THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <-
blah!
ideas with no tangibility;
ideas with irrelevant supports;
ideas without value;
ideas' witlessness;
ideas' witnesses;
ideas-
<^>
2023-11-01
Rabbit rabbit.
$ doas su -
# apk del rust cargo
# ^D
$ curl --proto '=https' --tlsv1.2 https://sh.rustup.rs -sSf >rustup.sh
$ more <rustup.sh # DO NOT PIPE CURL INTO SH!!!
$ sh rustup.sh
I went with a default installation because whatever. I just hope this doesn't
fuck up my system because I quite like my system as it's installed.
$ . .cargo/env
$ rustc --version
Error loading shared library libgcc_s.so.1: No such file or directory (needed b
Error loading shared library libgcc_s.so.1: No such file or directory (needed b
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Error relocating /home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unknown-linux-
Hmmm.
$ doas su -
# apk add libgcc-chimera
# ^D
$ rustc --version
rustc 1.73.0 (cc66ad468 2023-10-03)
Cool.
Consultation with hosts: print!("{}", var); uses the display trait of var while
print!("{:?}", var); uses the debug trait of var.
At night I like to look around and feel the air on my skin. The air is still
but flowing because this place is well ventilated yet well heated and feels
nice, is a nice temperature. I like to look around at the walls and how they
blend into the ceiling, distinct only by texture and shade. There are no gaps
between them. Nor between the wall and the floor. The walls are clean here. So
is the floor. So is the ceiling. There are fire alarms and carbon monoxide
detectors and blinds on the windows and the air is nice but most importantly
the space is so big. A month ago I was waking up in a car, freezing. I was
freezing because the car had nearly no insulation and nearly no ventilation, so
my breath would condense onto any object that had some warmth to give it like
the windows or my blankets or sleeping bag. The condensation would cool me in
the night. I would wake up often in the very early morning hours shivering and
unable to get warm, kept awake by Kami insisting we not fall asleep or we could
die of hypothermia. I'd read Alias Grace or another book on my tablet, the
glass cold to the touch and foggy, wishing I was somewhere else, somewhere far
away where I couldn't touch the clean ceiling even if I stretched my arm out to
as far away as my fingertips could reach. Now I am here, the place of which I
dreamed. The walls are so far away and yet the air here, so much air, is so
warm. It's comfortable. I'm laying on a couch which is comfortable and using my
laptop comfortably and using wall electricity and laying in warmth and there's
a sink in this room or adjacent to get water on demand and there is fucking
laundry! I can do my fucking laundry! I can take a shower when I wish to! And
every night out of joy I cry myself to sleep. I sob like a little piss baby,
muffling my cries with my mouth or my will or when those fail the sleeping bag
in which I lay because I'm terrified that I will be back on the street again
and without the car and unable to get comfortable on hard surfaces anymore.
I met Toni in February, a 1999 green Subaru Forester or Forrester or something.
She was driven by my sidekick and in fine shape except for some difficulties
making it up hills. At the time my sidekick was considerably less so and I was
coming off some bad decisions with drugs and we were discussing some stuff and
I was in love with that car but never thought I would end up living in it. The
best weekend I'd ever lived.
I met Toni in a different light in September or so. I'd slept near a pile of
nearly unidentifiable corpses, the same hill about a hundred paces away, and
then went to work and pretended I hadn't. Then I scootered a ways down a hill
and up another to a different Burger King than the one at which I had worked
and crawled through the rear of the car, fringed with broken glass which did
cut me once or twice, and slept in the passenger seat in my sleeping bag. It
wasn't comfortable compared to where I am now but it was better than any of the
places I'd tried to sleep over that week and I got nine or so hours. I woke up
and went to work, the other Burger King, chipper. None of my coworkers knew I
was homeless but I didn't hide it. When I was homeless (technically I still am)
in Lewiston I wanted to actually let people know I was homeless because I
dispelled a lot of classic stereotypes about homeless people - I was educated,
sober, and employed. But rent money is not simply money but money in a bulk I
didn't have. The purpose of that job was to get the money to get where I am now
but I still can't believe I am actually here.
Sometimes when I close my eyes I see them, the corpses torn apart by something
of the forest, and I feel the exhaustion that rooted itself into my bones. And
I wake up and I'm hear under a clean ceiling and the walls are so far away. In
Toni I couldn't sit up without hitting my head, I had to duck or bend my back
somehow. I couldn't extend my legs. Here I can extend my legs however I want in
whatever direction I want. And pee as soon as I wake up.
I feel so fucked. My body is safe but my mind will not stop feeling like there
is something from which to run. I can't forget what I saw and what I felt and
who I was and what I did and being chased and losing trails and playing with
trails and tracers and the falling down hills and sirens and sillhouettes in
red and blue and making my way through dark alleys full of knives and shopping
knives and losing knives and cutting, others and myself, and biting belts as I
repaired my own mechanical faults and shocking myself until I forgot why and
waking up to screaming and waking up to screaming and waking up to screaming.
This is peace. What is peace?
Peace is the two library books I've read and returned since getting a library
card here. What If (2014) and What If 2 (2022). Neither really books I needed
to read or was recommended. Just books I wanted to enjoy. Peace is learning
Rust to contribute to friends' projects, using my laptop, drinking clean water
straight from the tap. Peace is riding in the car behind a few of the smartest
people I know who seem happy I'm here and safe, or at least that my body is
safe, but I don't tell them about the memories I can't get out of my head, just
the memories that haunt me but that are allowed to escape, to be forgotten
momentarily, that alone haunt my hosts. I still feel like I'm in the car
sometimes. I feel the old seat felt against the backs of my arms as I come to
from my sleeping bag. I see my breath fog in front of me. I don't but I do, I
see without seeing. Kami shakes me until I wake up. It's not safe. But it's
never safe, it's never safe because I'm still in the car and the lights are
pouring through the windows but it's the sun's light and it's through apartment
windows and it is safe here but it's not safe because the light is pouring
through the windows and I can be seen and someone is about to start yelling
that they will kill me because they don't see me as human and this was the only
secluded place I could find but it's not secluded because it's a floor behind a
locked door but it's not secluded so it's not safe and I'm taking up too much
space so my hosts are going to hate me but they tell me I can take up more
space certainly but I'm taking up too much space.
And I just want to go to sleep. I want peace. Peace was taken from me by those
who wage war on the proletariat. Whatever. I'm too tired. Could this even be
real? What happy existence? Am I really allowed to relax? Isn't it a trick?
o tenpo pimejo pona
= note: ld: error: unable to find library -lgcc_s
clang-16: error: linker command failed with exit code 1 (use -v to se
e invocation)
error: could not compile `clap_derive` (lib) due to previous error
# apk add gcc-aarch64-none-elf
# ^D
$ cargo run
Compiling clap_derive v4.4.7
error: linking with `cc` failed: exit status: 1
|
= note: LC_ALL="C" PATH="/home/trinity/.rustup/toolchains/stable-aarch64-unkn
[many lines abridged]
Okay, so Rust is having issues with the lack of gcc here. It kinda sucks that
clap is using C stuff. I'm not sure if I should get this C stuff working first
or switch to a pure Rust argument parser.
Looking at this command line, it's LC_ALL=C PATH=[...] VSLANG=1033 cc [and then
a whole bunch of bogus] [cflags] -lgcc_s lc [and then more cflags]. What
provides gcc_s?
$ ls /lib | grep gcc
drwxr-xr-x root root 4.0 KB Fri Sep 8 05:26:01 2023 gcc
.rwxr-xr-x root root 70 KB Wed Oct 25 16:41:53 2023 libgcc_s.so.1
Presumably libgcc_s.so.1 was put there by libgcc-chimera (I'm not gonna bother
checking). I'm just gonna search this error text because I'm not sure why the C
compiler wouldn't be checking /lib.
$ ldconfig -p
$ ldconfig
$ ldconfig --help
$ echo $?
0
$ ls $(which ldconfig)
lrwxrwxrwx root root 4 B Tue Oct 31 17:08:41 2023 🔖 /bin/ldconfig ⇒ true
Hahahahhahahaha. What. Where's ldconfig?!?!?!?!?!?!! I would assume this is the
root of the issue at hand.
At my most boring I have wished for a life worse than the one I have now. This
is the most enjoyable my life has ever been and yet it is unrelentingly
chaotic and I don't know how to get the pieces to fit. I feel irredeemable and
unable to relate to anyone or anything except perhaps a pebble being kicked
across the asphalt of the road or leaves falling off the trees, ripening,
wrinkling, from a soothing green to a reminder of the loss of youth.
One day I expected rain overnight so I slept in the passenger seat so I could
see the rain fall down the windshield. It was a view I had romanticized in my
head, one I wanted to pause and view for eternity. My sidekick did not. They
have places to go and things to do naturally so when it happened that we were
caught in rain and got to see rain fall over Toni we watched for a moment or
two and then drove onward toward the future, beckoning it without letting it
take its time. I was excited to be able to take this moment, though
unfortunately in solitude, at the pace by which I wanted to experience it. So I
fell asleep against the bitter cold of that parking lot and awoke to the pitter
patter of droplets against the glass before me and that was peaceful and I was
for a moment happy. But then I heard a colder, shriller tap from behind, and
turned around to find the cover for the rear window I'd fashioned out of
cardboard and plastic leaking by the seams, forming a puddle that would
inevitably fill with mildew and rot. I stared at this and realized my time in
Toni was limited. Toni would mildew, rot, and disintegrate, as had all my
relationships and all of my chances at housing.
After work I got back to the car and the puddle in the back was bad but in
getting into the car I had left my wet boots on the floor of the passenger seat
so the back was the only place in which I could sleep. My head curved away from
the active dripping I heard the clack clack behind me of rain making its way
through half a dozen layers of duct tape and mockig me before I sat up and just
fucking broke down. I couldn't stay in Toni but couldn't stay anywhere else and
I was out of options and just so fucking tired and cold and damp. There was no
one to comfort me and no solace to be had. My sidekick had left for another
style of adventure, everyone in my life had been either implicitly or
explicitly transphobic towards me, and I had inconsistent access to electricity
and clean water and hadn't showered in a week. It was the lowest point of my
life. To be wet and unable to be dry, to be cold and unable to be warm, to be
so tired and unable to sleep, to be so alone with nobody left. I sobbed like a
baby and didn't care who could hear me, the rain covered the sound and whomever
it revealed my cries could kill me for all I cared - I did genuinely want
someone to just open the car door and stab me, clutch me in a warm embrace and
spill my hot blood over me so I could just be warm for one fatal instant.
Nobody came. I fell asleep.
And from this dream I wake up to a ceiling so high and a floor so dry and air
unknowing of the sound of dripping agony but acclimated to my sobs which,
though muffled, do still call silently into the night after my hosts have
hopefully fallen asleep. And I don't know how to process being thrown from the
frigid shackles in which I'd been locked into the shocking freedom of domestic
cookie cutter monotony. I don't know how to fathom the stillness. I no longer
need to run but my muscles refuse to atrophy, instead slowly cycling in my
slumber lest I rise back to the street and to another abandoned car in another
parking lot. The gray pavement on which parking lots are drawn knows me better
than any four walls. Ceiling is not my usual blanket.
<^>
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