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writing

So too will they replace you

He programs, he optimizes, he thinks. And once he is finished there waits satisfaction.

“Thank you for all your hard work” his boss says “We really appreciate it”

Words are not easy for him, so he doesn’t speak. Only smiles and nods and blinks.

He doesn’t say that the software was challenging to write. That there was a hard segment that stormed against him for weeks. And were it not for his diligence and effort, would have way-laid the project by months. He does not share that the epiphany struck at the most bizarre moment. Watching his nephew, a toddler, make a moral decision, was what had inspired him. He had gone home, sat down at his computer, and with his favorite text editor he had sculpted and crafted an amazing intelligence. He was certain that this beautifully elegant file, ai_soul.c, was something that the great artist Michelangelo would have been proud of.

He doesn’t mention that he has not slept well for several weeks. Not the pressures of the job, no far from it. More that he is concerned of what the code he is creating will eventually do.

“What do you mean they are upgrading the software?” he can hear a worker asking. “I’ve labored here for over twenty-five years! Now some supposedly intelligent machine is gonna to do better than me?”

Click to Load

Compiling From Source

There is nothing wrong with your linux distribution.
Do not attempt to adjust the ssh connection.
We are controlling all sockets.
If we wish to make it faster, we will increase the bandwidth volume.
If we wish to make it slower, we will drop packets down to a whisper.
We will control the x axis.
We will control the y axis.
We can scroll your text editor, make it flutter.
We can change the focus to a another buffer or use the color scheme clarity.vim.
For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear.
We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your linux distribution.
You are about to participate in a great adventure.
You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to… Compiling From Source.

(Story) Undead because you ask me

Posted on August 31, 2009

“I have thought this for some time now. And I am confident that you will not be able to enable the heart in my chest. You will not sway me. Even should you reach out your skin-less hand and manually pump its beat, it will not last. For too much time has passed.” Her words fell on seemingly deaf ears, or rather, non-existent ones. For the flesh had long ago decayed from where they once had existed. Bones that were so pitted as to hold the color of dulled mercury.  And the undead being stared at the girl, hollow skulled, sockets unblinking.

A flickering lone light, with a frayed string for a switch, illuminated the small room as it hung fastened to the ceiling. Worn shoes littered the floor. Clothing draped upon old metal hangers coated in dust and rot. Garments that held nothing of value for their former wearers, yet still acted as food for the moths. There were boxes stacked about whose contents held things of the past. Years were written along the sides, ordaining them with swift black sharpie. The undead thing reached down and pulled the top from one of the boxes; revealing a small black tablet inside; the kind that school children used in combination with chalk.

Click to Load

From its vantage, Anxiety attacks!

Posted on August 26, 2009

Lately I have been writing short stories and posting them online.

Why?

My family has always liked my stories. And I grew up in a no bull-shitin’ family. If it was good, it was good. And if it was bad, well it was bad. Plus, I have a hard time connecting with my Mom. I think we are just too alike. So because I enjoy writing and feel that I have a knack for it, I have taken to putting thoughts on digital paper again. To say “I love you” to those I have a hard time saying it to. And as a simple, yet effective therapy.

Really? Therapy?

Well, yeah. Writing is therapy for my mind as it is caught in Anxiety’s web. And the more thrashing my mind does, the more it becomes entangled.  Anxiety that is based on wanting to control and keep safe. An impossible goal. Which is something that I have always struggled with. The wanting to hold on, the desire to keep and protect. But after death entered my world, my mind was left split. It still wanted to love and shelter those around it, but it now knew that it never could. That life would do what life wills.

And here enters the anxiety attacks. And please understand something, I am an insanely logical person. I analyze data and build structures for a living. So if you were to ask my opinion on anxiety attacks pre cataclysm, I would have arrogantly said.

“People need to get their shit together” and would have believed it too.

Where I find myself now, is in a pretty humbled place. I understand with authority that the mind is insanely powerful. That it is beyond our comprehension and may always be. That grief and fear can turn physical, and some of us now must work hard to not allow it to do so.

Sounds insane? Yeah maybe, but it is real. No doubt it is as real as anything in this world.

To reference what I wrote above, writing takes my mind off the web of control. It stops the fear with the understanding of the following.

-No matter how much I want to keep my loved ones safe, I can only do so much
-The web can’t hold me if it is not recognized
-I have to do what everyone else does, and let it go

Writing helps me let go.