THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <- blah! ideas with no tangibility; ideas with irrelevant supports; ideas without value; ideas' witlessness; ideas' witnesses; ideas- <^>
2022-12-29 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 <be.murderu.us/unix#posix#cat(1)>. 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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