• I have rainbow crows circling

    15 jul 2013, 09:27

    The Past Is A Grotesque Animal

    Beating my heart against a brick wall.
  • Using The English language with Annotated types and the right way to ask a genie

    11 dec 2012, 00:01

    'I wish that insanity had got the better of me', said in full sanity. It was a catch 2-2 for the genie; to take it demeaningly literally, as it was wont, was to provide a greater personality into which the individual could slip when succumbing to madness. The best counterpoint that could be provided immediately was to provide unstable access to a split personality.
    Lots of people get to make true, actual, magic wishes.
    But cock up..
  • eh

    8 sep 2012, 17:58

    So, there's like these three countries. America, India, and Russia. And India and Russia are sort of forged by their interaction with the United Kingdom. And, like, in temperament, I'm India, and Simon's America, and Paul's Russia. And Li's China. Or something.
  • Ragnarok

    23 jul 2012, 15:33

    is what happens when destruction stops navel-gazing.
  • When

    1 jul 2012, 03:32

    you're having a discussion, or about to have a discussion, or even, sometimes, after you've just had a discussion, then you should consider how you're behaving in the discussion, or think about how you're going to structure the discussion, or about how you just dealt with the discussion that you just had.
    Why is it so anaethemic to popular interest, then, that we think about how we structure our policits? Why can't we think about AV, or PR (alternative vote and proportional representation, respectively) alongside our ill-informed vocalisations on our positions regarding military expenditures and (lol!) council tax?
    #Whatever-the-reason, fuckkit.

    I think that we should make political judgements - structural and otherwise - on the basis of what seems reasonable. What is a reasonable reflection of the needs, means and desires of the people serviced. Clearly, local needs are important; clearly, weight needs to be assigned according to the size/other-similar-value-weighting of a group.

    But we know we shouldn't be forced to bow to aggression.
    And we should be able to recreate and communicate with impunity.
    And we shouldn't *have* a class wealthy enough to be able to make us pander to their whims as so many believe that we do.

    The almost-self-proclaimed Big Issues of our day have been
    Social Networking,
    And the Leveson Enquiry.
    And {/*I wanted to put some positive news in here. Can anyone think of a good decision we made?*/ if(isGoodDescision(x) == true){return"And " + x;} else {return this;}}
    The Bill Gates Foundation Vs. Malaria (in my head)
    And the first new buds of Spring.

    All news and history, good or bad, is about events with outcomes that could have gone either way. i.e. the maize isn't growing well this year.

    But the potatoes are booming.
  • Don't be afraid of the plane.

    20 jun 2012, 04:08

    It's the surface you have to touch if you want to be near the infinite Volume of truth. Spheres are easier, and have an injective mapping onto the truth; even though no finite subset has a surjective mapping, even. Ugh. Fuck you, Gödel, and your intellectual hangover.
  • The gap-filler program

    20 jun 2012, 03:43

    Carl had never been especially comfortable with the potential implications of the program. So its bare bones, supposedly, were that it would look at a new paper, and cross-reference with its 'speculative results' set, and essentially compute potentially a new bunch of proofs.
    Except it didn't work that way.

    After a short while, posts began to appear, in the form of 'Serena MalAdebpft'. Entire journal articles, posted on the comments pages of the most prestigious websites that had comment pages.

    And it was found that she'd abused the freedom granted for search queries, and that to adjust it, it being an outward bound program, would be to curtail its functionality too much.

    So she got to live.

    And her articles drew from speculation, and over-and-above-all, cross reference. And, of course, provided the proof of the existence of a non-constructable counterexample to the Goldbach conjecture. Which, of course, caused the schism we now have between the modern 'acceptably true' school - now, of course, by far the most populous - and 'provably infinite' schools. As I learned to label them too early for the popular tags.*

    But anyway, you might not think of this every day, but: It's a huge pressure to get her to work something out after your paper, now.
    So obviously Carl is gunning for a lot of results from her, to provide an appropriate assessment of the importance of his work.
    I mean, she's like a God at links, but she couldn't ever prove 1+1=2 without Bertrand Russell.

    *Sorry. Have a module on 'history of mathematics'. Couldn't resist.
  • I like you, because

    20 jun 2012, 01:35

    whenever we butt heads, one of us changes their mind :)
  • The end of a call

    15 jun 2012, 09:53

    "How much do you think I should take?"
    'Please don't kill yourself'
    "How much do you think?"
    'I don't know. I'd guess... ten? What were you thinking of?'
    "I don't know. It feels really bad. 6 or 8?"
    'Fucking hell. I was just joking when I said ten. Four. At most. Hold on - at least let me look it up....
    ... you still there?'
    'Okay, well, it looks like there really isn't a safe overdose. Four.'
    "I've already taken four."
    'Well.. shit. Don't take any more. I guess the good thing is that you're meant to throw it up if you overdose, generally, aren't you?'
    "Well - Sylvia Plath."
    'You're at home right?'
    'How's Tarquin?'
    "Oh he's gorgeous. He's just --- gorgeous. My most reliable friend. Oi moi, my father stumbled in on him in his full glory not all that long ago. I'm still reliving the shame."
    'A true tragedy.'
    "A true Jane Austen moment in all its synthaesthetic gorgeousity"
    'Whilst I approve wholeheartedly of your turn of phrase - you do know that what you mentioned earlier is a really fucking stupid idea, right? Please don't take any more'
    "I'm going to anyway, so you might as well look up what's safe."
    'Pretty sure if you've already been drinking and - let's be honest, you've been drinking a lot for the last few months at least. Well. Six can kill you. Seriously. Don't do it.'
    "I'll be fine. I'm finally immortal"
    'That's not really immortality, is it, though? That's - what - two hundred people who don't know you who might read it, and maybe five of them will remember your name for a little while. The only ones who you'll be immortal for are your friends, and we'd remember you anyway. Look, just go to bed.'
    "So - another six for a Sylvia Plath moment?"
    'Actually, if you've already taken that many, I'd suggest you make yourself throw up before you go to bed.'
    "oh fuck off, mother."
    'I only say it because I love you, you know'
    "Of course I know that. I love you too."
    The last line thick, as through drink, but full of love.

    She never rang back.

    Eventually, I found out, she took ten.

    I don't remember the date, but I remember that I was never that worried about her.
  • Fairy story; part 2. (dream.)

    10 jun 2012, 13:34

    Utterly without hunger, Gabriella sank into the puddle of sacks for a second time. Almost immediately, she began to have a restless night. In her dreams she was talking to someone very far away. Someone, she knew, who cared for her a lot.
    They were asking her questions. Insignificant somehow, but only in content. “Where are you?” they asked; but she knew they were saying ‘I’m thinking about you’. She was swirling through dark blue nothing. “No you’re not”, she denied the heart of the question.
    “- care about you”, they were saying. Was that an I, or a we? “No you don’t.”
    “- need you”. No, you don’t.
    “What’s wrong?” Nothing.
    “- love you” No. You don’t.
    “Please answer ... want to be here for you.” You’re not here for me. "Bye."
    “Don’t go! What do you need?” You don’t want to do anything for me. Go away. I’m alone. I’m busy.
    “-could come for you, if you just said where you were. If you helped...” No. Nobody wants to come for me.
    “- want to know who you are.” You can’t. I’m nobody. Nobody wants me, but she needs me.
    “- need you.” I don’t need you. I don’t want you. You can’t have me. I’m needed elsewhere.

    The dark blue was black. Or white. She could see nothing. She wasn’t afraid of the voice. It was pathetic. She felt the old woman’s touch on her, contacting all of her body at once with one wrinkled palm. All over. The touch this voice had claimed to need from her, to want to give to her.
    But the woman was here for her. The voice wasn’t. It just kept demanding her. “Are you with someone else?” Anyone but you. Everyone but you. I don’t hate you – I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want you to know me.
    Did this voice, this needy voice, really want her? The less she gave back, the purer their desire for her must be. She stopped responding, and the darkness was fading now into unawareness. If she could hurt this voice, she had power. She needed power. She was so alone, and nobody cared. Nobody at all.

    “- sorry.” Fuck you. Fuck you, you’re not sorry. I know you’re not sorry.