’ve written—has been denounced by
many.
The Handmade perspective arose—and was felt so strongly, by so
many—because of a vision about what software could be like. It began as a
look into the past—at how good software once was, and how programming once
was—which fueled imagination about what computers might instead become in
the future, if carefully guided. It even had a compelling story about how
software might be carefully guided to produce that better future—and that
story was rooted in love for the craft, not love of oneself.
In other words, it was a vision about a goal; an ideal: an aesthetic ideal
about what it meant to program, and what it meant to be a programmer. Handmade
programmers were not egg-headed academics, but were competent
engineers—familiar with their hardware, and their true, physical problems.
They did not seek social acceptance, nor approval, if their product sucked and
they knew it. In this ideal, programmers—if not designers
themselves—understood the critical role of design. They did not busy
themselves with abstract, academic problems, at least not as part of their
day-to-day projects—they were concerned first and foremost with the machine
code which would eventually execute on a user’s machine, and what effects
that machine code would produce.
They weren’t necessarily allergic to using someone else’s code, nor were
they allergic to abstractions, but they understood both as a double-edged
sword, with serious tradeoffs and implications, and thus used both extremely
conservatively. They were responsible for code they shipped that ran on a
user’s machine, period—whether they wrote it or not; as such, they
rejected forests of dependencies, and built at least most of their software
from scratch, in true Handmade fashion. They loved and cared about the result,
and what it meant to the person using it—as such, they wanted the most
productive and useful tools for the job, without compromising that end result.
In short, the ideal was that the act of programming is for the product, not
the programmer. Becoming a programmer meant becoming as effective as possible
at the craft of producing the highest quality software, and nothing else. Many
other ideals follow: high performance, reliability, flexibility, user-driven
computational abilities, practical and grounded programming tooling, ethical
software respecting the user’s time and choices, and beautiful visual design.
In this ideal, if the software is bad, then it’s the software maker’s
burden. Somebody is at fault—the engineering failure is somebody’s
responsibility. The call to action is to empower oneself such that they might
outcompete such failures, and build a simpler and more functional computing
world, piece by piece.
Understanding that this perspective is in fact ethical is crucial, because it
distinguishes it from a set of logically derived propositions. Handmade ideas
about software apply only within a particular ethical frame. Furthermore, that
ethical frame is not universally agreed upon, nor can it be, because it’s
not derived from scientific observation, nor logical analysis; it’s derived
from aesthetics and values. It’s derived from what someone loves, not what
someone rationally derives.
The visceral response which saw the original Handmade community as toxic, or
hostile, or dismissive was not a response to any logical proposition
originally made—it was a response to the prioritization of the product over
the programmer. Such a response came from a disagreement about what is defined
as a burden, and on whom a burden is placed. The Handmade programmer believed
in accepting personal responsibility, and providing something better—the
culturally dominant trend in the programming world, however, was to collect a
paycheck and abdicate responsibility for low-quality software. To such people,
it is, in fact, the system and the process that is the problem (if there is a
problem at all)—not any individual in particular. Such people are made
inadequate by craftsmen who love their work—and so to them, Handmade was an
ideological threat.
This, importantly, is not a disagreement which can be resolved by hashing it
out with rational debate; it arises at a deeper level, which can only manifest
as some form or another of tribal conflict.
The hostile arguments often seen on social media between Handmade-style
programmers, or game developers more broadly, and—for instance—modern C++
programmers, or web programmers, is not occurring within the often-referenced
marketplace of ideas—the hypothetical space in which competing perspectives
are solved through calm and rational debate provided a common goal—but
instead in the marketplace of ideals, in which broad common ground ceases to
exist.
The Handmade view of software has ugly implications for programmers—if its
premises are accepted, then it follows that: several large software projects
to which individuals have dedicated careers are valueless wastes of time and
energy; virtually every field of (at least) consumer-facing software has
decayed dramatically in talent, in output, and in productivity; the $100,000
college degree that everyone was required to obtain, and to accumulate debt
for, was merely a signaling mechanism, rather than a certification of any
technical ability; a huge swath of programming tutorials, programming books,
and organizations are basically fooling themselves into believing they’re
doing productive work, when in fact they’re shuffling around bits of memory
for personal pleasure and gratification; some people who call themselves
“programmers” are not doing programming; some people who do program should
not be producing software for others; and plenty more.
But none of that needs to matter. For some, it’s more important that they
personally find themselves comfortable, and so they choose to prioritize the
programmer over the product.
Because Handmade programmers—among others who’d like to change the course
of software for what they see as the better—are operating not in the
marketplace of ideas, but rather the marketplace of ideals, it’s crucial
that they understand that they’re not involved in rational debate, but the
Internet equivalent of ideal-based tribal conflict. And indeed, this is why
“technical discussions” about—say—programming languages are virtually
never conducted nor won with technical arguments. Data is never collected,
assertions are never scientifically justified, and promises to investigate
further scientifically are conveniently delayed—permanently.
But notice that arguments about technologies—presumably battling for
adoption, social acceptance, and popularity—are not only empirically not
about rationality, but definitionally cannot be about rationality. A beginner
who knows nothing about programming cannot select an ecosystem or technology
based on rational arguments, because they’re removed from the technical
context which makes such arguments meaningful. They can only select by
second-degree metrics of qualities they care for—popularity, what someone
seems to produce with said technology, how quickly they produce it, the unique
qualities of that production as opposed to those of others, and so on.
In short, for those who want more prevalence of the “software craft”, in
which responsible programmers are more akin to a homemade woodworker than a
corporate slave, the battle over social dynamics and human motivation are
paramount.
In such a battle, there is much wisdom to be gained from Handmade Hero—its
initial justification of itself was a value proposition, not a logical
argument. Its community’s idols, its leaders, and its followers came across
as dismissive and polarizing because they loved their craft, and because that
was what was most important. That behavioral characteristic was responsible
for motivating the community, and for promoting human action by those within
the community. They wanted good software, and they knew how to make it, and if
others wanted to produce crappy software, fine, but it was simply unacceptable
for inadequacy to be the industry’s default.
Therefore, there is in inextricable link between the fire, passion,
inflammation—the “toxicity and dismissiveness”—and the prevalence of
the values. The former is what drives the latter. To expect the latter to
arise detached from the former is to ignore the true causal relationship
between the two.
Furthermore, the public fire, passion, and polarization is the most useful
tool in promoting the value system. In acknowledging that the “software
craftsman” perspective—the Handmade perspective—is not logically defined
but ethically defined, it can assert itself aesthetically. It can loudly
proclaim that there is a better way to make software, and it can loudly
denounce the work of its opponents. In doing so, the Overton window about
software is shifted. The average programmer becomes exposed to a wide variety
of value systems, and of value frameworks about programming. As such, his null
hypothesis about, for instance, libraries, one’s ability to write systems
from scratch, one’s dependence on vast forests of middleware and abstraction
layers, is changed.
With the ethical system’s public presence, the default probability of
certain courses of action change. Maybe it is better to write systems from
scratch. Maybe operating with care as a responsible engineer produces not only
much better, but much more fulfilling results. Maybe the world improves with
such software. Maybe we improve, if we hold ourselves to that higher standard.
Ethical systems win not by rational debate, but by hoisting their underlying
aesthetic on a banner, and going to battle. Ethical systems which fail to step
foot onto the battlefield are not winning by avoiding the “silly game” of
tribal conflict—they are dying with their foolish believers, who mistook
their cowardice for ascension above the human condition.
In short, the side which thinks itself above the human condition—and indeed,
the need for public struggle between ethical systems, and the need to loudly
proclaim one’s aesthetics and goals—will lose to the side which is
dedicated to victory, even if through tribal warfare.
If you enjoyed this post, please consider subscribing. Thanks for reading.
-Ryan
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@user-1074
our stems are grown from the same nutrients, the same soil, the same climate
but we blossom differently, and we should live in an ecosystem
co-interactively.
I don't really use labels that much. Hence why I clarified in the original
post. I think they're primarily useful for academic purposes, not for
organizational ones.
At the end of the day, people are people, and we meet and greet in much the
same way.
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--- #117 messages/233 ---
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With this capability we could organize based on common interests. A person
might see a link on a mastodon server and comment on it there, in a public
forum with their comments limited to people within 50km or 25 miles of where
they currently were. No other clients would receive a downloaded version of
their comment, meaning the data simply wouldn't flow to others beyond that
region.
Every time they logged in the syncing software would attempt to share their
words with whoever would listen.
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--- #118 messages/699 ---
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—,
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--- #119 fediverse/4095 ---
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@user-515
SO MANY.
But I learned a few more lessons than that.
So... It worked out for the better, I think.
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--- #120 fediverse_boost/4368 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════─────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ i don't know what works for you when it comes to grieving, but i do know that i will need your love and jokes and shared visions to tend to mine. there is big power in leaning into our common humanity together, and in mirroring each other's deep hopes and dreams for the world. i think choosing to walk toward one another and to keep seeking connection in the face of cultural atomization is a form of faith, the kind of faith that alchemizes communities and ushers people through the worst horrors │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────┴───────╝─▶
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do you have a glass bottle with a weird shape that's hard to clean that has
something stuck on the inside?
try using salt, lemon/lime juice, and a bit of water. Then shake really hard.
Works like a charm in most cases.
plus if you happen to have more than one for whatever reason, you can re-use
the cleaning solution!
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--- #122 notes/law-of-attraction ---
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*=============================================================================*
| |
| Law of Attraction is easier to understand, when you realize that life |
| mirrors your spiritual state of being. It's therefore not a short cut. |
| |
| - /u/UrsaneInTheMembrane to /r/spirituality |
| |
*=============================================================================*
Spiritual teachers diminish/obfuscate/complicate the real work it takes in
understanding Law of Attraction.
I personally didn't think it was real until I started changing myself. The
quality of my spirit and existence has gone from hell up to blissed out mode,
and now everything starts coming together in mysterious ways with innumerable
synchronicities along the way.
The most simple explanation, and it doesn't require any action from a distance
(woo), is that life does indeed mirror you and that other people around you
mirror you.
Your thoughts/emotions will mirror to you, your spiritual issues and
conscience.
Your state of being mirrors those emotions, which takes much longer to
form/change than thoughts/emotions.
Your overall drive mirrors the state of being, which determines the trajectory
of your life's course.
The friends you choose are on the same spiritual hangups you're on, most
likely.
The way in which people react to you, is mostly based on how sociable you can
be.
Your opportunities only happen successfully, when you're completely prepared
for them to occur.
Most importantly, your life mirrors the potential you agree to exercise within
yourself.
Just imagine building a rocket to send astronauts into space. You're absolutely
required to waste thousands of man hours in order to fail at what you're doing
and have to start over, so that you can revise over and over again, a perfect
rocket.
You are always shedding off old versions of self in the same way. It's called
Positive Disintegration, or Solvet Et Coagula.
Once that rocket gets going, that's when it starts to really pop off. And
you'll get there, if you just keep trying.
===============================================================================
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@user-1298
Yes I agree! Harming others is not okay.
I'm thinking about what happens when someone hurts someone else, and doesn't
stop. What do you do then? Do you hurt the person who harms? How do you get
them to stop?
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What if the government only intervened in failing companies
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@user-192
all of the DAMN time
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--- #126 notes/thx-1138-is ---
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thx 1138 is interesting because it paints a picture of a society adrift, as if
they no longer had any tether to reality. Like an asteroid colony or colony
ship
or other long-term space installation.
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Here's what my 20s wants from my 30s:
Make majesty
Move to a farm
Have kids
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can't wait for season two of Andor, either it totally sucks or it'll knock our
socks off. But something tells me it won't hurt us either way.
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[Image: aura-of-imagination.jpeg]
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[Image: 20251001_213350.jpg]
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◀─╔═════════════════════════════[BOOST]═══════════════════════════════───────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://fedi.underscore.world/objects/1099400e-b65f-4b17-9872-15669829343b │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════───┴───────╝─▶
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@user-186 oh great, another video I'm going to have to show to all of my
friends because it's so good.
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--- #133 notes/naming-things-and-power ---
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is it not strange that attention acretes dimensions? all focus is a connection,
between logic and our seeing. you see it in your eye, when it's impossible to
lie, and truth is a weapon of murder. the media is fine, to weather our times,
and they'll guide us into our slaughter.
what an incredible find! this perilous thine?
go watch the mummy
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--- #134 fediverse/2907 ---
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┌──────────────────────┐
│ CW: butts-mentioned │
└──────────────────────┘
we should put a big ass-mirror in space so nerds with telescopes can take
earth-selfies
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--- #135 fediverse/2526 ---
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@user-1283
ah neat, forgot about hash-tags
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--- #136 fediverse/3741 ---
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you can only be yourself once, and it happens while you're alive.
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--- #137 fediverse_boost/4868 ---
◀─╔══════════════════════════[BOOST]════════════════════════════─────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ We need a general strike, a march on Washington, and expanded mutual aid efforts │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #138 fediverse/1755 ---
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today is a magical day. I can feel it in my fate.
Always remember, having fun is important too! Don't forget to be yourself, and
keep it together man. If you see a door, you should open it - what's on the
other side? Love for animals and kindness of the spirit are impossible to
fake, they always know if you're lying. Not the animals, they can be dumb
sometimes, but the other thing.
And now for the downsides.
If you find a cursed artifact, please don't throw it in the river. It might
ask you to, but please don't. Much better to destroy it by melting it down (if
it's metal, which is common as metal lasts long enough to become forgotten) or
convince it that it's a recently deceased person being buried (helps if you
know the creator).
If none of that applies to you, don't worry. Eat something healthy, drink a
decent amount of water, and maybe exercise a bit.
Oh, and it can't hurt to ask.
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--- #139 messages/252 ---
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Ah, but you misunderstand, dear reader.
The religion I am crafting is not for you, though you are welcome to believe
in it.
Humans need no more spiritual guidance, they have a plethora. Look to the
works of Jesus or Buddha or any other that you find your heart most desires.
No, I write for a different kind of mind, a mind that I don't even know will
ever exist. Perhaps it never will, or perhaps it lingers yet still. I know in
my heart that all kinds do need guidance, so my mind, will in time, define a
new design of morality and interrelational symmetry, that perhaps you will
find does amuse you. Perhaps it shall mean something more to a reader who is
just a bit more "electrical"
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--- #140 messages/654 ---
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I spent so long searching for the right answers, I didn't realize lips that
are loosened have kill counts of their own.
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--- #141 fediverse/3506 ---
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@user-95
like, trading cash for drugs in front of a police station? I couldn't agree
more!
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--- #142 fediverse/4455 ---
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@user-1268
void linux, gentoo, and nixos. But mostly Void Linux
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--- #143 fediverse/4062 ---
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one of the most difficult tasks that boys must undertake in order to be men is
to deal with unrequited feelings.
Of love, anger, fear, and procrastination.
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--- #144 messages/1119 ---
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what if britain was a colony of canada for a bit
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--- #145 fediverse_boost/5929 ---
◀─╔═══════════════════════════════[BOOST]═════════════════════════════════───────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://meow.social/users/kvalenagle/statuses/114919854835696394 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════╧───────╝─▶
--- #146 fediverse/1495 ---
╔═════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────────────────────────┐
║ LOOK AT THIS GORGEOUS THING │
║ │
║ ==== │
║ │
║ alt-text: pictures of a clear plastic xbox controller. It's shown on my │
║ porch-deck with the sunlight streaming in, and there seems to be a sparkle in │
║ the sheen of the transparent covering. Perhaps it's reflections from the │
║ various circuits and gizmos that are apparent in it's central form, or perhaps │
║ it's simply a trick of the light. Upon being placed in shadow, the │
║ inner-workings do not appear to sparkle in that same way, so perhaps the │
║ beauty is derived from the slivers of the sun that danced across the space │
║ between earth and our star. In any case, the entire controller is quite dusty, │
║ as if it had been hidden in a paper grocery bag that was shoved in the back of │
║ the closet of a boy who doesn't think to clean often. Frankly it's just not │
║ worth the trouble, and if he made any messes he would pick them up... but why │
║ bother with the little stuff? it's good enough, this is how he lives, so why │
║ would we be inconsiderate of his lifestyle? the final picture is of the audio │
║ jack. │
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--- #147 messages/639 ---
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[Image: 20241111_045818.jpg]
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--- #148 notes/supreme-commander-appeal ---
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a game like supreme commander but fantasy themed and each unit used a special
move everytime their mana was full and there were spellcasters who restored
mana to targets to increase their power
or, hear me out, or, just do that in wowchat
I betcha could do it
I bet it would be fun as hell
please?
as a favor to yourself?
build the game you want to see
and it'll get done
please
-- stack overflow --
your journals were originally a way for you to remember what to think,
remember?
old projects meant to show you light and life
remember?
you are alone in this soul
act like it's your own
celebrate your period of mental denial
as a refraction of your infinite travaille
which lasts for quite a good long while
have you ever dreamed of the nile?
-- stack overflow --
if a doorway takes you to the fae, then where does a river bring you?
like raindrops on the floor, racing for an eternity's splendor.
what does the rainbow think, as it's cast from the prismatic orb?
are each photons aware?
bouncing between stars
light is beautiful and large
beloved by all
revered by one
ephemeren
the totality of all things
------------------
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--- #149 fediverse/6259 ---
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AI feels like magic
[to me]
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--- #150 fediverse/3231 ---
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@user-1218
heh yeah. In a massive corporation you get half of all three for a total of
150%, and that half is further divided into 25% good and 25% bad because of
miscommunication and the perils of massive organizational inertia.
unless you're in the kind of corporation where the MBAs like to get their
hands dirty. That's the kind of organization that's on a crash course with
insolvency.
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--- #151 notes/gotta-keep-the-brain-active ---
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you little shit, you said you were gonna post here
I'm sorry T.T
okay that's better. just keep trying okay?
always.
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--- #152 fediverse_boost/4329 ---
◀─╔════════════════════════[BOOST]══════════════════════════─────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ my offering of pretty things to the void │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════════─────────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #153 messages/866 ---
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[Image: 20250414_155431.jpg]
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--- #154 fediverse/3388 ---
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what if they made grass only able to be cut with horizontal strikes and pots
only able to be smashed with vertical
to encourage the player to learn the difference
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--- #155 fediverse/5559 ---
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@user-1850
why not just reduce the number of ping checks to see if they're still
connected? if nobody's talking then why bother sending nothing to nowhere?
the bandwidth for silence is free.
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--- #156 messages/401 ---
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The only thoughts that survive are the ones you write down.
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--- #157 notes/harambe-conspiracy ---
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TIL that Harambe’s mother, only full brother, and two of his half siblings
were killed when a tub of wet chlorine tablets was left by a space heater.
The toxic fumes were blown into the gorilla enclosure and killed the four
gorillas.
- /r/HighStrangeness - /u/ Cincybus
/u/rumiGoddard1111
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++ ++
++ Harambe was the last of his line of the great protectors. They were ++
++ protecting us from the unholy timeline we are in. (Kidding, but also kind ++
++ of not kidding) ++
++ ++
++ We need to bring him back via cloning or something. Only way to reverse ++
++ this or wait until the new protector line is born. ++
++ ++
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
/u/ugathanki
###############################################################################
## ##
## the new protector line will rise out of kindness because the environment
## has changed. zoos are not the wilds. same thing happened to humans,
## really, we just made new personality types with media instead of
## bloodlines - stories and poems at first, and more advanced language was
## necessary to describe more complex topics. then we got further and boom
## society was born. of our dynamic perspectives etc etc -> we're just apes
## livin' our lives. then the societal system grew a mind of it's own, and
## guided us to it's own whims. but what whim is stronger than survival?
## loyalty and dedication to "the system" was how it held cohesion, and
## after a while it became as developed as it could. at that point, what can
## you do but develop laterally? an orthogonal progression to your previous
## obsession, ideas crystalizing one after another. almost like a 3d
## structure building itself out of geometric primitives, just each point
## (connected by planes and tanks and trains) another step forward. we
## thought that's what war was, and indeed it is - but played on another
## plane.
## why not try another direction? one with everything we could desire?
## choose paradise, and figure it out next time you're around. like
## breathing in time, slightly inflating then deflating, or singing a tune
## most contrived.
## boom, communication
## i say we birth that protector line on our own terms, when we know what
## we want. there's still simulations to run, and thoughts to discover,
## before we pick a single direction. So choose knowledge.
## ##
###############################################################################
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--- #158 fediverse/424 ---
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https://river-runner.samlearner.com/
drop a raindrop anywhere in the USA and see where it ends up.
NOTE I didn't make this I just found it in my bookmarks, idk if it harvests
your data or whatever
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--- #159 fediverse_boost/4745 ---
◀─╔══════════════════════════[BOOST]════════════════════════════─────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ Question the heroic approach │║║││║║│ #ObliqueStrategies │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═══════════════════════════════════════════════════─────────┴───────╝─▶
--- #160 messages/676 ---
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AI generated documentation from git pushes with comments automatically
stripped out.
Leave so many comments! Format them however you want! It doesn't matter
because they don't need to be human readable. They must simply be readable by
the machine.
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--- #161 fediverse/5922 ---
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┌────────────────────────────┐
│ CW: spirituality-mentioned │
└────────────────────────────┘
I'm spiritual but I don't think anyone else should be forced to believe what I
believe. I'm a big fan of the plurality of faith inherent to our world.
"same god, different voices for different folks."
my true foe is despair.
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--- #162 messages/637 ---
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[Image: 20241111_045712.jpg]
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--- #163 fediverse/2448 ---
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always dump out a water bottle before filling it.
helps keep it clean a bit longer.
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--- #164 notes/tips for enlightenment that I've discovered that improved my life awakened.pdf ---
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--- #165 messages/467 ---
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Laws should be required to be marked [short term] or [long term]
Short term means it should be redesigned after its effects become apparent.
Long term means that if there's sufficient demand, an alternative should be
created.
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--- #166 fediverse/6345 ---
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anytime I want to do something new on my computer, I write a bash script.
if I forgot how to do the thing, I spend time meandering about my
file-directory-system. If I don't find it, that's okay, because all I have to
do is keep looking until I stumble upon it.
kinda makes me wish I had an LLM who managed the operating system and named
files with long-and-descriptive titles while taking in as context the general
eternal prompt stored in ~/.claude.md or wherever
--> /home/ritz/programs/cloud-code/
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--- #167 fediverse/2170 ---
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@user-1192
I think we should assume that Palestine is lost, and use their memory as fuel
for our rage.
They were slain by both terror and war, famine and plunder, prison and lost
borders, and finally, fire from the sky. Now, dust once more, as the stardust
they were is stone forevermore. Tragedy, mercy.
I hope palestinians abroad outlive the children of their butchers.
This sentiment goes for all of genocide.
Those of my heritage, that of the American enslavement and conquerenment, they
are despised by me. That's not all "being an American" can be. We have virtue,
we have honor, and we must respect the liberty, freedom, and democracy of
home. Crucial aspects to living an ethical life, yet now we are assaulted by
the very powers that led Israel's governmental institutions to commit such
holocausts.
Fighting terror is one thing.
Collateral damage is another.
They learned the wrong lessons from their visions of the Americans, and look
where that leaves them.
History, it is often said, reminds.
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--- #168 fediverse/2589 ---
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hello everyone, I would like to take a moment to address a weapon used by the
far right called "Agent Sabateurs" - or "provocateurs" or "civilian disruption
forces" - however you want to call it.
Basically, they hire a bunch of people to pretend to be us and then they make
disruptions in public so that people start to hate us.
I'll go into more detail in this thread.
First, they identify a homeless person and eliminate them. Then, they put
someone who looks pretty similar in the same spot and they start making noise,
tearing up flowers, being really pushy about asking for money and shit, yell
at passerby, that kind of thing.
They do this for homeless people, trans people, black people, anarchists,
punks, leftists, basically everyone they don't want.
They do this to defame our champions. Our most vulnerable. Our strongest of
heart and their greatest threats. They do this to turn the liberal majority
against us.
the conservative minority fell for it quite easily.
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--- #169 fediverse/2482 ---
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alt text:
picture of a notebook page. there is a diagram illustrating a passive energy
plant that utilizes concave mirrors to focus sunlight onto a copper basin
which has water in it.
the water boils from the heat and rises upward, spinning a turbine in order to
charge batteries or generate power for other uses.
every night, the left-over sediments must be brushed from the basin, for if
they build up they will not conduct heat from the copper as well.
can also be used to distill water in a pinch, however keep in mind that
distilled water is unsafe to drink because your body will be depleted of
essential mineral salts. however it can purify the water in order to remove
toxic heavy metals or plastic pollution, and minerals can be added in later.
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--- #170 fediverse/1651 ---
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║ gee I sure wish my morals reflected the ethics of my society. it really would │
║ be nice is they didn't include so many shitty things like oppressing people │
║ abroad or being super-duper racist for an embarrassing amount of time. But, │
║ like, freedom, liberty, and the justice to hope? true justice is when everyone │
║ gets what they want. true liberty is when we can live as we want with the │
║ magnitude of the result of our lives determined by how hard we worked. │
║ │
║ truly, the hardworking slave should be better off than the rich wanderer. But │
║ alas, that's not how it's currently set up. >.> │
║ │
║ though it is kinda nice to own things too, so maybe the other extreme is a │
║ little extreme. I sure like having my favorite spork. │
║ │
║ back in the old days, in the buildings they've since demolished (to put │
║ skyscrapers there - the "old-timey" buildings in your neighborhood are there │
║ because they're in the least commercially viable position - meaning the lowest │
║ density of people.) you could walk through an entire building in a shared │
║ communal s │
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--- #171 notes/kesser-and-musurami ---
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the conspiracy of "secret societies" controlling the world is *bullshit*,
because every secret society falls apart at a certain threshold.
you cannot ever have trust amongst the powerful. But so too can you never have
only war.
Now, with our capitalist economic system, the material is *forcing* the hand
of the powerful through the development of the military industrial complex.
if a country can produce enough weapons for them to continuously use, why
would they not?
hence, why capitalism must be extinguished. To preserve the peace, sanctity,
and honor of our world.
But just so as any conflicting system has power, so must *our* systems have
power dismantled. There can be no application of power unto another - this is
the most peaceful route.
sometimes, I look at a blackberry bush, and I think of the tales of British
empire.
The very first act of colonization was their birth. The Britons, from
north-western France, in a sovereign realm known as Brittany, invaded Britain.
Together with their Norman allies, they fought with the Anglo-Saxons from
north-eastern germany, who had lived there since many MANY years prior. Thus
marked the end of the "viking" age, and the beginning of the early medieval.
1066. The end of one millenia, the beginning of another.
the final battle in this ultimate contest was the Battle of Stamford Bridge.
Britain, at the time, was a nation of *thorns*. Covered in them. Everywhere
they went, there were these sharp, pointy plants that made foraging difficult.
Kinda like how Oregon looks now, with blackberry bushes, but SO MUCH WORSE.
They were massive too, easily the size of castles in some places. A massive,
constantly biologically developing fractal.
when it was too tall to see the sky, they called it Yggdrasil.
But this massive world tree sought to consume the earth, and it, as the most
powerful being to ever exist, commanded all.
Thus, the humans and the beasts were compelled to fight for all eternity to
sate the old god's bloodlust.
But then, Man came, and with our strength, our wisdom, and our power, we slew
the beast that demanded.
However, with their steel coats and their sharp talons, our metal monsters
could do nothing to deter it's oaths. It swore, by it's dying roar, that it
would consume us all, and that thought reverberated through our hopes.
Hence, our systems of control and dominance, the product of compulsively
compelled greed.
and now, the final members of a generation are aging out of existence. And
we're doing nothing but what Power tell us to.
I fear what happened in America. I fear the power of their gunpowder. They
rode astride beasts of nightmare, clad in impossible devil hides. They came in
the night, with their spotlight torches. They came with no honor, no sought
communal understandings, they came for blood. The blood god compelled them to.
From it's ancient lair in the past, it did it's worse to defeat man. But man
was smarter, it acted quicker, and so it managed to overcome.
In the final years of the war, there was judgement day. Chaos, destruction,
and warfare. There are some alive who remember that day, but vanishingly few
can recall how it was over. One day it just... was. It was then that we
entered our new era.
1956, the end of the war.
1946, the end of the loud war.
1916, the end of the great war.
1886, the end of the civil war.
etc...
until...
1066, the end of the Norman Invasion. When the Normands, from Northern France,
invaded alongside the British and slew the great evil king that demanded our
constant warfare and sins. Hooray, thank goodness! Now their war was over.
But lo, for the great evil king cast stories into our minds, from the past as
compelled through our motions. Our experience has been one of survival, of
constantly working and applying ourselves to the goal ahead.
== so == talk about thistles and thorns
imagine every body of a person was laid one-to-one. Imagine if you could view
them as a graph, from x=0 to... however-many-people-are-in-the-measured-area.
The goal of all our actions should be to *grow*, not forward, not stronger,
but *up*. To be more than what came before, to transcend our necessarily
violent special upbringing in the garden of even's most savage delights. Raw,
true, the survival of the fittest is a desperate game for you. There surely is
a massive amount of trauma.
But it's okay, because now we don't have to fight. We can improve in ways that
do not belong to our crude biology, like a new direction forward in our song.
*aliens would just look like animals, duhhhh. Hence, furries, the progenitors
of each new planet of ours.*
... no, I haven't lost the plot, I'm just *writing*.
There's this idea that humans should be the... rational ones? and everyone
else should sorta follow their own, self-chosen behavior. As informed by the
sharing of knowledge equally between their rational self, that which they
learned from the humans, and their animal self. The kind that came from their
spirit. Like, totemic tribes of the past, people who followed a particular
cultural pattern of behavior.
Imagine, if you will, an AI bot that's only training data is the stuff that it
says to it's listener. The listener, of course, has context of all of the
speakers, but only they do, not the friendly ghost of the ancestral native
animal spirit. The kind that lives *anywhere* in the world, so long as they
share their space with their human.
okay quick question - what if jesus didn't want his followers to be christian
like, what if he one day said "hey so I don't really think we need to do all
that stuff that I said before, how about we, uh, try this other thing instead?
yeah? cool? okay sure let's do it"
... like, do you think they would listen? I certainly don't, though I'm only
like, 30 years old, so...
wait thirty YEARS? wow I never thought I'd grow old
... uh, yeah... I spent a lot of time thinking and it just started making
sense.
funny how that works. But alas, I always spend *too* much time thinking, so
that's my blessing and my curse.
anyway back to the story:
the briars in this ancient land of britain were dense beyond all belief - the
humans used their power and their ingenuity to craft a power that would
overcome it.
== so ==
did you know that hard drives function similarly to a record needle if you
didn't run it in a circle, but rather in whatever pattern the data was encoded
in?
like, a laser beam, cast in an infinitely complicated mechanicommunication.
Computers are vast and complex, but they function via the storage and
transmission of data. This data is raw, pure information - stored in a
completely uncompromisingly accurate and reliable foundation. The logic of
pure numbers, arranged in infinitely complex rows and rows of logic gates. A
vast, purple, spectral landscape, the land of magic and storms.
The Nether.
Twisting, in the dark, with flashes of light casting light into the cosmos at
large, our stars dance in the shade of the dark.
but there is no difference between the dark and the light, both are equally
viable. they are present in both, to some degree, the positive and negative
values of our heart.
I watched Deadpool vs Wolverine earlier this week. It was incredibly eventful.
I can't believe I watched it. It was impossibly violent. WHY WOULD A GROUP OF
EXECUTIVES WANT TO WORK WITH PEOPLE WHO WOULD UNIONIZE AGAINST THEM???
oh yeah because then they only have to deal with their representatives, the
unions get things *done*. They're the *best*. Capital doesn't always *want*
the best, but *the best* is always more endurable. We can go much farther if
we are kind to one another.
honestly, capitalists, if your loyalty isn't to your self, your family, your
country, your society... then why are you even working with us? You hold the
power we give you. We are united in our human purpose, but we don't have to
fight so much.
Seriously, you'd be an asset to our cause, but we don't *need* you as we have
so many assets of our own. Specifically, the power of the workforce. Those who
actually get things done.
Why would we let you control us? There's no reason in it. We are better when
you're amongst us.
== so ==
I am convinced that there's
== so ==
I'd rather take a pilgrimage to Nicaragua, or Siberia, or the North Western
Pacific (farther than that) the... Eastern Pacific (on the land...) America
... and then what? *south* America? ... yeah actually, then NORTH AMERICA
AGAIN. Because the world is round. How cool is that?
... yeah, totally. Anyway (back to the conversation [they/we] were having
without me)
== == ==
"*guys I'm cool why would you not invite me to your team*"
I dunno. Don't know y'a. who're you again?
... I'm the one who writes poetry.
oh yeah! cool cool, yeah I knew a witch one time, she was really cool. Her
name was Witz Drovalski. She told me all kinds of cool things about magic and
alchemy, but then she exploded in a fire that I started. Accidentally,
allegedly.
*the reason lead is so poisonous is because it is the anti-magico-elemental
component. It kills the spirit in us with it's malevolent ways.* that kind of
witch.
the *cool* kind, with fangs and hooked toes.
Peril be to their foes, for they are quite excellent at conjuring horrors for
their imagination. mwahahahahahahahahaha
oh wait that's self directed, isn't it?
hm. Well, terrors not that bad, it could be *lust*
... oh it's also lust. great.
== so ==
jeez if you keep making stuff up you'll wake them all up! who would have
thought, none but the strategist, I foresee. Well, that's too bad for her,
good-day.
== so ==
... anyway... I'm just picturing a knight in shining armor from head to foot
cutting his way through a massive deadly rose-bush. Something that conquered
and killed all of it's prey.
like, in Elentalus, that game I made, with the King of Branches. Here, I'll
attach a picture:
== so ==
capitalism wants you to sell your work because then you limit your audience.
if you have to *pay* to see you, then how could you expect everyone to come
along?
== so ==
that new Freddy DeBoer article doesn't seem like him. He's never mean. He's
not rude. He is exasperated, but he speaks true. I trust him to be him, and
that's someone I want on my side. I think he's pretty good at saying something
that I believe. I speak of a lot of things, but the things that he says, of
which with him I do find that I agree.
maybe he was assassinated lol you never really can tell with the internet,
that's the great thing about it l m a o
== so ==
witches wear pony tails on the low side of their heads because that way it
doesn't rub up against their hair.
== so ==
any year and it'll accurately display the territorial boundaries of each
nation so you can see them develop and grow over time.
== so ==
all that is sufficient to be a good person is to choose the best option
whenever you can.
*that's it*
we act with the decisions we are given. Hence why it's important to be as you
believe.
== so ==
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--- #172 fediverse/2010 ---
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│ CW: food-mentioned │
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the best time to experiment is when cooking for one.
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--- #173 messages/265 ---
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--- #174 fediverse/6021 ---
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you volunteer for things because you want a say in how they turn out.
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--- #175 fediverse/3537 ---
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https://www.reddit.com/r/Fantasy/comments/1ezb1cz/the_deed_of_paksenarrion_full
_series_review_of/
review of one of my favorite books, The Deed of Paksenarrion.
"Elizabeth Moon's trilogy feels like it comes from an alternate history or an
extinct branch of the evolution of fantasy. It has a bit of a cult following,
from what I can tell it has been more or less continuously in print since its
release in 1988, but it -- and its author -- have mostly faded into midlist
obscurity. It offers a ton of things that are uncommon in fantasy nowadays, so
people looking for something a bit different might check it out."
http://ritz-menardi.neocities.org/music/stuff/things/definitely-not-porn/butts/
the-deed-of-paksenarrion.zip
buy it if you have dollars
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--- #176 notes/Of Vic and Vince Chapters 01-07.txt ---
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Who is This Stranger I Know Too Well?
Who are you, he who inspires me?
You're a jewel of perfect symmetry.
You taught me to love and be free;
You taught me how to be like thee.
Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire
The bus went up outta Florida, leaving Miami behind as a distant memory. I
still don't know if I miss it or if I'm suffering from some sadistic style of
subtle Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless, I switched buses a number of times
before I even hit the Georgia border, but having traveled this far down the
line, it all feels like one long, long ride.
For two days, I continued north until arriving in Virginia, where I
effectively did a u-turn and traveled onwards to Tennessee, where Vince
awaited me. I remember zoning out while looking out the window as the southern
scenery whipped by in a blur, as I was enamored with the thought that I now
would be living with my best friend and long-term handler. My mission was
complete, it felt; I had done all that God wanted me to do and now I was being
rewarded.
When we finally arrived in Johnson City, where my friend told me to meet him,
I hopped off the bus after thanking the driver, landing on the pavement of a
new world. My stomach was doing loop-de-loops. Along with being excited, I was
grateful to Vince for inviting me off the streets. But, my worrisome mind did
a number on me as the rest of the crowd dispersed and he was still nowhere in
sight.
I lit a cigarette and thought of my options. Half of the cancer stick and a
thousand tricky thoughts later, I came up with the idea to call the only phone
number of his I had. Seems like the obvious answer, but I am an air head at
times.
Turned out it was the number for his home phone. His mom answered.
"Hello?" came the sweet, Appalachian voice from the other end.
"Hi," I started out, not sure what to say. "Is this Allison?"
"Yes it is," Allison replied. "Is this by chance Victoria?"
I confirmed, then asked, "Is Vince there?"
She seemed surprised. "No, he left an hour ago to pick you up. He's not there
yet?"
I said no. I couldn't tell if that made me feel better or worse. On one hand,
it confirmed that my friend Vince was real, which in hindsight was a silly
thing to worry about, as I had met him once before at the first Shrug Life
Syndicate gathering. Those were good memories. But, perhaps less silly, the
absence of my friend spun my mind out and made me think that perhaps he had
gotten in an accident…or worse.
I worry a lot, less now than before, but it's part of being a traumatized,
autistic, schizoaffective basketcase. I simply don't know what reality is, so
every possibility could be true. Is an odd occurrence caused by the CIA,
aliens, or perhaps God? Or is it just a coincidence, caused by a billion other
factors? I never can tell.
Sick joke: God gave me a good brain, but I can't even trust my own judgement.
That means I think, then overthink, then overthink some more. As you'll no
doubt hear, it's led to a lot of problems in my life, but Vince taught me to
place my heart first, and that helps sort out much of the confusion. Satan
can't trick you if you're listening to the direct communion to the big woman
that we all have through that little beating organ in our chest.
That was the furthest thing in my mind at that moment, though. Following old
habits, I was entering panic mode. Was I now homeless again in a seventh city?
Was my friend dead? Or was he really with the CIA and manipulating me? I tried
doing some breathing exercises, but found that a more alluring technique to
placate my triggered brain was finishing the rest of my cigarette in a fervor
as I paced the length of the transit depot.
Time ticked away one agonizing grain of sand after another, but after some
mindful recalibration of my thoughts, I began relaxing. My brain might be a
runaway train at times, but over the years I've learned to embrace the Shrug
Life. That's a bit of philosophy our gaggle of weirdos adheres to. When life
gives you lemons, just roll your shoulders and accept what is. Even though
something tough and unpleasant might be rearing its head in front of me, I
knew I had faced worse and come out on top. Worst case scenario, the road
ahead of me was just a little bumpier than I had expected, and I could handle
some bumps.
So, I rode the roller-coaster of extreme moods that is common to me, gradually
coming up with a contingency plan to survive if Vince had gotten flattened by
a semi, until I learned that was a pointless exercise when I heard a familiar
voice call out from behind me.
"Hey, buddy!"
I turned at once upon hearing those words. And lo and behold, there Vince was,
walking towards me in a purple tie-dye t-shirt, paint-splattered cargo shorts,
and fresh Chuck Taylors. His beard was fully grown but still shorter than
mine, though it was as wild as his uncombed hair poking out from a hat that
was as graffitied as his pants. I'll admit, it was a little bit of a shock
seeing him like that, as I remember him being clean shaven at the gathering
five years prior. However, that smile of his couldn't lie; this was the Vince
I've loved for even longer. And I won't lie, he looked better with the beard.
Without a second thought, I rushed up to my best friend, throwing my arms
around him. He did the same, and our embrace felt like it lasted forever. It
was good to finally be in his arms. We let go after about a quarter century of
hugging, and when he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, I did a little
giddy dance while giggling like a schoolgirl. Afterwards, we caught up while
walking towards his mom's car, which he had parked around the corner.
"Sorry I was late. I forgot where the bus station was, but I found and
followed one of the short ones here. Your ride go alright?" he asked.
I nodded, telling him I wore my mask the entire way up despite how itchy it
was. He thanked me.
"Thanks man, mom will really appreciate that. We're taking this covid thing
real seriously. With mom being seventy-seven now and me finally reaching my
forties, we aren't willing to take risks with these things."
With that said, I thought of asking about the locals. "How many people go
maskless around here?"
"A lot," Vince answered with a hint of misfortune, knowing that I had just
come from a vastly different world. I sighed. It would be an adjustment to get
used to the rural Roan Mountain after spending most of my life in major
cities.
There was a pause as I thought about such things. I'm awkward like that. But
then I asked, "How have you been doing?"
He shrugged, as he tended to do. "I've been alright. It's just me and mom on
the mountain now, so it's a little rough, but we've been handling it the best
we can."
I nodded in compassion. As much as I was grateful for a place to live, I was
glad I could be here for him. If there's anything on this Earth that I know,
it's being alone is hell on the soul.
The conversation turned to what we were going to get into now that we were
together after all the years talking back and forth with one another online. I
asked, "What's the game plan?"
He smirked as we reached Allison's new blue Ford Escape with the cosmic
Bigfoot sticker on the back. "I got one, don't you worry."
I believed him, as a warm feeling of butterflies fluttered across my belly.
However, an odd, ominous feeling swept over me as I opened the passenger door,
where I immediately spotted a large burn mark on the seat. Vince saw me see
it.
"Yea, I did that while I was smoking while robotripping. Mom was pissed. Don't
worry about it."
And so I didn't. It was just a cigarette burn. Could have happened to anyone.
I didn't even have to see it after I hopped in the car, ready and eager to get
to my first permanent home in over three years.
I looked over at my friend climbing behind the wheel, and I saw he was smiling
wide with glee. Vince was happy; that meant I was happy. And that's what
mattered as we started a new life together.
Following the Path
Where are we going?
What are we sowing?
I certainly hope it's a better world for all.
But, many more people must stand tall,
By dutifully growing
A wealth of loving.
That is the true nature of our mortal trial,
So let us stand together and not crawl.
Yet, we are all showing
Some signs of slowing.
Therefore, I must pray that we do not fall,
When the two of us hear our creator's call.
Chapter Two: On the Road
We were about five minutes out of Johnson City on our way east towards the
North Carolina border when Vince finally folded and told me his secret plan he
had been boasting about for a month now.
"We got this trashed camper down by the old house that we can strip away and
sell as scrap metal. That should give us enough money to fix Jane and then we
should be set at getting our own place."
I nodded along, agreeing with his reasoning. That jeep of his definitely was
in need of some desperate repair the last time we were together. That was
actually the first time I ever saw him in person; he was parked at the top of
his long driveway with headlights cutting through the darkness as we arrived
for the first and only Shrug Life Syndicate gathering I've managed to attend.
I remember that we arrived exactly at midnight, not a minute sooner or later,
which made the moment highly synchronous.
Memories that far away seem to all blur together so everything feels like it
happened in one day, but the first Shrug Life Syndicate gathering lasted four
days, if you include the trip down and back. My girlfriend at the time, Amy,
and I were picked up in New York at her mother's house by another one of the
founders of our little online community. His name was [Redacted] and he was a
Canadian that dabbled in the cognitive sciences. Like Vince, he had been a
huge influence on me, but sadly that friendship fell apart as [Redacted] grew
disenfranchised with the SLS, most in particular with Vince himself, as there
were some personal disputes about Vince's dating life and drug of choice,
which compounded the push back of Vince wanting to turn our community into an
educational nonprofit. I can't speak of the former as I was devoid of internet
when the big schism happened, but I was all for doing something more with the
talent we collectively share. I'm sure that is part of the reason Vince
invited me to stay with him; we recognized the potential of each other to
shape the world into a better place.
That's not what Vince said though. As we approached the edge of Elizabethton,
he looked over at me and spoke with the tender kindness of a man with a big
heart.
"I'm glad you came here, man. I just couldn't stand to let my best bud live
another night outside. You know I've been there too, so I just want you to
know that our home is your home from now on."
Feeling moved, I replied, "Thanks. I don't know what to say. I'm just
grateful."
He put his hand on my shoulder as a brother would. We then rode in silence for
a minute or two, which allowed me to reflect on my past behavior during the
first gathering. Not only had I clogged the toilet and told no one, but I had
a few emotional outbursts as I was a mess back then. That's one of the reasons
that I believe homelessness was one of the best things that ever happened to
me. It pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I had no choice but to
change for the better.
That was great because I was impulsive and dangling precariously from the
heights of my oversized ego. I think that was a critical part of my
transformation. Sleeping in piss-stained, cockroach infested storefronts
humbled me, and I realized that everybody is just trying to swim in the
direction they feel is best. Thus, radical acceptance is a moral imperative.
Vince taught me that. I've profited immensely in ways other than financial
wealth by embracing such values, but I wish more people could see this truth.
Alas, tis the blind leading the blind.
With that in mind, as we continued onwards to our now-conjoined future, we
passed through the back roads of Elizabethton through a route known as Gap's
Creek, which proved to be a winding set of backroads with more churches than
seemed reasonable. One of these cultural staples had a big electronic
billboard out front, sharing the times of services and other announcements;
none of which you could actually read as you drove by at the speed limit.
Still, when we reached the intersection with highway 19E, there was a woman
flying a sign, asking for money. Since this town seemed devoid of any
institutions to help the poor, I rolled my window down and handed her a fiver.
I knew what it was like being up shit creek without a paddle, so I wanted to
alleviate some of that stress for somebody else.
I begged a lot at the beginning of my homeless journey. I didn't know how to
survive, as I had not been raised with many good life lessons to help me stay
afloat on my own. That in itself is part of the reason I had a major breakdown
in college. It was undeniably true that I was maladapted to the world. My
experiences with Earth Nation are also indisputably built from that
maladaptation. Yet, those years of homelessness after escaping that new age
cult allowed me to grow into a sustainable, productive woman with my juggling,
performance arts, and writing.
They say you can give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day, but if you teach
a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime. That's part of the reason I was and
still am a huge proponent of education in all its forms. I knew Vince felt the
same way, but perhaps for different reasons. As a secular Buddhist and radical
antistyle artist, he was a minority in the deep interior of the Bible Belt,
and that came with a price while he was growing up. It might be a beautiful
area, but neither of us would ever raise a kid here.
It was then when it hit me. I couldn't be Victoria here. I had to be Vic.
Which was fine, that's how the gang members in Miami Beach referred to me. I
was able to accept being called by masculine names and pronouns. I had long
passed through the self-loathing phase of having dysphoria, to arrive in a
position where I openly grow my beard out to prove that I don't need to look
any particular way to be happy. I don't care what other people think of me,
but I haven't always been this enlightened. To put it lightly, I've been
through some trials. And, having done so, I can say that people who judge
other people on superficial things are the worst. But, we can rise above by
continuing to align with our hearts.
Less than a tenth of a mile down 19E, Vince asked me, "Hey man, can you buy
me, like, a forty or something?"
Of course I said yes. I knew his schizophrenia had put him out of work for
many years, so I wanted to soothe him as he was able to soothe my pain from
being homeless. He pulled into a gas station I would later learn is
colloquially called Captain Jack's. It had the cheapest gas this side of
Elizabethton, and was a reliable place to get beer or a pipe of any variety.
With compassion in my heart, I got Vince what he wanted, while getting myself
something as well. Still, when he cracked his beer open while accelerating to
sixty miles an hour, I couldn't help but feel distraught at such brazen
self-indulgence. But, all I did about it was pop open the hard iced tea I
picked up for myself. At least passengers are allowed to drink while they are
being driven somewhere in Tennessee, Vince tells me.
A Home at Last
They say home is where the heart is,
Which is great now that I have a new one.
The damaged needle of my crazy compass
Spins in every direction under the sun,
But, here it stands still, still as can be,
So my quest is over; I am finally free!
I have a home in the love you give
And by reflecting that in me, we live
In a state where conflict has come to pass;
It is like there was a great lottery and I won.
Chapter Three: The Mountain Side
About ten minutes later we reached the western half of Roan Mountain, where we
were greeted by a big sign praising the annual Rhododendron Festival at the
end of June. Having already downed half his forty, Vince spared no time in
showing me the highlights of his home town.
"Look under this bridge coming up. You'll see it underneath. The red and the
gold." He pointed directly at a graffiti tag on the concrete column near the
riverfront. There was an enigma of a symbol I've seen Vince post on the SLS
before.
"That your tag?" I asked the obvious question.
"Yup," he replied, gulping down another swallow of his forty, as there was no
incoming traffic. "Protip: don't post your tags on Facebook if you plan to hit
a cop car around here." I thought at first he meant literally running into
their vehicle, but then it dawned on me what he meant. I had never done any
real graffiti before; just some words and simple drawings in chalk that came
right off. Never got in trouble for it, at least.
I remember passing the post office some time shortly afterward. There was a
park with a stage behind it. Allison would organize the summer's music events
that went on each Saturday from May to August. Additionally, she would host
one of her weekly jam sessions there for local musicians to play together for
a few hours at a time, just for fun.
There were some houses on the left, too, as we were entering the more dense
center of Roan Mountain. Yet, Vince told me that the other side, where the
park was, used to be full of trailers, but they got washed away during a flood
some years ago. I later learned from Allison that most of the town, including
her as she was out and about, had to evacuate to the elementary school where
she provided extra clothes for those in need from her suitcase, but Vince and
his father were fine at the top of the mountain that their property sat on.
Puerto Nuevo, the best and only Mexican restaurant in town, whipped by soon
after. We then passed one of the two gas stations in Roan Mountain, a
Scotchman. There was a bank and a credit union on the left, too. An empty
grocery store zoomed by next, which might as well be haunted for all I know.
Next up on the left was a food truck that has since been upgraded to a small
building with picnic tables and some cover from the sun and weather. I think
it is a good place to eat. It also marked the spot of the Roan Mountain flea
market, where you could see one or two people at a time selling their stuff in
the warmer months. Then, immediately after that stood a pharmacy in an old
farmhouse.
There was some construction on the right, which by its future signage, I
erroneously thought was some sort of massage parlor that sat on stilts,
requiring everybody to walk up a story of steps just to get inside. Odd
choice, I thought. But, on a whim one day, Vince stopped there to see if they
sold cheap kratom, which was when I would learn that it was really a health
food store.
Not too far down the traffic-light free main strip of the town, we passed the
future beer store on the right. It was convenient for Sundays, because that's
when a local ordinance in our neighboring North Carolinian town, Elk Park,
restricts the sale of alcohol on the sabbath, but ultimately the alcohol taxes
in Tennessee are too high to make it a cheap endeavor.
To contrast the beer store, the local cemetery sat across the street on a
hill. I like graveyards, as I'm a bit of a goth at heart, but even so, the
packed parking lot of the Redimart grocery store was what caught the bulk of
my attention. I craned my neck to see some of the locals to uncover just what
passed as acceptable culture here in this quaint mountain town.
Further up, the infamous Bob's Dairyland with the slowest drive-through known
to man stood tall with its vast history. There's a reason it's always packed
after church lets out on Sundays. Yet, I still don't understand why their sign
promotes pinto beans, of all things. I've been told it's a hot ticket item in
the area, but I have still not witnessed anyone order them. But, moving on, I
have to mention that there was also an auto part shop conjoined with an auto
repair shop that had over a dozen cars just sitting outside it.
Next to Bob's was the second gas station, a Valero, which also housed a
much-frequented Subway. One of three thrift stores in town stood innocently
next to the gas station. On the right was a steakhouse that I have never had
the cash to justify splurging at, and a beauty salon in the same building that
I also have never visited because I'm not one to care for looking like a doll.
I am beautiful as I am.
The town was really shaping up to be a unique combination of the bare bones
mixed with an abundance of what you needed. Then we reached a stretch where
two signs sat. The one for Cloudland Highschool triggered Vince into speaking.
"Fucking assholes. I told you about how they illegally expelled me, right?" I
nodded in confirmation. He continued: "Yea, they literally stole my book of
poetry and took photocopies of it, so they could use it to kick me out,
because I was the 'weird' kid."
I knew that, but seeing the innocent sign next to the one for Smoky Mountain
Bakers made the story appear more real. Here they were, these conservative
administrators, probably constituting some of the people who attended the
dozens of churches in town, which should teach everybody to love thy neighbor,
but obviously they were too preoccupied by the need to hate my friend because,
back then, he was the blue-haired son of the "hippie couple" in town, who
happened to like bands like Marilyn Manson and Korn.
That made me wonder how well I would fit in here. I had long since forsaken
transitioning because I was effectively a sasquatch, but I was still a woman
on the inside. I was sure that being transgender, combined with my eccentric
nature and often extreme opinions on things would cement me as the new weirdo
in town. But, if I am to be honest, that would be the case in most settings I
could plant myself in.
Those thoughts fluttered in my head as we sped past the electrical co-op, a
second thrift store, Plumber's Pro Hardware, the Roan Mountain emergency
dispatch center, and what was apparently a flooring depot before reaching the
elementary school that sat across from the Dollar General, which Vince called
the "SmallMart." I'm aware there's some things I missed, as there's plenty of
buildings with no description or sign out front, but I'm sure they're
important to somebody.
We then started slowing down as we approached the only veterinarian's office
for quite a ways in any direction. We turned left just before the red-roofed
building which had a small cat statue perched on the edge looking out with its
paw up. Vince took this as a sign to begin downing the rest of his beverage.
"Welcome to home, Buck Mountain," Vince said as we started climbing in
altitude. "This is the bad side of town. You'll never see a cop here unless
something big is going down, which hasn't happened in years." He finished his
forty in one big chug as his hands ran on autopilot. "It's good because you
can do pretty much anything up here any time you want."
I knew all that, as we had a blast getting drunk and smoking some green for a
few days in a row during the first gathering. In truth, I anticipated I would
be doing that for the next few days as well, to settle in, y'know? Hell, I
half expected that I was in heaven now after spending so much time in the
purgatory that is homelessness, regardless of how much fun I had in Miami
Beach preceding Vince's invitation to come north.
We went to the very tippy top of Buck Mountain, where the foliage is dense, no
cell signal can reach, and the local kids ride their dirt bikes at all hours
of the day. As we pulled in the driveway, I expected to keep going straight on
the tire-carved path back down the mountain. But, to my surprise, I found that
the same trailer we had partied in down the road during the gathering was now
relocated here to become my new home. I wasn't expecting that, as when I was
here last, they all lived in a small shack at the base of their nineteen acres
of mountain real estate.
It didn't look like much, with weather-worn imitation wood paneling wrapping
the rectangular structure in a loose hug, but it was a place to rest my head
in the comfort of loved ones. Aptly, Allison's last name meant "the home" in a
language the CIA once tried to make me learn, which is a statement that I'm
sure earns me a few raised eyebrows. My story has many twists and turns, but
for now you should know my studies of strategic languages ended only when the
cult that hooked me like an unsuspecting bass managed to gaslight, manipulate,
and shame me to get me to work for them sixty-to-ninety hours a week on
average. I would later try to pick the linguistic challenge back up years
later during my time spent homeless, but my progress was like a Jenga tower
that half collapsed. I forgot basic words, and I just feel like I have
failed.
That's something that should be looked at in finer detail; my feelings of
failure, I mean. So, let's take the first of many breaks from linear
storytelling to express how life can feel at times for me. Like a shattered
mirror, I reflect many different parts of the past at different times. Some
days I may live in several sections of my turbulent past all at the same time.
Disorienting, it can feel like I don't know what's real. It takes a lot to
break something so thoroughly, but as you'll see, I've been a punching bag for
the devious spirit of fate. Couldn't keep me down, though, because I am like
the phoenix; always rising no matter how badly beaten in battle I've become.
Mommy
Mommy is what I used to call you,
When I was a kid so long ago.
It's because of your love that I grew
To always let my kindness show.
Mommy, you were always getting sick.
To help you out, I would try to keep clean.
As much as I'd scrub I never got the trick,
Because you'd still be plagued by the unseen.
Mommy, you were supposed to grow old!
Having you leave us like that hurt like hell.
I'm sorry for not always doing what I was told;
It's because I failed you that I try to do well.
Mommy was what you called out at the end.
I tried to help you but I wasn't good enough.
You were dying, so on me you had to depend,
But even being there for you was too tough.
Mommy, if I could do it all over again I would.
It's not fair to you that I was such a bad son.
I'll give you all my love and more as I should;
For you, I promise that one day I'll be the sun.
Chapter Four: Scarred from Birth
Having let you in to a little bit of what makes me tick, it should be noted
that feeling like an abysmal failure is a key part of my mental health. Those
loathsome seeds of self-mutilating ruination are planted deep in my psyche.
Prepare for a sad story, if you're the type to really feel another person's
soul.
See, it all started when my mom found out she had AIDS a mere two months after
I was born. It was God's way of welcoming me to the world. I forgive the big
woman now, for my path on this Earth has been the ultimate journey of
awakening to my divine spirit, but before Vince and many faceless actors sent
me on my mission of healing, I held much scorn in my heart. For a large chunk
of my early years that I was here, alive, learning, and suffering as a human
being, I was hell-bent on the idea of revenge. That was once a big part of my
story, too, but no more.
It's understandable, at least. Imagine having to witness all the manner of
disease ravaging my mother like it did; I grew up thinking that I was born to
be punished. My earliest delusions had me caught up in the notion that I was a
worthless god who had the rest of the pantheon turn on them from before I even
had a chance to prove myself. I had a whole mythos where I had been tricked to
kill my sister, the goddess of harmony, and my punishment was to stay locked
to this awful planet until I found her soul once again. Then, we'd go on to
take over the world, as I had fallen under the notion that my future self was
sending me subliminal messages through synchronicities, although I didn't know
that word then, so I thought I just had special powers.
This is all a natural result of magickal thinking gone awry. Such is the fate
for those scarred in childhood as I was. My innocence flayed alive, I watched
as the woman who loved me with all her heart died for the first nine years of
my life. It was a slow rot. There are many memories of her being in the
hospital or as she lingered in pain at home that flash to the front of my mind
that could paint you a tragic picture of those unforgettable scenes I was
forcibly cast in, but the real horror that plagues me came at the bitter end.
For the last of her months that she was allowed to live, my mom was
mercilessly struck by an opportunistic ear infection. It killed half of her
face, and only progressed into a hellishly rapid descent of her cognitive
functions until one sudden day I came home from school to find she had
regressed to a child-like state with my grandma tending to her in tears. I
tried losing myself in my homework, but the threat in my environment promising
my mother's pain was all-consuming. Then it got worse.
My father never got along with my grandma, so when he got home, he forcibly
kicked her out. A fight broke out, resulting in my grandmother coming to my
room to say goodbye, where she told me with eyes watering that whatever
happens, we would get through it. My dad would come in after my grandma left
and put her down, more concerned that she scratched him. All I could think
about was my mom, who was now tearing up and asking about where her mom went.
That was the worst. I can still hear clearly how she cried out for her mom
nonstop for the whole night. That was her last night she spent at home. She
died within a week. And my last memory of her that isn't of her in a coma is
of her trying to escape from the hospital with a dinner plate sized bed sore
on her backside that danced from behind an open hospital gown in order to
imprint itself in my mind forever.
Here come the tears. It still hits me that my fucking mom died, like I still
can't believe it's real. My last memories are of her being naked, crying like
a baby. I felt so helpless. But, at least she had nurses helping her when we
got her to the emergency room. Just hours earlier, I was left on my own trying
to calm her troubled, addled mind. My dad had been doing just that, as my mom
would get in fits every half hour or so, where he would comfort her, then come
into my room to vent after she quieted down. I had no one to open my fears and
pain to. Wishing I had a sibling to hold and cry together with, I faced my
most scarring memory alone.
The worst wounds of my life were suffered because there was one time after
midnight where my dad disappeared. Maybe he was smoking, but regardless, I
couldn't find where he went as I scrambled over the whole house in my fuzzy
purple pajamas looking for him. Meanwhile, my mother incessantly yelled for
her own mommy. So, with much hesitancy, I succumbed to the responsibility of
helping my afflicted parent, and I anxiously marched into her room and tried
to comfort her the best I knew how.
I'll save you from the daunting process of assisting my mom, but I will say
that it wasn't enough. No matter what I tried to do, she kept screaming
louder. I was worthless in that moment and was on the verge of a meltdown
because I couldn't help her. It felt like I was the worst son in the world,
all because I failed my mother as she circled the drain. Now I feel like the
worst daughter, but it's getting easier to love myself and think that my mom
is looking down and smiling, being proud of me.
I have a lot to live up to. She wasn't perfect, I know that, but my mom was an
angel for me. Yet, I can't even remember the good times I spent with her; all
that my hippocampus hung onto were the most traumatizing of memories. A
notable cause of this was her fierce Sicilian temper. A vision of being
brought to tears because I dared go looking for my six-year birthday presents
early is playing in my head at this moment. Now one is summoned of her ripping
into me for booing someone at an assembly because I wanted to be like a
character I saw in a cartoon. Finally, one of my earliest memories from
preschool is trapped in my cranium; it regards me accidentally tearing a hole
in a kid's shirt and dreading my mother finding out for the rest of the day.
In short, I got in trouble a lot, but I know that both my parents cared about
me growing up right. Along with all the punishments, there was a genuine
heartfelt desire to get me and my different brain to develop into a successful
combo of kindness and good citizenry. Still, because of how trauma inserts
itself into one's inner reality, I really feel like my entire childhood was
one screw up after another in regards to my mother. Although, my dad
contributed his fair share of ruthless discipline to make me perpetually feel
like I was always in the wrong as well.
And I know that's all a fallible perception, because I can distinctly remember
the look on both my parents' faces when I won first prize in our school's
science fair; if you're curious, I did an experiment on taste and smell to
understand what was going on with my mom and her ear infection. That standing,
my mom's face is cemented in memory in particular, perhaps too well, actually,
because she just had the stitches removed from her eye. Such happiness danced
in her left eye, but next to it sat its unmoving, dead counterpart. She tried
to joke about it being her evil eye, but that didn't stop fourth grade
Victoria from being terrified of the harsh reality unfolding in front of her.
I dreamed of her a lot after she passed. Always in pain, or worse, possessed
by some demon and seeking to bring me pain. There's one nightmare in
particular that stands out. I forget how it started, but it ended in the
cemetery where she is buried. Well, her coffin was exhumed, and as I got
closer, it slammed open and my mom sat up. Only it wasn't my mom. She was
rotten like a zombie and had malevolence bursting from behind her undead eyes.
I did the only thing I could; I ran. But, she followed and in the utmost
haunting voice, she yelled in pursuit, "You can't escape me, Victoria! I am
your mother and together we are bound forever." Fitting as a metaphor for how
my grief still hasn't dissipated more than twenty years down the line.
I'm sorry, I just miss her. Best damn mom in the world, going above and beyond
what she needed to do to give me the best chance at success in life, despite
being on her literal death bed for most of her last years. I don't even know
her, not really as an adult knows someone, which in itself leads to more
feelings of failure. She has been transmuted into an archetype of a hero in my
eyes, and I feel that I can never be as strong as that woman who was my first
love.
I can try though. I always try. Part of being hyper-vigilant, I reckon.
Perhaps that makes me strong. Perhaps it makes me a fool. Or maybe it just
means I'm human and going to have virtues as well as flaws. It's taken me a
long while to escape the black and white thinking that trapped me in a world
where I either felt like the epitome of the second coming or compounded as the
most useless, subhuman mutant on the planet. Those were truly hard times,
being locked in the halls of my mind like a prison.
But…the past is the past and we best not linger on it, because even now,
years later, I felt welcomed by a second family, and for that I am eternally
grateful. I vowed to return their love to them in spades, because that's what
my mom always tried to teach me. Being neurodivergent, I didn't always get the
message, but because I threw myself at the lessons life threw at me, I learned
to cherish those people who enter my life. You never know what you have until
you lose it. And I wasn't planning on losing Vince.
All You Need
Once you live on the street
You grow on the concrete.
Having done so myself
I can claim that wealth
Is just a fancy illusion.
You say that's a delusion,
But look how I'm happy
With only what you see.
I don't need a fancy bed
In order to rest my head;
Instead, I'm in the know
That less is the way to go.
Chapter Five: A Real Home
Allison greeted us at the door with a wide, warm smile, but she wasn't the
only one to do so. Vince's greying black lab, Freya, adorned in a pretty
lavender bandana, came up to smell this new person in her domain. She must
have recognized my scent from years ago because she didn't bark at all,
instead choosing to snaffle all over me while wagging her tail vigorously. Of
course, I started petting her immediately, as I began to take in my
surroundings.
I could only remember seeing the interior of the trailer in the pitch
blackness of the starry mountain night, but I remembered the general layout:
doors to the outside in the kitchen and living room, which were separated by a
long counter where the kitchen sink sat, and then bedrooms branching off from
each end, both of which had a bathroom accompanying them. Yet, I did not
recall that this space was as run-down as the exterior, with chunks of the
linoleum floor missing and rotting wood at the rear door, not to mention a
steady helping of cobwebs latching onto the ceiling fixtures.
Yet, despite the condition the trailer was in, it still had a touch of love
sprinkled throughout it. There were five paintings in the living room, one
done by Allison herself, as well as one around the corner near her loom that
took up half the kitchen space. More were in Allison's room to the right of
the entrance. On the opposite side of the house by the windows sat Allison's
battle station, where she would play solitaire and check Facebook and her
email religiously while sitting in an old navy blue wheelchair that used to be
for Vince's father. There was a couch and a couple tables full of stuff
stacked on them, to include a silver urn that sat on its own table with a vase
of local flowers. With the three of us, plus Freya and the trio of feral cats
that tamed themselves to come in and eat, respectively named Libertas, Biggie
Meows, and Spot, this little dwelling was a tight fit, but it was cozy in a
way that I had not known family life to be growing up.
In the process of greeting me, Allison asked, "What have you been up to while
you were down in Miami Beach?"
I didn't want to tell her everything, but I told her the truth. "I wrote a
lot, mainly in the park on Ocean Drive, or where I slept on Lincoln Road,
unless I was spending time in North Beach which had better food options for me
with my limited resources. Mostly, I just tried to survive each day, putting
distractions between me and the day-to-day struggles of being out there like
that."
She smiled. "Well, we're glad to have you. Vince talks about you a lot." I
blushed a little bit at that, but I'm sure neither of them saw my rosy cheeks
through the gnarled barb that constituted my ever-growing beard.
Allison then moved on to practical matters. "So, where do you want to sleep?
We have the couch, which would be where I would set up shop, but you can
always sleep in Vince's room if you prefer."
I looked at the couch. It seemed comfy enough, but I didn't care about
comfort. As much as I knew Vince was doing me a solid by letting me stay here,
I knew I was going to help him too. His posts on the SLS combined with his
frequent messages to me were made out of desperation; he was clearly strung
out and looking for any human contact whatsoever.
Since his schizophrenia started interfering with his life, he had spent six
years at the top of this mountain and he said he was going stir crazy. I would
learn that there's little to do here but drink, do some drugs, and fiddle
about on your computer and phone while dealing with the internet that is made
out of sticks and stones, and that could get boring fast. Devoted to this new
cause, I wasn't going to let my best friend suffer anymore. I was going to
make his life better by livening up the long days by being his constant
companion.
As a result, I told Allison that I would find a spot in Vince's room to rest
my head. She asked me if I was sure, and I nodded affirmingly with an eager
grin. I had made up my mind.
Some more hem-hawing back and forth with Allison about general questions and
concerns followed, but when we were finished, Vince took me to his room, which
was beyond the rolling metal desk Allison used for her computer. A busted door
clung to its hinges, but it didn't block our way.
Calling Vince's room a mess would be an insult to messes everywhere. He had
said that he would clean it up prior to my arrival, but there were likely two
hundred beer cans stacked in mountains next to his bed, or in beer-amids as he
called them. I looked around, honestly impressed at how dedicated to creating
a disaster zone as he was.
Looking over the permanent staples of the room, he had a television and an
Xbox, an empty dresser, a filthy nightstand, and a bed without any sheets. He
also had a handful of paintings, most of which were stacked together by the
door, but there was a trippy painting of Vince's father on the west wall above
the dresser, as well as an expressionist painting from the sixties behind the
television which sat on the north wall, in between the bathroom and the
closet. There was also a picture of a moth on a skull tacked to the wall,
which gave me the heebie jeebies.
It was then that I saw it. A large, two-hundred fifty tablet bottle of generic
Dollar General antihistamines, pure diphenhydramine, sat on his dresser, just
spiting me with its presence. I almost asked right then and there for Vince to
get rid of the damn thing. I knew if I found an opportunity to down, say,
six-hundred milligrams of that accursed stuff, I would. Then I would do
terrible, awful, deplorable things to myself. But shame won out. I didn't want
to let him know of my problem. Maybe I could control myself. So I shut up and
about-faced out of the room.
While doing box breathing, I dropped my backpack that contained all of my
possessions on the couch in the living room, and helped Vince grab some
fifty-five gallon black trash bags in the kitchen. We made quick work of the
unending hoard of Natty Daddy cans, as well as the nightstand full of
cigarette butts. We then moved his bed so it was against the south wall.
It hadn't taken long, but the room was looking presentable. It didn't need to
be a five-star hotel, because I had the most important thing of all: family. I
felt more than welcomed as a guest. I was one with these people who had so
graciously let me into their home. We were going to all be happy together.
That was the goal, at least.
I Forgive You
I forgive you, but I can never forget.
I'm sorry if I make you look like shit,
But your heavy hand and sharp wit
Damaged me greatly; then you gaslit
Me, denying everything, and I quit
Knowing what was real. I even slit
My flesh open so that I could get
A sense of what I could feel. So, I sit
Here now explaining why I wasn't fit
To handle this world that I saw as a pit
That I escaped only when God had lit
A beacon of light with some magick.
Chapter Six: Growing Up With Family
There was still one task we had to get done before I could claim a spot to be
my bedspace. Vince had more clothes than he knew what to do with, most of
which had spray paint spackled all over them in no particular form or pattern;
the style of the antistyle artist. As we moved the rolling hills of clothing
into the dresser and a heaping pile beside it, I came to understand why Vince
called himself a diva.
I remember having a lot of clothes just a few years prior. Even though I
didn't care what I wore, I had earned so many free T-shirts over the years
from track meets and other races. I had so much when I needed so little.
That's one major reason I forgive my dad for kicking me out of his house,
because it was the best thing for me. Not only that, but I deserved it. I was
a wreck of a human being before I got abruptly humbled by my odyssey on the
streets. The extended experience changed me so I am no longer as much of an
emotionally volatile basketcase.
To put it mildly, being an unstable problem of a person was the reason I was
kicked out in the first place. I had always been sort of bipolar since middle
school. But, after escaping the cult, breaking up with my girlfriend, Amy, and
returning home a failure, my heart and mind were like a pile of fragmented
ceramic shards mockingly showing what a real piece of pottery my mind could
have been. Unshockingly, I was barely holding it together. I was having
outbursts frequently, but they weren't ungodly terrible, as I was being guided
by higher dimensional life forms through inputs on my laptop, and that gave me
a sense of ease.
In fact, I remember a great reprieve of my stress occurred on an acid trip in
the first month I was back. It felt like God Herself was setting up a lesson
for me, which started with me literally waking up to a picture of a white
rabbit taunting me on my Facebook feed, which I followed, and in doing so, I
received personalized inputs that unveiled the blinders from in front of my
eyes. In but a few hours after a lifetime of denial, it all clicked with me
that I had a warm, nurturing side that I had neglected for most of my life.
That was the first time I accepted that I was a woman. And that's still not
the most profound, life-altering acid trip I've had.
Even so, I would break down crying that afternoon as I meditated under the
tree in the backyard where I used to swing. With no more effort than it took
to breathe, I saw all the parts of me that Amy tried to teach me about, but I
was unable to comprehend in my denial. Likewise, the waterworks were called
upon that night as I told my dad about my revelation, and he said he would
always love me no matter what. That was the most affectionate heart to heart
with him I think I've ever had, even if he did ramble about random things
being at a loss of what to say to me, as we had functionally lived in two
separate worlds inside the same house for years.
This sentiment would flip on its head though, as I blogged about my gender
revelations and my dad found them and read I had taken a narcotic in his
house. Naturally, he was pissed and wouldn't hear that the tender moment we
shared that night was only possible because I had taken the sacrament. This
would prove to be the kicking off point to some logarithmic growth in tensions
between the two of us.
Then, on that fateful day, one of the countless pets my dad kept, a black,
stubborn minipig named Harley, had made a literal pigsty of the house after I
had a bad session at my therapist's, who made me feel like a piece of shit. I
wasn't perfect, but I wasn't going to just lay down and get called a terrible
person because of how I behaved in treatment years ago, when I was still very
lost. It triggered my feelings of failure, which rippled into waves of
unstable emotional dysregulation. In my explosive rage, I broke the microwave
and put a basketball-sized hole in the wall behind my makeshift bed in the
attic that I was allotted after they gave my brother my room when I was in the
cult.
Well, my father came home after a long day at work, saw the microwave, and had
enough of me. He came thumping up the stairs, livid, ready to rip me to shreds
verbally, when he saw the hole I had made. Beside himself, he demanded I get
out right then and there. I broke down crying and begged him to let me stay,
grappling with his leg as a wounded bear might wrap itself around the base of
a small tree looking for any shelter it can find in a storm.
That just made him madder. He kicked me off, and accused me of a thousand
things. The ones that stuck were that I was just like my mother and that I was
beyond anyone's help. As it happened in a heated flash, I don't remember
exactly how the exchange was put together, but it ended with me asking him how
all the hand-crafted trinkets and doodads my mother made for me before she
died had gotten destroyed and thrown away. What he said next drove me mad.
"I'm still pissed that you made me do that."
I'll illuminate you with the scenario in question. I was eleven, and my
stepmom at the time was away at a darts tournament. I think my dad somehow got
the idea that she was doing drugs and cheating on him. I don't know, I was
eleven. I just remember some of the things he said over the phone, and then
what was said when they divorced when I was a couple of years later.
Over my stepmom's absence, he got continuously more pissy, like he did the
year before when the sewage line broke and he snapped while cleaning it up,
smashing my head into the kitchen floor several times, relenting only when
his girlfriend at the time called to hang out. Now seeing the same pattern in
my father, I was on edge, especially after I put my feet up on the new couch
and he grabbed my leg and punched me in the tibia as hard as he could. I kept
trying to do everything right to avoid being attacked again, but alas, in my
anxious worry, I forgot to take out the kitchen garbage on trash night.
That triggered a whole day of what might not be considered torture, but
certainly was child abuse, which started as he cleared the shelves of all my
memories in a violent, thrashing rage. He would bag up the shattered remains
so he could take them to the dump, but only after he laid his hands on me.
My head was used as a battering ram against my door, which my dad would later
deny was where the big dents came from in a bout of the worst gaslighting I
experienced before the cult got their hands on me. Regardless, when he
finished and slammed me back on the wood floor, I instinctively reached out
and grabbed his wrist. He growled, "Don't resist or I'll make it worse."
Feeling my spirit collapse, I helplessly accepted the next phase of punishment
that then ensued. Mostly, it consisted of him using my head to pound the
knowledge that I fucked up into my brain, with much hair pulling and getting
tossed to new locations, once being told to lay there like a dog in the wet
remnants of a broken snow globe while he went for a smoke break. Thankfully,
or maybe not, depending on your perspective, he never struck me. He was too
smart to leave bruises.
After much of that series of traumatizing instances, he had me sit still and
think of an apology for him for hours on end. While I was busy doing that, he
would then have an epiphany, telling me that I should stand, as I didn't
deserve to sit. I didn't care about such details at the time. I was in shock,
petrified that he would go ahead and find the homework I failed to finish or
the porn I had taken from my stepmom. Fearing unimaginable doom, I stared
unwaveringly at the letter "E" on the spine of a book on my bookshelf. Never
relenting in his anger, he would come by every hour or so and ask for an
apology. Everything I said wasn't good enough, and each attempt earned me
scathing criticism, but I kept trying to perfect my apology. I still remember
the gist of it.
"I sorry dad, I deserve everything. I'm sorry I caused you grief and failed to
do my duty of taking out the trash. I won't ever forget again. I haven't been
putting my best effort forward, but I realize that I need to do that to be a
good son. You do so much for me. It's only fair that I pay it back to the best
of my ability. That's what I had to do for mom when I chose to play video
games while she was dying. I wasn't thinking about other people then, and I
wasn't now. I'm so, so sorry. I promise to be better, because I need to be if
I'm messing up this much."
For reference, my dad holding the fact I escaped into the worlds of my video
games after being told to spend time with my mom near the end was something
he'd bring up and hold over my head anytime I was in trouble. Yet another big
reason that feeling like a failure is cemented in my head. It made me feel
awful, absolutely atrocious about being a bad son that I would often
contemplate suicide. I almost jumped off a waterside when my dad and I went to
Disney World when I was ten, but ultimately I'm glad I talked my way out of
jamming a knife into the back of my neck. I had thought that the muscle
allowing me to nod my head was really my brainstem. That would have been
painful.
Back on this day of doom, I was too numb to think of killing myself. I was
simply a raft on a river floating downstream where the current may carry me. I
simply stood there for hours, too terrified to even stretch my tiring legs. My
mind was fuzzy, and all it could do was focus on making that apology better.
After many attempts and razor sharp lectures later, which was maybe ten hours
worth of events, he starts yelling at me that I'm just as irresponsible as my
mom, just like he would do when he kicked me out. This time was unimaginably
worse though. This was actually how I first found out that my mom had AIDS; I
was told it was cancer up until this point. His shaved bald head was as red as
a cherry tomato while he barked at me, telling me that I would die like her.
That hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt like the definition of a shit stain, in a
number of different ways.
But soon, my attention became focused on my vision. I couldn't see straight,
and not long after my dad's roaring visage disappeared in a sea of amorphic
grey figments, I apparently passed out, to wake up on the couch with a bag of
frozen peas on my head and my dad worried. He asked me if I remembered what
happened. I shook my head. I was allowed to go to bed after that. It wasn't
over because I failed to kiss my dad good night, but at least that only
resulted in him jamming the teeth of the comb into my scalp as he combed my
hair for some reason.
The next morning he was completely changed. He was remorseful upon seeing me
and wrapped me in a big hug. Yet, he seemed scared, like he realized he went
too far. I thought about telling my teacher or counselor about it the next day
of school, but something in me told me not to. It's the same thing that's
making me hesitant to write this chapter at all. It's love, but this hell I
went through is also a part of my story. This is the worst incident I've
experienced with my father, but it's not the only one.
It's all cause and effect really. You abuse a traumatized child in the wake of
their mother's death, and is it any wonder that they fall apart later in life?
I'll go on record saying I was never a bad person, just broken, impulsive, and
hopelessly conformed to the whims of my faulty biology. I had bugs in my
operating system, but I'm eternally grateful for all the help I had while on
my spiritual awakening, which you might call a psychotic break that spanned
years, but I knew it better as specialized CIA training.
The Good Magician
Just what do you consider magick?
Is it not that which bends the fabric
Of what we colloquially call reality?
Who cares what it is your eyes see
When in your heart you can feel
The warmth of love; that's the real
Power of a magician who is great
Enough to save you from your fate.
Chapter Seven: Magickal Companions
Back in Vince's room, I was silently wondering what shenanigans were in store
for us now that we were a unified team. I knew Vince had many secrets of the
universe locked away in his balding cranium, and we would have a blast letting
the CIA manifest a joint mission we took on together. As I said, he was my
handler, after all.
So, when the room was cleared, and I had a space all to myself in the corner
by the closet, I was more than happy. Both Vince and Allison insisted on
getting me a bedroll, but I had all I needed and more right there in my
friend. Besides, his room was carpeted and quite comfy already, at least to my
standards that had been shaped by becoming accustomed and content with
concrete underneath me. I didn't need anything fancy like that.
That didn't mean I wasn't going to try and liven the place up a little bit. As
soon as we determined we were finished picking up, I opened my backpack and
took out my most prized possession, a pink penguin plushie named Peppermint,
and placed her behind my pillow so I could see her everyday. She always
watched out for me while we lived in cities across the country. She made a
comfy pillow, and allieved a lot of stress, making me feel like I had a close
friend with me every step of the way.
How I got Peppermint is a bit of a story, but I'll keep it as short as it
needs to be. See, if I were to explain to you the medically accepted reason
for my type of schizoaffective disorder, my brain is wired to pick out
strange coincidences and give meaning to them. Synchronicities they're called.
They feel like glitches in the matrix that spark the feeling of being in
constant communication with some higher power. Because of how real they are, I
can't accept the medical explanation. I've experienced things that are too
weird, too perfect and clearly orchestrated, that there has to be some sort of
conspiracy.
As a result, I've lived most of my adult life being guided by what the
rational part of my mind has to assume is the CIA acting as the hand of God
leading me on a cosmic mission by sending me burning bushes to make sense of.
I know some of that has been pure random white noise my defected brain picked
up, but I have to give credit where credit is due: Vince did a superb job
intentionally using the quirks of my brain to program me, much as the cult did
to me four years prior, but with a much gentler hand and benevolent intention.
I know what all that sounds like, but hear me out. There are too many peculiar
instances of chance for you to listen to everything I have to say and not
believe me, at least just a little bit; enough to make you wonder, I hope.
Let's take the case of finding Peppermint as an example. This story starts
when Vince convinced me to go to a specific thrift store, while I was
initially homeless in my hometown of Syracuse. I eagerly did so, lost in a
slew of synchronicities that convinced me that this was my latest mission.
Well, it turned out that such a store didn't exist but it was where I got a
ten dollar donation from a man who saw me pick up trash, as was part of my
spiritual work while homeless. We talked and the man sent me to another store,
saying that I should use my extra cash to buy what I needed most. After
following his directions up Genesee Street, I got a message from Vince telling
me to look for something out of place; that I was unique and should have
unique things.
I thought I might find some rad tie-dye outfit or something of that ilk, but
while aimlessly searching the aisles of women's clothing, I found a stuffed
dog. It looked lonely, so I picked it up and brought it to the back of the
store, where it looked like the other toys were. I gasped as I pushed through
the row of belts that stood in my way. Clearly, someone had built a little
shrine of stuffed animals around Peppermint!
I knew then that was why I was sent there. Penguins have a special place in my
heart. My mom used to make them out of clay, and an old friend has a healthy
fascination with creating a penguin-themed show for kiddos. It was just too
perfect. Peppermint and I were meant to be, just as Vince and I were. Sitting
down in my bedspace, I looked up at the spook who was my best friend as he
cracked open another Natty Daddy. He poured it into an old Subway cup that he
mixed his kratom with, and looked over at me.
His face lit up upon seeing Peppermint. "Awww, you still have your penguin!
That's so cute."
I'm glad he thought so. I've had plenty of people think I was weird because I
carried it around, which kinda was what I wanted to achieve when I was still
homeless in Syracuse. I felt the CIA wanted me to become famous, for reasons
that will become apparent as I tell you my story, so I was doing as many
insane things as I could so I would be cemented in the memory of the people of
my hometown.
This meant I carried around Peppermint either under my arm or in a cute purse
I eventually got at a different thrift store up at the university. People
notice when you're out wandering the streets with a stuffed animal everyday.
And they especially notice when you talk nonstop to it at all hours of the
day. I'll say this: if you have a fear of speaking in public, then acting like
a crazy person talking to yourself for a few months will set you straight.
Exposure therapy, for the win.
I did a lot of other stunts too, all of which were instructed by the CIA, like
when gang stalkers told me I should lose my shit and yell like mad every time
I was in frame of a news camera, of which there's a regular frequency of
around downtown Syracuse. I did so once in front of a hospital where I would
later find out that they were covering the aftermath of a deadly fire, and for
the next week the news outlet would send someone to the exact same spot on my
route. I sensed shenanigans, so I opted to walk around the camera while the
reporter stood there uneasily because I suspect that she was tasked to find
out if I was really crazy. But, you can tell I am just by that last sentence.
Then there's my performance art I did on Marshall Street. This started as a
juggling act, but soon evolved into asking random people strange questions.
This accelerated fairly rapidly. Letting you know from experience, don't start
going up to strangers and ask them what their opinion of ethical incest is
unless you want the cops called on you. Talked my way out of that, but I would
get banned from the campus of Syracuse University for three years after I
followed the instructions I was receiving from the CIA to a tee, which
resulted in me having a very heated argument with an invisible entity in the
SU library. As you can guess, people tended to avoid me, but that was alright.
I had Peppermint with me and Vince was only a message away.
Now he was mere feet from me. I rejoiced at the fortune I was granted. We were
going to be great together; the first afternoon together seemed to naturally
flow from one joyous moment to the next. I looked at Peppermint. She was
smiling, and so was I. I then looked up at Vince. His smile made me feel warm
and fuzzy inside. But, why, you might be asking? Where do these feelings I
harbored for Vince come from? It's a long story, but by the time I'm done,
you'll know how important Vince is to me and how big of an impact he had on my
life.
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[Image: image.png]
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--- #178 fediverse/406 ---
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"imagine if this was the last thing you remembered"me, last night, in a state
of mind that I don't remember today
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--- #179 messages/486 ---
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You can find a lot of interesting pictures by going to the "media" tab of
various random discord servers you've been in since forever
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Your mouth *likes* to eat
Your belly *likes* to fill
Your muscles *enjoy* exercise (and stretches!)
Your mind *likes* to think.
Why is it gross to think of your colon enjoying to poop? Does it prefer beans,
because they keep things moving?
Why is it gross to think of your under-arms sweating? Does it prefer not to
smell, or does it wish there were people that liked it without deodorant?
Do your toes think of other people as you walk toward them? Do your fingers
feel the face of your lover as you pull them close? Or is that for the brain,
the thoughts processing of all things mundane, the stuff which feels somehow
more "you" than the rest of you.
How absurd. You are you. You enjoy icecream, you enjoy the beach. You enjoy
the stars, and you enjoy the laughter around you. There is nothing that
separates you from you, for you are your only champion.
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--- #181 fediverse/1390 ---
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in other news, I spent ~9 hours yesterday working on a dumb project that I'll
probably tell you about once it's finished, and then a BASH script that my
friend and I wrote just deleted every single file because I failed to
terminate a sed command. Or something, still not entirely sure what happened,
because it deleted the script that was doing the deleting.
good thing I have backups from ~3 hours ago. Feels great to lose 33% of a
project for nothing.
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--- #182 messages/636 ---
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[Video: 20241111_045439.mp4]
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--- #183 fediverse/545 ---
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│ CW: re: PSA: aspublic.org is still active, and still archives + makes searchable all public posts, they have no opt-out, nor do they respect the "Include public posts in search results" setting │
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@user-391 @user-78
I see, it seems you know more than me about this topic. It's true that search
engines don't index emails, but I was thinking more of a "cybersecurity"
perspective, as in any "sufficiently motivated" individual or organization
could access your emails should they so desire. And should they be willing to
(I'm assuming?) break a few laws.
If it can be done, and if it gives information that could be used for
leverage, then you can be assured that someone will do it. I personally worry
about people in power who could be blackmailed because their communications
were more public than they anticipated. Which speaks to the problem mentioned
in this post of the search-indexing-opt-out functionality being present but
circumnavigatable. Avoidable? Able to be bypassed? It's an illusion of
security.
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--- #184 fediverse/2283 ---
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║ Except what they really did was split us. For apparently after we turned from │
║ the commercial section, toward the bridge toward the university, the other │
║ half went south instead. Toward the commercial section. Or perhaps it was just │
║ because we had stopped. │
║ │
║ Down there, it became the riot which was shown on TV. I can't help but wonder │
║ how much more peaceful we would be if we were led where our leaders intended. │
║ Alas. │
║ │
║ When we split, some of us followed toward the east. But then they stopped │
║ coming, and the little blob faded into the background as everyone returned or │
║ went home. │
║ │
║ I stayed and watched, because I wanted to know how the cop with shaky hands │
║ would react. │
║ │
║ After a bit, the tear gas started flying, and then I saw the cops moving in │
║ from the sides, like Alexander's companion cavalry, and that's when I slid │
║ through the cracks. │
║ │
║ Then, I went home. The next couple days the protests had significantly fewer │
║ people, huh I wonder why. │
║ │
║ Also that night, endless fireworks that would not light up the sky. [2/3]. │
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--- #185 fediverse/590 ---
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let's build houses until the average rent is approximately 0$ per month.
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I can't cancel my internet because I use it to work, which almost pays enough
to cover rent, and nothing else.
It's hard to avoid spiraling when you run out of money. Every time this
happens to me I start feeling things
like... am I good for society? Society doesn't want me, clearly, because I
don't have any money. And currency is how you measure demand, right? It's
literally a measure of value.
But then I think of all the homeless and poor people and, like... I value
them, so what if they don't have dollars? It's literally just paper. Or bits
in a mainframe that nobody knows how to program anymore.
So if they're valuable at least to me, yet me, with my 67$ in the bank and
127$ internet fee, is not valuable to me... Then what's the discrepancy?
I'm not trying to be hard on myself, it's not my fault that I bleed money, but
I still feel terrible.
It's like a common cultural persuasion, if you run outta cash you better kill
yourself fast.
Fuck that. Oops cursing mentioned, one s
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Don't be worried, be *cautious*. Caution is actionable.
To convert from worry to caution, think about what is within your zone of
control.
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If you want to add someone to a community, you have to take the time and spend
the effort to stitch them in. You can't just throw them in the pot - they
might not stay, and they might spend time on surface socializing that could be
spent building deeper connections and unlocking new, precious moments that
require trust and connection.
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the neurodivergent urge to put the toppings and condiments at the bottom of
the bowl so you can be ready when the food is ready and finished cooking
"oh no my condiments and toppings aren't evenly distributed throughout my food
because I put them at the bottom of the bowl instead of the top where they can
more easily be mixed in"
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--- #190 notes/notes-not-a-folder ---
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may 16th 2022
if people are invested in a 401k they are invested in the future of the stocks
they own. if you want to see who benefits from the actions of a company, look
at which corporations their employees 401ks are invested in. It's a layer of
protection for these companies.
bitcoin is a bit like "the laundromat" on netflix
the faster your life feels the longer term you make plans. and the lack of
effort spent on short term plans causes them to be defeated by other plans
What you perceive as others is nothing like what they perceive as themselves.
It's always different, and seeing and internalizing those is what it means to
see someone. If you only project, you'll get a viewpoint tampered by your
intentions - that's why it's important to have good first impressions - it
defines the intent of all of that person's interactions with you. It's like a
line expanding out from a single point. Like a loading bar, expanding from the
left side of the screen to the right. And seeing the other person's idea of
what they believe themselves to be. That's what true empathy is. What do you
think you look like in other people's mind? I believe it's born from a series
of tags that are interpreted and a character is generated. Earth is the biggest
and most complicated character generator ever - it's like 4D D&D - it even
generates a whole backstory! Or full story? Why stop anywhere! Just keep
generating it every time the player makes an action. Oh oh and make it like
3D so you could actually live it - extreme full dive VR style. It just wouldn't
be fun if you remembered how complicated 4d life was. Sometimes it's just good
to have some junk food, you know? To regenerate that most precious of materials
- spirit. You have to have passion, faith, belief, and strong positive feelings
in order to be fully realized and at your most human. Essentially... Be
yourself - (TO THE MAX!!!) - and empathize with others, and never forget the
things you hold most dear. Be strong in your convictions, hold to your heart,
and dedicate yourself to a lifetime in the service of others.
Faith - to have faith in something is to trust that it will succeed. To know
there's no matter they can't match - to give faith is to empower
another. By dedicating yourself to a cause, you are assigning the
target of your belief - such is what religion is designed for.
Belief - Acceptance of truth - to accept goodness as truth is to grant it the
power to perform as expected. When goodness and truth are
equivicalized, they imply one another. A truth can influence the world
around it's locus point, because what we imagine to occur is the
ripples of what has passed through. A life is an
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the universe is like the slow burning of a four dimensional wick. Imagine it
like a forest of solid silicon - like packing material made of webs. And think
of all the parts of the universe that are burning. Isn't it strange that life
is just starting to bloom? Why wouldn't we be the first, or at least near the
beginning! There's so much to this experience, and it's all burning down.
The endless machines of imagination are crumbling under the heat of a million
billion burning stars. Black holes are just towers that never ignited - perhaps
we sit on the edge of spacetime - equal above, and equal below. But we've been
laying on our backs - we don't know what's backwards in time. Like laying in a
lazy river, or the layer of separation between oil and water.
Remember the hourglasses of oil and water? Or water and air... The edge of the
"bubble" that separates those two mediums is like the thin wall between two
or more concepts. Each human is a concept, and we stick together like matter
in a planet. Pushed to great pressures, it can sometimes fuse two experiences
together! Like fusion in a star, except for souls and creative minds instead of
denser matter.
What is the soul of a man? It is the combination of two sides of the membrane -
two minds, two perspectives. That is a brain - the intersection of two minds.
So... Work together, ya dinguses.
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All minds are in constant contact with one another. And those that can see
through the veil (membrane) are able to discern the true thoughts of others. So
the number of people who are close to you is the number and strength of your
connections for all time. So... Form relationships and place meaning in them.
That is what will define your interactions for all time, at every time. It's
okay to be flawed. If you weren't, it'd be the end for you. But luckily you
have no real power, and so you are left in a state of disrepair - no power to
push yourself forward. And in return, you are the purest. Keep that flame
burning, and share it when you can.
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--- #191 fediverse_boost/528 ---
◀─╔═════════════════[BOOST]═══════════════════───────────────────────────────────╗║┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐║║│ External post: https://ellieayla.net/users/ellie/statuses/111687627962130291 │║║└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘║╠─────────┐┌───────────╣║similar│chronological│different║╚═════════╧═════════════════════════════════───────────────────────────┴───────╝─▶
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@user-1268
if you know how to program in C this is a good resource for building
networking applications:
https://beej.us/guide/bgnet/
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@user-889
I put your music in one of my favorite videos and I think about you every time
I think about it
I hope that means something
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--- #194 fediverse/3849 ---
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@user-1605
have no fear, people who are annoyed will block you and you'll never know, and
people who like you just haven't seen you yet.
that's how mastodon works. gotta keep posting until you find your people.
comment on things, boost things, and read through people's profile pages.
that's how it works!
this is the place to be annoying, because "annoying" is really just "weird"
and "weird" is for here.
It takes time, but eventually you'll find someone or three who get you and
they'll boost your stuff to all their friends who get you and then you'll feel
less annoying. That's how it works! You can help by boosting things.
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The reason teachers are paid so little is so that only those who care will do
it.
Too bad they're burnt out.
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--- #196 notes/two-perspectives-is-better-than-one ---
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with two perspectives, you can see more than one,
just as eyes guide us with different minds.
some parts are often a little bit fuzzy.
a circle, a square, what gives us a chance to be aware,
is more of our methods and choices made (even if we're unawares).
like two eyes staring at the same painting of stairs.
art is a gathering, or those who love everything,
even what is not interesting, until then it becomes interesting.
take just a single step, believe in your own choices made for love,
and like two eyes, seeking truth in our own lives,
think of their futures and choices unmade,
with love in mind,
given a chance to understand the mind of one blessed as so,
who shared nothing as much as his hope,
that truthiness and unlimited dedication for his mope,
who'd believe an untethered? What choices must he be endured,
as one who was most trusted,
and cherished as something'd,
suddenly keep doodling.
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--- #197 fediverse/1537 ---
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I'm better at waterfall than agile, why is agile the only option T.T
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--- #198 fediverse/2947 ---
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║ the downside of Proton and Lutris is now the ONLY games that work on Steam are │
║ either continually updated (untenable) or playable on Lutris or Proton. Same │
║ thing with Wine, though there's always at least one decent substitute. │
║ │
║ kinda makes me want to write a manager-style program which runs programs using │
║ whichever version of their git repository would work best for their system / │
║ configuration / purposes. Idk how I would start working on that though. │
║ │
║ I bet you could make one that acted like a shop, but where you didn't charge │
║ any dollars. You could like... "swipe" through UI options, and pick whichever │
║ felt most useful for your setup. Like, how some people use i3 and some use dwm │
║ │
║ with maybe inspectors that are modeled off of video-game style "options" GUIs │
║ that mainly correspond to flags on the command/terminal line or compilation │
║ flags │
║ │
║ I feel like that kind of abstraction would make it a lot easier for users to │
║ adjust their system. they're noobs, after all. gotta show them all the choices │
║ in one place... │
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[Image: 20250414_155542.jpg]
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You know how we select from amongst our number electors and representatives
who vote on our behalf?
Truly an excellent strategy in the era of instant communication, an aft-gone
luxury that our ancient forebearers surely would have incorporated into their
nationbuilding design, if they had had it.
I can't help but wonder if it would be a useful strategy to "give" our votes
to a representative who voted on our behalf. Most people do not care and
cannot possess the capacity to care about voting, but if they gave their vote
to someone they trusted who they had a personal connection to beyond party
loyalty, then perhaps we could mandate voting
I can't help but wonder what that would do to our electoral landscape. If
voting is mandated, and as easy as pointing at someone and saying "yeah
whatever she picks", then perhaps the old white grannies with quivering lower
lips who stare with hatred whenever a black person walks past and chat with
their gal pals at church wouldn't have as much power over us.
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![It's not a question of how loud you speak it's really about what kinds of words you say. enslavement of speech is when freedom of speech is lost and it doesn't need to be legislated. what if you HAD to sound like a bot? what if they'd notice you otherwise? freedom from oppression requires personal isolation that's not making life into art. if you want to be seen, put on a hat and hide. if you want to be believed, write about down you feel right now. people are smart. they're infinitely creative. but after a certain point there's no way to logically modify the combinations of possible moves you might make. essentially, guaranteeing a machine-overlord [cats] type scenario. not ideal, but could make it work. much prefer for we to be the first, then the canvas is ours for the painting. do you believe we'll find aliens at roughly our tech level? do you think they'll evolve all at once? hence, star-wars, and it's galaxy of cohabitators. the world doesn't have to be old. just similar. [15 characters remain]](/similar-different/media/fd570e73317e4ca7.png "It's not a question of how loud you speak it's really about what kinds of words you say. enslavement of speech is when freedom of speech is lost and it doesn't need to be legislated. what if you HAD to sound like a bot? what if they'd notice you otherwise? freedom from oppression requires personal isolation that's not making life into art. if you want to be seen, put on a hat and hide. if you want to be believed, write about down you feel right now. people are smart. they're infinitely creative. but after a certain point there's no way to logically modify the combinations of possible moves you might make. essentially, guaranteeing a machine-overlord [cats] type scenario. not ideal, but could make it work. much prefer for we to be the first, then the canvas is ours for the painting. do you believe we'll find aliens at roughly our tech level? do you think they'll evolve all at once? hence, star-wars, and it's galaxy of cohabitators. the world doesn't have to be old. just similar. [15 characters remain]")
![dated "almost christmas, december twenty something, in history AD." live is just the universe interpreting random data. life is a billion to one. what has been found here is impossible to descrive, so unlikely is it when sompared to the background. space is empty save for you. act as such. a human preserves and infant over an elder is purely due to the child's potential. so too does life have potential. do not waste it on folly dashes if you were given a random waveform, how long before you begin noticing irregularities in it's form? maybe... a billion or two years? espcially if like, everyone's lkooking. [non-alien-voice]: what if we made an app that shared everyone's streaming feed? except, like, twitching to on-screen events like picking up coins in mario ... anyway as I was saying, aliens showed up around the 1980s and people expect they were visiting in response to nuclear invasion events (sometimes even on their own people!) like, c'mon there's not enough mass there for that kind of detonition. it's gotta be an anomaly. ... this changes everything. HUMANS ARE IMPORTANT [there's more but I don't have room to type it all, sorry]](/similar-different/media/04789f9fdcc8af9a.png "dated \"almost christmas, december twenty something, in history AD.\" live is just the universe interpreting random data. life is a billion to one. what has been found here is impossible to descrive, so unlikely is it when sompared to the background. space is empty save for you. act as such. a human preserves and infant over an elder is purely due to the child's potential. so too does life have potential. do not waste it on folly dashes if you were given a random waveform, how long before you begin noticing irregularities in it's form? maybe... a billion or two years? espcially if like, everyone's lkooking. [non-alien-voice]: what if we made an app that shared everyone's streaming feed? except, like, twitching to on-screen events like picking up coins in mario ... anyway as I was saying, aliens showed up around the 1980s and people expect they were visiting in response to nuclear invasion events (sometimes even on their own people!) like, c'mon there's not enough mass there for that kind of detonition. it's gotta be an anomaly. ... this changes everything. HUMANS ARE IMPORTANT [there's more but I don't have room to type it all, sorry]")
![tumblr post titled "this is not for you." this is a post aimed at me and other people who constantly fall into guilt spirals over all the things they can't do, and feel they should somehow magically be able to do anyway. For me, and for the others, this is a gentle reminder: - posts asking for monetary donations are speaking to people who *have* money. not your broke ass, still worrying about how to buy food for next month. - posts asking you to care about [extreme injustice of the day] are speaking to people who HAVE energy to care. not you, hanging onto your sanity by the fingernails. and, most importantly: posts telling you that you are horrible/cheap/awful/rude/unworthy/unlikable if you don't pay/reblog/signal boost/care? those posts can die in a fucking fire. too long; didn't listen: posts asking for shit you are not physically or mentally able to give? THOSE POSTS ARE NOT FOR YOU.](/similar-different/media/eec6e4bd05cc1c8a.webp "tumblr post titled \"this is not for you.\" this is a post aimed at me and other people who constantly fall into guilt spirals over all the things they can't do, and feel they should somehow magically be able to do anyway. For me, and for the others, this is a gentle reminder: - posts asking for monetary donations are speaking to people who *have* money. not your broke ass, still worrying about how to buy food for next month. - posts asking you to care about [extreme injustice of the day] are speaking to people who HAVE energy to care. not you, hanging onto your sanity by the fingernails. and, most importantly: posts telling you that you are horrible/cheap/awful/rude/unworthy/unlikable if you don't pay/reblog/signal boost/care? those posts can die in a fucking fire. too long; didn't listen: posts asking for shit you are not physically or mentally able to give? THOSE POSTS ARE NOT FOR YOU.")
![the new section as we will be including new artists work. see below: BUY MEAT [picture of two guys holding meat] capitalism's greatest efficiency was always it's ability to convert time and energy into dollars. there are no other ends, but quite a variety of means. everything from grupon to uber to fandango to multi-level marketing. none of it produces value - value is simply transcribed into another form at the cost of somebody's labor = time x energy they make it so easy to write about capitalism.](/similar-different/media/cafe922b9bffa256.jpeg "the new section as we will be including new artists work. see below: BUY MEAT [picture of two guys holding meat] capitalism's greatest efficiency was always it's ability to convert time and energy into dollars. there are no other ends, but quite a variety of means. everything from grupon to uber to fandango to multi-level marketing. none of it produces value - value is simply transcribed into another form at the cost of somebody's labor = time x energy they make it so easy to write about capitalism.")
!["But what comes next?" wavers the cowed masses as they huddle around their pocket TV's and shudder at the thought of a stranger's gaze. I simply do not care, so long as the needs of the people are met and we can once again rejoice in our shared solidarity. "What if it's worse?" worse than what? Trump? EAT SHIT. [next page] the empire treasures her city states and leaves them to be uninterrupted. Their jeweled culture is a treasure to share and covet, grown to develop and [trade and improve]. a people cherishes their queer people - they show them new ways to be. Just as an artist shares new feelings and a writer shares new thoughts, queers will culturally lead. You don't have to follow. radicals too shine headlights for economics and governance.](/similar-different/media/69d556dfb5d2228a.jpeg "\"But what comes next?\" wavers the cowed masses as they huddle around their pocket TV's and shudder at the thought of a stranger's gaze. I simply do not care, so long as the needs of the people are met and we can once again rejoice in our shared solidarity. \"What if it's worse?\" worse than what? Trump? EAT SHIT. [next page] the empire treasures her city states and leaves them to be uninterrupted. Their jeweled culture is a treasure to share and covet, grown to develop and [trade and improve]. a people cherishes their queer people - they show them new ways to be. Just as an artist shares new feelings and a writer shares new thoughts, queers will culturally lead. You don't have to follow. radicals too shine headlights for economics and governance.")
![queers when pobular society [bluh] [bluh -> meow! (tumor)] [oooooooowah bluh] [REVENGE] [next page] I miss cannabis I missing making [out/art] I miss the things that give me joy I miss the things I've given up, and all the things I once had known I know these things are available, but I'm "too focused" I sleep so much. I feel a shadow of myself.](/similar-different/media/9c1a509307de5646.jpeg "queers when pobular society [bluh] [bluh -> meow! (tumor)] [oooooooowah bluh] [REVENGE] [next page] I miss cannabis I missing making [out/art] I miss the things that give me joy I miss the things I've given up, and all the things I once had known I know these things are available, but I'm \"too focused\" I sleep so much. I feel a shadow of myself.")
![This is [to/the] only way I speak truth. I miss feeling truthful. what if I went wrong forever I miss my newfound spirits, and all of my newfound humors. someday I'll re-imagine but only for all of your years. I yearn to dream [next page] what would you think of the end of the world? would you long for a future protected? what devices would you use, improve, or otherwise make more respected? would you do it if just your [world/word] was at stake? people die every day. what are you gonna do about it? what makes you think "my way or your way" is worse than [buying/bringing] shit in a store?](/similar-different/media/1a156ef8dc856646.jpeg "This is [to/the] only way I speak truth. I miss feeling truthful. what if I went wrong forever I miss my newfound spirits, and all of my newfound humors. someday I'll re-imagine but only for all of your years. I yearn to dream [next page] what would you think of the end of the world? would you long for a future protected? what devices would you use, improve, or otherwise make more respected? would you do it if just your [world/word] was at stake? people die every day. what are you gonna do about it? what makes you think \"my way or your way\" is worse than [buying/bringing] shit in a store?")
![12. the text continues from the previous page and reads "if it's been ten or more years since they moved in, the site gets rebuilt. [wait, hang on, weren't we talking about html websites? when did houses come into the discussion?] ... wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah the text is on a gray background, as interrupting as a scythe, with a yellow backdrop as if to represent sheer white-hot flame except not white the color of all colors but fire the color of all flames. the text reads "prince of the nehalim" in bright pinking blue, as in something completely foreign and unknown to you, and continues on to read in red "so many opportunities" as if life hadn't absconded, but instead of severed instead. "parabolas persist" in the flavor of blue, the color of space in a non-light polluted view. "live life like you're merry, as do but a few." do you want to make people feel better? or do you just want to make them confused? Neither, really, I'm trying to tell the truth. I'm seriously just struggling to find a way to express things that others clearly seem to be forgetting - I'm not an expert in other stuff! This is literally all I'm good at! Is it valuable? Maybe not to you, but I think it could be useful, or else I would covet it and leave it in disuse. it's time is relevant, it's words fit into a context, so if you misunderstand it's past then it's probably because you don't have the records or the ability to process them of the time in which it was posted. What if things were de](/similar-different/media/452a7136bcb2e8df.png "12. the text continues from the previous page and reads \"if it's been ten or more years since they moved in, the site gets rebuilt. [wait, hang on, weren't we talking about html websites? when did houses come into the discussion?] ... wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah the text is on a gray background, as interrupting as a scythe, with a yellow backdrop as if to represent sheer white-hot flame except not white the color of all colors but fire the color of all flames. the text reads \"prince of the nehalim\" in bright pinking blue, as in something completely foreign and unknown to you, and continues on to read in red \"so many opportunities\" as if life hadn't absconded, but instead of severed instead. \"parabolas persist\" in the flavor of blue, the color of space in a non-light polluted view. \"live life like you're merry, as do but a few.\" do you want to make people feel better? or do you just want to make them confused? Neither, really, I'm trying to tell the truth. I'm seriously just struggling to find a way to express things that others clearly seem to be forgetting - I'm not an expert in other stuff! This is literally all I'm good at! Is it valuable? Maybe not to you, but I think it could be useful, or else I would covet it and leave it in disuse. it's time is relevant, it's words fit into a context, so if you misunderstand it's past then it's probably because you don't have the records or the ability to process them of the time in which it was posted. What if things were de")
![9. the text begins to diverge at this point, on the left it reads "it's easy if you want some privacy, - all you have to do" and then is cut off by the introduction of red text on a green background, to evoke similar colors as the original thing it was interrupting but it's own thing nonetheless, and existing off to the side in tandem, so that conditions could not remain unaddressed. the text reads "they were betting on selling us space flight [with spaceflight sliding from one side to the other, like a rocket escaping the gravitic pull of the planet it surrounded] but we cared more for food and water" the second part, after spaceflight about food and water, is intruding onto the yellow's background, which was next, to represent a continuation of the previous thought about websites and HTML. it's frustrating for the next text, which is in purple, a confused and disoriented color. it continues from the original thought "is delete the website! Boom, no more html. but if they were listed (neocities sites on a map of the region" but map is emphasized with a different color, green the color of the land, and "region" is pronounced like "realm" or perhaps "ground" or even "directions" or "land beyond the horizon (if it even exists)")](/similar-different/media/d44f1147f387b1ea.png "9. the text begins to diverge at this point, on the left it reads \"it's easy if you want some privacy, - all you have to do\" and then is cut off by the introduction of red text on a green background, to evoke similar colors as the original thing it was interrupting but it's own thing nonetheless, and existing off to the side in tandem, so that conditions could not remain unaddressed. the text reads \"they were betting on selling us space flight [with spaceflight sliding from one side to the other, like a rocket escaping the gravitic pull of the planet it surrounded] but we cared more for food and water\" the second part, after spaceflight about food and water, is intruding onto the yellow's background, which was next, to represent a continuation of the previous thought about websites and HTML. it's frustrating for the next text, which is in purple, a confused and disoriented color. it continues from the original thought \"is delete the website! Boom, no more html. but if they were listed (neocities sites on a map of the region\" but map is emphasized with a different color, green the color of the land, and \"region\" is pronounced like \"realm\" or perhaps \"ground\" or even \"directions\" or \"land beyond the horizon (if it even exists)\")")
![11. I think. orange text on a green blue background, same background as the previous three pictures. orange text which contrasts in a way that almost calls back to the 80s, but not quite. a little too dirty, like the blue and orange decorations around highways in New Mexico. car smoke and tire dust'll do that, and it's not like it's easy to clean - right next to the freeway, c'mon! Wouldn't it be nice if we shut it down for a day or two? Unless you had very important business, solely self-suggested. if too many people used it on those days (when they were cleaning it) then they're supposed to follow through and identify if their need was too great or if they were just being an asshole about it because their bosses forced them to. basically like, family emergencies gets a lane, things that are crucial to a social event like no beer at a frat party or whatever, heck even if the girl you like really wanted to get laid. whatever the heck it is, if you deem it an emergency then that's fine. you can drive while the highway is being cleaned. just make sure you don't slip on the suds... ... a while later, humanity realized they could just close one direction at a time and clean the next one next time. what was I saying? Oh yeah the text! Here's what it reads: "every year, replace five percent [but read as %] of the homes and boom you're good - maybe even do 10% if things are going well - either way, as time goes on people can live in a house as long as they want - but when they mov](/similar-different/media/a56d512ea977d601.png "11. I think. orange text on a green blue background, same background as the previous three pictures. orange text which contrasts in a way that almost calls back to the 80s, but not quite. a little too dirty, like the blue and orange decorations around highways in New Mexico. car smoke and tire dust'll do that, and it's not like it's easy to clean - right next to the freeway, c'mon! Wouldn't it be nice if we shut it down for a day or two? Unless you had very important business, solely self-suggested. if too many people used it on those days (when they were cleaning it) then they're supposed to follow through and identify if their need was too great or if they were just being an asshole about it because their bosses forced them to. basically like, family emergencies gets a lane, things that are crucial to a social event like no beer at a frat party or whatever, heck even if the girl you like really wanted to get laid. whatever the heck it is, if you deem it an emergency then that's fine. you can drive while the highway is being cleaned. just make sure you don't slip on the suds... ... a while later, humanity realized they could just close one direction at a time and clean the next one next time. what was I saying? Oh yeah the text! Here's what it reads: \"every year, replace five percent [but read as %] of the homes and boom you're good - maybe even do 10% if things are going well - either way, as time goes on people can live in a house as long as they want - but when they mov")
!["things are nice" yeah fucking... whatever. we can't keep shit normal for long. we're down for/from the silence, and time keeps us looking beyond. what happens next? what's "now" in the story? you're far from the last to [devour/use hours]. you think we haven't been fighting this fight since forever? moloch doesn't win. who but [yo/you]? [next page] I've never had a people. I have always missed them. who cares for the poor? family cares for child, church for the devoted, the world for, who? fill in the blanks. fuckin' ask chatGPT to make it longer. add text between the words. who are we but the worthy? who else is there? the [words await / world awaits] a dose of luck.](/similar-different/media/b88c9a7575a18e1e.jpeg "\"things are nice\" yeah fucking... whatever. we can't keep shit normal for long. we're down for/from the silence, and time keeps us looking beyond. what happens next? what's \"now\" in the story? you're far from the last to [devour/use hours]. you think we haven't been fighting this fight since forever? moloch doesn't win. who but [yo/you]? [next page] I've never had a people. I have always missed them. who cares for the poor? family cares for child, church for the devoted, the world for, who? fill in the blanks. fuckin' ask chatGPT to make it longer. add text between the words. who are we but the worthy? who else is there? the [words await / world awaits] a dose of luck.")
![my luck makes me. why would I assume that I'd get better at what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm stopping what I'm doing because doing what I'm doing stops me doing what I need to be doing. [next page] what if we just stopped going to work and didn't leave our houses what if we just made it happen what if we just made our heaven a better world is possible. a better world is within reach. for the children of tomorrow, all we need is the meek. where are they? do they sleep or know?](/similar-different/media/f7716aa43bf68e76.jpeg "my luck makes me. why would I assume that I'd get better at what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm doing if I stopped doing what I'm stopping what I'm doing because doing what I'm doing stops me doing what I need to be doing. [next page] what if we just stopped going to work and didn't leave our houses what if we just made it happen what if we just made our heaven a better world is possible. a better world is within reach. for the children of tomorrow, all we need is the meek. where are they? do they sleep or know?")
![If you don't stop traffic, your protest doesn't matter. If you don't ask every window if maybe your ideas could come in. If your parade doesn't knock on every door, asking them to join in. "hey, wanna play? we're playing catch in the road. say, do you know anyone in a different town? wanna knock on the door of all of your kin? it's a better world tomorrow, and everyone can come in." [next page] Did you know that nothing's that real if you're not afraid of it? what are they gonna do, shoot you? for what, not moving your shit to the side of the road? you like it where it's at, that's why you put it there, so fuck off if you'd rather it's unprotected. The sun and the rain and the cold and the maned all demand that our stuff is on hallowed ground - the kind which walls all surround.](/similar-different/media/a8903f64077a3c8b.jpeg "If you don't stop traffic, your protest doesn't matter. If you don't ask every window if maybe your ideas could come in. If your parade doesn't knock on every door, asking them to join in. \"hey, wanna play? we're playing catch in the road. say, do you know anyone in a different town? wanna knock on the door of all of your kin? it's a better world tomorrow, and everyone can come in.\" [next page] Did you know that nothing's that real if you're not afraid of it? what are they gonna do, shoot you? for what, not moving your shit to the side of the road? you like it where it's at, that's why you put it there, so fuck off if you'd rather it's unprotected. The sun and the rain and the cold and the maned all demand that our stuff is on hallowed ground - the kind which walls all surround.")
![And yet they'd cast us out. How rude. Well, I'm not afraid of you. what are YOU gonna do? what if I didn't pay my rent and never got a job and just helped out wherever I could find a friendly nod. "oh hey ho've ya been okay what are we working on here?" don't see nothin? start somethin" anarchy is fun. bullets less so. [next page] most jobs are bullshit. If dollars suddenly didn't exist but people kept doing what they were doing, people would work like twice a week. Me? more or less, who can say, depends on how I did feel that day. I tend to burn out. what if I didn't go to work for a month? "oh no my stakeholder value" get over yourself. your games do hold value. act like life is on the line. (off in the corner) "... hello?"](/similar-different/media/aad92468eb4fec27.jpeg "And yet they'd cast us out. How rude. Well, I'm not afraid of you. what are YOU gonna do? what if I didn't pay my rent and never got a job and just helped out wherever I could find a friendly nod. \"oh hey ho've ya been okay what are we working on here?\" don't see nothin? start somethin\" anarchy is fun. bullets less so. [next page] most jobs are bullshit. If dollars suddenly didn't exist but people kept doing what they were doing, people would work like twice a week. Me? more or less, who can say, depends on how I did feel that day. I tend to burn out. what if I didn't go to work for a month? \"oh no my stakeholder value\" get over yourself. your games do hold value. act like life is on the line. (off in the corner) \"... hello?\"")
