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## $I$
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 leaking fragrant sap 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, although devoid of rhythm and with no fixed cadence.
Nail guns. Construction had resumed on the lot next door. An unfamiliar shadow was being cast on the faded courtyard bench seat by the back door. Stepping through the door to investigate, the usual sensation of the 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.
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. Abruptly it 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 pushing its way inside past the now exposed faded and yellowing vertical blinds of the kitchen window. 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 with an increasing number of barnacles the farther they draped 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 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`
until 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 to his workstation:
```
Y,Sy-W$Cx;s%p]~9FL!r`:(
```
A failed attempt meant a five second wait until trying again.
> [!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.
>[!INFO]
>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, his ears ringing as he scrambled to find the volume controls. The volume had been raised listening to music in the early hours of the morning whilst preparing the requisite details that were required to be delivered first thing.
> 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 somehow become taughtly tangled between various pieces of desk and chair, without out a doubt 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, before finally failing catastrophically at some critical moment.
> nice of you to join, had yourself a little sleep in?
chided a second. the sound of a child throwing a tantrum in the same room as a button sized microphone beckoned as he continued lowering the volume, the headset onto his head, and 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. Yet no sooner would he come to recognise a sugary female voice eminating in time with the glowing of a dark green panel then it would be absent the next day and replaced by three elderly and bespectacled strangers.
In actual fact though, 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 usually consisted of gossip and rumours being exchanged 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 being the results of an increased reduction in tolerance for inconsistency of size between individual units within a packet.
> what are some viable strategic tactics the routine could 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 always, as a matter of efficiency, 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
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## $I$
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 leaking fragrant sap 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 of a different timbre, then the first again. Soon the sounds were rapidly alternating, although devoid of rhythm and with no fixed cadence.
Nail guns. Construction had resumed on the lot next door. An unfamiliar shadow was being cast on the faded courtyard bench seat by the back door. Stepping through the door to investigate, the usual sensation of the 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.
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. Abruptly it 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 blew against the now exposed faded and yellowing vertical blinds of the kitchen window. 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 blinds in array had lost their anchors and become a tangled mess, constantly wet and increasingly barnacled as they draped 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 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 now there was 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 exactly three times before successfully booting.
After the first cycle he began pressing buttons at random on the keyboard:
`esc` `esc` `esc` `l` `a` `l` `a` `l` `a` `lemom`
until the login terminal greeted him with the time at the top right of the display: `8:58am`
It took two attempts - at an average of 2.45 - to correctly enter the randomly generated password that had been assigned to his workstation:
```
Y,Sy-W$Cx;s%p]~9FL!r:(`
```
> [!WARNING]
> Mandatory Software Update Required
> ...
> Restarting now.
After another 3 cycles he logged in once again and prepared to join the report.
>[!INFO]
>The Morning Report has already commenced.
>A notification of your request to enter will be sent to the attendants.
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, his ears ringing, as he scrambled to find the volume controls. He had raised the volume in order to listen to music while preparing for his work today late last night.
> Ah, the afternoon shift has arrived.
a tinny voice quipped from the dangling headset.
- 8:58
- corporate spyware
- monitor flashing off and on
- 9:04
- nice of you to join
- good weekend?
- more or less
- ...
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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
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- the facility
- the technician
- the routine
- the engineer
another two members spread across the city / country ?
** THE TROIKA **
- the business
- the manager
- the estimator
- the cleaner
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## 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
@@ -6,6 +9,45 @@ but something like it
```
senior environment monitoring technician at
worm protein garden
growtein industrial
growtein garden
```
## struggles
### noise
### dystopia 2025
opsec
### 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
## style
### hallucinatory
barnacles in the sink
holes in people
parasites
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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
- the routine is immutable
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## what is it all about
the moment of fyodor pavlovic's murder
who did it and how that alters the essence of the characters
was mitya an honest godfearing man of gratitude, or a patricide?
the misrepresentation of his character as some madman ejecting words at random
> bernard
> ethics
when in fact those words were concepts he explored in private with his close associates
how the "facts" of the circumstances surrounding the murder and the "mathematical" pieces of evidence seem to prove mitya's guilt, when the truth of what happened is really quite different. falsely believing himself to have murdered grigory makes him act in a way that paints him with guilt
overall parallels between these proofs and the place of scientific reason in the world compared with religion
the fact that everybody who truly knew mitya immediately believed that he did not
commit the murder
people on the outside believing smerdyakov to be an imbecile while in reality he teases and manipulates ivan, seen to be the most clever of alll the brothers. he even pierces ivan from beyond the grave with his suicide note stating that he does it
> to blame no one
implies that he blames ivan for putting him up to it
### the troika
mitya - blamed
smerdyakov - guilty, but believes he was instructed to by
ivan - so self obsessed cannot see what he is doing to those around him
alyosha - impartial observer, but sees the truth
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# 07-06-2017
Some days I feel like I've got life all figured out and decide that even though there
are some kinks, floating through space and witnessing the great chaotic spectacle of life is pretty great.
On other days I stand in the kitchen alternating between eating leftover pizza and drinking olives directly from a jar while spitting the pips at the bin, missing 60% of the time.
After a hard mental battle over whether or not to go and exercise I opt to crack open a beer, throw the cap at the bin, miss that too, and consign myself to another night of hermitage.
First, I have to undo the preliminary work towards a healthy lifestyle done by my past, more motivated self. This person took special care to ride their bicycle home from work, abandoning many useful items, including the scarf I will probably want to wear tomorrow at the office contained within a tote bag they continue to use, even though it is completely useless for a cyclist.
Whilst still riding the wave of endorphins and adrenaline released by being constantly tested by oblivious peak hour drivers, this person brought a bicycle, a helmet, a lock that was supposed to be pretty good quality but is now in pieces and lacking the plastic clip for attaching it to your clothing that pushed its price into triple figures, and dumped these things squarely in front of their bedroom door with the intention of removing their jacket, putting on some already chalky pants and immediately turning around to head to the gym.
Where did it all go wrong? Perhaps it was a text message from a climbing partner saying they were too busy to go, or the chilly winter winds outside? Maybe it was a stubborn pain in the shoulder leftover from the last session subtly suggesting that another workout would do more harm than good.
Your guess is as good as mine, but I would venture that it was too difficult to fetch the chalky pants, still resting comfortably in the dirty clothes basket, with a bicycle and all in the way.
Such an obstacle can hardly be left to obstruct a quality night of laziness, and so a brief adventure into the cold begins. The first encounter on this trip is a well-meaning neighbour who comments that he, his partner, and their pair of Russian Gray cats thought that I had moved out because none of them had seen or heard from me in some time. Initial feelings of belonging to a community that cares and had noticed my absense subside and are replaced by the alienating realisation that despite going to sleep less than 10 metres from these people every night none of us have crossed paths in months.
"Nah mate, still here, just been keeping busy, see you round." I say as I descend to the ground floor and make my way into the storage room. I gingerly wheel past a gauntlet of cheap bicycle shaped objects that are either chained obnoxiously to the handrail in the walkway or from wall mounted bike racks that give insufficient clearance for the Foodora boxes strapped to their rears. The majority of cycles on both sides sit untouched since the end of their owners' last health kick, as dusty as the béton brut surrounding them. After running into about 5 bicycles, catching my boot laces on a pedal and realising that the broken half of the bike lock is still in my jacket pocket I arrive at the cage where that do-gooder past version of myself not 5 minutes ago said to himself "Actually no, I won't put the bike away, gonna ride it to the gym right now anyway" and decided to wheel it upstairs.
"Maybe a cautionary tale of man's growing dependence on technology told as an anthology of anime shorts will make for some good viewing" I think as I make my way back upstairs, crossing paths with concerned neighbour for the second time in several months as he makes his way outside for a cigarette.
A golden opportunity! I plan to kill birds with stones as I drop off my phone and wallet, grab a dart left over from the weekend that's been tempting me and head (back) downstairs, excited to share it with my estranged neighbour over a conversation about the dichotomy of apartment buildings that bring people into proximity but keep them profoundly separated, at the same time building up a plausible sounding excuse to tell my brain for breaking my own rule of not smoking during the working week.
On the way I pass another neighbour, this one holding an enormous leek in a plastic bag, who confides in me that she actually has no idea what to do with it. I tell her I hear it's good for roasting, a claim I can in no way substantiate, and walk outside with a smile on my face, cigarette between my teeth and lighter in hand only to see that my neighbour who has been banished to the ground level for his vice is on the phone to somebody I can only assume is very far away.
"Maybe a cautionary tale of man's growing dependence on technology told as an anthology of anime shorts will make for some good viewing" I think as I return upstairs for the third time, still fiending for a cigarette.
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07-08-2017
I cannot sleep. I tried to, but as I lay staring at the ceiling with eyes wide open, the memories
of the few strokes of reality's fabric that I have had all banded together and flipped themselves,
from a glimpse of something beautiful into a horrific angst and I simply lay there,
paralysed with existential dread.
That dread is fading from me now as I type these words, partly in distraction and partly in hope
that I can relate the feeling to another person. I searched my mind for somebody to call and speak
to but I don't know anybody as prone to nocturnality as myself. Another time.
For now I am tempering my malcontent with sympathy for a group of people I cannot help but feel
are sorely misunderstood: the (rarely) humble economists.
It is clear to all that our universe consists of wonderous interplays systems built on top of
other equally complicated systems. The science of biology (and I think none will dispute that it
is indeed a science) is an emergent property of the field of chemistry, itself beholden to the
physical forces of elementary particles, described by quantum theories in ever more abstract
applications of pure mathematics with a few choice variables.
From biology we work upwards: ecology, how do the watery carbon based machines built from these
blueprints interact with each other? Psychology: how do these machines interact with themselves?
Suddenly we come to a halt though, as we often hear that economics is not a _real_ science,
simply a study of money making.
There is in fact no Nobel Prize in economics. There is the `Nobel Memorial Prize in
Economic Sciences`, conceived by the central bank of Sweden in 1968 to celebrate 300 years of said
money making, which does include the term `Science` but even so, a member of the Nobel family,
Peter Nobel, Alfred's great grand nephew is quoted as saying
"[t]he Economics Prize has nestled itself in and is awarded as if it were a Nobel Prize.
But it's a PR coup by economists to improve their reputation."^1
Quite a slander, and up until recently I felt much the same, but I feel we are marching ceacelessly
into an economically powered world that has all the nuances of ecology, psychology, mathematics,
game theory and many other fields being executed simultaneously.
What would you call the application of several sciences at once if not a science?
In economics as in every other corner of reality, efficiency is held in the highest regard.
If you are more efficient than a competitor, perhaps because you have some innovation such as a
loving workforce that doesn't mind coming in on Saturday, you can outmaneuvre them.
In economics this means making money; it finds clear parallels in other avenues of life because
simply, there is no distiction between economics and any other part of life. A lion might be
terrifying and huge but if you are quick with your hands and good with a spear you are more
more efficient than a lion and so it will not eat you.
Any sensible left leaning person's intuition will tell them that killing other humans is very bad,
and it is. It's also really inefficient! Many hands make light work, if there is only you around
there's lots to be done and not many people to do it.
^2
I don't think it's an accident that what people's intuition tells them is just or good often
overlaps with really efficient methods. It's better for us to work together than to compete with
each other constantly, game theory shows us this is the case in even its most basic game:
the prisoners' dilemma^3.
Of course we wouldn't be here if all we did was cooperate (wishfully) with other entities.
Sometimes competition is necessary, humans didn't become the apex predator of the (known) universe
by hoping that lions would let us be, we banded together and outmaneuvred them, taking over
the environment around us. The trick is seeing when, and in fact with whom we need to band together
and when we need to compete.
In my mind competition is really just evolution happening. Evolution never, ever stops happening,
the environment just changes, and this is so now.
Humanity has passed a point where we routinely compete with other species, now our competition is
within ourselves. I feel humanity is approaching a time when we need to sub-speciate. Just as
physical characteristics create diversity in organisms via evolution, so do ideals in human
populations.
It's not okay to tolerate opinions and ideals that are clearly against the common good, tolerance
is not competition, it is the equivalent of negotiating with lions. The most powerful nation on
the planet has elected a warmongering fool into its highest postion, and they did so because
fascism is very very efficient, it motivates people in insane ways.
To me the left has no such band at the moment. We can't tell our friends from our enemies and
are being outmaneuvred.
I feel lost.
1. https://web.archive.org/web/20071014012248/http://www.thelocal.se/2173/20050928/
2. at this point i am really struggling to get my thoughts down cohesively. everything in
my mind is woven together so tightly.
3. ```Two members of a criminal gang are arrested and imprisoned. Each prisoner is in solitary
confinement with no means of communicating with the other. The prosecutors lack sufficient evidence
to convict the pair on the principal charge. They hope to get both sentenced to a year in prison on
a lesser charge. Simultaneously, the prosecutors offer each prisoner a bargain. Each prisoner is
given the opportunity either to: betray the other by testifying that the other committed the crime,
or to cooperate with the other by remaining silent. The offer is:
If A and B each betray the other, each of them serves 2 years in prison
If A betrays B but B remains silent, A will be set free and B will serve 3 years in prison (and vice versa)
If A and B both remain silent, both of them will only serve 1 year in prison (on the lesser charge)
```
Money is an abstraction humans have created to represent power in a world where making food is
actually a bit too easy and they have to find something else to do.
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today was difficult for a wide variety of reasons.
it's natural to have a low after such a spectacular morning but events took a grim turn after dropping you off
i had planned on telling my therapist of how how positive my outlook is recently
but on the drive another slip of concentration caused me to almost have a serious accident.
the combination of forgetting the suitcase, parking ticket, missing turns
and finally almost being collected in the middle of an intersection worried me so much it was the first thing
i mentioned in the session and we spent a great amount of time discussing it.
what had started in the initial sessions as an acknowledgement of my struggles connecting with people
and quirks of what i find interesting has suddenly become a serious conversation about my life expectancy,
medications and vague mentions of changes to my personality.
unsurprisingly i'm pretty attached to who i am as a person.
in my therapist words: "i love you for yourself"
i sensed the hidden meaning; hearing this from a person i see infrequently disturbed me, at the time not a great deal, but by the evening extremely.
how would my relationships with the people close to me change?
would i lose some spark, some edge, some fundamental endearing aspect
that has given me such a beautiful group of friends and also attracted you to me?
the topic of conversation gradually turned to you,
i have generally felt a lack of understanding from people when detailing
the reasons why i'm so attached to you, what is so exciting about the idea of us being together to me.
this was no exception, but i did get a sense of positivity from his responses to my hesitations
about it perhaps being too soon or moving too quickly that my instincts are serving me well
and that this all feels right to me because i am healing and growing.
in parting i asked him about your feeling of me; his demeanour instantly changed
and he sternly told me that this was not something that i should concern myself with.
at the time i did not understand why, but in writing this now i do.
i went to the gym after eating, and in fact i had many great interactions
and events to tell you about, but by the time i had made dinner and read how
concerned you are about this sense of danger you're feeling that i wasn't sure
how you'd react to such a severe change of tone and thought it better not to share.
i have the sense now that you're closing off to me to protect yourself, i can understand that.
i made a few attempts at writing something reassuring, but on reading them i realised that
anything i say to alleviate your worry could reinforce it instead, and i understood why my therapist had cautioned me.
i have to tread lightly, this is your puzzle to solve.
i truly hope you can reconcile your thoughts and actions and we can continue building a loving and exciting relationship together
--ntr
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my dear jt,
i have read your own letter to me many times, it brings me no end of joy to see your spoken words written down in ink for me to read when i am feeling unsure whether you have actually said them.
at times i find it quite difficult to believe that your feelings for me are real, not because of any action or words on your part, but because you have met me at what i am certain is the lowest period of my entire life. never before has chaos and uncertainty been so rife in my everyday affairs, challenges great and small seem to be equally difficult to manage and i feel like i am constantly under siege although objectively i can name few actual struggles.
yet i have so much to be thankful for, the combination of my friends, their care for me and blind chance have lead me to you. i cannot also claim that i loved you at first sight, although certainly once i saw you in front of me i found it impossible to pay attention to anything else. by the time we were melting into the couch at the black cat i knew absolutely that you were everything i needed and more. i suppose i am also an oven that needs time to warm up in terms of my emotions.
i was taken aback at your description of us floating on the sea because at many times in my life have i described myself as being adrift in a small ship on a calm and windless ocean, under a gray sky, with no land in sight. such a predicament could be both pleasant and terrifying; i have always interpreted it in a positive way.
you said you sensed apprehension in me, and i agree that it is there.
i find the shape and form of your fantasies exciting and confronting at the same time. they sit in such stark contrast to the kind of intimacy we are building together, and although the time is far away i worry that in exploring them we would put our relationship on a knife's edge.
there is a thrill there as well however, and if nothing is risked nothing can be gained. i know we will face difficult moments but the care and clear communication we've shown to each other makes me certain that they will temper the strength of our relationship like a hot piece of steel being thrust into water.
water has represented itself so significantly in our time together already: our swim in diamond bay, the conversation on the dark river bank and again as a vision of us together on the ocean. i mentioned i felt adrift, although i see now that the sea is no longer calm.
i also feel the wave rising beneath us. in what direction it is carrying us and whether we will get there safely i neither know nor care, i only want to ride the wave with you.
i love you
yours,
ntr
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I curse ye!
below the waves
below the sea
thrust down deep
under the trident's tines three
crushed
cracked and
cleaned
by crustaceans
and cetecean
the light ever weak
the end never near
in the black ink of night
for year upon year
grasped tight by lines
and wracked in defeat
with no final rest
and no maker to meet
so I curse you!
to the bottom
to drown endlessly
to be forgotten
forever
a part of the sea
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I curse ye!
below the waves
below the sea
thrust down deep
under the trident's tines three
crushed
cracked and
cleaned
by crustaceans
cetecea
with light ever weak
an end never near
in black ink of night
year upon year
grasped tight by lines
and wracked by defeat
with no final rest
and no maker to meet
so I curse you!
to the bottom
to drown endlessly
to be forgotten
forever
a part of the sea
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### a dream
i dreamed of red in every form
a muted rumble a raging storm
i dreamed in red all through the night
black sky above the world set alight
shades of red
hate through to love
gentle below and violent above
i dreamed with red as all that i knew
and woke beneath a sky that was blue
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just as all roads lead to rome, so too do the infinite laneways of the universe's path
through time lead to this moment.
from the very first day i opened my eyes and was aware of myself as an entity living
in connection with the great cosmic masterpiece, i saw this inevitable end.
the necessity of it consumed me, every waking moment was in keeping with this one outcome;
every action, no matter how minute, was seen to in some way facilitate its requirements.
so when the time came upon me, i felt as though a great burden had been placed
upon me, but knowledge of its forecoming had prepared me to bear it with ease.
when daniel avery's sideshow was announced to be at revs, and the question was asked of me:
how many tickets?
it was not a question at all, it was statement that the moment had finally come.
my selfish wants played no part; i knew others needed me even if they did not know it themselves,
and like a concert pianist playing his favourite piece, my hands moved with a life of their own and selected:
4 tickets
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exhilarate
assimilate
annihilate
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Hello!
In my last role as Engineering Manager I inherited a disorderly and overgrown Mongo database, several versions out of date and with no migrations or schema to speak of.
As I've used and promoted Postgres consistently in my personal and professional projects, suffice it to say the opportunity your team offers to work with contributors to the project and learn about its internals is extremely exciting to me!
Additionally, I have had extensive experience with the Rust programming language since 2016 in a variety of contexts ranging from data transformation pipelines for geospatial data to the core logic of a turn based strategy game.
You can find the remainder of my CV at:
https://strix.systems
Please don't hesistate to contact me by email at ntr@strix.systems for any further details.
--ntr
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Working Title: Earth's Referendum
(A novel written with version control)
### Do this:
Contact somebody involved with KIC8462852 what happens when a new star is catalogued.
### Concepts / tech stuff
KIC8462852 nicknames:
kicks
cryptography concepts used for the calculations of faster routes to the system
inflection points in DH used to find slingshots from nearby stars
what would humanity do differently if we KNEW we weren't alone
similarities between large and small scale universe
- how humans react to bateria, virii, other animals
- how the sphere would react to humans
- sphere oppressing those inside, preventing them from knowing about outside universe?
### 2015
The star KIC8462852 is observed in 2015 to have a light pattern resembling that of a star surrounded by a dyson sphere. This possibility is upheld by progressively more rigorous scientific investigation during the years following the star's initial observation.
As time progresses, the knowledge that extraterrestrial life exists begins to have profound implications on the direction of the lives of people living on Earth. Over time it becomes the main focus of 50% of people everywhere's lives.
An Earth-wide referendum is held concerning a mission to the star. Technology exists that can send a ship to KIC8462852 within 10,000 years. A referendum is held concerning the construction of an ark ship to be sent to explore the star and the possibly hostile response it may provoke from the system.
## 3015
Primary Earth production has been moved to near KIC8462852. The star is proved to be a complete dyson sphere. For many years attempts to make contact yield nothing. The sphere remains highly enigmatic as the exterior of it has been constructed to be impervious as well
Earth reuses the technology it used to travel to the star to visit several other systems with indications of life but no promising results are found. (they have to leave KIC8462852 because no resources available outside the sphere?)
Describes the return to pre 2015 lifestyles for humans as interest in whether or not the sphere is conscious or contains conscious beings wanes.
## 4015
KIC8462852 begins transmitting a signal. Humanity begins to regather outside the sphere system and await developments, hoping for insights into the sphere's inner construction and inner workings. The system begins to assault the humans.
- They are scattered across the galaxy from exploring?
- They have begun building their own sphere?
# Epilogue: 12015
The original lost Earth ark arrives at KIC8462852 and explores the wreckage left outside the sphere.
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## 2017-10-05
re: Derived from 16th-century English, "coil" refers to tumults or troubles. Used idiomatically, the phrase means "the bustle and turmoil of this mortal life". ... It was coined repeatedly; at various times people have used it as a verb to mean "to cull", "to thrash", "to lay in rings or spirals", "to turn", "to mound hay" and "to stir".
all of the above can be seen to be characterised by a circling movement
## 2017-09-25
do children who are around agressive dogs learn to cope with fear earlier / better?
do
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featuring
------------------------------------
you
me
friends
family
------------------------------------
ad free
no fee
never before
never again
only showing
one time
here
now
live
on earth
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