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



	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.


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