big file storage

bleak/src/00_mondayyy.md

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+## `0`
+Overnight, a frigid wind had moved in silently from the ocean to the south.
+It descended from a height above, was channelled toward the east, and passed over a series of jagged glassy peaks that lay perfectly aligned along an axis to the north.
+The oppressive dry of the antarctic wind had suffocated the morning dew into a thin layer of crystal ice that capped each of the peaks but for one.
+The sharpest of them was slick with deep red blood, clinging on to liquidity as the wind, bolstered by a cold blue August sky overhead, eroded away its residual warmth. 
+Walking westward, soft silent footsteps gave way to the rising sound of glass cracking resonantly underfoot. 
+
+Visible through the shattered pane: the deep green grass of the courtyard, interspersed by thick  weeds resembling spinach and furry tufts of moss that had been torn up by blackbirds in search of worms in the early morning light. 
+Beyond: an ailing lemon tree, parasitised by wasps and bleeding citrus from its limbs, yet heavy with fruit in protest of its condition.
+The scene of green foliage and citric yellow backed by the wintry blue sky cut against the red puncture wound and shimmering whites of the broken glass,  it was accidental in its composition, and absolute in its devastation.
+
+An alarm was ringing. The source of the noise reported the time as 8:49am. For four minutes he must have stood transfixed by the damage, oblivious to the harsh square wave shaped beeps and vibrations of the device. 
+More noises filtered into consciousness as a return to awareness began. 
+A generator was humming dimly. Then, a popping sound. Another, louder and somewhat closer, then the first again. Soon the sounds were rapidly alternating, devoid of rhythm and without fixed cadence. Nail guns.
+
+Construction had begun on the concrete slab that had lain dormant next door for several months. An unfamiliar shadow was being cast on the faded courtyard bench seat by the back door. Stepping through to investigate, the paltry warmth of the veiled morning sun flashing from right to left across his face, weak as it was this time of year, was absent. Scaffolding now towered overhead, obscuring the light, clanking when it was mounted and creaking while it was being traversed.
+
+_needs to be rewritten to align with BI building_
+
+The frame of the building had risen to a second storey and four wide voids in the timber work made clear where windows were to be set for the rooms of the upper floor.
+One of the tradesmen paused as they reached the top of the scaffolding and turned to look down at him standing on the courtyard pavement. 
+The sun had risen slightly and was now partially eclipsed by the tradesman, who was visible only as a dark expressionless silhouette. He waved. The shape made no motion in return and abruptly resumed climbing the structure, seemingly without having turned away.
+
+A third nail gun began firing.
+
+---
+## `II`
+
+Returning inside there was no relief from the chill. The wind no longer needed the cover of darkness and had begun to gather in strength. It was forcing its way inside through the faded and yellowing vertical blinds of the kitchen window clattering and banging them against the glass. They were bunched to one end, of poor quality, and designed so that a pitifully small piece of deteriorating plastic was all that attached them to the rail above.  The lines that formerly held the bottoms of the blinds in array had lost their anchors and become a tangled mess, constantly wet and heavy with barnacles that dragged them down into the kitchen sink.
+The same brand of blinds covered every piece of glass in the house. In the bedroom, three of them had been tied back onto the railing with kitchen twine. Morning streamed in from the east as a potted vine plant forced its tendrils through the gaps between the untethered blinds.
+
+A different series of beeps signalled five minutes until nine, and the day's first meeting: the morning report. Yesterday he had slept until midday, and consequently gone to bed without eating anything that could be considered a dinner. He had planned to eat a significant breakfast upon returning home but there was now no time.
+
+The scene in the kitchen would have to wait. He grabbed a piece of under ripe fruit from the bowl atop the counter and went to his desk to attend the report. 
+
+
+His workstation had cost his organisation an absurd amount of money and was state of the art, however, inexplicably, it would cycle its power precisely three times before accepting input or showing any indication that it was working at all.
+After the first cycle he began pressing buttons at random on the keyboard:  
+
+`esc` `esc` `esc` `l` `a` `l` `a` `l` `a` `lemom`
+
+Finally the login terminal greeted him with the time at the top right of the display: `8:58am`
+It took two attempts - better than the average of 2.45 - to correctly enter the randomly generated password that had been assigned:
+
+```
+Y,Sy-W$Cx;s%p]~9FL!r`:(
+```
+
+The failed attempt had meant a ten second wait spent staring blankly at the screen before being able to again.
+A message flashed on
+
+> [!WARNING]
+> Mandatory Software Update Required
+>
+> ...
+>
+> Restarting now.
+
+After another three cycles he logged in once again, this time on the third try, and prepared to join the report.
+
+> [!NOTE]
+>The Morning Report has already commenced. 
+>
+>A notification of your request to enter has been sent to the already present attendees.
+
+He sighed and waited for somebody to accept the request.
+
+The camera light blinked on one second before a cacophony of voices erupted from his headset. He tore it off, ears ringing as he scrambled to find the volume controls. The level had been raised in the early hours of the morning, listening to music while he prepared the requisite details of the upcoming report.
+
+> Ah, the afternoon shift has arrived.
+
+a tinny voice quipped from the dangling headset as it swung rapidly back and forth. In its fall it had become taughtly tangled between variously desk, chair, and armrest. Without a doubt it would be damaged in such a way as to appear completely functional for weeks, if not months, then cutting out momentarily for the first time, almost imperceptibly, only on one side after a slight turning of the head, carrying on innocently for another week without interruption and then rapidly worsening, some key section of cable hastilty fastened with tape at an oblique angle in an attempt to last out the time until its replacement arrives, and then finally, at some critically inopportune moment, failing catastrophically.
+
+> nice of you to join, had yourself a little sleep in?
+
+Came the chiding of a second voice. The sound of a child throwing a tantrum in the same room as a button sized microphone beckoned as he continued lowering the volume, then the headset onto his head, and bringing the microphone to his lips.
+
+> I've been at the facility...
+
+All manner of domestic noise carried on in the background until the attendees gradually became aware of each other's presence. Had he been logged into his workstation when the clock struck 9am he would have seamlessly, and quite without any notification or input, been coralled into the report just the same.
+
+The attendees numbered between 6 and 10 on any given day. Those present were constantly being rotated in and out. Cameras of questionable quality or cleanliness, as well as outright missing faces, made it difficult to form any kind of attachment with the names. He often resorted to associating a general feeling and sense of the person with the colour of the small panel bearing their name on the list of people connected. Last week a _sugary female voice eminating in time with the glowing of a dark green panel_ had connected for four days before it was absent the next day, replaced by three elderly and bespectacled strangers.
+
+Despite this, almost everybody on the call seemed to know one another if not personally then at least as a professional acquaintance of some time; the report was usually an exchange of gossip and rumours until **the manager** would come online and interrupt the conversation to make some announcement.
+
+> good morning all, i'm pleased to announce the business has presented us with a tremendous new opportunity to start off our week:
+> in addition to some generalised high level downward economic pressures across the sector, a recent media cycle promoting negative sentiment for units of varying sizes has lead to an updated downgraded prediction of quarterly sales targets as well as an accelerated slowdown of advertising resource earning potential resulting from of an increased reduction in tolerance for inconsistency of size between individual units within a packet.
+> what are some viable strategic tactics we can initiate to maintain present production rates whilst uplifting a drop in variance of unit shape and volume?
+
+**the routine** was the name given to the sophisticated monitoring software maintaining stasis within the faciltiy.
+written entirely by hand, it had brought to completion 182 yields in the 14 years since it entered production, one every 28 days; and in fact the previous night had been pitch black, with the moon's unilluminated side facing the earth making it completely invisble. it was a new moon and it marked the halfway point of the current harvest.
+
+what was being asked was of course impossible.
+the routine did not accept parameters, there was nothing to be done.
+while the yield would be produced to a specific weight predicted several cycles earlier, the number of units would be completely random as would their size.
+
+under no circumstances however, would it be acceptable to relate this information during the report.
+many "opportunities" such as these presented themselves, usually coinciding with a calamity of a more direct kind at the facility itself and today was no exception.
+
+> ohh i hate it when they're too big
+> or too long!
+> no, not long, too big! too wide!
+> but also too small is very annoying
+
+the elderly attendees, seemingly already the victims of an effort to psychologically manipulate the population into demanding changes in their assigned units, thereby depriving its manufacturer of any opportunity to improve their quality or quantity, blathered on unaware that they were contributing to the struggles of their own employer.
+
+packets had, as a matter of efficiency, always contained a mixture of different sized units, but in following the precedent of its greater whole maintained a specific weight.
+
+what was actually being asked for was a palatable alternative, something that could nominally address the issue though it may have no actual consequence, like sorting the harvest after collection to ensure that packets would contain units of roughly the same size.
+
+make no difference
+get a random packet
+will be big or small
+
+
+-- it will be 4 units --
+    of exactly the same size
+
+
+how to resolve this
+making ze bugs for the masses
+    depressing as fuck
+    exposed to these awful business types
+
+making legs for the black market
+    this rules
+    the tech is tight, the people are hot
+
+doing both to make ends meet?
+two characters?
+
+relationship between the two
+    doing one to enable the other
+    this is the work / hobby relationship
+
+    the facility
+        growtein
+            the routine (immutable)
+        pirating the raw materials of the units
+            raw materials - subroutines
+            have to be created by hand
+            exceptional code being passed around like esoteric knowledge
+
+    the lab
+        legs
+        illicit
+        2040 scifi blackmarket lab
+        in the neighbourhood near the club
+        needs a bit of witchcraft
+            who is the witch?
+            some kind of gender indeterminate freak that speaks like hunter s thompson
+

bleak/src/01_encounterrrr.md

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+## an encounter
+
+
+_where the fk are we? mud evi _
+
+Outside the front door drops of liquid trailed away towards a man reclined upon on a bed of pine needles.
+the man lay against the trunk of the tree, dark blood drained out of a horizontal slit in his ribcage, pooling at his side and ebbing against a trail of fragrant resin seeping out from between the bark above his head and down the spine of a large root rising out of the bed of straw.
+
+"Are you okay?" the technician ventured, slowly approaching.
+
+The answer to this question was clear but every conversation has to start somewhere.
+Recently he had found success in starting conversations with completely mundane statements or greetings that make no room for a reply; after being volunteered to sit in the front seat of a vehicle driven by a stranger for example.
+A simple "hello", completely eliding the "how are you?" a clear statement of intent.
+
+"Well... not really." came the reply.
+
+_What is to be done in situations such as these? one feels that they must do something, but how much responsibility is to be borne?_
+
+"I will call for help."
+"There's nobody you could call," the man responded with a guttural growl, words elongated with resent.
+_no hospitals_
+"It wouldn't make any difference. Do you have anything to drink?"
+"Inside," gestured the technician, "I will bring it to you."
+
+He hurried inside to the refrigerator and returned with a bottle of pale white liquid.
+The man scowled as he saw the pallor of what was being offered him, but eventually took it and began to drink.
+As he did the technician had a moment to raise his eyes and look around.
+Stacks of detritus were all around. Piles of twisted metal, ambiguous pieces of plastic, a broken bicycle with a heavily rusted chain, an animal cage stuffed with reams of cable, all of which was completely absent when the technician had gone to bed in the early hours of the morning.
+
+He returned his gaze to the person before him. This man had been in a bad way long before he was stabbed in the chest. He was clothed for the cold, layers upon him, seemingly accumulated in the same way as the objects surrounding them. Some kind of vagrant, one of an increasing many in recent times.
+
+"What is all this stuff?"
+"It has its uses." came the reply as a matter of fact. It was true in a sense; some of the metal was pressed into convoluted shapes that seemed to serve a very specific but completely unknown purposes. The snake pit of coiled up cabling was brand new, though it had not yet been terminated, leaving its role unspecified and potentially increasing its value if you had the means to deploy it. If not, it was still high quality scrap metal. The bicycle was junk.
+The puzzle of how it got here remained, there was far too much for a single person to carry. It must have taken several trips.
+
+"Where are you taking it?" 
+No answer. The plan either did not exist or was a secret, one likely to be taken to the grave given the deteriorating state of the vagrant.
+
+"Is there somewhere I can take you?"
+"There is one place, but," he paused, "maybe it's better if you don't."
+
+_expand the conversation ?_
+
+The thrum of a large petrol powered engine could be heard approaching.
+An oversized white ute, recently manufactured and replicating the style of a turn of the millennium American pickup truck, was powering through the slush and mud covering the road as it climbed the hill towards the house.
+
+"You're in for it now!" cackled the vagrant.
+The technician flicked his eyes between the truck and the clutter before answering incredulously,
+"I don't think it's me they want to talk to."
+
+The vehicle skidded to a halt beside them, showering them in the filth of the blacktop. The technician shuddered as he read emblazoned upon the door in a black gothic typeface:
+
+```
+    BABYLON
+        INCORPORATED
+```
+
+The darkly tinted driver's side window lowered revealing two men wearing white military spec helmets, their eyes hidden behind the gloss of black snow goggles, the same tint as the windows. Cragged jawlines jutted out from underneath the helmets, identical, but with a mirrored asymmetry in the sagittal plane, sinister half smiles crawled up the left and right sides of their respective faces.
+
+Submachine guns were held with nylon straps across their chests, extremely compact, without stocks but with suppressors attached to the barrels. The passenger's pointed out the left of the vehicle, away from the pair, while the driver's was aimed above their heads giving preemptive warning. His left and the passenger's right hands grasped the pistol grips of their weapons, index fingers resting in a disciplined point down the side.
+
+Before they spoke, a thin metal bar flicked out with the speed of a stiletto, anchoring itself with a series of whirs and clicks to the roof as a tripod, then levelled at them yet another black mirror in the form of a video camera. A _bright red LED_ signified the unit had completed powering on and begun recording.
+
+"Explain this." they demanded in unison.
+
+These men, if they could be called such a thing, were the genetically engineered property of their organisation,
+derived from the base construct of some exemplary employee in years passed, honed over the years by a series of CRISPR-Cas9 gene edits tailoring them precisely to their intended purpose. Unlike true identical twins whose genomes are nearly identical, theirs was distinct but complementary: the driver was designed to be left handed, with increased skin and bone density on the weather facing right side of his face. Not police in the traditional sense, they were the paramilitary security apparatus of Babylon Incorporated, BI in everyday parlance.
+
+Unsure of exactly what explanation was expected, the technician began with the medical emergency, "He is badly hurt, he needs medical assistance."
+If they were directed to these men could help; they were both trained and equipped for treating the grievous injuries routinely inflicted both by and upon them in their brutal profession. They were artificial, but they were not disposable, and most certainly not cheap.
+
+"To whom does this belong?" the driver clarified, giving no indication that he was interested in the dying vagrant. The passenger was looking out his window, focused on something, not a cloud, but a dark amorphous shape on the eastern horizon pulling itself into the sky with globular tendrils.
+
+Looking at the surrounding objects once more, the technician spotted something familiar and let out an involuntary gasp.
+The driver followed his gaze towards a stainless steel coat rack. Various trinkets hung from its hooks but on the top rung was a hand crafted teacup.
+The handle had been broken off some years before, and after being reattached the lacquer had been dusted with gold.
+This technique, 金継ぎ - kintsugi - gold-joinery, both highlights the history and damage of an item and further embellishes it with the addition of a precious metal. Indeed, this was one of the technician's most treasured possessions, and the gold dust had been both costly and difficult to obtain.
+
+In a whisper: "That belongs to me."
+"Wrong," the uniforms thundered together, "this material is the property of Babylon Incorporated."
+Having been given what could constitute a sufficient admission of guilt, they began to declare their facts to the recording camera.
+"That," the passenger indicated, pointing with his right hand, "is a construction site of planned residential housing for BI staff."
+"Security systems indicate that at 4:01am this morning an unauthorised person accessed the site, stealing metal framing and cabling from the network infrastructure room on the second floor," elaborated the driver, his head and the roof mounted camera swivelling simultaneously, taking notice of each item amongst the refuse before continuing, "you claim it is yours."
+
+Speaking at the same time again, effecting an authoritative two against one, "we conclude the intruder was you."
+The passenger swiftly looked away towards the shifting mass in the east as it rapidly approached, seemingly speaking to himself as he made a report over a radio receiver plate in his neck.
+
+"An invoice will be issued to your employer for the cost of materials, our deployment, and an appropriately punitive measure."
+Having handled the matter and in doing so incrementing one of their KPIs while offsetting their operational costs, they both turned to face the technician, resumed their crooked smiles and drove away. They never even got out of the car.
+
+## $the index$
+There was no arguing. No local council, state government, federal entity, or justice system existed which could offer recourse.
+Corporations like BI had completely subsumed the states of the regions they operated in.
+Individuals were exploited completely, they earned a wage, it was reduced by a series of fees: food, shelter, transport, medical, and ancillaries.
+They did not have their own accounts or manage their own finances, their employer was their bank.
+An encounter such as this would be lost among thousands of other opaquely labelled line items on a payslip.
+
+```
+<uuid7> Network Cabling <price>
+<uuid7> Rack Mount Framing <price>
+<uuid7> Security Inquest - Asset#abc <price>
+<uuid7> Security Inquest - Asset#ijk <price>
+<uuid7> Deployment - Asset#ijk <price>
+<uuid7> Discouragement Fee <price>
+```
+
+_the ultrarich havbe just completely fucked it up. need more detail about it_
+
+_bro too many spoilers bro_
+
+However, this was not true at all levels of society. Class distinction was a matter of ability to insulate oneself from the outside world. The _ultrarich_ were not subject to the same kind of weaponised demoralisation that was ceaselessly inflicted upon ordinary people. Their superyachts lay crumpled on the floor of the ocean beside their  prototype moonbases. Some maintained a land component, connected by networks of tunnels behind the rocky cliffs
+On the lunar surface, the ruins of such habitats were littered.
+
+more detail about these bases, how long they were there etc.
+
+These were not the inspiring bases of a futurist humanitarian mission; the stations bore the names of the board members of the company that had launched them and were reviled by all. Undeterred by the failures on the moon, the board had launched a final mission to Mars, in doing so fulfilling the necessary condition of an enormous bonus clause assigned to each. The station touched down and come the evening of its founding, the board, citing human overpopulation as limiting the power available to their systems, unanimously voted in secret to enact a reduction in headcount by simultaneously deploying an artificially constructed gene transfer agent that sterilised 98.7% of the male population within 2 generations, and at least three, but according to some sources up to seven nations' thermonuclear arsenals.
+
+_do these people have a deathwish or something, why_
+
+Those were, at any rate, the details of the document exfiltrated and made public following the death of all hands on the station after an 18 gram micrometeorite pierced through the base's roof, destroying the water filtration system.
+
+Back on Earth, the company's virus had fizzled, largely attributed to shoddy workmanship. Several nuclear warheads had detonated, it was true, in one circumstance without leaving the silo it was housed in due to a neglectful maintenance routine, and large swathes of the former empires were now uninhabitable for thousands of years.
+
+The remaining wealthy overclass was not nearly as incompetant and was composed almost entirely of amoral psychopaths, also unburdened by any attachment to the quality of life of human beings ruthlessly exploited them for profit.
+
+THEN there was the volcano
+
+_team righteous wizard_ had hermeticised themselves in nuclear fusion powered terrariums cloistered deep within what used to be the forests of the nothern hemisphere. The woods within them were fortressed against the acid rain and noxious winds that howled across the frigid tundra surrounding.
+
+
+Fewer interactions meant you were less likely to incur some kind of infraction, inadvertently buy something or enroll in a subscription.
+
+At that moment the technician's own company would be dispatching its own equivalent
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+

bleak/src/02_commute.md

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+## commute
+
+the burned out shells of ruined cars line the street while you are given a parking ticket for overstay in your own driveway.
+_television screens, mattresses, broken glass cabinets line the street_
+
+your electronic vehicle measures its speed in kilometres per hour as whole integers even though it runs on a 64bit platform.
+it increases its speed from 59km/h to its new set point of 60km/h. there is a heavy clunk as the battery surges, overshooting its target to 62.1779103879933km/h and your meagre savings are obliterated by an automatically enforced speeding ticket unleashed upon you from a medium-altitude long-endurance unmanned aircraft traffic surveillance platform.
+
+you drive on and the drivers you share the road with are completely insane
+every one of them out of their mind in some way. video games, gambling, drugs, or pornography adorns the dashboard displays of enormous trucks, with heavy duty wheels they crush all in their path.
+
+the troubled youth joyride whatever they can get their hands on.
+they knock on the ports of the ignition systems with their low energy frequency hopping spread spectrum phreaking boxes.
+snow encrusted demons on motorcycles, they frequently lose it on the ice and slam into parked cars, erupting into a lithium hellfire.
+
+acid rains from the sky.
+the air is filled with sulphur and an infernal smell clings to the icy slurry that covers the roads.
+_more about the air_
+
+the people cower in their crumbling plasterboard homes, or in a megalithic brutalist block of units, with crisscrossed walkways to its neighbours: a data centre with a backup natural gas generator that is always running, and a slaughterhouse.
+
+we get to the entrance. there's some kind of error getting in.
+"the organisation has changed something," states the gruff exmilitary watchman from his pillbox guardpost, "they say the last system was too simple."
+there is a lot of shuffling in and out of the post. a brusque call is made to a service provider. lastly, a blood sample is given. identity confirmed, the heavy steel gate lowers and we pull into a carpark at the base of the building.
+
+snow falls on the courtyard outside [[the_facility]].
+one of _nine hundred and thirty eight_, the name of this firm: `growtein garden` is milled into the steel face of the building.
+its edges are sharpened to cut the ropes of attackers attempting to abseil down from the roof onto to the floor to ceiling glass windows of the board room below it.
+
+on the snow below the board room, the severed wings of bats and birds that have tried to nest in the logo alcove. they are drawn by the warm exhaust being vented from inside, their warm blood melts the snow they rest on.
+
+we enter the building. back in the guard booth our photos and personal details appear on a monitor.
+in the corporate headquarters they appear among scores of others in the bottom right 16th of a panoramic operations centre, briefly, before being added to a chain of times and locations that stretches all the way back to birth.
+the corporation amasses gargantuan troves of personal information on everyone that comes into contact with it. everything from medical records and genetic data to crass itemisations of sexual liaisons.
+
+a copy is immediately exfiltrated by an advanced persistent threat's worm festering in the state manager of the neural network powered facial recognition subsystem. they list it on a deep web market in a bundle with 2 million others.
+the corporation's automated scraper of the market buys a copy and adds it to the training data of the facial recognition subsystem.
+
+i sit down at my desk. the headphones are still tangled from the morning report.
+
+i glance at my todo list. a remarkable tool, one of unquestionable utility. it should be a comfort, a girder upon which to build a productive and satisfying day of labour for the mutual benefit of both the self and the greater whole.
+
+... but it has become corrupted. in times such as these, where productivity is being deleveraged, for every item crossed off, 2.28 will have been appended. this is the economy under the management of the todo list that only gets longer.
+
+it senses my presence....
+
+
+## desk
+
+i can't separate the facility that sucks and the one that rules
+because they are the same place.
+the office.
+
+---
+
+sharp steel signage milled into the building
+same way that anti ergonomic benches aggrieve ordinary people, skateboarders and the homeless, the sign was designed to prevent people scaling the walls but also cuts the talons off birds that attempt to perch on it, feeding them bloody arms of a different sort
+
+spotify changed its ui again
+    - smart shuffle
+    - stops playing the album to play music video
+
+what to do in the face of so many minor inconveniences
+
+- driving in the morning to [[the_facility]]
+
+_where the fuck i am_
+
+is it competitive dog barking
+are there really monstrous lovecraftian hounds stalking the countryside
+
+well for one thing it's fucking cold
+like driving in antarctica. but then it will get warm,
+which is not very pleasant because the air is full of sulphur and extremely humid
+so there is a constant icy sludge and a foul smell
+there is junk all over the place, not just at home

bleak/src/03_file.md

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+
+
+where is that file?
+you know the one. that fucking file with the thing you wrote down that was really good.
+you remember how it goes don't you?
+you remember exactly what it said, how important it was, how emotive.
+if you tried to do it again now you would not get it right. that was the one.
+where is it? here, this computer? no. it is missing. it must be on the other one.
+yes. there it is, but then how will i get it over there? back to the one over there.
+it needs to be on that one.
+
+well that's fine, the duplicator will do it.
+that's what i set it up to do. i spent hours on that actually come to think of it.
+yeah there's this whole system i put in place to make sure that whenever i need a file it should be automatically synced to whichever machine i am on.
+but the duplicator is not working. it is revolting. it's on strike unable to resolve a conflicted file move.
+having just sat down, got comfortable, warmed by a cup of tea already gone cold. something to be done. you need to find that file, it should be there, and it is absent. something is broken. something is crying out to be fixed. the squeaky wheel gets the grease. time is clawed away.
+
+the cold slows your mind and numbs the spirit.
+so you get up, you reheat the tea, cover your head, shod hooves.
+what do you find in the kitchen? ambition. suffering. a beeping machine. every kettle has a computer now. the simple act of boiling water commodified into a codebase. time spent reading standards documents in search of the criteria such a product must meet before it comes to market.
+
+what kind of desperation is this? to think that the way out is through inconvenience
+
+you can do it, surely, you can design a kettle. just imagine the independence that would come from sustaining yourself building something with volition, by hand. you don't get to do that anymore. it's too slow. in the modern workplace we must do more with less. our days are numbered.
+
+the world grows smaller. your mind is shrinking. you are falling into a deep spiraling quagmire. the specifics are disappearing. the jagged edges of the esoteric knowledge of the argument order of some stdlib function or the path that relational database uses for its initialisation scripts are being filed down.
+
+you build an entire life around the relative difficulty of building and maintaining such a base of knowledge. suddenly it is no longer needed. you no longer sew garments, you work a rickety gas burning loom that sprays you with ash and steam. your daily work morphs from a mental workout and prolonged euphoric flow state into an ineffectual argument with a gifted idiot.
+the economy swells around the perceived productivity gains coming from the entire field of computer science collectively slamming its head against the desk.
+
+the state of the world becomes opaque. grotesque cinema plays out in official channels over the lunchtime news. the same meal as yesterday. your stomach clenches for no discernable reason and the reward of eating comes undone. fine since then.
+
+in the evening anxiety reigns. relaxation has become sloth. your legs ache brutally from the previous night's workout and you are thankful for it because it means one less todo. your admirable physique an exoskeletal shell around a natural computer experiencing a serious fault, the lights flickering out. you are grinding your teeth again.
+
+let us cast our mind ahead to the future. what hope can we find there? whispers of a permanent underclass permeate and we predict need of plan b. will it be cnc, dnd or dnp3? hilbert says the grand hotel can accomodate you but you do not see how, you lose yourself in the elegant beauty of mathematical minutiae instead.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+

bleak/src/SUMMARY.md

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+# Summary
+
+- [0](./00_mondayyy.md)
+- [10](./01_encounterrrr.md)
+- [11](./02_commute.md)

bleak/src/_bleak.md

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+_an exploration of the cneaseless inconvenience of modern life_
+
+### what it do
+black comedy
+absurd
+macabre
+grotesque
+
+ceaseless inconvenience of modern life
+- near future's ceaseless inconvenience_
+
+### ffs
+- drilling at night
+    - people
+    - animals
+- coworker insanity
+    - happy monday
+    - abuse you and then make a formal complaint
+    - moving meetings around with 2m difference eg 4:15pm-4:45pm -> 4:12pm - 4:43pm
+        - i've given you an extra minute. yay!
+
+
+loveletter to being weird
+trying to figure out where all this is going

bleak/src/_characters.md

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+
+## the facility
+
+## growtein garden
+
+sharp steel signage milled into the building
+same way that anti ergonomic benches aggrieve ordinary people, skateboarders and the homeless, the sign was designed to prevent people scaling the walls but also cuts the talons off birds that attempt to perch on it, feeding them bloody arms of a different sort
+
+### the technician
+
+### the engineer
+The engineer was resting in her chair,
+egg shaped articulating from a along a web of rails spanning the girdirs above
+huge rectangular shaped room, like the interior of the nostromo, a series of steel girding
+
+> on day 16, i love to watch them bounce around.
+> oh my god.
+> they're so shiny.
+> that's perfect...
+
+### the batch
+they were human thighs. being grown from the generic material of a range of generous donors.
+
+### the routine
+> you like them when they are 16?
+> you are disgusting
+> i should report you
+
+but she was not paying attention.
+
+right now they need to be given lycopene
+> yes, lycra, green, i agree
+
+red coloured carotene used in photosynthesis for tomatoes, grapefuit and watermelon.
+
+> give them watermelon
+> it's juicier
+
+
+
+
+
+
+- the troika
+    - the routine
+        - sassy
+        - is not an ai
+        - is a fucking legend
+        - not a complete fucking moron, unlike every commercially available llm offering
+    -
+        - horny
+    - the technician
+        - late
+
+- the competition
+    - they just do not give a fuck
+    - extremely unpleasant
+    - run on enormous nuclear powered data centres
+    - very sophisticated model
+        - psychological manipulation
+    - tiny drones that incite advertising directly into your field of vision by
+        exciting your optic nerve with an x-ray
+    - can subscribe for immunity
+        - the technician had tried this once
+        - terms of service are redacted
+        - the first day he went outside and got beamed
+        - calls up to ask why it's not working
+        - subscription only activated when you're at home
+        - non refundable
+
+    - the intelligence agent
+    - the estimator
+    - the cleaner
+
+- the public
+    - they're fucking insane
+    - driving around in monster trucks
+
+
+another two members spread across the city / country ?
+
+   - captain of the ship taking to the [[mt_hailey]] is an insane former trader version of captain ahab
+       - from nantucket, moved to new york. nyse is gone now...
+       - the boat just will not sink
+       - has holes in it, sails are in tatters
+       - huge molten boulder of sisyphus embeds itself on the prow
+           - runes glowing in it
+       - just have to hodl...
+       - some kind of instrument by the helm
+           - number is going up
+           - ship is beset by all kinds of grief, captain simply asks
+           - "and the number?"
+           - "going up, captain"

bleak/src/_concepts.md

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+
+dystopian nightmare black comedy
+crystallise
+## setting
+
+DMC on stan lee:
+> [Stan Lee](https://genius.com/artists/Stan-lee) was brilliant. Stan Lee was a genius because he put the superheroes in New York. So when I read a Marvel comic book, it was real to me. Avengers Mansion is in Manhattan ... Oh shoot, Spider-Man’s from Queens, I’m from Queens too!
+## protagonist
+
+not a programmer
+but something like it
+```
+senior environment monitoring technician at
+worm protein garden
+growtein industrial
+growtein garden
+```
+
+
+## struggles
+
+### noise
+drilling at night
+dogs
+garbage trucks (some kind of weekly disturbance that recurs)
+
+### ceaseless inconvenience
+sit down, get warm and comfortable, try to do something (read a book mayhbe)
+> please go outside and prove your location
+
+blinding light takes a photo of you and fucks your vision up for 10 minutes
+
+### the todo list that only gets longer
+taunts you
+ink like the tar of a lifetime smoking cigarettes oozes out of its mouth as it speaks
+the universe is playing against you. every time you play this card increase the number of items on it by 2
+get another notebook? i can't. that would mean believing that an inanimate notebook has the power of speech. making an economical decision based on the subjective experience of something out of reality.
+
+### incompetence
+offshore team that can't/won't do anything themselves
+have to figure out what kind of stupidity they are doing
+given clear instructions and errors will just ask for somebody to fix for them
+
+### dystopia 2025
+opsec
+rent increase notice with a beautiful blue beach picture on the front ![[Pasted image 20251029090819.png]]
+### psychomedia
+
+unnamed overseas villain trying to destroy the food
+internal villain `` which is corporate software of the parent company trying to get in / help
+
+- nothing gets better, nothing gets worse
+    - things happen but nothing changes
+
+    .. except..
+
+- programmers have essentially become wizards
+
+- even when things are obviously completely fucked they will keep going
+   - crypto
+   - the routine is immutable
+
+
+### the hurt
+use scenes from the most extreme moments in life
+dostoyevsky going to the gallows
+serge
+aaron
+alex
+when jt leaves in the evening for the night shift
+
+## style
+
+### hallucinatory
+barnacles in the sink
+holes in people
+parasites
+ahab's splintered brow and features
+   the sails
+   captain's eyebrows themselves, splintered timber

bleak/src/_principles.md

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+- the passage of time is whatever i want
+    - hours, days even, can pass immediately
+
+- detours in the story are ok
+    - this is for the freaks
+
+- nothing gets better, nothing gets worse
+    - things happen but nothing changes
+
+    .. except..
+
+- programmers have essentially become wizards
+
+- even when things are obviously completely fucked they will keep going
+    - crypto
+    - stonk market during the war
+   - the routine is immutable
+   - captain of the ship taking to the volcano is an insane former trader version of captain ahab
+       - from nantucket, moved to new york. nyse is gone now...
+
+- what do i want to say?
+
+- deep web cringe

bleak/src/club.md

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+
+
+dealers keep trying to get you to subscribe to their _social media thing_ 
+
+### [[deathaxe]]

bleak/src/film.md

@@ -0,0 +1,15 @@
+an advertising board was flashing
+re release of a turn of the millennium science fiction movie
+a traditional storyline: good versus evil
+movies from that era were received with a kind of curiosity, their naive representation of the struggle between in which both sides represent themselves honourably.
+the primary antagonist, having slain a multitude of fungible service personnel with impressive martial efficiency, personally confronts the protagonist in the penultimate scene. a duel breaks out, the balance of power ebbs and flows, grievous wounds are suffered but ultimately the freedom fighter overcomes the tyrant with some old fashioned grit and determination. hope is victorious.
+
+such a fantasy was inconceivable to the people of the present generation.
+to begin with, the concept of a struggle having clearly defined sides was something they had never experienced. 
+they were constantly beset by one group or another ceaselessly probing their psyche in hopes of exploiting it. corporations with untold number of analysts privately educated in the myriad ways they can turn millions of years of unconscious human instinct against itself. political parties whose names directly contradict their policies. governments inflicting immeasurable violence overseas and domestically, the narratives about which having been slowly eroded away by revisions and new revelations alike until people no longer trusted even their own memories of what really happened.
+then the matter of honour: 
+heroes could no longer last in the public eye, as tall poppies they were felled and harvested with scandals and indiscretions, fabricated or otherwise.
+spotlight anti aircraft gun something
+the modern villain no longer took a physical form of any kind, it was instead substituted as some kind of abstract economic or bureaucratic entity. a company, a trust, an board member invoking an administrative nom de guerre after legislation had been enacted to shield executives' identities following an increase in assassinations.
+<exemplar story>
+for the villain to have a name or face, to show themselves to anyone, to face their rivals directly, to take on any kind of risk at all was simply unthinkable.

bleak/src/main.rs

@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+fn main() {
+    println!("Hello, world!");
+}

bleak/src/mt_hailey.md

@@ -0,0 +1,29 @@
+throughout all of human history man has used water, in one form or another, to power his machines (make woke maybe)
+- outline how hydro and steam work blah blah
+such a rudimentary and uninspired technique being used in everything from hydroelectric to coal and nuclear power serves only to reinforce his ultimate dependence upon and insignificance in comparison with the stellar machinery of the earth
+
+on the third planet from the sun, the crust upon which all known living beings exist is vanishingly thin.
+the earth's crust has an average thickness of <x> kms
+the earth itself has a radius of <y> kms
+giving a ratio of crust to mantle and core of x / y = <z> kms
+
+such a shell is equivalent to <metaphor>
+the comparison fails to adequately describe the inferno within that is seeping out at every moment
+
+<big sexual buildupto the earth cumming to choke sex>
+is it any wonder then, that after three thousand chaste years, spurned since the last time ancient peoples of earth's mediterranean had made an offering, mixing honey-sweet wine in gleaming golden bowls, stripped a pair of jiggling virginal thighs from the bone and burned  it upon an altar in his name, poseidon, the god who shakes the earth, was overcome by his passions.
+with two hands he gripped the earth above her boundless curves and throttled her, and in the moment of ecstacy that followed the entire pacific ocean shook.
+
+<got a bunch of that wrong so mabe just drp it>
+
+a buildup of such immensity was followed by a matching release.
+describe the earthquake, relatively huge, big tsunami
+for the first time in living memory, house prices in the eastern cities of australia went down.
+
+<400M tonne> of molten rock and the co2 and sulfur <saturated??> blasted a way from within the earth through the 200m of ocean between the tectonic protrusion and the surface, forming a new island nation within 48 hours. 
+
+poseidon, legendary keeper of grudges, was not yet done
+
+## the overn0ight wind
+comes in from the south every night
+from a huge plateau of cold air above the meeting point of the Indo-Australian and Pacific Plates

bleak/src/olympics.md

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+It is September and the Olympic Games have commenced their second week.
+
+- frozen, cold outside
+    - nuclear winter
+    - global warming came, fked shit up for a while
+    - volcano went off
+        nature showing man how it's done
+        man in hubris believed he would kill himself
+    - now everywhere is cold except <x> which is a lava covered hellscape
+
+## Gymnastic Weightlifting
+
+athlete steps up to a standing rack with a barbell
+120kg division, two red 25kg plates on each side
+steps up, gives the bar a quick caress 
+gracefully racks it on his chest
+clock starts at 01:00
+bar barely moving as core tenses and spine prepares itself
+performs perfect front squat very slowly, then 2 more fast
+
+another slow rep and then lowers it to the ground
+one quiet but solid thump as it lands
+good points for that, bounces are deducted
+
+routine clock ticks 00:45
+does a solid sumo deadlift, good triangulation in the legs, very symmetrical 
+lowers it, 2 thuds, imperceptibly winces
+( brief interlude of some kind of trauma )
+
+blinks as the routine clock ticks 00:40.00128s
+feet come to shoulder width
+camera tech shows an angle of 1.58deg  and -0.89deg on left and right respectively
+does a second deadlift, this time conventional
+strong back engagement, no noticible spine curling
+movement finishes with hip to skull angle of 4.322 deg past vertical 
+lowers once again, almost silent, 43db
+
+deep breath, dignified exhultation of
+> hup 
+power clean, very smooth catch
+
+a short pause, gathering of breath
+flashing of cameras
+tiny flecks of chalk floating through the air visible in the beams of the stage lighting settle upon the eyelashes 
+
+eyes widen ever so slightly as athlete inhales
+overhead presses the bar, strict form obviously
+returned to the popularity of previous years due to this very event
+bench press which was preminent king of lifts maintained its status in powerlifting but the overhead press as a common part of the gymnastic routine became much more popular for amateur lifters and reclaimed some of its former prestige
+
+bar brought down to the front rack where it began the routine
+bounces just above the crest of <country> flashing silver on the uniform
+
+some competing schools of competition in how a routine should end
+
+### as it began
+
+shows great symmetry
+aesthetically satisfying
+
+### behind the head
+
+allows for an extra back squat with the weight, demonstrating endurance
+back squat also very popular as a first move in heavier divisions
+no bar between athlete and judges makes for a more artistic finish as the athlete is completely visible
+(the author's preference)
+
+### on the ground
+places importance on a clean and solid ground placement 
+auditory element makes for an emphatic finish
+
+<somehow> racks are behind the athlete and they strongly, but somewhat awkwardly back into it and unrack
+
+clock strikes 00:00
+
+solid performance, crowd cheers etc

bleak/src/seance.md

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+
+for my birthday this year
+i would like to request
+you buy yourself a harness
+and i'll buy myself a dress