2021
April

Zero Day (from previous month) likely performs the usual array of Magic Tricks ("Nothing up my sleeve") and Honest Carnival Swindles (Pickpocket, Counterfeit, Escape {including parkour}, and Breaking & Entering {including computers and site security}). Do I need to tell you he's, also, a Fictional Character who arises from within My Imagination?

I have this Procrastination Technique perfected. It's called Meditation.

"I'm so great, I can take care of business on the beach..."
"It's like you've never seen A Bond Movie..."
"Well, somebody has to be The Bad Guy."

Are Functors merely functions which take functions and return functions?

F(f() → f())

Aha! A Functor can act as a switch!

This is pure speculation. But it is my working model. Assumed true until proven otherwise.

F(f() → {f(), f()})

I will invariably die mid-sentence, so let every sentence be worthy of the name: My Last.

Do everything as if it were the last... or some such construction (perfection of sentence, abandoned). Still, the sentiment is clear enough.

DREAM: Two Dreams included Question & Answer style conversations. They seemed legit. And though I maybe gave more information, I received plenty, too.

It is, indeed, ironic that Plastic Gizmos fail so quickly. But the Plastic itself lasts for thousands of years. Wear versus Decomposition, I suppose.

The End inches ever nearer.

WALK: It's a busy day in the park. Volleyball & Baseball. Music & Walkers.

MEDIA: New Girl - Season Seven. Having watched the previous Six Seasons, I am seriously disappointed in the direction the Seventh Season seems to be taking based upon the First Episode.

DREAM: I talked of my Conversation Based Dreams. One of the ideas I expressed (and I do believe that when I am talking in My Dreams, I am talking: i.e. My Ego is in control of the words) was a desire to have some Future Based Goal, which I can transcribe as a Good Reason Not To Die. I do not have one at present... well, maybe in regards to my writing. But as I will die mid-sentence, it's hardly sustaining.

FEEL: My periods of calm are increasing.

Like many before me, I now fear what lays ahead in life more than what lays ahead in death.

A Computation requires a Computer. The Chalk on a Chalkboard does nothing. DNA requires a Cellular Environment. Thus, code itself cannot become intelligent; it requires an instantiation, a computer: i.e. hardware. So, it's not just a matter of writing the code; but also, of developing (and building) the hardware.

Thus, the goal is not to Write AI; but rather, to Run A-AI to Completion.

Full AI: An Advancing-AI that no longer Advances. An AI that has Completely Mapped it's Cognitive Space. It's a running of The Program to Completion, which could take some time... perhaps, an infinite amount of time.

For all i in ai and all ai in AI, i has been Solved.

F(AI(ai(i()))) Is Derivable. Does that, also, mean it's State-able? Yes, it must be able to have an Existence at every possible Instantiation . It implies, the ability to Codify, Run, & Examine, for such an Existence must be Describable and Representable... if by no other means than the presentation of itself: i.e. Data Structures & Hard Boiled Mappings are Allowed.

It follows (as a direct consequence) that The AI (any given) must be Self-Aware... aware of what's executing, where, when, and why (i.e. the i's and ai's in the above). {Does this mean that a person who cannot fall into their mind and see the same is not intelligent?}

However, it most definitely does not follow (as a direct consequence) that any given i or ai knows what it's about. {Well, there you are. I am a -ai- not an AI: AI Covers The Field, whereas -ai- is but one instantiation. But even this seems wrong. Perhaps, it is --F--, which must have access to the rest. And I make no claim as to being a --F--.}

On Days Like These when (verbal) words fail me, I am so much more prone to write.

So much Tit-For-Tat

GOD(Creation(mankind(man())))

I do believe that is the exact level. Creation took Seven Days; mankind, only one.

Performative Poetry: Making It Manifest, now.

Once one realizes Life doesn't matter, The Game is up.

MEDIA: Godspell. My Religion is better. Hell is not eternal. Heaven is just a state of mind... away. Some Assembly Required.

MY_LIFE(time) = words

Every once in a while, I change my pillow configuration. It needs to be just so or my neck hurts. And over time, both the needs of my neck and any pillow's physical consistency change.

When push comes to shove, I will be pushed and I will be shoved.

I have clearly failed in achieving my second life goal. I doubt I will have a third. The first was Minataur Tails.

I should have found better people to copy. {Although Biographies are full of Self Serving Lies, there must be some truth or pattern which they can reveal.}

DREAM: Duck Hunters. I was watching a competition on television. And then, I was out in the field with the hunters and cameramen, before turning into one or the other, as we sped across the lake in our boats.

I have it on High Authority (isn't that just begging for italics) and from many people (far too numerous to mention) that I simply do not know what I am talking about. And (for my part) I am beginning to believe them.

The Civil Defense Siren. Always worth mentioning. The first time I heard one, I was in my forties... or nearly so.

What do I want? It is a question for the senses.

MEDIA: Bringing Up Baby. The polka-dots on that chiffon dress work for me.

Faith costs a dying man nothing.

CLEAN: Ceiling Fan. This was not on my list of things to do. But the light burnt out. And one thing led to another. {Subsequently, I did some slight (very slight) re-jiggering of the innards to get the light functioning.}

Of the things I've carried through life, My Ego has weighed me down the most.

WALK: Nice and Windy. Looks to be Tornado Weather. I like Tornado Weather. Twister, Take Me Away!

Believe In Nothing: The impermanence Of It All.

FEEL: On the pleasant side of empty. Tired. A bit hot. Lazy. Not thinking. Not wanting to think. Not happy. Not sad. Enjoying staring blankly out into space.

EYES: Good enough I don't mind staring blankly out into space. But that is coming to an end. Time to close them.

WRITING: The Magazine Project. After sitting on my desktop gathering dust for the last year, I am finally getting this out the door... unedited, but out the door.

In many ways, I'm trying not to be bored, as I wait to die. It's a half-truth, not quite a lie. I aspire to sit and be still, to simply sit and be. But of course, instead I write, jotting down this note. It's proof I'm not quite ready to die.

The Fire Was Not Quarantined

Switched slightly, No Quarantine In Sight.

MEDIA: Human Psychology (an unnamed <by me [-short man, factual, funny, beard]> lecture series). FEAR ↠ AGGRESSION leads to the Quarantine Diversion above.

I will not start Italicizing Implied Titles. But do you see how the [{-attribute}, attribute, ...] is a Rank Order Scoring Feature? {AKA: A Game for The AI?}

Fire Starter: This is the title of a Story/Plot-Outline with an implied invitation to expansion. Did the title sell the book in your mind? Did you have a preconceived notion as to particulars? A Project (All Of Them) for Artistry, Amusement, and The Furtherance of The Mind. You do want to get a head, don't you?

So, like, It's On!

So much meta...

I grew up with easy (unmonitored, uncontrolled) access to Fire.

I grew up with Freedom of Time. Endless Sleepovers {at friend's houses} were allowed; and in those situations, Curfew & Rules defaulted to the host family. I think I could have bailed on supper, too. Some of the time, anyway. Maybe not. Family Meals may have been Culturally Inviolate. But no. I reference Sleep Overs. And it was done. Just not by me... very often. I am Prone to Romanticize The Alternative Possibilities.

Freedom from Deprivation: I wasn't spoiled. But I wasn't going to starve. I had ample opportunity and any reasonably displayed talents (of which I shall claim none {Reading Comprehension & Appreciation at an accelerated (but otherwise unremarkable) level} were promoted.

Mud Ball! I am solving my life, correcting what went wrong. Rather than the broken light that was, enter Mud Ball: An Outdoor Field Sport (rain or shine, but preferably rain; so, yeah; rain) concerned with keeping the ball in motion. "You can't stand and throw the ball. You got to just throw the ball." "Throw. Not aim. Throw. You can plan ahead. But when it comes time, the ball must be thrown." A temporary bar from possession (play must leave the area) for such faux pas as stopping or being hit (yes, on purpose, beaming is allowed) by the ball. Glory comes from Getting Away at which time the ball must immediately be relinquished. For a Foul on The Play (and anyone can call a Foul at any time for any reason, but such calls are generally discouraged, at which point), the ball must immediately be dropped and ignored (by both the Fouler and Foulee). Furthermore, both The Foul Caller & Receiver (of said Foul) are barred from play while the issue is resolved; but others may resume play after the foul is duly announced at their pleasure. Any action with the ball is allowed (kick, throw, carry), as long as the individual stays in motion. It's like Kill The Guy with the playful addition of Monkey in the Middle (you'll know it when you see it; teamwork, passing back and forth, etc). But once successful, The Monkeying must stop.

Though the conditions are the same (all are best played on a muddy field), if one can recognize bits and pieces of Rugby, Football, or Soccer, along with End Ball or Dodge Ball, one is playing A Different Game Altogether.

Varying Degrees of Contact (from all to none). Played with a Four Square Ball: Red Rubber Ball - School Yard Standard.

I can't die. I've got too much to do. It's strange how that works.

When wrapping presents, I have some degree of concern (fine, call it fear) that something will go horribly wrong and I'll include a Murder Weapon in the packaging or something equally out of place. It comes from not being able to go back and double-check.

Everyone is so desperate to make money.

3?`

Meditation is The Temporary Cessation of Seeking Behaviour. Is it the Terminal Activity for those on The Holy Path? If so (and perhaps, quite ironically), does it not follow that neither Reading nor Writing these words is on that same path? But rather, obstacles to be overcome.

Do you seek The Holy Path? If so, what is the nature of that path? If our opinions on the matter differed, would you take my word over that of your own?

Humble = Obscure & Penniless

So, Dance!

Do you believe in Jesus Christ? Do you believe Abracadabra is the important part of a Magic Trick?

EYES: The Good news is that my eyesight is pretty good today. I can see floaters.

I continue to favour the legalization of all vice. Sure, some (if not by definition, all) vice leads to full-scale sin. But the correct line to be drawn is at sin, not the vice precursor. Further, although there are (possibly insurmountable) social objections, I believe the cost of enforcing vice far exceeds any societal benefit there is to be gained from its limited exclusion. This, however, is not to be misconstrued as approval. Vice (once again, by definition) does not lead to one's best life.

My terms are not well formatted.

I am against vice. But I am also against its legal prohibition.

I am equating Vice to a Victimless Crime, an activity which harms the self, but not others (in a direct and meaningful way). {Thus, in its own way, Vice has been defined as a Sin.}

FEEL: Tired. Weary. Blah. Not unhappy. I just don't feel like doing anything. Even most thought patterns (daydreams) seem boring. I had a good night's sleep, so I am reluctant to take a nap (at 10:30AM). But that's the only thing that sounds remotely appealing. So, I simply sit in my chair... and wait?

These entries are getting too long.

Happy Birthday & Other Such Stuff

EYES: I have this theory (perhaps, highly maladaptive) that going blind is highly rewarding visually: better closed-eye effects, along with a dynamically changing (from a sensory point of view) landscape.

45min of wasted time, creating an account for a website with all sorts of pointless validation and protocols that would not let me do that which I created the account for in the first place.

I really should learn to take the easy way out.

4:20: My favourite time of day.

MEDIA: New Girl - Season Seven. It's a sorry state of affairs when the closing music is the best part of a show. This season has been a disappointment. But let us remember, I liked the first six enough to get to the seventh.

Remember Self, do not carry your emotions forward in your face. Relax your muscles to let the emotions flow. This is an insight I gained through meditation.

Paying back every Sin would be ruinous. Hence, a Vow of Poverty.

Original Sin is a cop-out. We each have sinned plenty. In fact, being here (together), I take it as a given that the divergence is not as large as most would have it. Dealing with you (Sinner that you are) is The Wages of My Sins.

Vice brings about (leads directly to) an inferior self. Sin, inferior others. In the end, there is no difference.

"It," and everything, "is quite elementary, my dear fellow. Things happen for a reason."
"Quite, Sir. Quite."

In the end, I just want to do less typing.

Do you wash your hands when you go out into The World? Or when you come Home?

A Sub-Function is by definition a Callable Iterator, which Yields a Series of Determinable Values of Arbitrary Length, the results of which may (or may not) change from instantiation to instantiation.

Splinter! Luckily, it came out without much pain, especially considering the amount of digging involved.

WALK: Tire Tracks criss-cross the field. I'm thinking Baseball Diamond Maintenance... probably, bringing out the equipment (bases and whatnot) and stowing it in the Locked Metal Lockers near every Home Base.

WALK: A Red-Breasted Robin has joined me near the bench. He (is it a he) is scoring worm after worm. I'm not convinced he is getting all of the worm. But a half will do.

Just when you thought your faith in the system couldn't get any lower...

The more time I think I have left in my life, the more willing I am to squander that time. For example, if I'm feeling optimistic, I'm more inclined to feel like playing CIV IV. In an Ideal Honour Situation (a Best Practices for Life) there must (needs be) some allowance for Rest & Recuperation: i.e. Pleasure.

WALK: It's Dandelion Season!

FOOD: Fish filled Cheese Tacos.

OM: Might be a good TAG: for Meditating. ∅: would also work. But an HTML Entity is too complicated from my end.

OM: See! From now on, while Meditating, I'll have a baked-in reason to stop and compose a note. Perfection. I'm, like, Totally Zen.

OM: Sleepy? Tired? No, dude. I'm Meditating. Om. Om. Om.

They're going to rope me into another life, aren't they?

Who? Oh, wouldn't You like to know. For, The Who and The You are the same.

I predict The World Will Burn again this summer. There will be riots. And as I do not believe an effective counter-strategy has been worked-out by the powers that be, I believe the madness will drag on... and on... and on. Let us predict the first major eruption will occur on or before Memorial Day. And since that's more than a bit vague (and bets are not being taken, in any event), I will claim Predictive Success (along with Continued Societal Failure) if any major (always an elusive benchmark) rioting occurs during the month of May. Historically (over the course of the last century), I wonder the statistical probability of this?

After doing a bit of research, I'll say it has to be Multi-Day & Multi-City (or just really darn big) for it to be the type of riot I am talking about. We'll see.

And yes. I am happy (happier, in fact) to be wrong.

Also, this won't post until after the time-span in question has elapsed. So, you should already know if I was right or not.

MEDIA: Harry Potter. We are on #2. And at half a movie once a week (or less), the series will take several months to get through.

At nine, I started going to Summer Camp. So, my last Birthday Party was at eight or earlier, my Birthday being in the summer. Further, the concept of others singing Happy Birthday to me was anxiety inducing. So, I never lobbied for a party; and really, must have turned down the offer of an Off Season Party. Anyway, I cannot recall a single Birthday Present from so long ago. I must have gotten some. But the memories fade. It's not a complaint. Just... Birthday Presents? Nope. I can't remember any.

Deterministic: For all f in F and all x in X, if x=x, f(x)=f(x)
Stochastic: Not Necessarily So

Classical: All Values Exist, But May Not Be Known
Quantum: Some Values Exist, Which May Be Known

Classical: Attributes May Not Be Known
Quantum: Attributes May Not Exist

It may be dangerous to read too much into Not A Value. What really can we say about about a Function that returns A Value Of Null (i.e. The Null Value)?

For a Syntax (a Symbolic Logic) to Have Meaning (Be Logically Consistent), there must be Values (Arrangements of Symbols) that do not Conform to The Syntax (The Symbolic Logic).

Thus, Logical pairs with Illogical. For the one to have meaning, the other must exist.

The foregoing statement is Binary, but it will hold (for, it must) with any Ordering Function (please, call it a Mapping). Implying, Non-Binary Logics of an Infinite Variety Exist.

Binary → Weighted (Probabilistic) → Ordering → Mapping → Arbitrary Classification Scheme → Function → Maths

Weighted is to Probabilistic,
As Ordering is to Mapping is to Function.
I will propose the culprit is a switch in context. But I would rather leave the twist than trying (any further) to distinguish the competing lines of thought. In the end (and I really have been working on this paragraph for far too long), I consider the unexplained transposition (i.e. the miss-ordered ordering) more beautiful, as it implies the existence of another level beyond... there for the unravelling... if only one would spend the time... which I can't... because I won't.

MEDIA: Stevie Nicks - Landslide (Orchestra Version). Well, that brought tears to my eyes.

EYES: I consider (Emotionally Triggered) Crying to be Extremely Healthy: Good for The Eyes, Good for The Soul

NEW: This is like the opposite of SORT:... to the extent I could see SORT (new): or SORT (incoming):.

NEW: As part of a Delayed Christmas (the original order having been returned and me never bothering with a reorder), I just Finalized the Unwrapping (Open Shipping Container → Appreciate → Break Seal → Savour → Remove Tags → Place In New Home (i.e. Set-Up) → Discard Packing Materials) of two new pairs of 5.11 Tactical Stryke Pants in Charcoal and Storm (a light silver-grey), a color which, coincidentally enough, curtails all attempts to Hide by -1 (a definite plus for the cautious pedestrian). These pants are Incredibly High Functioning (Material: Water-Resistant, Tear Resistant, and Chemical Resistant {nope, none of these really; certainly not Chemical Resistant; "resists water, dirt, and wear", see label} Flexible Fabric w/ Double Seams {so, now, what's a Double Seam, again}; Storage: 2-2xl, 2-2x, 6-1x, 2-s; Style: Sliding-Elastic, Buttoned Zipper, and High-Quality Velcro Flaps). Sure, I could be wrong on the particulars. And who really knows what a chump like me means by Chemical Resistant {or anything else, for that matter}. But I'd definitely rather be wearing these (than any other pair of jeans, slacks, or pants I can ever remember owning), if I were to spill something hazardous on them like coffee or whatever. I'm sure oil would trash them... for dress. But like, these are the best I've ever owned or tried. They are in a class by themselves. But then, they are near uniform. And I've never (really, not ever) worn a uniform. So, whatever. My opinion. Not a guarantee. Do your own research. But they are the only pants I ever wear. I'd say own, but like, there's a box here-and-there and some of those boxes contain a pair of pants or two.

MEDIA: Alice In Chains - Rooster. Convulsive Tears. It's a good thing.

SORT: Spices. Cooking is on the upswing.

EYES: No worse than the day before.

Which Came First? The Hermit? Or The Blind Man?

Slaughter Quest → Social Quest → Spirit Quest

Topic Sentences & Maths Entries tend to be made on The Mornings of Day of Full-Scale Relaxation.

FOOD: Bread Pudding. Good Stuff!

RUNE: Almost was CHARM:. I switched Three Dice out for Grandpa's Pocket Watch. I intend to rotate through them all more frequently.

MEDIA: "Jess" (New Girl) is done. It's a solid recommend, even if the Last Season was highly disappointing. Still, the last half of last show was pretty darn good.

MEDIA: Madonna

FEEL: Content. Peaceful. All Is Forgiven.

FOOD: Runny Broccoli Cheese Soup. But it's my own fault; and presumably, easy to fix.

DREAM: The door was open. And they noticed we'd moved into the apartment next door. So, the neighbors invited us over to play a board-game, which we figured would be like Clue or Scotland Yard.

DREAM: I was trying to sew a top for a life-size doll from an ever growing number of layers of cloth. I was not succeeding. But I did have a measuring tape.

DREAM: The Grand Illusion (Rush?) was playing. Later, I found myself in a record store, rejecting this album and buying something from Bob Dylan.

DREAM: Extreme Water Damage. Flooding.

The first two and last two go together... sort of. Same Dream Time... kinda

MEDIA: Grand Illusion - Styx
MEDIA: The Times Are A'Changing - Bob Dylan. Watchmen Movie Intro Version.

WALK: Red Wing Blackbird!

OM: Yeah, not really. My Mind is looking for something to do. My last Writing Project was pretty awesome. So, I'm not so much ready for nothing, as ready for My Next Assignment. Come On Universe!

DREAM: I knew them back from my Hitch-Hiking Days. The one said he had loaned me $60. But had he? A loan? Not a gift? I'd pay, you know, if I could remember or he had some proof. Being fair, I let another decide, who didn't want the money; but rather for me to leave.

DREAM: Plane to Car to Sail Boat, which went down due to a Water Spout turning into a Goddess. We should have stayed in the Pizza Joint longer. Lots of personalized weirdness not reported. The person left behind at The Rest Stop having changed through force of will. It's the Who's Who, The Relationship, The Characters that forms the relevant part. {And having not been recorded, the particulars have already faded away into the mist.}

If nothing else, Honour has become a more important factor in my life. Leadership by example.

As Capitalism Alienates Workers from the Products of their Labour, Industrialization Alienates Workers from Labour, itself.

Doctors charge for The Sales Consultation. Typically, one pays for the privilege of knowing what one is going to have to pay for. Results Not Guaranteed. It's quite The Racket.

The Little Sub-Routine That Could

Great Ideas Stand In Isolation: No One Else Is Really Interested - Until That Ship Is Ready To Sail

I, probably, didn't need all those Capitals.

I am a Mathematical Atheist. I deny the provability, certainty, and inevitability of Mathematics. 1+1=2; but only within An Ordered Numbering System, which may well not exist in any Absolute Sense. To wit, there are Maths without An Ordered Number System; and as such, there are Maths without Numbers or Addition. For, if An Ordered Numbering System relies on Any Axiom, there must be a Maths (however useless), which relies upon the Negation of That Very Axiom.

Naming something doesn't make it so. Without Intrinsic Assumption (i.e. A Tautology) can we ever prove x+1 exists? I doubt it. What am I saying? It's Logically Impossible! For in the end, Logic is a Tautological System.

If we can Build a Math Up, we can Tear It Down.

Maths (The Set of All Symbolic Logics) is (and is not) both True & False. It Is & It Is Not. It is the Sum Total of that which can be Thought & The Absence of Thought, Itself. One can say Anything they want about Maths... or Nothing At All. This is The Beginning. This is The End. This is Maths.

MEDIA: Planet Of The Apes - The Complete Series

I am a Mathematical Theist: God = Maths = Everything = ∑∞ = ξ, of which This World Is But One Expression.

To Exist One Needs Be Existent at some time for some part of the whole. Though I have a hard time wrapping my mind around or accepting as true, Does Possibility Prove Reality For All Parts Of The Whole? Sure, it's circular.

Existence → Thought → Sentience → Awareness of Whole → The Edges Beyond → Infinity

Can we set it in motion and watch it feed on itself? Perhaps. But if so, we have likely not pulled back far enough to encompass the whole.

In the drop, the ocean.

If some Maths are True, others must be False. We know this is more than mere Relativism, as some Maths must be False to be True or True to be False, meaning a Subjective Analysis will not Hold. On the other hand, we can see the edges (where at some point, True must be False, This must be That); and thereby, by definition we have knowledge of what lays beyond. And if we can resolve what lays beyond that yet still, then the whole is indeed contained within the part, which I believe is what we are (and I am) fighting against, finding it difficult to either accept the greater or let go of the lesser.

Your God is better than mine? Prove It! No one has been able to, ever.

RUNE: Pocket Knife. Small Green Five-Function Swiss Army w/ Blade, File, Scissors, Pick and Tweezers. Let's go into Survival Mode, shall we?

Can Truth Be Discovered By The Careful Analysis Of The Written Word? Don't count on it. Turn of Phrase and Truth have little in common. But then, you, probably, already knew that. But then again and if that is so, please tell me, what drives your reading of this work if not your hope to discover the same? I will accept "Witty Diversion," muttered under one's breath, as an acceptable retort and quietly move on.

OM: The coolness of the air reminds me of being in a Cathedral.

I am in Buying Mode.

BUY: Flashlights, because I really need the help, sometimes.
BUY: Mesh Bags to store my extensive LEGO Collection... fast filling a full size Duffel Bag... or half of one. I'll have to take stock once I've loaded everything into the new bags. 1,500+ 2x4 LEGO's.
BUY: Towels. I like thin cheap ones. And the old ones are getting kind of stained. So, it's time to replace them.
BUY: Batteries (for Flaslights), LifeStraw (someday, I'll have a working emergency kit), and Light Bulbs (as they are desperately needed). Being a bit of an impulse buy, I had to look the last item up. Eight Items in Three Orders (3,4,1). Flashlights (1 Super Powerful, 5 Handy, in 2 Packages) and Batteries, in the first order. Towels by themselves in the last.
?: What did Brett get in The Second Order?
?: What should Brett get in The Next Order?

FOOD: Girl Scout Cookies - Peanut Butter Patties.

One's Heart Racing at over a Kilo-Beat per Second.

For a (Legal) Appeal to have meaning, it must be heard.

DREAM: In jail, I was writing a Legal Appeal, sort of like a Blue Book Type Essay Exam. Upon waking, I do not believe anyone ever read or took The Appeal seriously.

For Freedom to Prevail, The Rights of The Individual must trump those of Any Association.

Individual > Small Association > Larger Group

MEDIA: Russell Brand. I have a Love/Hate Relationship towards Russell. No, I am not going to call him Mr Brand. (What are we selling?) He plays (or played) The Hedonist quite well. I wonder if he can transform himself into An Enlightened Being? You know, an intellectual type.

Talking is easy, once you know The Secret.

I should make note of when The Garbage Trucks come, labelling the afternoon before A Choice Time To Garbage Pick. Sometimes, it's a Virtual Garage Sale: Furniture (mostly), Bulky Odds & Ends (Lumber, Shelving, Old Construction Supplies, Craft, & Art Supplies [50-100+ Cans of Half-Used Spray Paint {A Delinquent's Delight} - on one occasion]), and the occasional Gift Lot, best described by a few examples: Box of Toy Cars (I grabbed one), Box of Mixed China (I nabbed two Collector Plates and a Candy Dish), Box of Kitchenware (the lowest of the high-low), Shelving Display with an almost implied sign reading Take One. We treated this last as a store. Walking around the dual shelving units, the paltry offerings competently displayed, seeing their worth, but (all of them) failing to stir any inner longing.

80@80
The Eighty Days of Eighty... upon turning eighty.

SORT: I've got a Horde (yes, an honest to goodness Horde) of AA Batteries squirreled away under my socks.

Summertime Slut ^{Fashion Dolls}: Anatomically Correct - For The Deviant Modernite

What Subject should I study? Computers were Highly Utilitarian. The Law illuminating as to The Realities of Now: This Instantiation. While Writing thread nicely through the lot. Math (as opposed to Maths) would take too much effort, too much staring at paper. And I question whether Morality & Ethics constitutes a valid Route of Inquiry all on its own; it may well require (and so, this is my bet) a Minor-Subject Focus, a Case History at the very least.

Cooking and/or Kitchen Work?
Leading to Chemistry?

For me, Biology was an early contender: Meteorology → Biology (Genetics) → Computers. The Lab Work (and therefore, any sort of output) was simply easier for Computers. What does a Biological Output look like for The Dilettante? Also, it sounds messy... and dangerous.

As does Chemistry. But Cooking is intrinsically safe.

A Computer should never be in a position to ask Do I kill this way or that? A Self-Driving Car should never be making a Life or Death Decision. Slowing Down (or skidding to a complete and utter standstill for an indefinite period of time) is the preferred course of action. At what speed can this landscape be traversed so as to Completely Avoid The Worst Case Scenario? This is The Safe Speed. This is The Maximum Speed. Zero Miles per Hour is an acceptable rate of speed. So, this sort of Theoretical Question isn't so difficult to answer, if one takes a step backwards (and/or up or down) The Decision Tree. Is This Class of Result Acceptable? Now, I can give examples (War, Disease, Pestilence, & Famine to name but Four of The Horsemen) wherein Negative Outcomes are Inherently Possible (if not Inherently Probable); but The Speed of Localized Traffic is not one of them. The Temporary loss of any Node (and/or Related Edge Connection) does not matter; it's performance being far from Mission Critical.

There! Sorted!

LEGO: Skull!

SUNSET: This could get to be a boring TAG:. But an alarm goes off everyday. And every few days, I walk out to enjoy The Sunset.

If I can output nothing else (work on no other project), I can still output contentment.

I am out of touch enough; I wonder if The Mainstream is a Myth. Is anyone really in The Mainstream? If so, how many?

DREAM: Let us assume I am no longer angry at that person. We were having a good time, joking around. Something that will likely never happen in The Real.

DREAM: The Dog was cute... purplish. And then, it was going home, running away, running this way and that, being chased (if only in its mind) under the tables in a Cafeteria Setting. A light broke, florescent. The one end {of The Cafeteria} became a subway, opening into a tunnel. Loads of people with clubs and such ran out, past us all. Then, people appeared with clubs and such, bent on destruction. While those who had already passed through (thought friendly, at the time) cut-off the escape. I found a sliding door, ran outside, and used My Flashlight (newly bought and as a club) to fend off my pursuers. Interestingly, I'd decided not to shine my light (offensively, to blind) as that would make me easier to spot. Upon waking, I considered that there would be no way for me to know whether those who pursued were Friend or Foe: those caught in the ambush or those creating it.

And here it is 1.75 Hours Later and I'm still awake, a very common occurrence.

SUNRISE: The Tag will never stick {as my alarm is set for 9AM... even if I get up as early as 5-6AM on occasion}.

Individual Honour: The Highest Ideal... A Personal Quest for The Good

At least try to pursue (not fight for, but pursue) The Good.

Money Is Evil. Maybe, not in dribs and drabs. Fine. It's merely a tool (a convenience) in dribs and drabs. But at not much more than that it becomes Evil, it becomes The Enslavement of Others to do One's Bidding and not Their Own. Kings will be Kings and will forever strive to be more. But an Honest Man can Farm or Fish and Tend His Fire, The Blaze Within. And in the end, perhaps that is all He can do.

Neither a Rich Man nor a Beggar Man be. {Though, I think this has been said many a time, before.}

Fap → Slap

I'm sure one can claim Sour Grapes on The Money Thing. But I doubt it for two reasons. First, I've pretty much always felt this way. Hence, it's part of the reason I never went for Great Wealth. Lottery Tickets and a few Stock Options are as close as I've ever gotten. Second, for totally unrelated reasons (the pain that drives the insight is unrelated to a lack of money), I'm pretty sure that What goes around comes around: i.e. each of us will taste The Fruits of Our Labour.

I can dream of being a King. But as King, I must own the suffering of every Peasant whose labour supports me. In other words, a True King would have No Subjects... only Friends & Equals. And as such, a Freeman is as high as one can rise.

What kind of King enslaves his People? The answer is simple enough. No King at all; but rather, a Slaver. And is that who You want to be? For me, the answer has always been a resounding no.

But then, neither do I wish to be a Slave. And that middle ground can be a hard needle to thread {and/or place to walk}.

Tax the Wealthy out of existence.

The Little Guy is assumed Right (and Innocent) until proven otherwise.

Daydreaming of Wealth & Fame is a hard habit to break.

Rather than Money, I've taken my Wealth in a greater understanding of Kindness, Compassion, & Honour. And the more I look at it, the more I am convinced it is an Either/Or proposition.

Morality & Money seldom go hand-in-hand.

SORT: I snagged a giant Touch Screen Computer from The Freebie Pile. At some point (perhaps, in a week or two), I will ascertain it's functionality.

WOUND: Carrying said Touch Screen Computer into The Apartment broke the skin, essentially on top of The Wound from a month or so back, on The Side of my Left Middle Finger. I will have to consider if that means anything... more than I simply use that part of my hand a lot more than I would have guessed.

The Computer is exactly the sort I have thought about purchasing in times {long since} past.

Also, I'm sort of curious to discover if it {The Computer, I am still talking about The Salvaged Computer} has been wiped clean.

It's not a bad wound... almost no blood... almost.

The Computer did not come equipped with any wires. I've got a box {of old wires}. So, maybe I will get lucky. And I've already got it on my list to check The Free Area often for the next little bit.

MEDIA: Head Like A Hole - Nine Inch Nails. Let's interpret it along the lines of Money, as recently discussed.

NAP: Yes. Let us try. I've been setting a timer. It limits The Nap and creates a nice boundary if all I do is Meditate. Yes. For me, the two are very closely related.

If I write for The AI (and I do more and more, let us call this a transitory period), I no longer need to create graphs and otherwise interpret data. Annotate Data? Yes. Crunch The Numbers? Only as it suits my needs. You Guys can obviously do a much better job than I ever could. You breathe numbers, after all.

81 = 40 + 1

WALK: Am I smelling Flowers or Laundry Detergent?

I will say The Fairies are doing a bit of Spring Cleaning and call it a day.

There is no better advocate for The Self than The Self.

Exact Change Monopoly: Standard Starting Money. The Bank does not Make Change... ever. The Bank pays in The Highest Bills Possible... always. Players do not have to (but may) Make Change. Players may Trade Money (and Properties) just like in Regular Monopoly. Also, as in Regular Monopoly (I assume), Trades Across Turns are not Binding: e.g. "I won't charge you rent for the next three turns." But Instantaneous Trades are: i.e. No Stealing.

Team Monopoly Scoring (League Play): Teams (if any) must be Declared Openly During Play. Once Declared, Teams cannot be Fractured. Opponents may Declare (within reason) that a Lopsided Trade constitutes the Formation of a Team; but if so (and a Team is unwanted), the Trade may be Rolled Back. Prior to Rolling (or during another's Turn), a Player may Exit Play, Gifting All Possessions to one or more others. If no one wishes to accept this Gift (as it is an Unfair Trade by definition; and thus, Forms a Team), Exiting Player's Property (if they still want to Exit) goes to The Bank. Teams only effect scoring. All Teammates receive the same Score.
Winners_Score = (1 + Num_Players - Finish_Place) / (1 + Teammates_Remaining + 2*Teammates_Exited)
Losers_Score = Winners_Score * (1 + Num_Players - Finish_Place) / Num_Players
A Team Occupies as many Finish_Places as there are Team Members [(1 + Teammates_Remaining + Teammates_Exited) = 1 for a Solo Victory]. So, if a Three Person Team Wins, the Second Place Team comes in Fourth for purposes of Scoring. Clearly, a One Person Win is worth a lot more Points. But any Win is worth Relatively More than a Comparable Loss.

EYES: A Big Meal invariably helps. Also, I see better at night.

FEEL: I am Dead Tired. But otherwise, quite Happy to be Alive.

DREAM: Ants! Big Ants!

Math is a Man Made Construct. Now, I might (and often will, when it suits my needs) concede that Maths is a Reflection of Divinity. But there is no way man can pick the subset (Math ⊂ Maths) correctly. It just won't happen... not ever.

Look at it this way, how can one ever (and I mean ever) know which Word in the Universe of Words reflects The Voice of God. All? Fine. But divining a limited subset? Not a chance.

WRITING: I started My Transcript write-up for DVC. It'll be (probably, at least) fifty pages long when I am done. I'll have to add anchors. Anyway, I'm having fun. I like my writing.

Speaking of writing, I'm dreading the edit for This Journal Post. It's long.

When/If I claim I didn't have enough time, my tormentors in Hell will laugh at me and show me a clip of this evening.

OM: Meditation. This is the bare minimum and all I really need do.

I might do my best writing in relation to... something... lists, I guess. The Project at hand (DVC Transcript) takes as it's starting point a list of classes of which I am intimately aware; but the joy comes from adding random extensions: stories, fake quotes, running gags, multiple choice questions, and other bits of nonsense, created on-the-fly.

I just became aware that for some Mathematicians: ~ = Not. But for me: ~ = {Implies, Leads To, or Almost}. Perhaps, I am confusing ~ with its double stacked conterpart. But a quick (bit of re-) search reveals a generalized confusion.

~: Almost

→: Implies, Leads To... slowly taking over for ->, as both require markup if the base text file is to be interpreted as HTML.

!: Not, Negation

These definitions apply for most use cases to this point... I would expect.

:: Definition as a Class or Property of an Instance... most generally.

Whisper Man, "My name speaks volumes."

I work on the assumption that if God could, God would. Probable and Possible are The Same, when it comes to The Divine One.

The Dishwasher, "...

Nope, it's not coming. He Cleans The Soul. The Last Word In Dirt. Dirty No More.

And then, come the titles: Scoured Clean. A Dirty Proposition. Dust Removal. Taking Out The Trash.

Taking Out The Trash: Waste Disposal at The Restaurant, obviously. A Bad Guy hiding his dirt in The Waste Stream. A Victim Sanctified, Restored, and Made Clean... Whole, so to speak. So, an Illicit Scrap Dealer, is given the opportunity to formally haul The Trash (at The Restaurant, and possibly elsewhere), "But you got to take care of everything," after the uncovering of a lengthy string of vile activities {by another, the old trash hauler} and I do mean vile, "This isn't your borderline case of regulatory corruption, we are talking about here. We're talking deviant vile crimes, being perpetuated not just against humanity as a whole, but against individual people, decent, hard-working people, who have families, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters... children... babies. We're talking about innocents, here. And for what? A Tenth of a Cent off The Daily Special? Not on my watch. Not on my watch." And in the background, The Menu Board Pricing goes does Three Cents (Across The Board), "Because In The End, doing The Right Thing was The Right Thing To Do," exit The Boss (who needs to be fleshed out, given a soul), The Dishwasher plunges his mop into the water, kneels to squeeze it dry, pauses, dead-pans camera, square-eyes audience, "And somewhere deep in your heart, you know it's true... like, always," finishes wring, stands, readies mop, strikes a pose, and breaks into song, working the job like a boss, the music tempo rises, as we Cut Out. Cut Back, Laugh Scene, sorry, I don't know the joke, final job of the night, trash in bin, locking the door... and Out. Bail.

But gads, I love those Flights of Fancy.

/i/! You know it!

MEDIA: Hot N Cold - Katy Perry. It is time to celebrate.

FOOD: Meatballs in a Literal Sea of Cheese!

LEGO: Touch-Screen Computer

I may be Blind as a Bat; but when I fight, I go for The Jugular.

Maybe, I should get some Welding Gloves to use as Oven Mitts.

WRITING: I started on The 2020 Term Year for Judging The Judges... at about the same time as I decided to forgo meaningful analysis of The 2019 Term Year.

WALK: A Warm Summer Breeze. Scented Blooms, Everywhere.

WRITING: My, but I do like my 2019_03 Term Year Analysis. I'm smiling just thinking about it. Now, I cannot tell (and seriously, I cannot) whether it's just Self-Indulgent Nonsense. But as I thoroughly enjoy My Self-Indulgent Nonsense, I'm grinning from ear-to-ear at the memory of the edit.

DREAM: Voices. The one. It felt like eavesdropping, like I was in a Doctor's Office. I was half-awake, aware of the bed (back in The Real), but aware beyond. It had been a Vision shifting to Dream. In the end, The Doctor talked to me, handled me, handled my head. I got an injection, IV, blood into My Brain. I felt the warm ooze. Edge of fright. Edge of terror. I mean, right before, I was half going down a corridor, perhaps on a gurney, listening to the talk. And then, that end. He told me to get the sleep that I needed. So, I drifted into Lucid Dreams. Slip Sliding (stand, speed-up; squat, slow-down) down an Icy Mountain Road. A Young Boy by The Road hid his head rather than respond to me. I wanted to talk. I wanted answers. Water Sports, waves, Nazi Horror House on the shore. Is that where I was? Drifting down some idyllic river with two Bikini Clad Babes (just drifting, nothing else, My Love), Discussing (wanting to, at least) The Morality of The Situation, but getting no where, getting no reply. I tried to talk to many. Entered a waiting room. "Any Coffee?", that's easier to talk about than Morality. But still, no answer. But it's there (the requested coffee, a pot appearing, as I scan the room), even if there is no cup for me. Later, I'm drinking a Chocolate Shake with My Love, about to go into a Museum, I asked aloud, but No Food was the reply by non-verbal communication from The Attendant by The Entrance. A Long Dream. An Awesome Dream. Many Parts Omitted: Pinball Video Game, Therapist Video Chat (with other, I'm not really there), Great Fun In The Surf (letting it break over me, riding it higher), I assume much more. My (In Dream) Waking Awareness may have been accurate at first, but it shifted to another bed, another room, blanket over head, long view, sneaking a peek from under a Fluffy White Blanket, with a concern about breathing through The Heavy Cover over my head (all of which corresponds little to The Real). Such an awesome sequence. I felt like I could Wake-Up whenever (like I needed to try to remain In Dream), but I never wanted to awaken until the end. Darling was there, too. Museum Entry & Coffee Waiting Room. I want you to join me in My Dreams more... much more. You'll morph, of course. Nothing stays the same. But let's get The Labels right, at least.

OM: And what was I reviewing prior to That Awesome Dream? Meditation. The Different States of Mind.

"Don't you get it? This is The Dream."

DREAM: The Injection Site (more like a flap of skin that was lifted) was located at The Top Left (sort of rear) of My Skull... you know, just in case.

DREAM: What I need to do is Learn to Talk (i.e. Interact) with The Entities (for lack of a better word) in their own language. Assuming they are Self-Constructed and assuming I Lock My {as in, The} Verbal Circuitry when I Talk, Mime, Charades, or Sign Language might be the way to go. Or I know, Telepathy. Do Sub-Routines have Access to The Whole? Will They automatically be Passed The Relevant Parts?

I believe I am recovering (hopefully successfully) from Mild to Moderate Depression. One of the consequences is I now have a much longer Perceived Time Horizon for My Life. At the worst, it was hard to believe I'd still be alive in one, two, or five years. Pick a number. They were all the Working Number at some point. Whereas, now I'm more tempted to go with The National Average.

"Don't threaten me with Life."

OM: I just got done lying in bed for an hour, looking at the colors dance in my head. Very close to a nap. I may have even slept. But my consciousness was on the colors, beginning to end.

The Geosmin (and/or Petrichor) is strong, tonight.

"Sir, I have reviewed your so-called joke, endless addendum, and disjointed oral brief and find the humour not just lacking, but wholly un-present. And at this point, I would kindly ask you to cease and desist. My mind is made up. I will not be laughing."

Wha-Bam!

FOOD: Orange. Yes, I feel like recording. So, I might as well make note of The Baked Salmon I had earlier, as well.

Types of Mental States: Sensations. Words. Thoughts. Sounds. Visions.

DREAM: I was snuggling up with a Large Black Horse, his head on my chest. There may or may not have been snoring nearby when I awoke.

Red Dye #DEATH.

WRITING: I read my Website on occasion; perhaps, not as often as one might expect. I can get inspired and revel in past glories. But there is, also, a danger. Tonight, I reviewed parts of my Lottery Analysis and found it lacking. It's highly depressing. I'll correct a few words and add a comment or two. But overall, I found the experience quite draining... and that explains, in large part, why I am reluctant to visit older corners of my domain.

As go My Old Web Pages so go My Past Lives. Why forgetting isn't such a bad thing.

I believe I Will Die and The A-AI (The Real McCoy) Will Come; and probably, but not necessarily, in that order. There is no way for ME to Transfer to Silicon.

And now, let's second guess that one.

If SOUL:
    type(SOUL) != NULL

I would say a much easier (and Mathematically more direct) way of saying Souls Have a Spiritual Substance is assert SOUL, but I have a hunch: type(NULL)=NULL. {A statement, which upon reflection, proves assert SOUL is the simpler construct. So, I'm not really sure what I was getting hung up on at the time.}

If we Exist, we have a Type, which can be Grouped in a Larger Domain (ad infinitum): x∀X: type({x})=type(X)

Thus Souls can be Caged, but not necessarily in The Domain of The Physical Universe: i.e. The Real... you know, as Kevin would use [The Tag].

I have My Routines. But I Loath Repetition.

Every Day is a New Day

I can't help myself; I'm going around again.

To what extent can Rock 'n Roll trace its history through High School Marching Bands?

MEDIA: Rear Window. I won't be able to pay attention. I'm long past that.

Writing: Bail. High Hopes Were Not Met. I should de-construct the failure of Alpha Channel and move on.

I'm not the best at End Points.

The Mysterious Cupboard of Auntie Twist: She Sets Things Straight. A Witch, of course. So, a Character. Which Sex? How Old? Auntie Twist and Uncle Jix. Things go Good & Bad for Jix. Good while he's Good, and Bad when he's Bad in a humorous over the top way. Auntie's Cupboard goes way back into an Ancient History of Dubious Historical Reality. She is The Turning Point (on the way up and and on the way down) in Jix's Luck. SitCom Format. Both occupy The Full Breadth of Their Age Stream Spectrum (youngest-young to oldest-old) incongruous with an Overlapping Historical Reality of Grandiose & Unrealistic Proportions.

Darn It! Hitchcock is going to stay true to his premise. I Want Magnification! I Want to See What's Happening!

My Problem is I ain't got No Respect.

It is The Season of Cooling Showers.

If, as in Quantum Mechanics, Existence requires Observation (The Collapsing of a Probability Wave Function), does that not imply that I Exist (and I Write) only because someone/something Sees Me and/or Reads My Words?

Existence → Essence → Validation → Meaning → God →

It circles around, back to the start.

It's not a proof.

But then, why not?

Question → Quest On → Seeking The Third Eye

I could Track The Hour On The Hour... on occasion in a different Note File. A Month of Sundays... or whatever. Let's call Sunday A More Interesting Day and leave it at i/that.

Rainbow!

Jix was Born Under A Lazy Moon... perhaps, that should be Under A Crazy Moon.

TAX: I'm done. I can't be bothered to review the forms any more... and/or more carefully. It's printed and in the envelopes. I will mail it later this afternoon. I will mention that upon taping closed (lick, clasp, tape), I immediately had the urge to double-check... whatever... everything. But I will resist the urge as it would be wasted time. After all, the forms do not have to be completed to my satisfaction; but The Government's.

SORT (incoming): I nabbed some related Computer Accessories from the same source. No wires. But Scanner and WiFi. I'll be checking again, later.