ideas with no tangibility;
ideas with irrelevant supports;
ideas without value;
ideas' witlessness;
ideas' witnesses;

The newest posts are dropped at the top, so just read the newest post and then
read older posts if somehow you actually enjoyed reading the newest post. Posts
rarely make sense, which is a product of myself not making any sense but also
that they're not ordered in any sort of chronology except that when I find
something I drop it on the top.


	Jesus it's cold... I gotta move someplace warmer... like Hell...

	Applied for my passport today. I called the cab company at 0730 and
they said they'd sent a cab as soon as possible. Then at 0755 the cab arrived
and, knowing the trip would take like 15 minutes, I told the cabbie if they got
me to the post office to apply for the passport by 0800 I'd tip them $20. Four
minutes of extremely haphazard driving later I was down $33 and on time for the
appointment. It took like five minutes to actually apply because I'd already
filled out all of the paperwork so I was out of there and at work within the
hourish. Good times.

	Kingslayer by Bring Me the Horizon ft. BABYMETAL goes so fucking hard.
Like, so so hard. The mosh pit for the song is also usually fucking kickass.
I wanna be a kingslayer!

	It's fucking cold outside. says this:
curl: (92) HTTP/2 stream 0 was not closed cleanly: INTERNAL_ERROR (err 2)
	Accuweather says this: [-8 deg C]
	The forecast for Friday (tomorrow) afternoon says -10 deg C with 32km/h
winds ("RealFeel": -23). Saturday afternoon -16. "RealFeel" -31. If it gets any
lower I'm gonna have to set the thermostat to Kelvin. Jack Frost is a son of a

	My -->ANECDOTAL<-- caffeine knowledge is this.
	Tolerance is built up gradually. 80mg might stim a househusband, 300mg
might barely be enough to keep a prole awake. Cup of coffee is between 40 and
80mg. If you're drinking coffee you might as well crank it up to however strong
you want. Most people don't need caffeine, they drink coffee because of peer
pressure and it feels good at first but eventually the tolerance takes over and
it has basically no effect. You have to have a really long tolerance break to
actually reset your tolerance, it's not worth it to go on a break unless you're
trying to quit. CDC recommends like 400mg max for a healthy adult, 500 is a
good amount to actually get work done, at like 600-700 (varies per person) you
just get wacked out and don't accomplish anything. 1000-1500mg puts you in a
state of euphoric zen if you have a strong tolerance and literally kills you if
you don't have a tolerance. 2000mg kills you or a horse, both if portioned
carefully. If you overdose you're super mega fucked and painfully so; muscle
fuckiness and brain fog. Drink like 2L of water, piss, repeat until you start
to feel okay, the residual effects you have the day after will follow you for
the rest of your life. Monster 300 is like the highest caffeine potency you can
get in an energy drink so if you wanna consume caf either homebrew strong ass
coffee (boil a pot down to a cup or something) or spend like $20 on Monster and
enjoy ketoacidosis. Caffeine kills for realzies so don't overdo it and listen

	As far as I know, and as much as I should,
	say that the powers that beckon are good,
	I have to admit that they've broken a lot
	of promises better to better and not
	one of their oaths has been filled, just forgot.
	They just make more work to do and then do it and stop
	the betters from bettering and raising the top
	of standards to better than there was before
	the powers that beckon took hold of the floor.

	Scott pulled back the bolt and the AA battery spit out of the side of
the rifle. He reached in his pocket and grabbed another one, pushed it into the
chamber, made better aim, closed his eyes, fired. The blast burned a hole
in his sight even through his eyelids but other than the temporary optical
degradation he was unharmed. His target, however, subject to the full power of
a 3Ah battery spent in half a second, had a hole burnt through his suit and
through himself.
	Then he felt a pinprick and knew a sparrow's talon, another of his
generation's angels of war, with its thin tungsten shaft and dainty uranium
barbs, had gotten lodged in his back. He turned around and shot the offending
kid with a Glock.

	I'm standing in an empty parking lot
	snow is falling from the sky
	it's such an empty parking lot, now
	snow is falling from the sky

	I held the car door handle
	snow started falling from the sky
	I sighed and got my baggage handled
	snow started falling from the sky

	I'm standing in an empty parking lot
	and snow is falling from the sky
	I'm smoking a nearly finished cigarette
	and snow is falling from the sky

	I opened the car door
	and I turned and asked you why

	and you said there's nothing to remember
	snow is falling from the sky

[...]:	You should fuck Bs instead of As because Bs have two holes.
Trin:	What does that mean???
[...]:	Another one is, 'you should go fuck yourself with a T because it has a
Trin:	No, seriously, what does that mean???

Earl     of   I.fel       a tell vis   but I don't remember why.
Earlier toupe I felt      a tell visio but I don't remember why.
Earlier today I felt like a television but I don't remember why.
Ear  er to    I felt like a  elevi  on but I don't remember why.
E r   r  o    I felt like a   lev   on but I don't remember why.
E r   r  o      fel                 on but I don't remember why.

after monster #4: hiiii
after monster #7: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii


What I had for breakfast today: A strawberry Oreo milkshake. Half a cigarette.
What I had for supper today: Chicken nuggets and a burger. The other half.
What I'm drinking: Vermont maple spice tea. And Dayquil.
Now playing: Painkiller - Nothing But Thieves.

	Jason walked up the cloud to the pearl gates of Heaven. God stood at
the door in front of a lecturn with a massive book. He (as in He) spoke first:
	Jason paused. "Oh. I died there, didn't I?"
	God curled His lips into a frown. "Did you think you would live?"
	"No, I guess I knew I would probably die."
	"Was it worth it?"
	"Yeah, I guess. It was what needed to be done. I wish I didn't have to
die that way, but I suppose that's how it is."
	God thumbed through the pages. "At what day did you leave?"
	Jason told Him.
	God found the day. "Hmm. That's interesting."
	"I don't know much about this religious stuff. Honestly I thought it
wasn't for real. But didn't you write that book?"
	"Do you remember everything you've written?"
	"Well, no."
	"Exactly. I forgot about this section. And to be honest-" God winked at
you "-I'm probably as much of a character as you are, Jason."
	"Why did you ask me my name if you knew it?"
	"You're the only one that dies like... that. That day. I'd say you're
the worst death there."
	"Fucked with an angle grinder."
	"Yeah, fucked with an angle grinder."
	"I was hoping if You existed You'd come through for me there. Like a
'deus ex machina' sort of thing, y'know? Maybe I didn't have enough faith."
	God looked into the distance behind Jason. "Honestly, I wasn't really
listening that day."
	"No fucking shit! At least everyone else made it out okay because of
me, right? It was an honourable death?"

	God looked back into the book at the next couple pages. "Hmm. Yeah.
Yeah, that's pretty honourable."
	"That's good." Jason leaned on the other end of the podium. "Can- can I
see Jane?"
	"Jane? There are a lot of Janes."
	"My wife. She made it here, right? Oh, wait - can I get in? Into
	"Yeah, sure, you've earned it. But your wife isn't here. Or in the
other place. Your wife's on Earth."
	"What? No."
	"Yeah. Jane used the cash she'd been slowly building up to buy a plane
ticket to Kazakhstan and retire."
	"Well, you'll have a lot of time for relationship stuff up here, so,
like, have fun with that."
	"Fuck me, man." The gates open and Jason started walking through before
pausing. "Y'know, times were hard."
	"Yes, yes they were."
	"Like, really hard. I don't think I was ever really happy, y'know? I
never got anything like that. The best I got was a fucking character arc like
this is a comic book or something. That kind of felt unnecessary, y'know? The
whole fucking me over again and again? I don't think I needed that."
	"Per fucking haps. Y'know what? Where were you? Why did you write me
like that? My life has been fucking torture. Why did you do that to me?"
	God kicked Jason and he fell over past the gate threshold. The door to
Heaven slammed shut, and God locked it.

[...]:	Welcome to Hell.
Trin:	Great to be here.


set -e
# UNIX manual system
str isvalue "$MANUAL_DIR" \
	|| MANUAL_DIR=/usr/manual
! str isvalue "$1" || str isvalue "$3" \
	&& printf "Usage: %s [name] (section)\n" "$argv0" 1>&2 \
	&& exit 1 \
	|| true
str isvalue "$2" && ! test -e "$MANUAL_DIR/$2/$1" \
	&& printf "%s: %s: No manual entry in section %s\n" "$0" "$1" "$2" \
		1>&2 \
	&& exit 1 \
	|| true
str isvalue "$2" \
	&& PAGE="$MANUAL_DIR/$2/$1" \
	|| for d in "$MANUAL_DIR"/*
			do test -e "$d/$1" && PAGE="$d/$1"
! str isvalue "$PAGE" \
	&& printf "%s: %s: No manual entry\n" "$0" "$1" 1>&2 \
	&& exit 1 \
	|| true
! str isvalue "$SECTION_DIR" \
	&& printf "%s: %s: No manual entry\n" "$argv0" "$1" 1>&2 \
	&& exit 1 \
	|| true
<"$PAGE" groff -t -e -mandoc -Tascii

trick   or         treat
girl's  gotta      eat
i'll    bark       for u
just    please pay me
just    grab me    by the
bezel   and make   me wish
i was   more       than a
screen.            please?

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|                                ╨ÑÑ─ "ÑÑÑÑ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀"              |
|                                                                |
| ALTERNATIVE NAMES: bla, blah                                   |

Trin (laughing):	That's not even the grossest thing I've seen here.
[...]:	No?
Trin:	No.
[...]:	I believe that. And that's fucked. (starts laughing)
Trin (still laughing):	I feel like I'm going insane.
[...]:	You do?
Trin:	Not really. I already went insane a while ago.
[...]:	It's the new normal.
Trin:	Yeah. We're all insane around here.

It's still Tuesday?

	I had a dream: I was in a private art gallery admiring the paintings.
Then it turned out there was a warrant out for my arrest. They'd found
something extreme enough to warrant throwing a smoke bomb through the window in
front of me. I noticed it wasn't really clouding anything so knowing it was
probably some nerve agent I ran to the door and gated over to a fractal of the
world in which I'd been. Some SWAT agent or something saw me open the door to
	While that transpired I forked and gated over to the MoMA or whatever
in Manhattan. Some cars with black tinted windows rolled up from both ends of
the road so I sprinted across the street into ongoing construction where I was
shot and killed. Worth a try.
a place to which that doorway didn't usually go and sprinted through along with
me. I ran through the gallery, which was this rich guy's beautiful townhouse,
and made it upstairs where I got onto the roof. The SWAT didn't know I was
there so I jumped down and made it into a nearby forest. One for two.

[2:59 PM] Strong Eminav_B (weak): I was expecting you to look older and a less
                                  round face
[3:09 PM] Strong Eminav_B (weak): The way you describe ur life makes me picture
                                  you like that before and after image of that
                                  ww1 soldier

What are you wearing?
	I dunno baby, whatever you want...

	Carhart pants. Loose fit jeans but I'm considering tighter fit because
it'd make them easier to pack. Black.
	Carhart shirt. Loose fit. I take a razor and cut the Carhart logo off
and it's just a 100% cotton shirt with a pocket that I know will last me a
while. Black.
	Amazon "athletic sleeves". Tight. Black.
	Some eco whatever hat. Keeps headlights, rain, and hair out of my eyes.
	Carhart gloves. Spandex. Well fitting. Black.
	New Balance 686 boots. Everything-proof. Pink shoelaces under all the
grime. Black.
	Casio F-91W. Black.
	On occasion, a bandanna tied around my neck or hair. Black.
	Dickies socks. Black.
	Intimates. Take me out to dinner first. Even then you'll probably never
see them.
	A Hello Kitty scrunchie. Silk, maybe? Satin? Shiny. Kawaii. Not black.
	Glasses. Rose colored.

[3:32 PM] trn1ty: yeah it sorta be like that
[3:32 PM] trn1ty: blackpink
[3:32 PM] trn1ty: cutepunk

trn1ty started a thread: trinity fits thread. See all threads.
Yesterday at 9:24 PM

[9:18 PM] trinity: they're gonna study my work after i'm gone but idk in cs or
                   in psychology
[9:19 PM] sasha: in cryptozoology

treat me like your computer
i wanna do all your math
take me apart for techno school
show all the pieces to your class

grab me by the bezel
make me glitch the fuck out
tie me up in wires
call me a bitch and make out

treat me like your computer
like i'm a video game
play me with your friends from school
but don't tell me their names

unplug me from the ether
so i can't surf any sites
take your hard drive out from me
leave me on a shelf and go outside

	Rothco M-65 mansfield jacket. Sturdy. Black.

	Aside from my weird thing recently it's been months since I've felt
much emotion. My emotions and I are apart, for the better I think. They didn't
do a lot of good for me and I didn't do a lot of good for them. Good riddance.
	Most of the people I know don't feel emotion. The rest of the people I
know with which I've brought this up think this is horrifying. I don't think
so. The people I know with emotion left are either priviledged or at one point
had it in a way that is to me unimaginable. The rest of us had to grow up.
	I remember being scared the first time I saw Night of the Living Dead.
I haven't felt fear in years. High school, the earlier years probably. Maybe my
caf OD did something. Maybe there's only so much fear you can, and I did.
	There is no pausing, there is no remembering, there is no recoiling.
When things go bump in the night you get a rifle, when people die you walk past
them, when everybody is dead you step over the bodies and on them if necessary.
And I'm tired but not tired enough.
	   _   _
	[]-[]-'    :(){:|:;};: ...

---| --|- --|| -|-- -|-| -||- -|-| -||| |--- |--| |-|- |-|| ||-- ||-| |||- ||||



	I don't remember typing that. I got like 8hrs last night and the same
the night before! The previous nights 2-3.

	I started a Patreon. You don't get much for it, just a custom role on, and only on the Discord bridge.

	My Raspberry Pi is actually really goddamn fast. I put a cheapo Amazon
passive heat sink + fan on it and now it stays under 60C without a problem.
raspi-config(8) doesn't let you trigger the fan any lower than that for some
reason or I might keep it at 50. Look at this mess:

    if [ "$INTERACTIVE" = True ]; then
      TIN=$(whiptail --inputbox "At what temperature in degrees Celsius sh[...]
      if [ -z $3 ]; then
    if ! [ $? -eq 0 ] ; then
      return 0
    if ! echo "$TIN" | grep -q ^[[:digit:]]*$ ; then
      if [ "$INTERACTIVE" = True ]; then
        whiptail --msgbox "Temperature must be a number between 60 and 120[...]
      return 1

	I don't like this. I really don't like this! I'm gonna rewrite
raspi-config(8) today. Fuck it.


NPR:	<>
Headline:	"Nearly all U.S. mass attackers were male and faced major life
         	stressor, report finds"
Content:	"...Nearly all the attackers experienced 'at least one
        	significant stressor' within five years of the attack..."
What?? Who *has not* experienced a significant stressor within the last five
	These analyses don't compare the demographic to the average or median,
just sensationalize useless numbers. This is somewhat cherry-picked but the
rest of the article also sucked.

	I read NPR for my pseudo-left Capitalist news. I used to read CNN but I
would get irate at misleading headlines. I checked for some to lambast (ooo I'm
becoming a True Blogger "lambasting" my perceived enemies I'm so cool) but
couldn't really find anything that stuck out so maybe I'm remembering it as
worse than it was. Still, most of these headlines can be filed under "who the
fuck cares":

	"Ukraine's new tanks won't be the instant game-changer some expect"
		but they're still useful so who cares
	"Here's how family and officials who have seen the video of Tyre
	 Nichols' arrest are responding to the footage"
		probably they don't like it because he got shot or something
		who's Tyre Nichols
	"Quarterbacks in the NFL playoffs are getting younger. Here's why their
	 age is important"
		who cares about the NFL?
	"US Marines officially opens first new base in 70 years on island of
		USA propaganda piece
	"After 3 years of Covid, CNN went into rural China for Lunar New Year.
	 Here's what we found and how officials tried stopping us"
		probably officials knew CNN fucking sucks ass and were trying
		to stop them from ruining people's fun. article exploration
			the article was incomprehensibly boring and just
			explored COVID-19 stuff in rural china. the tldr is
			rural people don't care because they didn't really get
			great treatment during the onset of the pandemic so
			anyone who would've died did and now it's just a thing
			that goes around. i didn't read much of the article i'm
			just describing my rural town because rural towns are
			the same fucking everywhere
	"China still wants to control Big Tech. It's just pulling different
		anti-China propaganda piece. this could have been titled "the
		Chinese government still wants influence over Western
		technology companies, trying different methods" but that
		wouldn't be biased or completely fucking stupid. can you tell I
		hate CNN?

	I could go on but my doctor (drug dealer) told me to watch my blood
pressure so I'm gonna have to chew an aspirin (drugs) to calm down (get high).


street racer at twelve
no sidewalk. street's soaked in ice
take me somewhere nice

Note to self: mail Jared <

[12:06 PM] tebicat: I read this and imagined a human organ hooked up as an hid
                    or something
[10:05 PM] trinity: like that person with the pinball thingies surgically added
                    to their brain or whatever and could be put into agony by
                    pressing a button
[10:05 PM] trinity: what are the pinball thingies called
[10:05 PM] trinity: SOLENOIDS
[10:06 PM] trinity: EE teacher called them pinball bumpers
[10:07 PM] trinity: cyborg but the augmentation is easy facility for torture
[10:07 PM] trinity: ping ping ping AAAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE
[10:10 PM] trinity: in hindsight i should stop engaging with severely fucked up
[10:10 PM] trinity: i feel like all my random anecdotes are like hey i watched
                    a person die that way

	I'm not a very good leader. Today at work one of the people in my [...]
threw a bitch fit because I put them on menial labor most of the time rather
than the meat and potatoes of our job. A real bitch fit that made me pause what
I was doing for a couple seconds to tell them to shut the fuck up, but then my
superior called them into their office so that they instead could tell them to
shut the fuck up - I technically have no authority to tell anyone what to do
but people listen to me because I'm the one with the most experience.

	"I'm gonna throw a B.F.! A bitch fit!" ~ a friend of mine

	I'm not a very good leader. The issue is that I don't really feel that
whole empathy thing or anything like that. Not only can I not imagine what my
subordinates (this sounds like total dogshit but bear with me because this
wording is the best I have) are feeling but when they verbalize their feelings
there's not much I can do to understand or care because I barely have
discernable emotions besides {confused,typical,hyper,tired}. My solution to
most things is to get someone doing menial labor because I figure if they're
stressed out they should do relaxing small jobs rather than the soul crushing
eternal big job.
	I don't have much to add because I don't care that much. When dogs bite
send them outside. Otherwise as long as they can still walk put them on the
leash and make them exercise.


Trinitisms:  It's not preferable to drink from plastic.

	I was really pleasantly surprised to see people's caring about
microplastics hit the mainstream. This is half about that and half just that I
don't like the texture of most plastic things relative to metal cans or glass.
Except straws, I love straws.

Now reading: <>

Service:  Soundcloud - trn1ty

	I had a dream last night I was walking in my neighborhood when this
bald eagle swooped down to attack me. I happened to have a baseball bat with me
so I hit it in its chest and it fell down on the ground. Then I beat it until
it stopped moving and when it was dead I woke up.

	Band name idea: sourdough starter.

Trinitisms:  Don't put ice in beverages that aren't water, or they'll get
             watered down.

	I made this joke at work until everyone was sick of it and then put it
on my website because I myself was not yet sick of it.

Trinitisms:  Don't think, feel.

	And you'll be tanasinn.

Trinitisms:  A string is an array of characters.

	I hate, hate, hate, HATE programming languages that don't let me index
strings as if they're arrays. Or make me jump through hoops. C is perfect.

Trinitisms:  More magic is necessary.

	Referencing the famous magic / more magic hacker fairytale.

Trinitisms:  The only good programmers are the insane programmers.

	I miss you, Terry!

Trinitisms:  If less than one half of the packaging is in a non-Latin writing
             system, the noodles will be sub-par.

	I think I came up with this in high school. I prefer Shin Ramyun and
use a Sunbeam Hot Shot to heat the water, the same since I started. I used to
have a couple a day but now I rarely have that ramen. I can get a meal from a
local Chinese restuarant and stretch it out to last me 3 days of meals.


	I hope this Unicode works because it's tofu with the default xterm(1)

	I can't sleep. When I close my eyes I can see the inside of my mind.

[2022-01-08T0128] trinity: proprietary vendor, proprietary problem

	Howard, what is flau x4c?

	Cassidy met Ada at the coffee shop for the second time for the second
	Ada spoke first. "How's your morning going?"
	"Fine. Weird, but fine."
	Cassidy smiled. "I screw dials into watches, that's my job. It smells
weird. I just realized there's all kinds of dust in the air."
	Ada grew pale. "Dust in the air?"


How to make lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD)
	1. [...] [...] in [...] with [...] to get [...].
	2. Activate the [...] by [...].
	3. Extract the [...] and [...].

Trinitisms:  "Disc" refers to optical and physically impressive media, such as
             compact discs or phonograph discs, and "disk" is for magnetic
             media, such as floppy disks or hard disks; there are however
             exceptions and edge cases.

	I probably didn't coin this one but rather came up with it
independently, observing the use of dis{c,k} between "optical disc" and "floppy
disk". I'm still not sure if this is the actual rule.

Trinitisms:  catfella - the non-gender-specific form of "catboy" or "catgirl".
             (coined 2020-08-11 when referring to my friend Socks)
             Also in use (though not a Trinitism): nyanbinary.

	Socks is so cool. I don't know what they're up to now, probably kicking
ass somewhere on the net. I was a moderator on their short-lived Discord server
which had like a million messages in #general alone after like three months. I
met them on TikTok because we both had comparable follower counts and
everything; I left TikTok and eventually all social media and they and everyone
else stayed behind. Socks made the most realistic purring noise I've ever heard
a person make.

Sent SMS to [...] at 2023-01-21T00:19:22-0500:
bloomberg terminal that jerks you off when your stocks enter the red

Trinitisms:   The continents shall be separated as follows:
              	North America,
              	South America,
              	the middle-East,
              	and Oceania.
              Though I hope someone important finds individual terms for each
              America and has a better name for the middle-East if each
              region's residents generally agree with me that the current
              naming kind of sucks.

	I talked to a friend of mine about this but I don't remember where. Not
Discord. Maybe SMS? My SMS logs from history are totally toast.

Trinitisms:  39 - "Thank you." In Japanese the word for 3 is "san" and the word
             for 9 is normally "kyuu" so 39 is pronounced "sankyuu".
Trinitisms: Antarctica is cool, both literally and figuratively.

	The same friend with which I discussed the continents harbors
Antarctica as a special interest and told me stuff about McMurdo Station which
is cool as all fuck.

	Maslow has nothing on me.

1                                ___
2           ______         _____/   \
3  ________/      \_______/          \__
4 /                                     \______


Adventures in nmcli(8): Secrets were required, but not provided.
	Rebooting didn't work.
	Futzing didn't work.
	Config didn't work.
	Disabled MAC address scrambling (already was disabled).
	Rebooted WiFi router.
	Rebooted machine.
	Didn't work.
	Didn't work.
Hardware fault?

	What I'm reading:
Wasson, R. Gordon, Ruck, Carl, Hofmann, A.,
	The Road to Eleusis: Unveiling the Secret of the Mysteries.
	Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1978.

PING ( 56(84) bytes of data.
64 bytes from icmp_seq=1 ttl=54 time=5332 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=3 ttl=54 time=4710 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=6 ttl=54 time=1913 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=7 ttl=54 time=2131 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=8 ttl=54 time=6488 ms
From icmp_seq=20 Destination Host Unreachable
From icmp_seq=21 Destination Host Unreachable
From icmp_seq=22 Destination Host Unreachable
64 bytes from icmp_seq=9 ttl=54 time=15077 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=10 ttl=54 time=15891 ms
From icmp_seq=23 Destination Host Unreachable
From icmp_seq=24 Destination Host Unreachable
From icmp_seq=25 Destination Host Unreachable
From icmp_seq=26 Destination Host Unreachable
64 bytes from icmp_seq=11 ttl=54 time=15621 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=12 ttl=54 time=14801 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=13 ttl=54 time=13844 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=16 ttl=54 time=10823 ms
64 bytes from icmp_seq=18 ttl=54 time=8812 ms
	ME:	'Sup.
	JOHN:	Nothing much. How about you?
	ME:	Oh, you know.
	JOHN:	What's going on?
	ME:	Well, I'm alive, so things aren't great.
	JOHN:	Oh.


	Now playing: Killing Me Softly - Roberta Flack

	Based! on sodium bicarbonate. in a spoon with a blowtorch

    |     \
    |     _\|
    V     Dopamine -> Neurotransmitters -> Chemical Synapses -> Synapses
Psychosis  _                   ^
    ^     |\                   |
    |       \          _ Serotonin
    |        \         /|
"Bewitchment"_\       /
            |\ \    LSD -> Ergot <- Claviceps purpurea
              \ \              ^      /        ^
               \ \             |    |/_        |
                '-\------- Ergotism     <------|-- Hosp. Bros. of Saint Anthony
                   \                           |
                    '-+----------  Eleusinian Mysteries
                      |                    ^
                       \                   |
                        '-- Philosophy <- Plato

[8:36 AM] segismundo: so, an anti psychotic does the opposite to LSD
[8:37 AM] segismundo: meaning that LSD is, by definition, a "psychotic"

	Just as Land smoked methamphetamine, Plato drank of ergot-infected
kykeon. Philosophy is an application of psychosis.

[9:48 AM] meatgrinder #1 meatspinoza: Fantastic

--- ping statistics ---
837 packets transmitted, 99 received, +229 errors, 88.172% packet loss, time...
rtt min/avg/max/mdev = 39.220/30595.549/353683.940/40902.931 ms, pipe 307


	Internet's out, repo's not cloned here, guess I'm writing this in a
separate text file.

	This blah really is just a single large HTML file I edit (most of the
time). I might start splitting it up but then I don't get to read previous
stuff as I write. A lot of my revision process is just taking something I've
written, copy pasting it into a new doc, and rewriting it word by word into
something I like. It would be a lot harder to do if it was all separate text
files. Honey, where did I put my arsonted_06.txt?

	I have a job I never really talk about here because I don't really like
working and don't see why I should write about something I don't like. But my
co-workers vaguely know of the existence of this blah so I figure I'll mention
that. At least at this current job they do. Don't move up, move out. I make
sandwiches. Fast food. It's no honorable occupation.

	xterm(1) is a program I really enjoy despite it technically being hot
garbage. Someday maybe I'll fork it and fix it while keeping support for
everything but probably not.

	maia arson crimew is so cool.

	I'd like to implement Fing for UNIX but better. It's definitely
possible even in Just shell scripting. nmap(1), ping(1), etc.

	Immediately I'd like to write a history of pagers and some
documentation for raspi-config(8).


	"Sounds like a pretty one-sided relationship."
	"Well, yeah." Ada Karina had finished her brief account of a story that
spanned decades.
	"Forty five the first time... back twenty three years from that... then
how old?"
	"Oh, I uh- thirty. Even, I think."
	"Eight years. So fifty three. Then you were thirty five, another
thirteen. That's sixty six years?"
	"I guess." Ada checked her watch.
	"You're twenty three now. That makes you eighty nine."
	"I guess."
	Howard tapped his fingers on the recliner. A church bell rang in the
distance; noon. The cafe would close in an hour. He thought to himself. "Older
than me."
	"Not physically. Mentally I feel like my brain's on fire. Probably I
won't last much longer up in my head. But it helps a lot that I'm twenty three
by all observable quantities. And really it's more like I was trapped in
a simulation three times rather than that I actually time travelled."
	"How was it?"
	"How was what?"
	"You spent- eighty nine, twenty three - sixty six years working towards
a relationship. I mean, no matter how good Cassidy is, is it worth it to go
that long?"
	Ada thought for a moment. "For a smile? For a hug? Of course. and it
kills me that it's gone." She laughed. "Yeah. It just kills me." Ada turned her
head to look outside at the table at which she met Cassidy the second, third,
and fourth times.
	Howard Polk had been the owner of the cafe for the previous two years.
He wondered if he'd be alive for the holocaust, if Ada couldn't prevent it. He
looked at his knuckles resting on the worn cotton armrest. The burns he got as
a cook at someone else's establishment decades past never healed, not on his
knuckles and not on his neck. "I lost someone too, once. The last person I
cared about. Actually cared about."
	"May I ask who?"
	Howard snorted. "Yes you may. The co-owner. Margeret."
	"Best damn cook I knew. Taught me everything I know. Everything."
	"What happened?"
	Howard scratched the recliner fabric and felt the texture. "We went our
separate ways, or rather, she went her separate way, getting bored of the
business or the routine or something. I texted, called, messaged back when
instant messaging was still new. And she sent me a message saying it wasn't my
fault that she didn't answer and that she was going through a rough patch."
	Ada turned back to Howard. "What happened?"
	"She washed up on the shore of the Nile."
	"I still prefer it to what you said. Even if I don't quite believe it."
	A timer went off in the kitchen area behind the counter in front of
which Howard's recliner sat. Ada watched the cook bend down out of sight and
return to view with a pan of bacon. "I wouldn't believe it either."


	1000 lines since the last Ted story?

	Minerva and Ron sat silent in the car. Ron focused on driving while
Minerva frowned at the horizon.
	"We should have stayed there and made sure he got help."
	"Help? What help is there for him? It's a miracle he didn't end up
killing anyone. I know it's my 'duty' as manager to make sure the store's safe
but the guys'll fill in everything for the cops and EMTs and Ted'll get put
away in a place where he can't do more harm. That was a traumatic event,
Minerva. I want something to take the edge off and I wanna forget the fire and
Ted ever happened."
	Minerva looked at the steering weel. "That's not a healthy coping
mechanism, you know."
	Ron stared into the horizon. "Oh, fuck off. If you thought any
differently than I did you wouldn't have gotten in the car." They started to

	Ted had been watching the second building burn that day for probably
half an hour before he heard footsteps in the brush behind him. "You rat
	Ted turned around to find a police officer with his gun already drawn.
"Oh. Hi. Are cops allowed to swear?"
	The officer's hands' tremble was slight but visible. "Ted."
	Ted read the officer's name tag. "Jack?"
	"Tom. Tom Jack. You were at my brother's Christmas party."
	Ted remembered a Tally Jack with which he worked. Tally invited Ted to
his Christmas party about three months prior and Ted at the time regretted
showing up. Being beaten with blessings and suffocated by songs playing in
background commercials. Every present had a logo and everybody already knew the
brands. Ted was the odd one out, as usual. "Tom."
	"How could you? You could have killed all of your co-workers - why burn
down the office? You could have killed my brother." Tom's voice quivered.
	Ted tilted his head and thought for a moment. "Nobody died. Would have
been cooler if they all did, yeah." He smiled softly.
	Officer Jack, now angry, gripped his gun with both hands. "I could
arrest you, and the judge would give you a sentence, but that wouldn't be
justice. If you got out you'd just do this again, wouldn't you?" Ted nodded.
"Me killing you right now is justice. To Hell with the consequences."
	Ted stood and watched the officer staring into his eyes but only
reciprocated in the same way a doll or teddy bear makes eye contact. Without
	"So." Tom exhaled. "Goodbye." Tom braced for Ted's reaction.
	There was none. Tom squared his soldiers. "Okay."
	Ted finally reacted. "Car."
	"What?" And then it hit Tom with all two tons of force; an ambulance
driven under the influence. Its brakes squealed but the tires couldn't catch
the dry grass and the ambulance sucked Tom under where he was run over by all
four wheels before being spit out on the other side ten seconds from death and
with his top ten most vital organs all perforated in one way or another. "Man."
	Ted watched the light leave Tom's eyes as the ambulance driver
staggared out of the vehicle. Tom in terms of presentation wasn't too gruesome,
though death did have somewhat of an effect on his composure. It struck Ted as
a boring dead body.
	The driver put his hands on the sides of his head. "Oh man, oh man, oh
man..." Ted was surprised he hadn't been the one hit but then remembered he
didn't care, and that the ambulance driver wasn't on fire.
	"Can you hold still for a second?"
	The driver paused and looked at Ted. "...What?"

	Arson Ted is my favorite character.


	What I found in Flipnote Studio 3D for my Nintendo 3DS:
	- 2019-09-25 0646:  9 frames. Bouncing ball demo.
	- 2019-10-11 1736: 28 frames. Bouncing ball demo (the ball is liquid).
	- 2019-12-16 1304: 30 frames. The word "FUCK" turns into strings and
                                      falls onto the floor. It recollects as
                                      a heart with "YOU" in the middle.
	- 2011-01-01 2110: 60 frames. A stick figure falls into the ground and
	  (likely a clock             leaves an impression in the snow; climbs
	   issue)                     out. Letters appear above them: "SOVIETS
                                      WITHOUT A PARACHUTE (tm)
	- 2011-09-30 1004:  4 frames. A stick figure masturbating.
	  (likely a clock
	- 2020-11-09 2257: 55 frames. A stick figure waits at a dinner table
                                      holding a fork and knife, wearing a bib.
                                      Another stick figure slides a dish to the 
                                      other end of the table. The first stick
                                      figure looks down and their mouth extends
                                      into crocodile-like jaws before they take
                                      a bite out of the entire section of the
                                      table with the dish. The second stick
                                      figure extends their mouth likewise and
	- 2020-11-10 2302:  2 frames. A small drawing of a teddy bear next to
                                      the shaky words くまちゃん: <BR />
	- 2020-11-16 1746:  2 frames. Words on top of a flashing yellow and
                                      white background: i <3 LOOTERS.

	Today I tried playing Professor Layton and the Curious Village for the
Nintendo DS. It was too hard and I've given up. Half the puzzles are total
bogus (you have one match and want to heat your bathtub, start a fire, and
light your lamp; which do you light first?.. your match). The story looks good
and I like the FMV cutscenes. Maybe I'll find an edit of all of them on-line.
	I rediscovered Paper Airplane Chase (DSiWare) which I had when I was a
very small child on my DSi XL. I played it a lot and enjoyed it but now it
looks to me like it's probably an asset flip of some part of another game.
Maybe WarioWare?
	In total people owe me $545. I'm hoping I can get that by the time next
month's rent is due.

/home/trinity/Pictures/the_end_of_the_world.webm (2021-03-04 2104; 3991 KB;
origin unknown)

	00:00: A picture of Tim and Moby from MobyMax.
	00:00: A picture of Captain Underpants.
	00:01: A picture of a Nintendo Wii.
	00:02: The poster for Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Rodrick Rules (2011).
	00:02: A screenshot from PAPA's TACO MIA.
	00:03: A picture of a kid with outstretched hands displaying
	00:03: Bodycam footage of an officer shooting a figure in the desert.
	       Dated 2018-10-10 1454.
	00:04: Video of a police officer shooting a man in the street. The
	       police officer behind him is held back by a bystander.
	00:04: Video of a TSA agent searching a child for weapons.
	00:05: Video of another TSA agent searching a toddler in a wheelchair
	       for weapons.
	00:06: A screen capture of a computer system using facial recognition
	       to track school class attendance.
	00:06: A screenshot from a TSA body scanning computer.
	00:07: A Department of Defense press release showing 3D render of an
	       "active denial system".
	00:08: Footage from a massacre at a mosque in Christchurch, New
	00:09: A screen capture of a computer system tracking the positions of
	       students at a school.
	00:09: Footage of a police officer pulling a police canine off of a
	00:10: A picture of a poster at a school. Visible is a yellow smiley
	       face with "Smile" above and "You're on camera!" below. To the
	       right visible is the following fragment:
	                                                            Our new bus
	                                                          you have a sa
	                                                           We have pros
	                                                        and graffiti on
                                                         (italic) You are being
                                                      (italic) bus. So just sit
	                                                              WE WILL P
	00:10: A snippet from Sunday Today with Willie Geist, headline: JEFFREY



	Olive arrived the next day at 9 o'clock antemeridian having been
informed of the time she'd start work two hours prior via electronic mail. She
entered the restaurant via the two sets of glass double doors and walked to the
	"Hi, I'm Olive, I'm here for my first day of work here."
	The kid at the counter looked like they hadn't slept in weeks. "Hi
Olive, I'll go get the manager." They disappeared and returned from the back of
the restaurant which didn't seem to be lit, accompanied by a man Olive hadn't
met. He grimaced in an attempt to smile. "Hi Olive. Usually Paul would be here
but he's out sick."
	"Sick? I spoke with him at length yesterday in his office – should I
	"No, the only thing of Paul's that was contagious was his smile." The
man grimaced again. "Come with me, I'll show you the kitchen."
	Olive, lead by the new supervisor, followed into the dim kitchen, lit
by a single red-tinted bulb. Another kid, apparently lacking more sleep than
the first, stood at a tall stainless steel table on which four machines sat. On
the far right was the paper dispenser; it dispensed paper wrappers for the
burgers, operated by button press. The bun dispenser, operated by lever,
deposited refined-grain sesame seed buns of 12 centimeter diameter, the bottom
landing on one corner of the paper and the top landing on another. The patty
dispenser, operated by plunging lever, was a conveyor belt that lead to the
kitchen from nowhere immediately discernible to Olive. On metal wires it would
push patties, two at a time, to the table. The final machine dispensed an
orange mixture (that smelled like cheese and ketchup) and was operated by flip
lever – flipped one way, it dispensed enough syrup for one burger, flipped the
other way, it dispensed enough for another. Shik-shik, puk-puk, hrnnnnn, click.
The kid at the table made two burgers at a time before wrapping them and
sending them out.
	Next to the table, on the red tiled floor, was a bucket of waste. Olive
gestured to it. "Do you do composting?"
	"Oh, no, of course not. We need to count out waste. How many burgers
tossed, how many buns tossed, et cetera. We've had issues with employees
stealing product."
	"Oh." Olive stared in the bucket. It held a soup of cheese/ketchup,
grease, mushed bread, and dissolving wrappers. "You count out everything in
	"Yup, that's not exactly my favorite part of this job." The supervisor
turned to the table kid. "Daniel, this is Olive."
	"Hi Olive." Daniel turned back to his hell.
	The supervisor turned back to Olive. "You'll be replacing Daniel. Watch
how he works so you know what you'll be doing."
	Olive kept staring in the bucket. "Do you have any sort of official
procedure sheets?"
	"Yes, but you aren't allowed to see them."
	Olivia's eyes moved from the bucket to the conveyor. "Oh."

	That was OK. Here's how I'd write it now:

	Olive arrived the next day at 900 on two hours'notice. She entered the
restaurant via two sets of glass double doors and walked to the counter.
Holding the register was a teenager who looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.
Olive read his nametag. Sam.
	"Hi Sam, I'm Olive, I'm here for my first day of work here."
	"Hi Olive, I'll go get the manager." He disappeared into the back of
the restaurant, which Olive noticed was lit dimly if at all, and returned with
a man in a black uniform. The man grimaced in an attempt to smile. "Hi Olive.
Usually Paul, the manager with whom you spoke yesterday, would be here, but
he's out sick."
	"Oh. Should I be here then? The interview was in an enclosed space and
for a little while." Sam brought out the bag for an order as they talked. He
pulled a receipt off a clip hanging from one of the shelves behind him, strafed
over to the soda fountain, and started pouring drinks. A set of hands pushed a
burger onto the other shelf and then receded back into the darkness.
	"No, it's not contagious - fortunately. Plus the restuarant is very
well ventilated. The only thing of Paul's that was contagious was his smile."
The man grimaced again. Olive noticed the use of past tense. "Come with me,
I'll show you the kitchen."
	Olive, lead by the supervision, stepped behind the counter, between the
two stainless steel shelves, carefully through a brief corridor between shelves
holding room-temperature ingredients, and followed around the end of the shelf
on the right to the small kitchen which she noticed was lit by a single red
incandescent bulb. Another teenager stood at a waist-level stainless steel
table onto which four machines dispensed paper wrappers, sesame-seed buns, beef
patties, and some sort of sauce. Four tubes ran to the table; two from the
floor and one each from the ceiling and a refrigerator-sized machine behind the
kid that had a large steel tube chimney vent also routed towards, eventually,
the sky. The kid at the table made a sandwich in a rhythmic beat.
	Shik-shik. The paper dispenser was a box sort of shaped like a printer
with a large black button that used the mechanical force of the button press to
separate and spit out the burger wrapper. The box extended past the edge of the
table and a large stainless steel tube extended from its bottom through the
floor. The papers had red splotches on them, like there was an accident in
	Puk-puk. The bun dispenser was a tube that ran down from the ceiling
towards the table with a lever on the front. The lever rotated a gear inside
the tube so it could dispense a single twelve-centimeter sesame seed bun,
fluffy enough to not be damaged upon hitting the bun wrapper.
	Hrnnnnn. The patty dispenser, operated by foot pedal, was a conveyer
belt within a thick tube that carried a freshly-broiled hamburger patty; the
Durmer Burger signature patty, in fact. It came pre-seasoned.
	Click. The sauce dispenser resembled a sink faucet, with a tube a
couple centimeters in diameter running from a valve in the floor under the
table to the hook-shaped dispenser section. On the front it had a flip lever -
flipped one way, it dispensed enough syrup for one burger, flipped the other
way, it dispensed enough for another. The large handle made a gentle but
audible click as it toggled. The signature Durmer Burger sauce was orange and
smelled to Olive like a mix of cheese and ketchup but she figured it would be
naive of her to assume that was all it was.
	Shik-shik. Puk-puk. Hrnnnnn. Click. Then he wrapped them and pushed
them through the shelf into the light behind it.
	Next to the table, on the red tiled floor, was a bucket, a third full,
of various decomposing ingredients. Olive pointed at it and turned to the
manager. "Do you do composting?"
	"Oh, no, not here." He chuckled, which came out as a low growl. "We
count out waste to make sure the inventory sums out. A couple years ago we had
some problems with an employee stealing a ton of stuff from here so it's just
in case it happens again. Probably not really necessary but it's what the
higher-ups want."
	"Oh." Olive stared in the bucket. It held a soup of sauce, grease,
the remnants of some buns, and slowly-dissolving wrappers. "You count out
everything in there?"
	"Yeah. Not exactly sunshine and roses." The supervisor spoke a little
louder. "Daniel."
	The table teen, presumably Daniel, looked up from making sandwiches.
	"This is Olive."
	Daniel looked towards Olive's knees. "Hi Olive." He turned back to his
	The manager turned back to Olive. "You'll be replacing Daniel. Watch
how he works so you know what you'll be doing."
	Olive kept staring in the bucket. "Do you have any sort of procedure
sheets anywhere?"
	"Probably. I've only seen glimpses. They keep it under wraps. This is
more sort of a word-of-mouth, creative job. You do things the best you can."
	"Alright, cool."

	I don't like chocolate.



	Olive set herself down on a blue chair with stainless steel gray legs
that grasped a red tiled floor thinly but strong enough at least for her right
then. The weather outside was beautiful, a clear sky with few clouds, and the
sun would rise in an hour, though Olive could see none of this because the
cramped office in which she and her chair were captive was windowless. The
silence was set to the beat of Olive tapping her jeans with her nails and
looking at the, to her, very large vent next to the flickering fluorescent
light in the suspended ceiling. The cheap desk in front of her wasn't very big
but still barely left room for her against the wall, on it was miscellaneous
unsorted paperwork. This was the first, most potent memory Olive would have of
her time working for Durmer Burger.
	There came two knocks at the door and it was ajar. The lead manager,
Paul, smiled with nearly all of his teeth before pulling it open. "Olive, is
	"Yes." Olive stood up and held her hands at her sides, intending to
shake Paul's hand if he offered his. He didn't and simply sat down behind his
desk. Olive sat down as well.
	"This is an impressive resume. You volunteered at the humane society
for two years?" Paul's salt-and-pepper hair stuck out under a brown DURMER
	"Yeah. I had some spare time and wanted to help out."
	"Good, good. I see you did take some cooking classes at school. You
might be able to teach us a thing or two. I know our kitchen can be a little
strange to new hires but I think you'll get along fine."
	"I hope so."
	"So do you want to stay in the kitchen, or do you want to take orders?
Maybe a little of both?"
	Olive looked at the desk for a moment before looking back at Paul. "I
think starting out in the kitchen would be good, but I don't know."
	"Alright, kitchen, then play it by ear. Sounds good." Paul put on a
sickness of a smile and reached out with a bent elbow to shake Olive's hand,
which she followed.
	After Olive left the room Paul leaned back in his chair and began to
seize. Foam fell from his lips onto his gray uniform. The chair fell over to
Paul's right side, to the door, and Paul hit the side of his head on the
doorknob as he fell onto the floor while his chair scuffed the beige wall
behind him. As his blood dripped slowly onto the tile the fluorescents finally
gave out. Neither the kitchen crew nor the order takers heard Paul die, though
Sam, who usually was relegated to the fryer in the kitchen, noticed the light
was off while sneaking out to the dumpster to smoke a joint of marijuana. He
knocked, asked the order takers where Paul was, and continued out through the
back entrance to the dumpster. On his way back he noticed Paul's car was still
parked outside the entrance. Sam checked both bathrooms (each empty) and opened
the office door ajar to see if Paul maybe was taking a nap on the clock. That's
when Sam found the body.
	After Olive left the room she walked out of the restaurant through the
front entrance, looked up and down the street for traffic, though there rarely
was any, and crossed Canal Avenue over to the Chinese buffet where she turned
right and started walking home. She watched ambulances and a police car fly
down the road and didn't see any significance in it.
	Paul's shoulder was mostly holding the door shut but Sam could see the
drool on the floor. He ran away to the front and told the order takers, who
called the local emergency number. Two ambulances and a police car stopped in
the drive-through and brought out a stretcher, some paramedics, and a police
officer. While the paramedics took care of the body the officer questioned
first the order takers and then Sam, whom the officer noticed was high. Officer
Daniels didn't make a note of it.
	On a computer screen somewhere (anywhere) in a factory a worker watched
a man seize and die on closed circuit television. He picked up a telephone and
dialed for his superior who was on the same connection. The superior went down
to the worker's office and stared at the still conveyor belt behind the worker,
on top of which neatly laid a number of burger wrapper papers. The superior
asked what the worker was doing and the worker explained that a man had just
died inside the burger store (Durmer Burger). The supervisor stared at the
press, then the employee, then the ink buckets that lay beside the press
peppered with warning labels regarding the composition of the ink. The
supervisor considered how hot the ink had to be to be in a liquid state. Then,
silently, the supervisor grabbed the employee by the ear and violently threw
them into the red tank. The employee opened their mouth to scream but only
music came out. The most beautiful music the supervisor had heard. It came to a
crescendo as the worker's face dissolved and they lost consciousness due to
shock but it played on even after the employee's decrescendo. Red splattered
onto the burger wrappers.


	"Hey." A figure in a black trenchcoat, wearing green circular glasses a
bit too big for their head, tapped Olive's shoulder as she lay on the road
foaming at the mouth. "Hey Olive. Wake up."
	Seeing that Olive was dead, the figure started walking down the road
backwards, facing Olive. When Olive's body flew up and started walking
backwards towards Alan's the figure crouched and continued sneaking, staying
out of Olive's field of view. This figure watched Olive make her way backwards
to the gas station and eventually made it behind Durmer Burger as Olive
shuffled backwards towards the ground outside the broken door and lay down in
front of it. Olive flew into the door and the glass beads on the ground
arranged themselves into a full sized window pane. The figure waited a minute
or two on a mechanical wristwatch before heading towards the front of the
	All was quiet in the neighborhood. No birds chirped, no squirrels
rustled trees, and there were no cars on the street. The figure in the black
trenchcoat retrieved a black purse from their belt, took out a tension rod and
paper clip, and started to pick the lock. Within a couple seconds they got
through and held the door open. Soon Olive came running out of the portal.
	Olive clutched her arm and turned around. "Hello?" Her face was twisted
in pain.
	"Hi, I'm here to invite you to Saikokon." The figure smiled with a few
more teeth than fit a human. "It's free!"
	"Yes, yes. It's quite a surprise, isn't it?"
	Olive looked around her. "What?"
	The figure frowned and put their purse back on their belt. "Alright,
well, I'll take that as a yes, which isn't quite consent but otherwise in a
couple minutes you won't be able to either way. I'm gonna need you to hop on
this scooter." They took a small, collapsible Razor scooter out of their
trenchcoat from a strap across their front and unfolded it. "It's a bit shabby
but I don't like cars' emissions."
	Olive stared at the scooter. "I'm sorry – this is a lot to process. I
need medical attention."
	"Yes, I know, and either you can pour some isopropyl alcohol on your
arm and die on that street drooling or you can get on this scooter and go to a
clinic. So which is it?"
	Olive stepped onto the scooter. Her foot was barely small enough to fit
on its platform, leaving no room for the other. She adjusted her weight to
	"Great. Now, I'm going to have to ask you not to puke. This is going to
be extremely disorienting for you. Would you like a blindfold?"
	"A blindfold. It obscures your vision."
	"Why would I want a blindfold?"
	"In case of inadverdent motion sickness or blindness."
	"I could go blind?"
	"You could always go blind."
	"Will this increase the risks of my losing my sight?"
	"Olive my dear," the figure grabbed onto the middle of the scooter's
steering apparatus firmly and steadied themself, "you have never seen." The
figure started slowly walking, dragging Olive along, both through space and

	I'm writing this at 0400. I can't sleep.
	I didn't sleep much the
	night before this, or the
	night before that, but    I
	just                        can't.
	                          I can't sleep.
	I'm not tired, except I'm
	a little tired - I just
	yawned. But I'm not
	tired.                    I can't sleep.
	I'm so tired. I don't
	want to sleep but I need
	sleep. But                I can't sleep.

	                          I can't sleep
	! and I'm awake and I've
	been awake since noon?    I can't
	remember and yesterday I
	still only slept maybe a
	couple hours for which I
	am thankful but I need            sleep.
	And                       I can't sleep.
	And heavy is the head
	that wears the crown;
	heavy also is the head of
	the insomniac, the bitter
	dead-wake hound that
	howls in its gutty pain
	and makes mortals fear
	its cosmically lucid mind
	that can strike upon them
	an understanding so great
	they too will never               sleep
	again. Never rest their
	head on a pillow, never
	lay in sheets, never
	breathe a great calming
	breath. They too            can't sleep
	like                      I can't sleep.
	Why                         can't
	                          I       sleep
	? Why must                I
	never                             sleep
	but stay on guard and on
	edge and listening to the
	rustle of the vents and
	automotive traffic on the
	street behind me, past my
	window? Maybe             I can   sleep
	but it's the world that
	stops me. Maybe           I
	halt the world.           I
	don't care.               I
	just want to                      sleep
	!                         I
	need to                           sleep
	! Let me                          sleep



	A person woke up wrapped in satin sheets, head atop a comfortably
stuffed pillow. They remembered the two most important things: Take the pill.
Check the book.
	The book. Where was the book. Their room came into view. A wallpaper of
lilacs on a cream background. Large windows, nearly floor to ceiling. The book
was to their left.
	June 1, 21XX. Ah, the first of a new month. Funny how that happens.
They quickly flipped to the front. EDWARDS Eugene \ Class: Well-to-do. Ah.
Well-to-do. Well in-deed.
	The last thing Eugene Edwards remembered was sitting in a pub in, oh,
what year is it now? 21XX. So 40 years prior; sitting in a pub, having a pint
of whatever happened to be on tap at that point. No televisions. No televisions
at the bar. There were people on phones though. Eugene watched them, thinking.
Kids on their phone. Is it a phone? Are they still phones nowadays? Fuck it.
Phones. Just about the same anyway.
	The kids were on their phones scrolling through memetic imagery like a
hundred years prior back when lead and fluoride and Donald Trump and quantum
computers and oh god think of the children were on people's minds and when
those were the only just about the only things on people's minds no
cognitoviruses no hazards just green grass et cetera. A hundred years prior.
Eugene wasn't there, nor were Eugene's parents, nor grandparents. Eugene's
great grandparents were alive though. Given the plastic content in the
grandparents' bones, Eugene figured the times were not great. But maybe they
were okay. They could have been okay.
	The concrete age.
	Eugene was watching them on their phones. Whatever the fuck those
hipsters used. And Eugene watched the kid on the left, or the right - the one
farthest from the exit - Eugene watched them drop their phone, suddenly, and
tense up. Like getting electrically shocked. All their muscles tightened, their
face got red, their veins got big, like Rob Muscanis doing a dead-lift. Then
the kid passed out. Passed the fuck out. Then the same thing happened to
another kid and slowly as the kids checked what was on each others' phones it
rippled out.
	Cognitohazard. That was what it was called. A memetic cognitohazard.
Sweeping the god damn planet. The Indians and the Koreans both denied it was
them immediately though they were under the closest scrutiny; India in
particular had been known for trying to manufacture cognitohazards for military
use. And all this investigation (in the wrong places) while it took kid after
kid. And killed them! A fucking memetic image.
	That night was when Eugene learned about Antero.
	Antero is an experimental (now not so much) drug aimed at preventing
the formation of new memories for 24 hours after ingestion. It's usually taken
in the morning; available to every class and every body free of charge from the
government not out of nefarious purpose (though that is questioned daily by a
number of folks more than suspicious of the UPK's leadership) but out of a
great need. Without Antero, fuck. Antero turns the permanent death of a
cognitovirus into a temporary absence from the brain of the user. Antero is the
penicillin of the twenty second century. Thank your local god for Antero, then
thank the drug company that came up with it, Gokko (pronounced "gohk koh")
Pharmaceutical. Then, of course, thank the Japanese.
	Eugene took their first Antero the following morning, and by the looks
of Eugene's book of short term memories gone long term gone gone, Eugene had
taken Antero every morning since then, for the past forty years. Well,
thirty-six years technically, thirty six years, three months, and a day. Eugene
figured most people would be afraid to wake up forty years older (especially
given that Eugene was just about reaching UPK life expectancy of sixty-four).
However, Eugene did not have emotions; Eugene was technically a psychopath.
Though this word is antiquated now and will be far more antiquated by the time
this story occurs; psychopathy is not a real diagnosable medical condition,
rather a collection of common attributes, and the term is hampered by a very
strong connotation that psychopaths are violent and compulsively homicidal.
Eugene was neither.
	Eugene's book was written in a somewhat different way from their usual
writing. At least that's what they figured at first look. On first glance, the
entries were scrawled quickly and looked dirtier than their usual work (or
their usual work of forty years' prior). Done so to save time, probably. And
the entries were bulleted and abbreviated. "I went out for dinner with Laura.
She seemed happy and has just gotten engaged to the kind-hearted and hearty
mutual friend of ours Brian." becomes simply "dined with laura. now eng. w/
brian"; "laura" and "brian" both hyperlinks to the relevant written profiles
within Eugene's book (mentioned entry dated January 8 and both profiles updated
automatically with this information at the same time).
	So, what to do today. 21XX-07-01. Go to work at Rogo Corporation. Job
is to supervise the automatic production of electric machetes and rapidly debug
errors. At nine hundred hours, attend meeting determining scope and cause of
formula errors in accounting department, and consequences. Okay. Eugene got out
of bed, went to the bathroom, brushed their teeth, and did other usual
activities similar to one does in the bathroom. Then they put on a
tight-fitting black collared t-shirt, light and thin dark blue jacket, and
black jeans, and walked downstairs to hail a cab to the tallest skyscraper in
their city.
	"Memes", viral thoughts, have existed for millennia. As the time taken
for a thought to circumnavigate the world decreased, the sheer amount of memes
increased. The printing press, telegraph, telephone, television, all
accelerated the travel of memes. However, the mass popularization of the use of
the Internet mainly through the world wide web in the early twenty-first
century predictably spawned an unprecedented environment in which memes could
form, pass through the minds of millions of people, and die, in the span of
hours. This was the perfect petri dish in which cognitoviruses could evolve.
	Cognitoviruses, or memetic cognitohazards, are self-propagating mind
worms that often interfere with the capability of the subject's brain to
accomplish tasks necessary in order to think. The first cognitoviruses were
temporarily distracting and rather harmless; for example, a game where,
whenever one thinks of it, they lose, which is in turn unwinnable unless the
subject never knew of the game in the first place, but of which the subject is
compelled to tell others, is a very classic example (and one that was popular
on the Internet through the mid 2010s). As research into the phenomenon of
cognitohazardous materials and the memetic transmission of cognitohazards
evolved, cognitoviruses were developed and published that began to circulate
through popular communicative Internet services, and soon became a "meme"
	It was in the late twenty-first century that a cognitovirus was
developed that was, more or less, lethal, and theorized to be the work of a
state military though the true origin is uncertain. And Antero sat as a
published paper and niche-market drug, usually applied in the treatments of
mental illnesses such as post-traumatic stress disorder or depression. In the
week following the release of the first lethal cognitovirus the usage of
communicative Internet services plummeted, meanwhile Gokko Pharma's valuation
increased fifty-fold. And so the world kept spinning.
	Antero. Eugene needed to take the pill. They were halfway down the
stairs from their rented living space before they remembered and had to walk
back up. On the other side of the bed from where their book was. A blue bottle
with white cap; inside, a dozen or so green pills. Eugene dry-swallowed one and
went back down the stairs to the street to find a driver.

	This is not nearly my best writing. I thought 七月 was June, the
description of Eugene is so bland yet so pseudo-edgy. I like that Eugene uses
gender-neutral pronouns but that was because of my misunderstanding of gender
in which I thought such a thing was ridiculous and everybody should be neutral.
I like the idea of memes as weapons and still think about it - I used to do
stuff like that (and that's all I can say about that). But I think this style
of narration sucks and the world described was excessively bland - intended to
be British but without much subtle charm that colors the otherwise gray world
of England in media. It's nice that my writing's improved so much in 18 months
- or maybe I'm just not divorced far enough by time from what I write in this
blah to see the glaring flaws.

	I'm gonna have to put pipes at the start of the next one's lines
because it's reliant on the structure of the text - I can't just indent each
paragraph and shove it together to indicate relation between segments like I
can when I put random snippets of writing in here.


|Anonym's journey to the center of the universe
|	began on 31 september 2021 in the town of little rock maine. anonym
| went to a big franchised or whatever drugstore to buy a coca cola. then they
| went to check out but they noticed no registers were open. yet the store was
| still open, and there was a worker there striding around the registers
|	"hi, I'd like to check out please" anonym
|	Worker: "Yes, that's for what I'm here."
|	"well, ah, where should i pay for my cola?" anonym
|	Worker: "Please use the self-checkouts."
|	"i don't really understand how to use the automatons" anonym
|	Worker: "Yes, that's for what I'm here
|		I'm here to show you how to use the self-checkouts."
|	"alright" anonym
|	anonym learned to use the automatons to complete transactions
|	"so, what do you think of coca cola? what sodas do you like?" anonym
|	Worker: "I don't know. I drink any beverage."
|	"you don't have a preference? even something you like more than others?" anonym
|	Worker: "No."
| anonym left the store and continued their journey to the center of the
| universe

	That one was basically just a transcript of an interaction I had at my
local CVS. I hate my local CVS.


The Journey
	Kenan Gleick woke up on a Tuesday morning, in a town neither you nor I
have heard of, Michigan, to a soft roar emanating from outside the room in
which was the bed in which he'd apparently slept. He recognized neither the
bed, nor the room, nor the view outside the window, nor, upon putting on the
clothes in the mahogany bureau next to the bed (business-casual khakis, a pair
of sneakers, and a black "Thanks for the toast!" tee shirt) and looking up at
the mirror above the bureau, himself.
	He pocketed a cheap multitool on top of the bureau. He knew who he had
once been - a cashier at a local supermarket - but it didn't seem relevant to
who he was now. His palms had worn since he'd last seen them. He crossed the
hardwood flooring and opened the white door before entering a hall, painted a
diseased maroon, to find what appeared to be a handyman or some other sort of
contract laborer grinding through the drywall with a rotary saw. The man turned
off the blade and stared at Kenan. "That room was just empty."
	"Sorry." Kenan quickly walked into what was marked as a stairwell and
treaded down the stairs until he came to the sign indicating the ground floor,
where he broke into a jog and quickly made it outside the hotel before anyone
could ask any questions.

	I remember thinking about this one but I don't know what it was gonna
be about. This is also probably the earliest piece of writing I have saved on
my computer. There are really old ones that maybe I'll dig out at some point
but I've already pasted three here for today and I can only bear so much
embarrassment at the writing of my 17 year old self.

	The chronological cut must be so confusing to watch!

	I found an ancient blog of mine from when I was a kid.


	Today we didn't have school because it's Saturday. I went to one of my
friend's birthday parties, [...]'s, to be exact, and I got him a Nerf Elite
Dual-Strike. It was a Nerf party, by the way, and it's no mystery of whether
Han or Greedo shot first. I did. I also met up with my (old) friend, [...], and
shot him. It was kinda boring today altogether though.


	School was nothing special today. I've been trying to think of a
YouTube video to make. I've been getting vlogger's block. It's weird. Also, I
heard of something I think everybody should check out - a petition asking
Blizzard to stop trying to sue Nostalrius. Sign it! Please!


	I didn't post anything for the week, since I was so busy with school,
but now it's April vacation so I can blog all I want. My favorite Minecraft
server,, is shutting down on the 20th.


	I've been busy this month. It's just too much, especially with
volunteering and all the other crap our school makes us do. Meh. Another day,
another blog. Another Weebly site to watch is AnimeFreak. Weebly's doing
something stupid so that entire sentence was linked. Enjoy.
	EDIT: I linked the word now. Just the word. DEAL WITH IT.

	Somewhere along the way, probably inspired by Paul Graham's blog, I
learned it's less interesting to write about what you /do/ (unless what you do
is absolutely fascinating, which most of the time it is not) and more
interesting to write about what you're /thinking/.

	About a month after these I started on a webcomic which had the writing
quality of CtrlAltDel and a slightly better art quality than Arson Comics. It
had various unfunny jokes about virtual reality (which I had not yet tried),
self driving cars (which did not yet exist), arcade machines that could play
every video game ever made (which I didn't know existed), and the usual
violence-as-a-punchline, a hallmark of 00s and 10s webcomics.
	My favorite webcomics were xkcd (which I discovered at the time Vodka
was published - 2015-05-22, I guess) and MegaTokyo (which I discovered on
xkcd's site footer). MegaTokyo taught me leetspeek and a ton of weaboo culture,
and I still love the common fantasy of being stranded in a metropolitan area
and being forced to just Figure It Out. Later I also read TwoKinds, Savestate,
Junior Scientist Power Hour, and others.

	I would be thoroughly shocked if I found anything older than 2014 that
I could paste onto here. My life only really began when I turned 18, anyway.


	Karl and Will watched Captain James Cook sit in his recliner, seeming
to deliberate. An intravenous line was slung over the armrest from the back of
the chair into Cook's arm and he sat, catatonic, drool dripping past his bottom
lip, eyes wide open. Both of them knew he neither cared about what they said
nor was physically able to hear them. Behind them a small porthole window let
them see into the depths of outer space.
	Will finished his thought and verbalized it. "So, like, what's he
thinking about?"
	Karl: "What?"
	"He's on tranqs or something. Is he thinking about the ship?"
	Karl turned to Will. "Are you new here or something?"
	"What! I'm just asking a question."
	"Did you go to school?"
	"Did you graduate?"
	"Well... no."
	"Yeah." Karl gestured to the thin tube. "That's a drug cocktail of both
stimulants and paralytics. The chair measures his vitals and keeps him alive
while he can use all of his brain to think about what moves to make next."
	Will reexamined the chair from where he stood. "Why can't he just think
	"I just said. He can but this lets him use more of his noggin. The dude
is basically doing six dimensional chess up in there. A good captain will
figure out the next thousand years' moves in advance, I've heard."
	"I don't envy him."

	Captain James Cook stood on a featureless white plane under a black
starless sky, using a rod of wax to mark the ground in red. Taking into account
all of the nearby cosmic entities - the rocks and dust and occasional dwarf -
he charted out the next hundred years' plan, then the hundred after that, then
the hundred after that. The landscape around him turned pink as he marked the
hours to make up the days to make up the months to make up the years.

	An alarm sounded. Karl and Will ran to their respective stations. The
chair began to rouse the Captain for the emergency.

	James had finished year 963 when he started sliding down the smooth
surface. His naked body smeared the red wax on the floor as the floor smeared
it on him and after rolling for a couple seconds he was finally kicked off the
ground into the ether. Floating in space, he assumed the posture of sitting in
a chair so that his carriage back into physicality would be less violent. Then
like a dog pushed off a cliff he was back in his seat, chin wet, looking
through the porthole towards his previous home; outsideness.


	I looked for a moment at a painting above the stairs and their bronze
railing. It had an elaborate painting of a symbol that resembled a Cyrillic "Щ".
	"Alright, let's go." I gestured to the stairs.
	"What? Why?" Aaron walked through one of the dozen or so aisles of
shelves, each packed with books up to the height of his shoulder. The room we
were in encompassed the full third floor of the cylindrical tomb to which we
were tourists, lit brightly by incandescent lamps and only incandescent lamps.
There were no windows nor would there be anything of interest past the glass if
there were.
	"You said there would be one or two people here to meet us." Aaron
raised a hand on which he was raising his index finger but I interrupted him.
"If there's nobody to meet us for what's essentially a distress call, from this
'living vault' which I'd call a crypt, what got to them first? Whatever it was,
I don't wanna meet it."
	"Everything here is visible. There are no places to hide, or hide a
body." At that, I scanned the ceiling but it was just uniform brick. "I don't
know where they went, but we've looked around, and there's nothing here. I
don't see why you'd be so unnerved." I wasn't unnerved – at least I didn't
think I was visibly so. On the other side of the room, which wasn't terribly
big, though it was of a reasonable size for a small library, a hardwood board
under the tightly woven carpet let out a muffled squeak. A cheap bell rattled.
Judging by the look on Aaron's face, I had given him a death glare, but after
he looked down his aisle he relaxed. "It's a cat."
	I slowly stepped over to his aisle of books and there, on the other end
of the row, was a black and white cat with a red collar. I said the first thing
that came to my mind. "Its head is too big."
	Aaron looked at me but I kept looking at the cat. "'Its head is too
big'?" The cat's head kept extending and growing. Whatever reaction I had
caused Aaron to turn back to the cat. "Oh, fuck."
	The cat's fur grew sparse as its skin stretched wide and its head
turned a slow spiral into an upside-down position before its forehead grew
fangs and its former lips fused together. Its eyes widened and became
humanlike. The creature must have been three meters long with a serpentine head
but cat-sized body at the end, away from us. Its fangs were what peeked of a
mouth and that mouth opened its wide jaw and began to speak in a deep rumble of
a voice. "I."
	I slowly reached for and silently unbuttoned the clasp on my knife
while maintaining my stare at the creature. Aaron, probably close enough to the
thing to smell it if it had a smell, trembled slightly but enough that I
noticed. I wished I hadn't gone into this damn grave without my lighter but it
was confiscated by Aaron's parents (also the governing body of this archive –
built to withstand a nuclear blast, so humanity had a "damn fine base from
which to regrow their knowledge" – Aaron's mother's words, not mine). It wasn't
something I didn't understand – I too long for a first edition Origin of
Species sometimes after one or two glasses of wine at night, and have to page
through Sotheby's catalog in order to talk myself out of bidding the next time
one's stolen out of East Germany, but if there was truly some new Dracula or
Frankenstein – aside from the books, that is – hidden in these rows, I'd be
willing to burn down a lot more than some paper or even myself to make sure it
never saw the light of day.
	Aaron finally spoke. "Hello?"
	The creature tore a tentacle underneath the cat's chest and swung it up
above its head, morphing it into a fleshy wreath-like structure, almost like a
set of antlers. Its head and tentacle, I noticed, bent backward as they
stretched up, to keep its center of gravity below its paws. I realized what it
was doing, forming a fractal construct of flesh and the gaps between around its
head, as a second tentacle tore through the fur on the cat's back. "Aaron. Back
away towards me."
	The creature's eyes, bigger now, blue, turned towards me. It rumbled
and finally spoke, something: "Apart from the one fundamental nastiness-" it
made a gargling noise "-nineteenth century suffering from toothache." It thrust
its tentacle towards Aaron and he turned and ran for the stairs, to which I
also started running. The creature began to scream in a cacophony of fifty
voices. Aaron and I got to the end of the stairway and ran across the second
floor (fiction) to its descending stairs. I didn't take the time to look behind
	When we got to the bottom-most level of the vault Aaron ran to the
telephone next to the stone arch exit, currently leading to a brick wall, and
rang the operator as I turned to face his six and saw the monster, with the
body of a cat, the face of a (for lack of better description) werewolf, and the
two tentacles of a void, approaching, by morphing its appendages into some sort
of shape that could grip onto the stone bricks of the ceiling. By the time it
had climbed its way to the center of the room the vault started violently
twisting and the centrifugal force threw me and Aaron against the wall. The
beast staggered but hunkered down, moving its body towards the ceiling. The
black oily tentacles spread out into the bricks like they were Play-Doh shoved
into a fine mesh.
	The door next to us opened up and we made our way across the wall to
which we were pinned and fell through. We yelled to the engineers to keep it
twisting and the portal slid shut behind us.
	Aaron's father, Robert Arsenault, in his signature suit and green tie,
jogged down the freshly painted hall to meet us and the operator of his billion
dollar vault. Aaron and I were smoking, to Robert's chagrin, and against the
advice of Jamie Simon, who was almost as well known as Robert but in different
fields. In fact, the design of the library was officially called the Simon
Machine, and used novel mechanisms to rotate an entire cylindrical building on
its base as an extremely overkill locking mechanism so no unauthorized entities
could get in. I wasn't briefed on the details, or, well, I was, but I didn't
have the three PhDs necessary to understand any of it.
	A vent softly pumped air from the surface. Technically our location
wasn't supposed to be made known to the lackeys but Aaron said it was somewhere
in Peru.
	"What the hell was that?"
	Aaron tapped his cigarette on the previously empty ashtray next to
Jamie's keyboard. "I dunno."
	Robert thrust a pointed finger into Aaron's face. "You don't know? An
animal got into my library and neither of you can even tell what the fuck it
was? Do you even know how many legs it had?"
	Aaron seemed to have the same idea I had; Robert could figure out what
the thing was without our help. He wouldn't believe us if we told him what we

	Unfinished! A shame, too. I think that one could have been pretty good.
Maybe sometime I'll write a middle and ending.



I don't think about thinking, I just think it
	and I think even when I can't think about anything else
	I think about my thoughts about the day it left me
	and I think about it I can't think about anything else
I think about Venus and the moon and the sun
	and I think about when they came and killed everyone
	I think about the last time us two had some fun
	and I think about when we came and killed everyone
The sky is falling off the mountains
	and sirens filling my brain
	and the smoke attack the smoke grenades
	the blood in the lane
	the sky is on the edge of the earth
	and there are cracks in the night
	and the SWAT team and the G-men
	and the federal fight


The one hun dred me ter sprint .
and it's you that's dead in last .
When . will you just ad mit . .
You aren't win ning in this lap .
You mean no  thing .  to   me .
I'm try  ing .     my best .  .
You're a  hu   man .    dis ease  .
And    my best is  good e   nough .
I     gave it all  to you .   .
Leave me   a  lone .  I'm tir ed
And then you   just col lapsed . .
of  this stuff .    .   .      . .
You di dn't go   for the gold .
I   ne ver  went for the gold .
I   .  .    went for the gold .
You went for the sil ver . .
I   went for the sil ver . .
And I    got the sil ver . .
And now  you're get ting old    . .
And now  I'm    get ting old    . .
I'm look ing    at  the  bronze . .
And   my   hair is  tur ning sil ver
And   your hair is  tur ning sil ver
Throw my   me   dal in  the  ri  ver
. How could you do this to me?
. How could I   do this to you?
. Is  it    hap pi ness I  seek?
. Keep me      out  of   the  .  loop
. I    thought I    made it   ea sy
. All  this    time I've been so sad
. And at the end  of the day
. And at the end  of the day
. I'm so god damn in com plete
. I   lost out  in  the  race .
. You lost out  in  the  race .
. I   want what you guys have .

	A lot of what I do is foreshadowed by other stuff I do. Before Blang
(still in development and not even publicly released) was the configuration
system for ytfeed, which was weird in some areas. The behavior was mostly due
to side effects. Then Usagi, a similar fantasy computer but with much loftier
goals than Blang which never really came to fruition. When it came to making an
RSS feed reader, after (which started as a proof of concept out of
boredom using some Python RSS module or something) sort of collapsed from
technical debt (look, I can use buzzwords too) I really wanted to take and expand it to be more UNIXy and KISSy but lost motivation. I had a
couple attempts after that such as "awdri", which has one file with:

#!/usr/bin/env python

config = [
        "feed_dir": "/home/trinity/awdri/Feeds"

	But I don't even know what that was gonna be. Eventually I came up with
pigfeed which is a half-decent base for an RSS feed reader, I think. Plus its
model and design are delightful though undercooked.


The End of the World, And What Happened Next
	"Put your money in the wishing well, and your wish may well come true."
The beggar turned to me, his rotted teeth spitting through the phrase.
	"The wishing well?" I looked into the field behind him. I didn't see
any well.
	"It's not a <I>real</I> well. It's a wallet number. Put in
a coin and reap good luck for the rest of your life." He handed me the business
card of a preacher in the church across the street behind us. On the back was a
hexadecimal wallet code, 512-bit – a legacy address, scrawled in ballpoint. I
could hardly make out the 1s from 7s or the 4s from 9s. I put it in my shirt
	"An entire coin? I thought beggars usually wanted a fiver or tenner?"
	He stared into me with orange eyes. Tattooed irises, probably to go
with his hair. "It's not my wallet. Wanna miss out?" He waved his arms out.
"Your loss!"
	Simon was sitting at his desk filling forms when he saw kamisama from
his upstairs window. She disappeared into the forest across the street. He
quickly ran downstairs into the trees to find her sitting on a stump at a
stream, brushing her hair.
	"Where have you been? I haven't heard you in days." Simon started to
retie his right shoe which was too loose. "Are you avoiding me?"
	Kamisama spoke quietly. "They're trying to take me away."
	Simon finished the bunny ears and double knotted it. "Who?"
	"I don't know. But I'm disappearing."
	Simon sat on the stump. "Is it me? We knew this might happen eventually."
	Kamisama shook her head. "No, we can't part yet. I don't want you
blindly leading yourself. Someone is doing this to you."
	"I don't know what's worth putting a coin in an anonymous wallet, but
whatever it is, I don't need it anyway." I started to walk away.
	He yelled behind me. "Fine! You just ignored the best opportunity of
your life!" I kept walking.


	Ted wandered off as he heard sirens approach the crumbling office. His
office was a part of a sparse lot of buildings in the sparse tundra of
Underhelm, a small town on the outskirts of Dance City. The nearest neighbor to
his office, a tall but sterile, empty building, simply concrete, glass,
insulation, drywall, and plenty of carpet and flammable internal bits to start
a blaze, had a sign advertising its potential as a center of operations or call
center or something business or another that Ted didn't have the capacity to
care about.
	He didn't know where he got the jerrycan, and didn't know how it still
had any petrol in it, not to mention how it was still full. Ted kicked down the
fashionable but laughably flimsy double doors to the office, then the next pair
of doors past the entryway. The interior looked like it would look really good
if it was set on fire. Ted angled the can to pour a thin stream of gasoline as
he walked from room to room on the ground floor. He admired the new-car smell,
the gasoline aroma, the new-wall scent, the benzene draw, the new tables and
chairs and light fixtures and Cisco-branded IP phones and the pattern on the
carpet and the sharp geometry of the modernist architecture and soon he was
back in the lobby, having completed a loop. Like a soldier, he turned
anticlockwise and continued out of the building, carving a petroleum circle
into the dead grass surrounding the lifeless vessel.
	Ted struggled with his lighter. It was a disposable Bic that was nearly
out of butane. After a minute of clicking he was able to get a flame for a
moment and lit the gas trail. He watched the little bead of entropy follow the
path and split out into three, two following the circle and one cautiously
approaching the edifice. The brush and the building caught fire over a period
of a couple minutes and the fire roared to life.
	"Must not have been up to code, that." Ted whispered to himself. "Quite
a lot of form, though. Now it finally serves a function."




	[21:07] Well I'm in New York for the first time in my life, so I
figured I'd take a moment and do a, a bona fide audio blog- a- audio, what is
that, an aog? I dunno. Because, uh, there ain't no way I'm gonna get a chance
to sit down and type this, um, my first thought, uh, approaching New York, was
"My God, the city smells like soy sauce!" and it might have been the car. It
might have been me. I dunno. But uh, now I'm- now I'm here. Um, it took a
little while to get here. I was gonna plan to meet up with, uh,
	[21:08] an acquaintance from back in- back in the /bpg/ days, when that
was a thing, um, but that sort of fell through. That's okay, another time. Um,
so I'm basically in the city now and I'm basically just walking around, um,
I've never been to New York City before. At one corner I saw a bunch of trash,
spilled, just like, a shrine to- a shrine to garbage. Shrine to- shrine to
waste. Um, I thought that was funny. I'm not taking a lot of pictures because,
	[21:09] pictures? Who needs pictures? Also my phone doesn't have a lot
of battery, and I could plug it in but I can't even find a goddamn place to
stand around, there are all these signs saying no standing any time? I have no
clue how you could forbid standing. Um, I see city bike things but I don't know
how to use these damn things. Um, but I guess I could bike if I figured them
out, but then I'd be bicycling, and that wouldn't be a whole lot better than
walking when I wanna take a pause. So, I dunno. But it would be nice to get
around the city a little bit faster. But I'm sorta- I'm sorta just taking it
in. Because this is wild. It's uh, it's smaller
	[21:10] than I expected from what my grandpa said but it's about what I
expected from what I thought, um, and it's raining and the streets are slick,
but for, towards the chilliest part of the year, it really ain't too bad around
here. I guess that's the uh, the 2022 New Year's- New Year's Eve heat wave or
whatever from our storm, a little bit prior, um, really washed away all the
snow, but yeah
	<"hey yeah"
	y'know, and uh-
	Hey. 'Sup.
	<"How are you doing?"
	Doing well, how 'bout you?
	<"You're very beautiful, what's your name?"
	Uh, Trinity, how 'bout you?
	Trinity, what's your name?
	<"That's a nice name."
	Thank you.
	<"Whatcha doing tonight?"
	Ah, y'know, just walkin' around.
	<"Uh, you live over here?"
	Nah, I live in Maine.
	<"Upstate? Oh, you got a hotel here?"
	Uh, yeah, I'm staying in a, uh, staying nearby.
	<"Uh, have you ever had a, like, have you ever had a big black dick?"
	<"Have you ever had a big black dick?"
	<"Would you like that?"
	<"You should try it. You might like it."
	Y'know, maybe some other time, I'm sorta just here visiting family.
	<"Alright, well I need you to give me some head real quick. Before
you go."
	I don't think I will.
	<"You don't have no choice."
	Nah, I don't think I will.
	<"I'm a murderer, you know that?"
	<"I'm joking. Have a good night."
	Uh huh. You too.
	Well, that was something. But that's New York. Still got my wallet.
Still got my keys.
	[21:12] Still got my compass. Still got my phone. But, that was... huh.
Anyway. So, wait, I should probably say that, what he said again, because I
don't know if it it came through but he said [...] yeah. I dunno. Y'know, it's
nice to be desired. That guy was gonna chop me up into pieces but it's nice to
be desired. Y'know, I have very low standards. [...]
	[21:13] So now I'm walking back where I came. "Duane Reade by
Walgreens". I wonder what that is. Um, [...], honestly if he didn't say that,
if he just asked politely, I probably would have. Um, but y'know. I should
probably check myself out for trackers later but.
	[21:14] ... I like the- I like the ambience of the city. The honk honk.
The sirens that echo across the street. That really fill the- fill the noise
up, with harsh shrill, but only for a little bit, then it returns back to the
quiet ring-a-ding, buzz-a-buzz. There's a lot more people on these tricycle
sort of things, that can
	[21:15] carry people. I, I never saw one before I went here. And
there's some buses, and apparently there's a Niel Diamond Broadway show or
something. And yeah, I'm pretty much taking turns at random. This must be an
Oakley shop or something. But uh, y'know, it's peaceful. And tonight's New
Year's Eve, and uh, probably not gonna be able to see the ball drop. Because I
would need to get in a huge crowd and be searched and wouldn't be able to use
the bathroom, yadda yadda yadda. And I ain't really,
	[21:16] I'd rather just chill out. I like goin' to the places where the
people aren't, because usually the interesting things are the things not seen
by everybody. Are there any public bathrooms in New York? Also I definitely
went this way already. I uh, I went to a pizza place, and I think I got the
wrong order. But they said something to me, and I didn't quite understand it,
because it was in Spanish and, I mean, I- I can pick out some phrases, like I
can recognize what you're
	[21:17] speakin', I can recognize the language, but I cannot translate
especially on the fly so I just stared blankly at them and then they laughed
and it wasn't what I ordered but it was alright pizza. "Psychic readings"? "$10
special"? Are these the psychic readings?
	Oh, cool.


	[21:20] That psychic reading was almost completely wrong, but, it's fun
to do it. I wonder how they come up with these things. Uh, they said I don't
usually speak my mind, which is untrue, usually take responsibility for things,
which is true, um, I do what I want when I want, which is true, but, I don't
sleep as well as I used to, which, I sleep probably better than I ever have.
But, y'know, that's fun. They don't have anything like that in Maine. Walking
through some scaffolding now. This is- "sprinkler fire department connection",
y'know I wonder how they design big buildings like this, I wonder how they add
to them. But not enough to actually look it up
	[21:21] because it's probably really boring. ... Oh, gone in a circle
again, but, it's fun. Um, I'd like to get up, to a position where I can see the
ball drop, but I don't think that's gonna happen. Sorta just walking around.
	[21:22] I can see ah, Radio City Music Hall, which, my grandmother went
to Radio City Music Hall, when she was a lass, and, she was disturbed by the,
uh, frivolous fragrant- the fragrant pandering to the male gaze. That's how I
would describe it. That's probably not how she would describe it, but, it's
about what she said.
	[21:23] All the songs playing are songs about New York. But we're in
New York. Um, something something simulacrum? I dunno, I never read
Baudrillard. Probably just gonna keep going down this street. Uh, passing
West 48th, this is, what, oh, Avenue of the Americas, that's pretty cool.
	[21:24] Do I have any other cool things I've observed in New York City?
Not really. It's very rainy and there's not a lot to do when it's raining. You
can duck under things, sure, but, only for the moment. I suppose you could do
so for a longer moment but, I don't know. I'm a stranger in a strange land.
When in Rome, do as Romans do. And they ain't doing that. But they are tooting
horns very loudly.
	<"Five dollars, five dollars, five dollars. Five dollars. Five
	[21:25] When I, uh, when I went to do that palm reading, uh, I put a
twenty dollar bill down on the slightly wet but mostly covered table, um and, I
thought this would go straight down. Well I'll walk back then. Um, I was like
"You got change for a 20?" because it was a $10 palm reading and they were
like, er- well, not really a palm reading, more like a psychic prediction, and
I said- and they said "No, but I can do a full palm reading for uh, for $40."
And I said "Can you do a half palm reading, for $20?" And they said no but then
they said they felt bad and they'd give me a partial palm reading.
	[21:26] So I did get a half palm reading, for $20 - a bargain in New
York City. ... I love languages, but I'm not much of a people person. I guess
I'm more cut out for linguistics than actual translation. Ah, it's a little
apple because it's the big apple. Um,
	[21:27] yeah. There's a Major League Baseball store, I guess. I didn't
expect so much litter. I also expected the air to be a lot worse, um, one of my
friends who went here said you feel a lot more tired after walking in New York
than in Maine but I think it's because the weed is a lot stronger here.
	[21:28] And he was probably blazing up. Alright, recording off.



Snippets from /home/trinity/homepage/computer.html

	Hello and welcome to the world of computing.
	This guide is intended to take you from a cursory or completely
nonexistent knowledge of how computers work or even what a computer is to an
understanding with which you're comfortable.
	As this guide will go on the manner of language will shift from
conversational and casual to more formal and technical; this is because these
earlier sections are more like learning to ride a bike, where you won't easily
forget the basics, but the later sections are more like learning to build a
bike, where you may need to reference the manual later.
	This is also a perpetually unfinished document, please refer to the
<I>updated</I> date as its version if your citation format permits it.
	To start, let's run over some basic terminology.
	Many of these terms are ambiguous and will be better specified later.
The Monitor
	The monitor (term taken from the verb <I>monitor</I>), or screen
(term taken from the verb <I>screen</I>), is a raster display unit your
computer controls. In some manner, which depends on the technology your monitor
uses, there is being displayed some sort of content that your computer has
generated. It may be these very words. Monitors are usually interchangeable but
sometimes entire computers can be included in the monitor unit itself, the
concept of which is known as <I>all-in-one computer units</I> because
all components of the computer except input devices are in the same place (the
monitor assembly).
	It's possible your computer doesn't have a monitor. Possibly, you're
using a teletypewriter, which prints text output onto paper using ink, though
this is unlikely as they were obsoleted fifty years ago in favor of "glass
teletypes" (<I>glass</I> here refers to the glass tube of a cathode ray
tube monitor). Possibly, you're using assistive technologies and aren't sighted.
Or maybe you're making this entire document up and are in a dream. There are
many ways to use computers that <I>don't</I> involve monitors but seeing
as they're so common-place there's a very good likelihood you are indeed using
The Key-board
	The keyboard is how many people input text into their computer. There
are many types of keyboards. Most people use standard QWERTY (named such after
the first five alphabetical runes that appear on the board) keyboards, where
each button is one symbol and perhaps there are special buttons that change the
meaning of the other buttons. There are also <I>chorded</I> keyboards,
where each <I>combination</I> (or chord, like on a piano) of keys
represents a symbol.
	Possibly, you're not using a keyboard at all, and are instead using
assistive technologies such as speech recognition.

	My intent with the computer guide was to emphasize atypical but
important interfaces between user and machine, to make the guide relevant to
every single person who would read the guide. Making a guide only for those who
are sighted, hearing, have feeling in their fingertips, can read small text, is
ridiculous and limits the audience far too much. Accessibility is the future

	0908 In the car on the way to New York City.
	1135 Still in the car

	I'm still getting over having my desktop Fx on my phone. It's glitchy
as hell but it works. Like, damm!

	A crowd had formed outside of the building, in the parking lot. Ted
stood with his hands in his pockets and tie blowing in the slight breeze
watching the blaze.
	Out of the crowd a single black (trousers) and white (shirt) figure
emerged. He walked tensely to Ted and stood in front of him. Ted's blank gaze
stayed looking through his boss to the fire.
	"Ted, you piece of shit." The boss, a lanky mam of roughly the same
height as Ted whose name escaped memory, sprayed a small droplet of saliva
on Ted's collar, which bothered Ted. Ted looked at his shoes pointing to his
boss's. "You're fired -" Ted smiled "- of course, and we'll see what the
authorities do when they arrive."
	Ted's wife emerged from the crowd in the same attire. She looked roughly
like Ted - plain beyond words - with a softer face and longer hair. "Hey, Ron,
we're all a little stressed. Look at him. He's snapped. That's not Ted anymore.
Take it easy and we'll let the EMTs take a look."
	Ron brushed Ted's wife's chin with his finger and had a look in his eye
that confused Ted. "Alright Minerva. I- I'm not sure what we're gonna do," he
turned towards the office, "about all this." This was the first time Ted had
seen his boss stutter.
	"We'll get on."
	Without waiting for any authorities to arrive, Ron found his car in the
parking lot and got in. Minerva got into the passenger's seat without prompt.
Ted listened but didn't watch as the car started and then rolled out of the
lot. He watched the smoke billow out of the windows.
	Ted whispered to himself. "Arson time."

	1458 Arrived at Manhattan


	I occasionally write blahposts a day in advance. And who will stop me?

[10:14 AM] Daruna_: Have y'all seen the [...] circle?
[10:14 AM] Daruna_:
[10:28 AM] Segmentation fault: in any case, not only is this parental fascism,
                               i assume they log literally all data on your
                               home network considering you're giving them
                               access to it
[10:39 AM] Daruna_: I've never heard the term parental fascism before, but I
                    kinda fuck with it. They're a lot of fascistic normalized
                    behaviors in parenting that are just straight up abuse.
[10:50 AM] meatgrinder #1 hypocrite: you two.... It's called SAFETY

	"Parental fascism" is a pretty good term for it, I think. Parents get
goaded into tracking their kids, because tracking kids makes money for the
people for the people doing the tracking. It normalizes the feeling of being
surveilled - a comfort blanket made out of eyes and ears. I was gonna say more
but I just realized I don't have anything new to bring to this, so who cares.

	I found something in /home/trinity/bak/Documents/dog.odt:


I would like to become a dog

	I have been housesitting the residence of the family of a friend of
mine who are all currently vacationing (specific activity unknown) in Florida
right now in 2021 (- he and his company are all vaccinated against the current
pandemic). His family, particularly his mother and aunt, take care of three
well-behaved and often adorable dogs whom I shant name for their (the dogs' and
the family's) privacy, and the responsibility fell to me, which was at first
exciting in a bad way but is now boring in a good way. I care not only for but
about the dogs, and I like to think they care about me though they are
incapable of ever caring for me in quite the same way. But even if they don't,
it doesn't matter. They still behave, still go outside when I'd like them to
please urinate on the grass and not the hardwood floor, and still will sleep
next to me if not for companionship then for warmth. I am okay with this.
	Essentially, I am a robot (in the sense that my actions to take care of
the dogs is automatic, and that I don't need significant input nor pay) in
servitude to these dogs – it's not that I mind, of course; I do love these dogs
even if they may not love me (are dogs capable of sentient love?). And this
concept is interesting. They essentially live in their paradise; they go
outside every 2-3 hours (whenever they move around usually it's because they'd
like to move around outside) and exercise their bodily functions out there when
need be, they play with each other and at least seem to have intellectual
stimulation out in the back yard, and they all get as much water as they want
and two get food whenever they want (the larger one has a stricter diet of two
cups of more wholesome food in the morning and at night). They are in heaven
and I am the robot that serves them. When I am off-line, others are there to
serve them. When others are off-line, even others will serve them. I would like
to be a dog.
	Though, specifically, I would like to be a being that has its physical
needs met always and that is intellectually stimulated with equal peers with
which to interract. Why is this not possible? Robots certainly exist, and
certainly there is enough food in the world to feed everybody who needs food,
and certainly with wastewater recycling and other means of conserving the
environment there could be enough water for everyone, and it's not hard to make
a bathroom fit for humans (just make sure it's not where they eat), and it's
not hard to make this a suburban reality (for contact with both nature and
peers), and intellectual stimulation can be provided by peers and by the
environment. With automation, anyone can be a dog. Yet it seems like only the
wealthy are dogs. But dogs don't spend money! What need do they have for
overabundant wealth?
	God Damn Capitalism.	

	Alright, it's now actually 2022-12-30. I wanted to save my New Year's
Eve thoughts for New Year's Eve just in case I have something useful to say.

	I'm probably gonna formally give up on Arson Comics (<>)
because it's hard to follow up on it and I think the writing was somewhat poor
from the get go. I'll try to write a successor, bit by bit, in this blah.

	Ted walked through the wasteland of his former workplace as it burned.
He could smell the sweet benzene in the gasoline that had begun to ignite and
feel the summer heat, the artificial heat, his artificial heat from his embers.
Lucid yet still almost in a drunk trance he paced from the stairs to the door
as his co-workers rushed around him to get out of the burning building. A siren
called in the distance.
	He recalled himself as he left the office building. Someone - Todd? -
grabbed him "How could you do this?!"
	Ted only knew what he had just done as a dream or very distant memory.
"What?" He seemed to, almost as though he was a computer or automaton, reset to
his known state. "I'm Ted." He smiled a weak, nervous smile. "I love my job."

	Every once in a while I write program code that I think is truly
brilliant - difficult to figure out, but once I have, I'm amazed at how well it
works. Then I realize it doesn't work.

	hubris (noun) - hyoo͞′brĭs
1.	Overbearing pride or presumption; arrogance.
2.	Excessive pride, presumption or arrogance (originally toward the gods).
3.	overbearing pride or presumption
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, 5th Edition.

	I hate it when blogs use Substack because I know it's gonna annoy me
with a cookie banner or e-mail popup or whatever. Tosu gets my e-mail and only
Tosu's Substack because she's really cool. If I don't know you you aren't
getting my e-mail /even though it's public/ because if you're asking you're
probably going to send me things I don't care about. Medium is much, much
worse. Just get a website and learn HTML. Right-click this page and hit "view
source"! It's not pretty but at least it doesn't ask for your e-mail.

                        Discover more from TRINITY'S BLAH
                       give me e-mail for e-mail purposes!
          _____________________________________________   ______
         |                                             | |Submit|
         `---------------------------------------------' `------'

	I'm glad to have such strange friends who would probably give me their
e-mail if I had an input box on this page, but maybe that's a testament to how
similarly strange I am. 「ヤバイ」は補足。

	And now today's the Eve of the New Year. 0319. But I wanted to share
this cool link here:
	This is my favorite photo of a sunset.


	One time when I was a kid I woke up with a shit ton of goo on my chest.
It was greenish and watery and when I went downstairs and washed it off I
realized there were three holes etched through my skin to the right of my left
breast, in the shape of an acute triangle if its corners were placed by a
drunkard. I went to the hospital and they said something like the dermal
structure (I could be misremembering this phrase) was gone. I had to, a couple
times a day for the next week, disinfect it with povidone iodine and then apply
an antibiotic so it wouldn't get infected. I still have the scar though it's
blotchy and faded now.
	This must have been June or July 2021. In between the changing of the
bandage and house-sitting for a friend I wrote something about the serenity of
being a dog, which I will share if I find, and a paper about the implementation
of and different implementations of POSIX cat(1) which now lives at
<>. At the time I thought both were good
but now I think neither are. Something to improve I suppose.
	My way of writing was popping a can of Moxie, sitting down with a
laptop (my Thinkpad X200 Tablet), and laying down exactly what I thought.
Structure be damned! Little has changed. Occasionally I'd fire up the friend's
new PS5 and play Astro's Playroom, a delightful technical demonstration of the
PS5's hardware and showcase of the DualSense controller which was so good I
ordered one myself that week, even though I didn't have a PlayStation. Sitting
there, a cold can of pop and a hole in my chest and enjoying the bleeding edge
of consumer grade video game technology, I wasn't quite happy, but at least I
was distracted.


	Get up doggy. Please!

	Here's a thesis on which I never elaborated, that I wrote for this


; cat drugs.txt
        "Drugs are bad" is something I say to myself while I sip my morning
coffee and puff my cigarette, reading the newspaper. Then I go to work and on my
lunch break flag the dealer down on Main Street for crack and tell him my
thoughts on the matter, and he laughs and asks how long I'm gonna be making the
same joke, and oh probably another week or so. Drugs are bad in much the same
way chemicals are bad, and crystals are bad, and molecules are blasphemous, and
faith pays as long as you can still give to the church.



        As part of my campaign for the worsening of the world (I'm not allowed
to discuss my sponsors) my next trick will be to poke fun at websites. To me
this "web" is a little service hosted on most websites at port 80 that will
return reading material if I write a neat request in the format of the HyperText
Transport Protocol (or HTTP). Fun! Usually, though, I get a program to automate
this task for me. I like Firefox and Lynx, the latter more than the former
though I use Fx the most. There have been a number of developments to the web I
really don't like:
        - Cascading StyleSheets (or CSS).
I remember when I could go into my browser settings and change the text color,
font, and size, and the background color. Now when using Fx I'm at the mercy
of the site designer who usually doesn't share my sensibilities, much less

	Also not completed.

	I wrote something else that I liked but I don't know where I put it.

	Looking through computer backups makes me very lonely. I'm currently
working on getting rid of most of my stuff - I really don't need much and it's
weighing me down. But the reason I had so much damn stuff was because I was
planning on spending my life with somebody. It's not so bad to be alone but I
wish I had planned for it, or that my plans had worked out a little better. So
it goes...

	At any given moment there are hundreds of accomplishable plots to end
the world. Most are horrifying, some are near-completion, some aren't planned
except in the back of the minds of men, where conscious thought breaks down and
only the God-daemons are left to staff the console. The following four things
strike me as things that are actually worrying:
-	TempleOS (reason: [...])
-	blockchains (reason:
                             From what little I know about the blockchain -
                             which is really not a lot! - I wonder if it could
                             become sentient. I wonder if it already is.
                             Substitute "the blockchain" for your favorite.)

	The sudden growth of memes should worry me but it doesn't because when
I dove into them I found them to be a very effective weapon, and that counter-
attacks aren't too difficult to launch when needed. The main problems to be
solved are automation and timing.
	I think the television show "Infowars" was actually just some
convoluted but successful attempt to inoculate a critical mass of "true
believers" (someone should come up with a term that isn't stupid) against
certain ideas. By presenting itself in a way that is just outright silly and
unbelievable except by the most gullible of its potential viewers, it
discredits its ideas and those that repeat them. To say that there is veritable
information warfare, in a way that is very new and very exciting strategically,
would not be at all controversial unless this silly television show called
"Infowars" with a kooky host and fake stories existed that discredits the idea.
To say 5G will be very convenient for law enforcement to find and prosecute or
persecute criminals or alleged criminals (politics may vary) would be to repeat
common knowledge if the stuff of "Infowars"' ilk hadn't already presented 5G as
some heinous conspiracy based not on the potential for geolocation based on
access point connection triangulation (there's probably a better term for this
but I don't draft and edit blahposts) but the idea that harmless radio waves
are some evil wireless mind control plot or whatever.
			On a side note, I was tipped off to the wack part of 5G
		by someone in [...] back when I was loosely associated but
		included in communications. I've seen their claim repeated but
		don't have a citation. Empiracally (is that how you spell that?)
		though, if you need more 5G towers because the signal isn't
		very strong, an accessing device will have to be physically
		closer to a given tower, and so finding it will be easier if
		you know to what towers it's connected. Presumably cell
		providers know this (I don't know a lot about the
		nitty-gritties) and provide it to law enforcement - they do
		know cell location in 4G and prior technologies. But don't
		quote me - look stuff up and double check your damn sources!
	Why would Alex Jones give up his life, basically, just to tell some
lies on a television show? Probably, though, he's just rage-drunk and
struggling through withdrawal from slamming his fist on expensive desks.

	I'm mostly an ideas person. I wish I was more of an implementation
person but I'm just not skilled enough yet. つづく


	20XX refers to the past, not the future, in one fifth of cases. But the
past was pretty futuristic! Dream big, I need my space.


	Published here under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-
NoDerivatives 4.0 International Public License.
	They found Amber as some DNA encased in fossilized tree sap when I was
twenty years old. A small networked community speculated that society's problems
were due to our genetic distance from our ancestors.
	This was my twenty-second year, for the third or fourth time. I meet
my wife Cassidy for the first time for the fourth time next week.
	I go to work. I work at a laboratory, at this time JCN, "where dreams
are made", before it's taken and turned into the National Defense Center, NDC.
I can prevent this by submitting a false, smaller figure for our proposal for
governmental funding – a clerical oversight, no more than an off-by-ten,
changes an official's perception of how "innovative" JCN can be, influences
their and eventually their leader's choice. Yang Electric becomes NDC instead;
another aboriginal creation forced to assimilate.
	Someone asks me how my day is going. My day is fine. How is yours? Not
so good, Ada. Carl gets a divorce next January and dies six months after that.
Officially of grief, technically of a gunshot wound.
	I leave. Today I worked on a paper I publish next month on hyper
-realistic simulation of reality, simulation into which someone could
(inexpensively) be dropped unaware. Even my first time working on this I was so
horrified at what I had created I for the first time and uncomfortably faked
numbers on my paper so nobody would be interested. One could end up perceiving
decades in seconds; trapped in hell or suffocated in heaven. Immersion is only
useful to a certain extent.
	I get into my car. 667 River Road. I drive past the animal shelter at
which I worked as a teenager. Unit 5. I knock on the door.
	Cassidy's uncle answers. He still has hair, I didn't know he still had
hair now. We're both on the ground in his apartment. I brought a scalpel
thinking it would be enough but I forgot this is only a couple years after Ron
got out of the Navy. He calls me a fucking psychopath and I grunt but say
nothing. JCN still sharpens the scalpels between each use – this changes
because it's overkill, we only really use them for opening boxes even by now.
He's on top of me. All I need is one straight cut but I manage to plunge the
blade into his windpipe. He chokes and coughs blood onto me. It burns like acid.
I stand up and close the door. He's living alone, working at a warehouse, on the
top floor so I don't need to worry about unexpected guests.
	I have no prior connection with this corpse. He has dozens of enemies
including the children of the families he separated in the middle-East. I wipe
off the doorknob and my face, put my bandanna back into my pocket, and leave. In
this part of town I'm not worried about anyone describing my car to the police,
not worried about the surveillance because there isn't any yet, at least to the
extent with which I'm familiar. I'm back in my car. I'm staring blankly at the
road. I'm in my driveway. I'm staring blankly at the television. I'm laying in
bed staring at the ceiling.
	I'm at work. I'm at home. I'm in bed. I work. I go home. I go to bed. I
meet my wife Cassidy for the first time for the fourth time. Cassidy Malcolm, my
name is Ada Karina. Last night you played the lottery; you always play the date
and truncate off the extra digits. You've never told anybody about how your
childhood hamster ate its babies and you didn't know why. Please have coffee
with me.
	When I met her for the first time for the second time she eventually
confessed that she drank coffee, not tea, and that's why she was so hesitant to
meet me that second first time. She switched to tea later. That hesitation made
her meet me after she had already taken the job at the wristwatch company.
	She would see her uncle next week and tell him about us if he was still
alive. I think of this as I order us two of her favorite potion, cold brewed
coffee with a pinch of cinnamon. She hasn't had this in months, she tells me for
the fourth time. I apologize for my detachment. I've seen my world crumble again
and again. I'm too far gone, and I'm sorry, and I have to move on. She's talking
to me for the first time for the fourth time and the last time and I'm not
listening. I'm sipping the cold brew and trying to taste the cinnamon, for the
last time.
	The NDC euthanized Cassidy via baton. I watched from behind a window
grate in handcuffs as two children in police uniforms beat her until she stopped
moving, and then until she stopped bleeding and then until they were tired. She
slowly splintered into pieces, bending at more and more seams rolling back and
forth on the tile. Her brain chemistry was a single link too far from Amber.
	I go home. I sleep. My day is fine. How is yours? To be honest, Ada,
things aren't so great at home. I'm sorry to hear that, Carl. What's wrong? My
wife won't talk to me. I don't know why. She's just slowly gone silent. Maybe
it's me? Have you talked to those close to her?
	Typing, clicking. I'm staring at a light bulb, hammering phosphors off
in new familiar patterns.
	They found me when they dragged Cassidy's corpse into the acid bath.
They shoved me along a steel hallway and took me to a holding cell with a dozen
other loved of the dead.
	During her second final week on Earth Cassidy was rarely awake and less
often lucid. When she wasn't as well Cassidy said she felt like she was being
dissolved. She coughed up blood, lots of it. The doctors asked me if she could
have been exposed to anything that would cause lung cancer.
	Ron was a loving uncle, caring brother, and courageous veteran who will
be dearly missed. Service will be held at Lisbon St. Baptist, 8-12, 5pm.
Cassidy's uncle's obituary was brief to stay within the minimum cost from the
paper. My third thirty-fifth year, he shot her in the side of her head. I
tackled him to the ground and beat him until he stopped moving, and then until
he stopped bleeding, and then until I was tired, when I collapsed next to him.
The police came for the noise complaint.
	I set up tests for my project. One of the tests checks for whether a
program that only ever returns a zero value returns a true value, which it
doesn't. I pretend to not know what's wrong. My day is fine. How's yours? I- I
don't know, Ada. I'm sorry.
	I entered my password into the locking panel on the door. It still
worked. I read digests of all active projects in the laboratory and took note
of one of the room numbers. I loaded both an old program I wrote and a current
program being developed at NDC onto my wristwatch, opened the door, and ran. The
other captives ran too, to a different wing of the building in a greater number.
	Cassidy and I found her dog dead in her apartment two weeks after we
met for the first time in my third twenty-second year. Brick was shot with a
rifle. The police came but didn't find the round and the killer left no other
trace. I asked the neighbor across the hall and he said he didn't hear Brick
bark at whomever shot him.
	I go home. I go to sleep. I wake up. I go to work. Dials spinning.
Buttons clicking. There's an issue with my database access. I call the
technology information desk. My user was deleted by accident; they adjust my
permissions so my account can't be deleted as part of an automatic process.
	I ran into a steel room and threw the lab technician out of his chair
before kicking him in his chin, knocking him out. I entered my old emergency
authorization code into the computer and watched the cathode in the center of
the room start to glow a deep blue.
	I publish my paper to no applause as expected. The concept was obviously
impossible with modern technology but its aspiration was noble.
	I was in my forty-fifth year on the second floor of JCN. My legs shook
but I managed to walk out and into the outside air, which I didn't think I would
breathe again. I ran to my apartment and waited until I, in my twenty-second
year, the first time, was asleep. I set a code and plugged myself into the
	I didn't know how long I'd be stranded away from my time so I went to a
park to sleep, but on my way I dissolved back into the NDC, in front of a
glowing cathode. The laboratory technician stared at me. The experiment wasn't
ready! What have I done?
	I answered and upon its receipt of the password the universe dissolved.
I watched the technician scream and turn to sand and I woke up in my bed,
twenty-two years old, two blueprints and a handful of vestiges and some
asbestos left in the fire-proof wristwatch next to me, unplugged from my
simulation, my consciousness slipstreamed into the past present day. 


	HELL MONTH; the Devil's date of AUGUST when the sun is ceasing its
scorch but the torch still lights the logs under one's feet; where there is no
sleep, no love, no TOBACCO - only PAIN! When, somehow, the torture of preparing
for another haunt September doesn't end up tearing your bones from your sockets
but STILL TRIES; when you lose every fight you pick and every punch and kick
rips into you like a beast in itself; when there is no time, no food, and no
CAFFEINE; 8月にあれ場所で私は私自身を見つました。
          In August, that place, I found myself. I would like to never see
myself there again.

; ls -l | grep Aug
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users       21945 Aug 11 18:23 [...] resignation.odt
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users      306687 Aug 18 09:30 RTy2cq5QVR4T2ZLR.mp4
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users  1466136576 Aug 30  2021 The Rocky Horror Pictu...
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users       35717 Aug  2 15:00 identification.jpg
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users          35 Aug 29 22:04 irc
drwxr-xr-x   8 trinity  users         512 Aug 23 19:40 plpbt-5.0.15
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users     2767349 Aug 23 19:40
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users           0 Aug 31 09:34 site.tar.gz
-rw-r--r--   1 trinity  users       36152 Aug  7 20:59 slipstream.pdf
; cd Pictures
; ls | grep Aug

[9:12 PM] trinity: finished the first draft of my short story
[9:12 PM] trinity: 2.5 pages
[9:13 PM] trinity: it's kind of dense
[9:13 PM] trinity: [...]'s been reading it for ten minutes
[9:13 PM] trinity: can't tell if that's good or bad

To:	[...]; and whomever else this may concern
From:	Trinity Blake
Date:	2022-08-12
Subject:	Two week resignation notice from position as [...]

[...] -
	Please accept this as my formal resignation from my position[...].
2022 August 26 will be my last day of work. I will be moving away from [...]
and it will be infeasible for me to travel to [...] to work whether by foot or
by automobile.
	I am grateful for my generous and much appreciated recent raise in pay
per hour from $14 to $15 [...]. My decision is not affected by money and
unfortunately was already in planning when I received that raise. I am also
grateful for your support and training. I learned many things during my time
here and will treasure most the ability to [...] and the development of my
ability to multitask [...]. My further career will not be in [...] but I look
forward to applying these lessons elsewhere.
	I will be leaving [...] to [...]. I would prefer to be able to tell
[...] about my resignation myself but I do understand word travels fast. Again,
thank you for this opportunity and experience.

                                                                   Trinity BLAKE

[7:44 AM] trinity: had a dream we were [...] instead of [...]
[7:44 AM] trinity: [...] was a [...] and some other people
[7:45 AM] trinity: everything else was the same. you were monologging about how
                   [...] had changed. it was [...]
[7:46 AM] trinity: i went [...] and [...] went by me and said hey guys north
                   korea wants to know if we can put dog on pizza?

[9:05 PM] trinity: i've developed skills i never want to use again
[9:15 PM] trinity: i feel like if i try to describe my mental state it's
                   extremely alarming so i'm just gonna say i'm [...]maxed and
                   [...]pilled and i need to go back to [...] immediately


	>fucking hates her job
	>hates computers; knows more about computers than anything else
	>"oh, no, i could never use android or ios"
	>no social media; no social life
	>constantly quotes obscure internet memes; hates memes
	>allergic to brands and advertising
	>manic pixie dream girl; not manic, never dreams
	>will tell you why she doesn't like rust


	6 2s. Nice.
	I'm gonna start taking the logos off everything I use. My room is
contaminated by Toshiba, Carhart, Dove, Anker, Pine64, Ziploc, iFixit, et
cetera. It's overwhelming and exhausting. Good pants are good pants, no matter
the maker. My backpack is just A Backpack. Brand loyalty is neopatriotism.
	This morning while getting ready for work I dropped my backpack which
contained an uncovered Gilette cartridge razor, which shaved off my fingertip.
Ouch. I suddenly was bleeding without knowing why so I duct taped some cotton
on it (I'm out of gauze because I'm accident prone and simultaneously
forgetful) and finished getting ready, then when I got to work put on five
sticky bandages (off-brand Band-Aids) and taped them on for good measure. When
in Rome. I told my co-workers I slipped in the shower which made more sense
than my dumb ass having an uncovered razor in my backpack. Get a holder, get a
protector, whatever, don't do what I did.


	I started studying Japanese again because WSJ and others from /g/bpg/
are doing it. Went though ~300 JLPT N5 Anki cards today to refresh the stuff I
hadn't touched in a while.
	I caved and have started (ab)using caffeine again as of last Saturday
(today is Tuesday. Do the math). Sigh...

	Here's a blog post I wrote for

title = "i hate smart phone"
date = "2022-12-15"
description = "some thoughts regarding the twenty first century"
license = "[UNLICENSE]("

author = ["DTB"]
tags = ["opinion", "philosophy"]

	I hate smart phones with a burning passion that has caused my weak
willed hands to give up three to various bodies of water including a puddle
outside a mechanic's and a pond to which I walked through the forest. I don't
regret my actions except that I haven't killed more digital beasts.
	My own current phone (until it too meets the fate of its brethren) is a
PINE64 PinePhone running postmarketOS, a Linux distribution intended to keep
good-enough smart phones running well past the expiration date on the box (or
on the manufacturer's website). Technically, though I bet most people don't
care, it's a security hazard to have an out-of-date smart phone; your banking,
personal, medical information is on there and it doesn't take too long to get
it out. Look at NSO Group and other wretched sub-scum that have evolved out of
leech law enforcement's taxpayer-funded searches of people's smart devices,
that made money because their product was good, because they could take the
data out of your cell phone like the mind flayer sucks at your brain, like Coca
Cola through a straw. Who even needs a crime scene indexed when you've Googled
"How do I kill my rapist?", when GPS and cell tower logs show you were the only
one at the scene of the crime, and when your slow descent into hell is
chronicled in your Camera Roll, and when Samsung stopped updating your phone a
year ago so all the police need to do is plug the black mirror into their
stylish plastic suitcase? The journalist documenting the dictatorship is
booking an airplane trip into a death trap if they forgot to make sure the
little version number in a menu in a menu in an app in the bottom right corner
of their home screen is high enough. I'm happy with postmarketOS's very regular
updates which are for now preventing my pocket gizmo's eternal submersion.
	Why the hell are we keeping all our shit on a piece of glass? I
wouldn't trust my best friend with my nudes, why am I dumping them into a
device someone else made that I don't understand? What happened to paper? What
happened to Polaroids, to CDs, to e-mail and hard copies and for the love of
Allah what happened to cash? The PinePhone is slightly better for this. I can
call a dude that works on my phone's operating system ("Who are you? How did
you get this number?") and ask any questions I want ("It's 3:00 AM. I'm turning
my phone off.") or post in a forum and usually get an answer about what's safe
and what features will turn me into a gecko (usually Find My, sometimes
Auto Rotate). I don't even know how normal people deal with bugs in the system
or ghosts in the machine. I asked a friend. "Usually I just ask you." When you
run the "normal" phone operating systems, Android or iOS, you can't run your
own apps, which doesn't matter if all you do is TikTok and Instagram but I like
to solve my own problems which I'm forbidden to do unless I spend $2000 on a
MacBook and $100 on an Xcode license. That's iOS. Android development is free
but so godawfully slow and painful that I would probably rather be waterboarded
by someone in a clown costume, and even though you can run your own apps on
there you still can't take control of your phone by becoming system
administrator like on a normal Linux or Windows installation. You have to
"jailbreak" (iOS) or "root" (Android) your phone to have full control over it.
Why am I paying for a jail? Why am I storing all my stuff in a prison? Again,
postmarketOS is yours to control from the outset, not hiding any functionality
behind a subscription or preventing you from using your device however you want
(for better or for worse). postmarketOS supports full disk encryption with
Linux Unified Key Setup, the cutting edge of the file security field. It's very
	But phones still suck, even my PinePhone, which is the best one I've
found. "There's an app for that" but it isn't available for my phone and no I
cannot fucking download your app, Dunkin' Donuts, to get that free coffee every
Thursday or whatever. God forbid I have to take money out of my savings account
like I do every once in a while because my shit job has miserable pay. I can
either use the app my bank publishes (only for Android and iOS, of course) or
go to an ATM, pay for the privilege, and hope I only have to use it two more
times that day because my bank limits ATM transactions because they were
targeted by hackers probably because their phones weren't updated. At this
point I just keep cash with me which is great except for the places that don't
take cash and instead take poker chips, ahem, numbers on a piece of plastic.
In this day and age having no social media means having no friends, which I
honestly do enjoy after the lengthy withdrawal because it's serene not having
to check everyone's Instagram story (else miss out on the Next New Thing) or
Facebook wall (else miss out on the Next New Gathering) or what have you. It is
for me worth having nothing to miss in exchange for never having that gnawing
fear of missing. I still have my phone number and on paper I have plenty of
friends in person who never call, never e-mail, never stop by, because they've
forgotten what life is like outside the app. Which I can live with, which is
unreasonable for any non-crazy person. But forgoing this rotten post-Capitalist
world of ad-soaked shitware takes a financial toll. How do you live on minimum
wage? Discounts. Download the Dunkin' Donuts app. Download the Starbucks app.
Even a god damn Home Depot app. I'm a Luddite for rejecting the last ten years
of technology? They say not having Android or iOS is self-torture but even
spending a little more of the little I have and taking a little more time of my
little left to engage with the analog pleasures of the world is in my mind much
more tolerable than the endless thoughtless suffering of the digital era and
casino-floor news cattle feed and disintegration of person from world. So I
suppose if I'm broke, I'm broke by choice, but it's a choice I never felt
comfortable making.
	Better the screen in the puddle than my head under the water. Reason
died with the atom bomb.


	I think around the time of the last blah post I quit caffeine. I abused
the hell out of caffeine, I think more than all except a couple businessmen who
turned to the vegan alternative to cocaine, so let that be a cautionary tale -
four or five Monsters a day was my intake, or around 0.5g caffeine spread
across the day, intermittently over

- holy shit, kingpossum radio is playing Ghost by nelward. kingpossum radio

five or seven years or so, and i'm gonna be recovering from that for a little
while. My memory's really, really bad currently.
	Anyway I figured I'd do a little day in the life of Trinity tale. This
one's just describing a typical day but most of my days are weird and have some
complication that I have to deal with.

0750	casio f91w goes off. i hit it. i'm sleeping on the floor in a sleeping
	bag with a pillow. i take my medication and spend an hour or two
	reading random internet and web journals
1000	i go to work
1100	i get to work
1630	i have my break. i spend it reading random internet and web journals,
	or maybe soldering together something that has broken
1700	back to work
1900	i'm out of work. i spend an hour or two there reading random internet
	and web journals, or maybe soldering, or maybe programming or writing
2100	i walk home. maybe on the way i meet some nice people. hopefully pet
	their doggies if they have doggies
2200	i get home probably. i write some stuff
2300	i go to sleep (hopefully)
0100	i go to sleep (probably)

	I got my Pinephone back up and running the day after the last blah post
so I do have a phone again. It's kind of janky though.


	I don't remember anything from the last week or so including that last
blahpast so let's start from this morning which I do remember. I remember
waking up to my alarm's fourth or fifth ringing after having hit Snooze three
or four times, I remember going to the bathroom, I remember washing my hands,
and then I remember looking over and seeing the toilet backed up and all of
the drain's contents spewing out over the lid.
	After calling my boss and informing them I would be late to work (Hey,
Boss, I'm gonna be late to work today, the toilet's fucken backed up or
something. Hi Trinity this is the second time you've called us instead of your
new job.) I cleaned it all up and did the laundry with my piss clothes and the
piss towels that had soaked up the piss. Then, upon changing it from the washer
to the dryer, I found my phone.
	So I have no phone now. Life's a bitch.


	You can walk into walk-in freezers and just scream at the top of your
lungs and nobody can hear you. It's common practice.


	Georgio handed me a stack of Benjamins. "Count them."
	I did. Five thousand yuu-ess-dee.
	"We'll never speak of this again." And so we didn't. I walked over to
the gas station and bought a Twinkie for zero point one per cent (five yuu-ess
-dee) of one man's life, and then hailed a cab for which I payed zero point two
per cent (ten dollars) of one man's life, or you could say one man's life is
worth five hundred taxi rides, or a thousand Twinkies, or you could say Harry
died so I could eat a Twinkie and ride this taxi and smoke this cigarette and
do this all without the cloud of debt hanging over me, clawing at my shoulders,
digging at my thoughts, eating at my brain.
	When I got to my apartment, or room, I should say, it being one
singular room with some cubicle dividers up for the toilet in the corner, that
houses myself, my wife, and our two kids, products of a poor education and even
poorer knowledge of birth control, and teenagers who didn't know what they were
doing in the back of a car one night, and my Twinkie wrapper, which I threw
away, but which my wife still saw, my wife hit me with an open palm, swore at
me, told me how could I, kill an innocent man for a Twinkie and a cigarette,
forgetting the car ride and our childrens' full bellies.
	I've forgotten the meaning of life, or, a life, besides a number, five
thousand yuu-ess-dee, 5000USD, a box on a spreadsheet on my bank record next to
a box marked "Inheritance". A life is, to my wife, worth a lifetime, of
memories of Christmases and New Years and Thanksgivings and birthdays, of kind
words and kind gifts and long hours at the mill, worth more than any finite,
tangible amount of money, somehow, forgetting the car ride and our childrens'
full bellies.

	I wonder if I'll remember the pattern the tiles make on the floor of
the bathroom at my workplace. Distinct yet unimportant.

	I went to a clinic today and got free Narcan, which is pretty swag, but
I don't know how to administer it, so that's not pretty swag. But they're
sending me instructions so that'll be groovy as fuck.

	I'm developing a fairly sharp wit which is pretty cool because my
comeback game is as the kids say lit AF; literally and financially [awesome].

	One of the Monster Cereals makes your poop blue, but I don't know
which. Maybe all of them?


	I've decided today I'm gonna try all of the currently available Monster
Cereals from General Mills, Count Chocula, Franken Berry, and Boo Berry, in a
single day, this Halloween. I couldn't find Fruit Brute even though it was
supposedly re-launched this year and according to Wikipedia Fruity Mummy Yummy
hasn't been available since 2014, so that's something for 2024 I suppose.
	Franken Berry, my breakfast today, was alright. It's fruity
marshmallows with fruity grain cereal, sort of like a fruity version of Lucky
Charms. I had it with skim milk which I prefer to the previous time I had it
when I had it dry. I would prefer Cap'n Crunch, my favorite uber-sugary cereal,
or Wheaties, my favorite breakfast cereal in general, but it was fine and if I
were 8 years old I'd definitely enjoy it as much as any other breakfast cereal.
	It's worth noting that prior to my 2200-hour bowl of Cinnamon Toast
Crunch a month or so ago I hadn't had breakfast cereal with or without milk
since around 2019, so my tastes have been reset towards ramen and pizza (I'm
not a particularly wealthy individual). I did consume probably a couple
freighters' worth of breakfast cereal when I was a lass, particularly the
supermarket's version of Coco Pebbles (Coco Dino Bites, I think?) which left
the milk a thick chocolaty mess when finished the solid bits which gave 14 year
old Trinity the sugar she needed to not fall asleep in math class, but as I got
older I stopped having breakfast because I didn't need it, I needed to lose
weight, and it saved me some money I could instead spend on cocaine and

	I have now had the Count Chocula for lunch. My stomach has begun to
ache. The milk was rendered into chocolate by the time I was done with my two
bowls, which was sick as fuck and quite enjoyable, but the milk is pummelling
my pitiful soygirl stomach which cannot handle this monster lactose. I fear I
shall die. This goal of mine, my dragon, will be slain, and Halloween 2022 and
its great street cred will be in mine hands.
	In other news, I went to the bank to get some cash, and I think the
teller thought I was a crazy person (to be fair, I am, but usually I pass as
sane pretty well) because I don't know how banks work and I just wanted 200USD

	Today I learned BBL = brazilian butt lift.

	I hasten to finish this blah post, to commit before November arrives.
My goal of consuming all three available General Mills Monster Cereals was a
success, though at what cost time will tell. My veins are glucose, my lungs
take and give a bitter sweet sugary air. Possibly tomorrow I'll have developed
type II diabetes, if not the simple affliction of death due to ketoacidosis. A
fate dealt by a worthy opponent - breakfast cereal.
	Boo Berry was pretty good, I think the best.



	`- A candy corn guessing game slogan I wrote.


	Halloween season begins! I was gonna sneak into some college parties
but instead I stayed home to be comfy in bed because I'm 2tired2party. And you
know what? Damn right. Word.


	I'm cold !!!

	I wanna be  w a r m !!!

	how crackheads be bloggn oh what up CHECK THIS OUT NFT PROJECT ELON

	# # # # # #|libwawy|# # # # # #
	 # # # # # |of alek| # # # # #
	 # # # # # |zandwia| # # # # #
	 # # # # # |pwease | # # # # #
	 # # # # # | dont  | # # # # #
	# # # # # #| buwn  |# # # # # #

	I am 97.7F but idk what that is in normal is that cold?????????????????

	ewon musk owns twittew uwu teswa caw man vwoom vwoom tweet tweet

	thwee six nine
	damn she fine
	hopin' shew sock it to me one mow time
	get low, get low, get low, get low
	TO THE WAWW (to the waww)


	psychological pay decline

	8:00 snooze 8:15 snooze 8:30 snooze 8:45 snooze 9:00 snooze 9:15 time
to wake up. I got dressed, took a shower, and walked to work. A much simpler
	"Seven hundred dollars. That's how much it cost for a tank of oil." The
taxi driver today was talking about the economy, I think. "It's gonna be a hard
winter." The lights dance on the dashboard in the still night and the wind
whistles in the window and I spend most of my time in the cab mentally
rehearsing my interaction with the chemist at the pharmacy. "I'd like to pick
up a prescription." "I'd like to pick up a prescription." Really nail down that
	Yesterday I got a partial fill which got me through this morning. Every
time I go to the pharmacy there's some sort of catch, some sort of issue that
means I have to call someone and sort something out. This one was particularly
bad in that the prescription was actually nixed because of the insurance and I
had to get a new one, and they sent it to the wrong place. All this for two
weeks' worth of a substance that isn't scheduled, doesn't really have any ab
-usage, and is fairly common. It's such a hassle.
	I got some energy drinks and energy bars at the supermarket and had a
dinner in a lawn outside before walking home. Now I get to go to sleep and do
it all over again.


	[notes from the voice recorder]

	[20:53] Cap'n lo-. Cap'n- cap- cap- cap'n's log. Cap'n's log? Cap [sigh]
cap'n's log. Mmm. Whatever. Trinity's log. Uh, heh, like, log, like [redacted]
um Trinity's notes okay Trinity's notes um, what day is it today? September
*pause* twenty, 2022 September 30. Um, [sigh], been moshing and other things
this month. Don't really remember much of it.
	[20:54] But whatever it was, it was vibey. It was pretty vibey. Um,
[redacted], that's pretty cool, um, I was gonna, I was gonna do a cool song
idea [here], it- it would be cool for a rap, like, a triplet style rap, like,
okay, like, picture this, like, like, fuckin and suckin and fuckin and suckin
and fuckin and suckin and suck. Suck. Suckin and fuckin and fuckin and suckin
and suckin and fuckin and fuck. Fuck. Something like that? I don't know. I
don't know if that's already been done before, but that's a thought.
	[20:55] Um, I don't know for whom I should vote. It's end of September,
we're getting into October, election happens November. Um, I know not Paul
LePage because Paul LePage is a rat bastard, we kicked him out and he's come
back for more, um, [sigh], I don't know, I don't know who all these goddamn
representatives are, like, uh, Jared Golden, thought he was pretty cool,
apparently he's done some bad stuff. Eric Brakey is a silly, silly man, but I
love the silliness but he might actually do something stupid, like, he's
normally very stupid, but he might do something fucking idiotic
	[20:56] like they're trying to get rid of gay marriage or something?
Um, abortion, yeah. Dog! Dog! Doooooog! Why don't people do what they wanna do.
Like, shit's a bundle of cells. Who gives a shit. That's my opinion on the
matter. Um, [sigh], I've been listening to various metal, non-metal music. I've
gotta get my laptop set up to draw again, but my digitizer is broken because I
dropped my laptop so I need to get a new screen, I think uh, I think an eBay
auction I'm in I'm gonna win, so, that'll get me another screen and I can just
drop it in. Um, that's good.
	[20:57] Uh, let's see what else, I don't know, that's pretty much how
things are going right now. This is a cool voice journal entry. Not much to it.
Um, it's late right now, it's like nine, eight or nine P.M., yeah, 2100 hours.
Almost onto that. Oh, ambulance. I thought ambulances used their sirens at
night. Well apparently they don't, they just put their flashers on, I always
wondered about that. I don't think I've ever seen an ambulance at night before.
No, I have, um.
	[20:58] [redacted] heh, like the Kate Bush song. Um, I don't really
know why Kate Bush is popular again, but uh, it's pretty cool. Kate Bush is
really cool.
	[20:59] Um, let's see. [sniff] I should - I should give my thoughts on
various things. Um, smoking is cool, but, like, I'm trying not to smoke because
it always makes me break out. I get, like, a shit ton of acne, whenever I smoke
a cigarette. Um, but, it is nice, it's something to do. I don't know, I think
all those people who are like "oh no, don't smoke cigarettes, they're, they're
incredibly dangerous, they're gonna kill us all", like, dawg, you can have one
or two cigarettes, and you'll survive. Um, I had like one cigarette, and I was
like yeah, this is pretty cool, but it's - it's a really expensive hobby.
	[21:00] [redacted] but uh, marijuana sounds interesting. Alcohol,
boring, only losers drink, I lose respect for people pretty fast when they
start drinking, like dude, chill out, like, alcohol is just kinda a turn-off in
general. [horns blaring] What's something heavier? Oh damn.
	[21:01] Um, methamphetamine, um, I dunno, seems pretty cool, I watched
the entirety of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, which recently ended, um,
and judging by that I would say meth seems like something that someone could
do, and it would probably mess them up a little bit, but I dunno, um, [sigh], I
dunno, I don't really judge people who go for hard stuff, like, you know, if
you wanna try- if you wanna try something, if you wanna party, it's cool. It's
good to wanna try new things. [sigh] [redacted]

	Alright I'm done transcribing this shit.


	my illogical day off-line

	6:45 snooze 6:50 snooze 7:00 snooze 7:15 time to wake up. I got
dressed, grabbed some goodies for my co-workers (I'm giving most of my stuff
away - downsizing drastically), and walked over to the supermarket at which is
the pharmacy where I get my prescription, which took about forty minutes.
	My prescription had expired and my new prescription wasn't in the
system yet. I took a cab over to work (I would have walked but I'd just spent
about an hour determining I had wasted said hour, so in the interest of my time
I decided to shorten the following journey) and napped until my shift.
	When I got out of work (1900) I went to the bathroom (seven minutes;
1907), called a cab (twenty minute wait; 1927), got over to the pharmacy again
(fifteen minute journey; 1947), and got my prescription, by which time it was
seven fifty-five P.M. Thus it took two hours. Why am I busy all the time?
	I can't even blame my low pay on the person that runs my workplace, who
can barely afford to stay in their living quarters. But it's disheartening that
I work eight hours a day, five days a week, and there's no way in hell I can
afford a house of any size and very little chance I'll ever be able to own my
own home.
	If you agree with me and still like Capitalism you are making my
situation worse and I hope you eat flaming death. Capitalists belive obviously
the current situation is bad; let's make it worse.
	I'm too poor for rational thought. In the cab over to the pharmacy
someone else getting a ride pissed in the front seat. Pissed themself, right
there in the cab. They left and the driver put a t-shirt on the seat.


	i am logical, if not for time

	In C conditional logic is usually expressed in if statements. The very
narrow textbook example of this is thus:

if (condition) {
} else {

	I don't like this. There are a couple of supposed truths within this
example that are false:
	- brackets are necessary for the if statement body (they aren't)
	- ifs are the only way to perform conditional logic in C (they aren't)
	  this may not be stated outright in the example, but it's implicit in
	  that it's the only way textbooks will show much logic

	This "blah" doesn't exist to express solid facts, just my loose and
flimsy opinions and experiences.

	Here are four ways to do something in C that are each functionally
identical to each other:

bool aisfive(bool c, int *a) {
	if (c == 1) {
		*a = 5;
	} else {
		*a = 6;

	return a;

bool aisfive(bool c, int *a) {
		*a = 5;
		*a = 6;

	return a;

bool aisfive(bool c, int *a) {
	*a = c ? 5 : 6;

	return a;

bool aisfive(bool c, int *a) {
	*a = 5 + !c;

	return a;

	I prefer the bottom-most example but the difference won't matter to a
good compiler. To me, algebraic expression is just as good as if-else
expression. But I'm an Internet crank that's still programming in C.


	i will twerk now, get in the conga line

	This keyboard is very broken. I have a Thinkpad X200 Tablet with a
Japanese keyboard because I'm still not used to the ANSI layout of most
American keyboards and it's missing three keys now; 'n', 'j', and ']'. All of
which I am now very good at hitting dead center to get the contact. This
keyboard put in very good service; all of the keys are worn and shiny now and
many have weird issues sometimes where they won't quite type so I have to wack
them in order to get them to work again like I'm Chris Brown getting my wife to
listen to me. Fuck Chris Brown! Fuck me! I don't wanna replace it but I guess
I'm gonna live the ANSI dream for a little while.
	I've been redesigning this home page. I want the same information but
in a more compact format. We'll see how it goes.


	i will work now. not in the thirty first's time


ok im calm now


i could have frozen to death on my walk home i could have gotten hit by that
car i could have caught fire or been burned or electrocuted or inhaled too much
lead vapor or drank the tap water or seen the sun or worn the wrong shoes or


again saw the evil BAT MAN who stalks our city in the night and swoops down and


alright im tired i go sleep now.

	Just to be clear, I'm NOT working Halloween.


	a friend meows. nuns think the key is divine

	Blah blah blah.


	End cows; unthink the fleet of bovine

	Yesterday was a good day because the Queen of England died. I had
nothing to do with it. I also saw My Chemical Romance in concert which was
cool and harrassed the Jehovan Witnesses who were slinging bible pamphlets on
the street. Bore dealers. I have a hard time tolerating Jesus people,
especially when they take that stuff out in public or force it on children.
This joke is going to prevent me from becoming Governor or something in 20
years. I be Governin dat ass biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch.
	css/ is broken. I don't know why. Don't bug me about it. I'll fix it
when Firefox stops crashing. I do everything in Lynx nowadays.


	And now, something completely different

	I have done much between today and last time I wrote a blah post (blah,
blah blah) but I don't care to talk about any of it so I'm gonna talk instead
about something else I did between today and last time I wrote a blah post
(blah blah, blah) which is migrate away from GitHub Pages
(Neocities made by Capitalists) to Sourcehut Pages (catchphrase: "Don't be
evil, yet"). GitHub has been taken prisoner by Microsoft (Uber for software
vulnerabilities) and is now siphoning off user data to feed the ravenous
monster that is GitHub CoPilot (Uber for copyright violations). In the
meanwhile I am compulsively making parenthetical statements (I am being held at
	GitHub's interface is somewhere between Facebook and Microsoft Windows
1998 in that it's entirely useable but if you try to do what you actually want
to do it'll fight you the whole way. This is totally awesome if you're a
masochist but meant I had to verify with a phone number out in the middle of
nowhere where there's barely any cell service in order to delete my migrated
repositories ergo I had to stand in the middle of a field waving my cell phone
around like a crazed millenial who needs to capture this memory in order to
shove it into the eyes of whoever made the mistake of following them on
Instagram. In the meanwhile I am also compulsively making run-on sentences (and
parenthetical statements). I remember back when "two factor authentication" was
your username (different on every platform; depends on mood at registration)
and your password (the same everywhere, usually "lolcatz420"). Now usually the
username and password are the same on everything which makes breaking into my
friends' Instagram accounts to delete the pictures with myself in them a lot
easier but you need to verify this all with cell phones which makes me very
frustrated when I'm in the middle of a field stealing Circle K's WiFi. Not to
mention I have to type in the whole repository name (try typing
`devenblake/my_awesome_homepage` in direct sunlight on the first try without
making a mistake) in order to say yes, truly, I want to delete this thing,
like it thinks I'm some sad drunkard who's about to eat a bullet because I bet
my life savings on a failed axe throwing tournament (no, actually I'm just
making parenthetical statements).
	SourceHut's interface in comparison is much more spartan. I prefer it
because it makes it harder for people to find my stuff (I hate it when people
find my stuff) but people trying to find my stuff say they don't like it.
However the build system is awesome. I can just put `.build.yml` in my git
repository and it runs whatever commands I want before gzipping the site and
deploying it to SourceHut Pages. With this newfound "standard practice for web
hosting" I'm slowly rewriting all the pages on this site in m4 to try to ease
up on repeated code. So far the m4 generation is pretty good and looks
identical to when I hand-typed everything (my index.html was 15KB and I wrote
every byte!). I've toyed around with site generation before but on GitHub I
couldn't have any sort of build process except on my own machine (manually) and
I vomit whenever I'm forced to run JavaScript to load a page. I've
defenestrated (my Latin teacher taught me that word) four computers so far and
unfortunately this latest trend of shitty "corporate [soulless] minimalism" is
threatening computer number five.
	m4 is nice, the build system is nice, everything's in Makefile (as it
should be) so things are all nice and UNIXy and everyone's happy (everyone that
matters, at least, which is a set that includes only me). Life is good. Except
I can't get cell signal and I need to call my bookie because on MDMA I had a
vision that the Seahawks win the World Series. Of course, I've never done MDMA.
This was just that wild of a hallucination so it certainly will come true.
	This site is HTTP/S (Uber for encryption) now because SourceHut demands
it and I got rid of / (Uber for `rm -rf /`) because Drew DeVault said I
can't have it on my site.
[11:18] trinity:  is against the ToS? it does an
                  rm -r /*
[11:18] trinity:  it's a catch to see who will blindly curl http://whatever |
                  sudo sh
[11:19] trinity:  i suppose if i have to ask then probably...
[11:20] ddevault: yeah that's not nice
[11:20] ddevault: please remove it

	Which is fine. curl | sudo sh for a
surprise (your system will survive, or this site will promptly go off-line).
	I don't have anything else to write. This month was hell!


	Duo, most lingual

	I today managed to bring my Duolingo "streak" (being a marker of how
many days in a row I've used the app) to 14 - two whole weeks. Duolingo is
proprietary software and not even very good for accurate language learning but
I enjoy it.

	I have a new phone: the Punkt MP-02. I purchased it from monado for
$180 with shipping which is a good deal on the manufacturer price of $379
(seriously). I couldn't recommend this phone to anyone.
	The "Pigeon" Signal messenger client, which is a direct fork of
SignalApp's official Android app, is a poor experience that so far has been
unuseable for me and is far out of date from the current application. You can
see for yourself the source code for Pigeon, which legally has to be provided
by Punkt as requested as per the terms of the GNU Public License under which
the original Signal app is allowed to be modified and distributed. Six git
commits change a hundred thousand lines of code put together and the commit
names aren't really relevant to the changes - which makes me think this was a
hasty legal compliance rather than any actual development of Pigeon in the
open. This repository is available here:
	I planned to modify the client to make it work for my uses but learned
this phone uses Android (based on the Android "Open-Source" Project) which is
based on archaic Java technology, and indeed Pigeon is written in Java. Setting
up the build environment isn't worth my time - I would just use the official
app but it isn't useable [without modification]. From the official Pigeon
manual, available here:
(I took the liberty of adding actual hyperlinks because the URLs are so long
 they wrap lines. The Internet Archive link is there because I expect Punkt to
 eventually get rid of and bury Pigeon when they're embarrassed enough.)

>When the request is received by Signal, there may
>be a requirement to negotiate a 'Captcha' test in
>order to demonstrate that it is a bona fide
>registration attempt. The test requires the
>registrant to select from a range of images,
>according to a specific instruction. Use the 2, 4, 6
>and 8 numerical keys to a) locate all the images
>that have been sent (not all will be visible on the
>screen at once) and b) highlight an individual
>image so that it can be selected by pressing the
>Punkt. key (or the 5 key). If the images fail to load,
>press the 0 key to refresh. (This can also be done if
>a 4x4 image test is loading; there is a possibility
>that the replacement will be the easier 3x3 format.)
>When all the required images have been selected,
>press the 6 and 8 keys to move down to highlight
>what may either be 'Verify' or 'Continue'
>(depending on which version of the Captcha test
>has been sent) and press the Punkt. key

This is verbatim from page 7 (item 6 in "Installing the software and
registering with Signal"). In practice the items are not highlighted (so you
have to remember where your cursor is - hopefully your keypad keys are
responsive, which is an uncommon but recurring issue with many of the phones)
and maybe half of the images show up because the phone doesn't have enough
memory. So getting through Google's ReCAPTCHA requires a lot of effort and
usually at least three tries.
	I should know. I've done this half a dozen times trying to use Signal.
Even when I get through it won't even connect to the network! I've given up.
Damn Pigeon and damn Punkt for making this the selling point of their phone.
I have other complaints but I'm going to go to sleep again and save them for
another, grumpier time.


	O, posts unwritten

	I didn't get to finish the other day's blog post because I got busy. To
be continued!

	A million schizophrenic moths, a thousand cognitoviral flames.
Immolation imminent.

	I'm out of isolation as of yesterday. I still have very mild symptoms
but the CDC says I'm okay to be among the other humans so long as I wear a
mask, which I have been doing.


	Now, drug the stricken

	Yesterday I said something along the lines of "oh, I wish drug
companies weren't so secretive about how everything was made" though with a bit
more detail of why I wished that and how I understood things to be. My
understanding was wrong!
		^ Here's how to make acetaminophen.


	Noun doth the Wickedness

	Today I'm not doing much of anything. I may install NetBSD on an X300 I
have kicking around for a friend, and I may upgrade my NetBSD on my X200 Tablet
to the latest binary build, and I may clean a little - hopefully I clean more
than a little, actually - but that's about it.
	Day #3 since testing positive with COVID-19. I'm still very fortunate
to not have any serious symptoms. My temperature usually sits around 96.9F to
97.5F or so. I always figured the normal temperature was 96-97 but according to
WebMD (a very reliable source, I know) the rule of thumb created by "a German
doctor in the 19th century" (which is the level of detail I've come to expect
from such a reputable source as WebMD) is 98.6F which seems high.
	Healthline (another reputable source) says the doctor was Carl
Wunderlich and hyperlinked an actual study from 2019; Normal Body Temperature:
A Systematic Review authored by Ivayla I Geneva, Brian Cuzzo, Tasaduq Fazili,
and Waleed Javaid, which is not only readable by Normal Human Beings but has
loads more and better researched information than what I could describe here.
I encorage anybody interested in the history of our understanding of fever to
read that article, with the following DOI:
	Anyway, my internal body temperature is usually 36 degrees centigrade,
sometimes up to a degree higher. Geneva et alia concluded the average to be
in the 36-37 ballpark which means I'm just about normal. Of course, because
I've known about my body temperature being slightly cold for a while now, and
because it's such a small difference, and because I have no relevant health
issues, it's very obvious that my being somewhat colder than normal is
completely fine. But now I know it's not even worth bringing up as party
chatter. Oh well!

	The more I learn about NetBSD, the more I like NetBSD. This also goes
for possums and my friend Noah. The more I learn about Wayland, the more I
dislike Wayland. This also goes for Crissy Teigan and Firefox.


	Down with the Dickness

	Dawn of the Dead (2004; dir. Zack Snyder) has Richard Cheese's
performance of Down with the Sickness, a popular rock song, fifty-six minutes
in. Being an existing fan of the Cheese it was cool to see.
	I defrosted my fridgerator last night. Turns out that's something you
need to do. I propped it up on a plastic container and used the hair dryer on
it in the shower. Lots of clanging and banging but now it's plugged in and
hopefully running.
	I forgot what it was like to adjust to Soylent. Around a year ago I
switched back to a solid diet out of convenience - it's hard to lug around a
bottle or two when I could pop into a convenience store and come out with a
candy bar and a Monster. That was an esophageal spasm ago - something that
feels somewhere between a mild heart attack and being hit by a not mild train.
My stomach got too acid or something after one Monster after having abstained
from caffeine for a little while. So the drawbacks of Soylent are less
noticeable nowadays though I will probably go back to solids when I go back to
	I have a Punkt MP-02 coming in the mail eventually from a friend, or
I've been scammed for a couple hundred bucks from a friend, we'll see which is
true in a week or two. I'm looking forward to driving over my iPhone with a
tractor or similarly heavy machinery though sadly it will probably stay in
service as a Spotify + Duolingo appliance.


there was an ook and there was an eek
and they clubbed each other for dino meat
wearing tattered clothes, suits and ties,
eating raptor noses and puppy eyes

one day ook tripped over a paper
filled with runes of a busier time
eek got mad and threw it with anger
into an ocean the color of wine

ook and eek died together
of swollen armpits and wounds that wouldn't heal
eek whispered to his falling comrade
ook, of a different world, heard only a squeal


empirical evidence says you're a myth
the physical nothing, the empty, the wisp
you're not of our numbers, we've nothing for you
we've no words to describe you. run or hang in loops

we've killed all your family, we're tracking your friends
we'll kill them by sunday, for the crime of self defense
you won't get away with being inexpressible
we won't expand our vocabulary

you are all crucifiable



	Down with the sickness

	I tested positive for COVID-19 last night so it looks like I'm stuck at
home for the next couple days. Between my Soylent stash (for the end of the
world) and my water stash (for the end of the world) I don't even need to dip
into my savings, so that's nice.

	Yesterday the United States Supreme Court overturned Roe V. Wade,
marking the first time the Court has ever decided to take away Constitutional
rights. Four of the majority were men, joined by one woman, and the dissenting
opinion was written by two women and one man. No Supreme Court justice is under
half a century old.



By TRINITY BLAKE; 2022-05-04

WASHINGTON (AP) -- As women across the country fear losing access to safe and
legal abortion, reports are coming in that Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito
is considering making a major exception to the court's decision to overturn
the historic 1973 Roe v. Wade decision legalizing abortion throughout the
United States.

Justice Alito has reportedly informed an anonymous source that he 'screwed up'
and that though he believes abortion should be illegal, '[his daughter] isn't
like all those [expletive] who will go out and [expletive] and then just roll
up to a clinic and abort a living child'.

In Alito's reported words, 'Having this child could ruin my daughter's career.
She made one mistake. She isn't like the others!' Alito went on to say that
while doctors who perform abortions are still murderers, '[his daughter] is
different. She just is. I wouldn't expect you to understand.'

The exception, being called by critics 'Alito's folly', is expected to appear
in Alito's third draft opinion. Alito's second draft opinion broadened the
allowed language to 'better describe' what Alito called 'party idiots who don't
care about human life'.

This wouldn't be the first time a Supreme Court Justice has added an exception
to a seemingly concrete ruling. In Plessy v. Ferguson the often-overlooked tenth
'diversity' Justice, George Freeman, added an exception to the famous 'separate
but equal' rule; 'While I'm required to like segregation in order to maintain
my position in this Court, I do not want to use the colored bathrooms. Shop-
owners never clean them.'

The anonymous source also said after Alito drives his daughter home from
Planned Parenthood he plans to continue protesting that same location in his
'special disguise' - sunglasses and a baseball cap.



	Dangerous ideas

	Perhaps the homelessness problem in the United States would be taken
care of if any domicile not occupied were given to someone who wasn't
previously occupying a domicile. Is it so bad to force a child to share toys
with which they never play?
	A mowed lawn resembles a soldier's buzz cut hair. Fine, but I wouldn't
want to date an army man. I would prefer to let the lawn-spiders, the bees and
milkweed, and the butterflies and things like that have a home.
	I deleted my /politics page because I learned people actually read it.
Though it loosely reflects my current beliefs, enough that I'm not embarrassed
by it, I'm uncomfortable at the thought of anyone actually caring about what I
believe. Here are the good bits from it:

	I don't hold public office. Don't fret about my beliefs, they probably
		won't ever affect you.


	I tried to swap from YouTube to this site back in 2019(? maybe 2020).
		The site administration has let it get infested with right-wing
		puppets and various other muck. Plus all my favorite channels
		left. So I can't really recommend it. Looks like everyone's
		using PeerTube now, my only concern with that is data
		resiliency - can hobbyists keep their instances going with the
		same dependability as YouTube?


    	The milk goes after the cereal into the bowl.
    	Corn flakes aren't that bad, despite their origins.
    	Cereal with coffee instead of milk is pretty good.
    	Soggy cereal beats out freshly poured cereal most of the time.
		Exceptions are maybe Cocoa Pebbles and Cheerios. Life cereal is
		especially good soggy.
    	The last powdery bits of the cereal are much better than the initial
		big bits. A lot of that powder is sugar and it sweetens the
    	Bag cereal is just as good as box cereal. Taste-wise they're identical
		and they're about the same effort to pour because the boxes
		have bags in them too. The only con to bagged is that a greater
		amount of cereals are boxed (e.g. there are no off-brand
		Wheaties where I am) and boxes have cool puzzles on the back
		(though now that I'm not a wee lass I do have a cellphone on
		which I play Konami Picross instead). 


	If you're unaffected by a slur you probably shouldn't use it, even in
		an educational or non-hateful context.
	There are some words I'd now consider hateful I used to use without
	Personally I don't use hateful language because I don't think it's
		justifiable. However, if you're okay with offending people,
		consider this - you cannot grow in your understanding of the
		world if you don't communicate with people with whom you
		disagree. You're really going to prioritize hateful speech over
		self development?
	If you go on my platform and say things with which I disagree, I should
		not have to host your opinions.

	Most of my regrets involving political speech involve saying either too
little or too much, which is nice, because at least I didn't support some
stupendously awful cause that ended up killing everyone or something. Maybe
right now I am doing that without realizing, but I hope not.


	Some things I learned this week

	Instead of grating vegetables, you can peel very small sections off of
them to get essentially the same effect. It works better if you dice the
peelings after you're done. A grater will do the job much better but in a pinch
the peeler will work fine.
	A teaspoon is 5mL, a tablespoon is 15mL. They aren't the same.
	You can never have enough paper towels. If you think you do, you're
wrong. Aspirin is bad for you, acetaminophen is especially bad for you,
ibuprofen is bad for you, you can have either pain or pain.
	The GNU debugger is awesome. Compile programs with `-g` and run gdb
[program], then execute `start`, then `step` through statement by statement and
inspect variables with `print`. I've been printf(3) debugging since I was eight
years old (about a decade ago). This is a total game changer.
	The first pancake is always the worst. Don't be afraid to screw up the
first time, instead ensure the environment is controlled so that when beginners
make that first pancake the customers don't eat it.
	People believe the dumbest stuff because they're so used to dumb things
happening. You can't be sane in an insane world.

	Food I'm craving

	Pizza (good pizza, not something from Pizza Johns or Papa Hut). I could
make it myself but dough seems hard and I'm procrastinating learning how bread
and stuff works. I also don't wanna go to the store, carry the ingredients
home, and figure out what to do with the leftover stuff. Perhaps all my
problems could be solved with one of those Hello Fresh startups or whatever but
the point of pizza is that it's cheap and delicious and I don't wanna pay more
for less.
	A bagel, but I could always go for a bagel. I'd like some veggie cream
cheese right now on a dark toasted bagel.
	Pancakes. I haven't had pancakes for a couple seasons now. I like
pancakes with good maple syrup, maybe not the really expensive stuff in glass
jars (I haven't tried that stuff so I wouldn't know) but the stuff that comes
in the gray-cream colored pitchers with the small handles and black caps, with
instructions on the back for what to do if there's a skim on top of the syrup.
Thin, Maine maple syrup, no corn involved in the process. Though Aunt Jemima
(or whatever name by which she goes nowadays) is alright in a pinch.
	I'm trying not to eat so much meat. The exceptions are (a) trying
something new, (b) home-cooked meals by someone else, and (c) East asian
restuarants. And of course food that would otherwise go to waste. I've found
that limiting myself to these situations gives me a pretty good amount of meat
in my diet ("pretty good" being a small amount, I eat meat maybe thrice a week
at most). I don't have a moral stake in this in terms of animal cruelty, though
I do believe farming animals is cruel, because I didn't kill the thing and
Capitalists will never voluntarily decrease the amount of product they churn
out. I just don't see a future where humans can have meat in nearly every meal
and I'm trying to acclimate in advance. As past, so will pass - I'm sure we'll
go back to some sort of primarily-grain diet, though maybe "grain" will be corn
and corn derivatives and not much else. Meh, could be worse.
	That being said, I could go for some turkey mixed with egg. In a pan,
put a couple of slices (or even just the giblets left over from the slicing
process) of turkey beast on some butter as the oil, and crack an egg over it.
Break the yolk if the yolk isn't already broken and keep flipping the egged
turkey until the egg is cooked. Serve alone or as part of a breakfast sandwich.
It's the perfect mix of texture and flavor. I had this with some turkey that
would have otherwise gone to waste and it was very good.

2022-06-20: Some thinks I've been thinging about

	The world would be a more interesting place if any biologists or
researchers focusing on transmissable diseases took a look at Internet memes or
"fake news" (cognitoviruses).

	If a policy tangibly hurts people it's not a good policy. Whether or
not I believe it's good, if something I supported takes food out of a mouth, I
was wrong. Humans come before statutes.

	Nobody's applied the second amendment to the abortion debate. The
intent of the founding fathers regarding the second amendment was clearly to
allocate for the self-defense of the populace even if it may be to the
detriment of an offending party. Does a pregnant individual not have the right
to stand their own ground and fend off entities that will do them harm?

	Plastic is the new lead. Humans shouldn't be drinking animal milk (I
drink a lot of chocolate milk, so this is a dig at myself too). Meat is as
essential to the culinary arts as sugar, but it's also as essential to human
sustenance as sugar. The next "got milk?" will be disseminated through Internet

	I'm not in favor of banning anything; abortion or firearms. I think a
national firearm ban to some extent may be inevitable but I'm not too torn up
about it. A bullet doesn't have much practical use beyond taking a life or
practicing for it.

	I want a Nintendo Wii powered through USB-C.

	A holocaust will happen before 2050. This game of "telephone" that is
generational education didn't impress upon this generation the gravity of the
Holocaust committed by the Nazis in the 1940s. The Nazis had a fetish for
documentation; the next holocaust will be recorded literally in 4K Ultra HD.
In a desensitized world, will that even make a difference for the children of
2160? In the information war that will be World War III, who will win - the
Americans, who can't tamp down obvious misinformation such as "Pizzagate" or
that the COVID-19 vaccines have microchips, or the Russians, who manufactured
these rumors? "Americans" and "Russians" here are not literal names.
	To me it's conceivable that gender nonconforming and non-heterosexual
individuals would be targeted as scapegoats for a future manufactured
"struggle" in the same way the Nazis chose Jews to be the primary scapegoats
for "degeneration". Outliers are routinely paraded as examples of the queer
community by those who wish to discredit it. External parties try to break the
LGBT+ umbrella into the "LGB and others" or "lesbians and gays, but not
bisexuals". The latter for acceptance (exceptance?) from those who conduct the
former. All wins temporary at best.

2022-06-19: Some things I've been thinking about

	The UNIX philosophy ("create things that do one thing well") is a
mandate rather than a suggestion; programs can and will fall under their own
weight if you allow them to become too complex with too many things dependent
on other things. From a software design standpoint I've found this to be very
	However, I think focusing on software complexity is treating the
symptoms of Bad Computing rather than the disease. The core issue is that
humans should not have to change themselves for a machine - the machine should
only ever be changed for the human. After all, a computer is simply a tool.
Interchangeable (right?), repairable (right?), intuitive (right?), and a means
to an end (right?).
	Lately humans have been having to change themselves for machines. There
are easily comprehendable issues - e.g. "I don't have a first name, how do I
fill out this form?" - but there are also denser, deeper problems in this
regard - in fact, even computer literacy education is itself changing humans in
favor of machines. Software should be designed to be basically intuitive to
someone that's never used a computer and ideally need no further skills.
	This probably started with the Old Engineers who were basically
breathing computer before computers were even existent in their modern form.
Graybeards (women and nonbinary fellows included within this word, use your
imagination) didn't need to change themselves for computers because they and
machina were already kin. Then they made simple interfaces for the restivus and
hoped it was enough, and it was for a while.
	Once we defeat the status quo, the rest will be easy.

	The Center for Disease Control in the United States isn't perfect but I
trust them a bit more than a bald guy on Spotify.

	Today's Juneteenth, which is a memory to a pretty cool event, the end
of lawful slavery in the United States.