Beginners Guide To Stuff & Nonsense

Traps being primitive, my preference is for elaborate, beguiling entanglements of inveiglement.

2017-01-02T10:05:20Z

I've been an idiot, I've had this pointless argument in my head that trust is unfounded and fictional because of our innate self-interest and evolutionary selected selfishness. But trust, like belief, or hope, is not arn argument which can be subjected to reason, and it's time to take a leap of faith. I can't believe I won't make mistakes again, but I hope they'll be different, less harmful mistakes. I think I have been afraid of changing my self-induced mistakes, to improve, because of a belief which is intruding - that I cannot be the person my family, my close friends, my lovers wish I was. But maybe I am better than I think. Maybe the universe is just deterministic enough that I could be, or am exactly the person they need me to be. Still, it's difficult when you feel like you're easily replaced, like a family getting a new puppy, or a puppy getting a new fillet steak. New and intriguing is someone or something else, now you're chewed and worn, except for those who have difficulty letting go of the old. Like an old leather jacket I cannot help but love those I've become accustomed to even more. Now we've been together enough for a comfortable fit, replacing that feeling splits the seams. That isn't to say I even know if I won't want another puppy or fillet steak ever again, which seems kind of selfish. Yet, the heart wants what it wants. There's nothing worse than loving someone who's never going to stop disappointing you, because they won't change. I can't help but feel at fault when she needs someone else, I kept hurting her. Why do that? Who did that make happy? Is she happy? I just want her to be happy, and I thought it couldn't be possible with me. Life experience teaches everyone who survives long enough that eventually any action will always have consequences. Part of being a mature adult is learning to accept them and take responsibility, so after doing wrong, apologising is necessary. I'm sorry.

I've been thinking about my irrationality, and I've come up with a rational explanation. I dislike letting go of the past, especially the good moments which form the foundations of my memories which compose my sense of self. So I cling to any negative interaction in the hope that experiencing bad things beats forgetting that anything ever happened at all. It almost works, but all I'd have to to is change reality to fully realise the grounding for the reasoning. I didn't start any of my relationships, but I had the chance to end them before things became terrible, but I didn't, because I love her because I'm human, all too human, and it's human to hang on. That's because nobody can be truly rational about their emotions, otherwise they wouldn't be emotions. The rational mind wants everything to be physical, tangible, because that would make the reality of our emotional lives simpler - unhappiness could be cured. Misery, anger, regrets are difficult things to reconcile the rational self to dealing with, which wants to medicate or reason problems into nonexistence. I have unresolved issues, and my relationships embody the unresolved issues. I've made the choices I've made because I'm a deeply unhappy person, but even in despair everything I do I've done to fix my life, because I need sympathy, because I wanted to piss people off, because I can't get over anything, or because I was moving on (or trying to), because I want to know what it's like not to live in pain, or because I wanted to feel more pain because somehow even through everything I feel I deserve the hurt.

It's not over, but at best I can only say I completely miscalculated. All the hurt feelings I've caused never disappeared into the mists of time which heal all wounds, at least not yet. They came directly back to strangle me, because nothing which matters is ever over.

In Socratic terms, tolerance of irrationality is the foundation of every relationship.

2017-01-01T08:08:10Z

Last night was an interesting one. A great way to ring in the new year, being around wonderful supportive old friends and forging interesting new bonds with those people moving from online friendships to IRL. From sight-unseen to new friends, such a difficult journey of discovery for everyone involved, I'm amazed we do it. I'm happy I've done it, I feel braver socialising with people I know little of than jumping from cliff-faces, or risking my own life. I suppose I feel in those activities the solitude grants a greater degree of certainty in that I know what I am thinking, but I cannot ever know what someone else is thinking - even when their communication is as raw, as honest as possible.

My oldest, closest, dearest friend, the biological father of my ten-year-old son, is clearly still feeling the loss of his much beloved maternal parent even after more than a year. I don't think we ever really, truly recover from that particular loss - I don't think we're ever really meant to. This person who carried us in a specialised organ, or even if they're not our biological parents, there is a special bond of caring and love which is the most enduring thing in our entire lives. It would be more strange (not to mention mechanical) if we did recover from such a severance quickly and completely. Through their continuous acts of love, good parents refuse to allow children to "fail to thrive", because of their emotional this intense emotional bond. They are our models for life, for compassion, for understanding - but they are mortal, like the reality we find ourselves populating. This is a strange and hostile place we find ourselves alive within, this water-soaked rock floating and spinning through space around a ball of burning gaseous light which lives and dies in the same breath of fusion-fire even as we do, such connection we have, yet we are bound by distance from each other as far as our planet is held in isolation by gravity from the sun, orbiting slowly, aphelion, perihelion.

Which brings me to my beautiful lover whom I've treated so badly. For two years I've behaved abhorrently, refused to open up and tell my feelings to, refused to treat well in deepest fear that the bonds of intimacy might tie me tightly when to be tied up in every way was all I wanted. I am responsible for disrupting the course and flow of our deepening feelings, and I feel like a misbehaving child who needs a scolding and a spanking. I want to scream, "It was all an act of defiance!" but there's nothing I can do except admit responsibility and hand my head. The abused child has become an abusive adult as all the awful things I've done to fight this emotional life of the heart have returned in spades to slash my dreams for the future. Defiance in the face of wisdom enough to return good affection might be likened to swimming against the current in an endless, slow moving river. Rather than splash in futility it would be better to do nothing, to sit on the bank this powerful and great course as, indifferent to your preferred direction, it flows as it will. Carried from independence by this flow, my thrashing has turned me away from closeness, now there is nothing to be done but longing for a return to closeness. A return to safe, shallow and slow-moving waters in preference to rocky white rapid flows of turbulent times. Longing and hopefulness much characterise this gravitas outlook of predestination of the life of the heart, we less choose our emotional lives regarding others as are wholly immersed in the flow of feelings they create for us by their actions and our interpretations of their affection for us. For me, this kindness, this understanding, this gentle forgiveness is like a warm decalcified spring water source in the high mountains, a source of immense immersive longing for greater connection.

Light at the end of 2016

2016-12-31T03:22:14Z

My hoped for lightening of mood from apologies and unburdening of secrets has arrived ahead of any expected schedule. Still feeling a little sad, but there is much more hope. Have used far less medications in the last 48 hours, not feeling the best physically but that's okay - last night I slept naturally without the help of medications for the first time in weeks. Tomorrow I will be able to go home and lie in the pool, then take a long relaxing shower, and rest in my own bed. I wish I had someone to share that thing with sometimes. Still lonely, but I feel better, the process of opening up to people, one person and several people in particular which I've initiated will definitely be a long one, with some failure to reconnect but so far much more success than I'd anticipated. Am hoping to express my feelings for someone which I've had since 2014 soon. Admitting that rather than express affection I'd rather be abusive to excuse my withdrawal and isolation coping mechanisms is very hard. I hate to think what I've put people who feel close to me through, I can't excuse it, but I can try to change my ways. Today am just playing video games with friends, and I took a nap on their couch for almost two hours while downloading a 68GB game, they've gotten so over-large in some cases. I really enjoy video games, I wish I had a system capable of playing them well, as soon as I'm more financially secure next year that will be a goal to achieve. My new year's resolutions are to continue the trend of open honest conduct in an effort to change myself into someone I like more completely.

quiddity @ 2016-12-30T13:06:00

2016-12-31T03:10:28Z

Feeling slightly better today. Still sad from difficult conversations yesterday and last night. Came out to lots of people, trying to decide what the criteria for doing so ought to be, so selected several people I've known for years who I've pulled away from intentionally and isolated myself from because withdrawing from intimacy they were seeking was easier than being brave, open, and honest about my personal history. I'm not feeling any kind of overwhelming need to go public, but I feel some people in particular were owed an explanation. Also, I've been apologising for past misbehaviour as well. It is making me feel sad, but eventually I hope an unburdening of sorts.

rough day

2016-12-29T11:44:37Z

Rough day today. Tough decisions to come out to people, admit responsibility for past bad behaviours, avoidance, and keeping guilty secrets from my past. Very difficult conversations. Teary-eyed, but determined to change my life.
Back sore from too much sitting unsupported. Surgical scars hurt, but improving.
Looking forward to reconnecting with some people I haven't seen in a long time and some only a short while, hopefully will be able to make two days out of the house before returning.

Dear Ben Riley, deputy director of the Queensland Liberal National Party's dept. of "operations"

2015-11-28T08:03:35Z

Ben,

Having read your unsolicited letter which essentially begs for alms in exchange for a promise that your political party of current employ might, possibly, maybe, campaign in the next state election (if successful in retaining its registration), I'd like to respond in kind. It's quite easy enough for representatives of the LNP to make grandiose claims about Australian Labour Party being controlled by "union bosses", and it's just as much of a straw-clutching exercise as when ALP opponents decry Liberal National Party members for being controlled by "big business".

Proving these statements either way is an entirely different matter. The LNP has so far been unsuccessful in its attempts to bring opposition leader Bill Shorten's shortcomings as a representative of the Australian Worker's Union to public scrutiny - perhaps conditions at the mushroom farm were in fact improved by his actions and subsequent departure into politics?

People I speak to are more concerned about the sheerly ridiculous, that Dyson Hayden could have the gall to sit in judgement of his own apprehended bias - as a judge on a royal commission costing the Australian taxpayers far more than any "shady back-room AWU deals" it inquired into, while being of direct benefit merely to a select few black-letter lawyers and of dubious support to the LNP's cause nationally.

If only I felt my donation would mean something either way, I might be motivated to do more for either side of our political process. I can't even get my local member (LNP member Mal Brough) to respond to me seriously regarding the provision of rights for certain subsets of people, who live in our society and pay tax like any others, to be married.

Apparently this is because upgrading the Bruce highway is a surer bet, and I'm quite sure it's sociologically safer to be consistently in favour of roads, and consistently lacking any opinion on issues which might be dangerous to one's continued aspirations in parliament. If he'd like to uphold my standards and my viewpoints, I'm sure I'd be more inclined to make donations.

To address your question regarding what I might do, were I the state premier for 300 days? I can tell you, if you'd like to know: I'd try to employ more teachers, I'd try to make higher education free for everyone, I'd try to create more economic growth through the establishment of good government conduct, and promote private enterprise which utilises state-run infrastructure with effective taxation. I'd try to ensure government enacted policies not just "good enough", but were of the best possible quality and care as to the interests of the people they govern.

You know, the ways things used to be run, before people lost their minds, (which were apparently made up entirely out of their memories of past events) and began to allow the LNP to ply them into mass-marketed election cycling, which have consuming our processes of governance until they have been all but devoured, reducing sittings of parliament to knee-jerk partisan infighting instead of properly representing the people of our state and commonwealth.

I suppose in a sense I'm willing to contribute anything of myself BUT money to politics. Make of that what you will in this "plan for Queensland" - the last I heard of it was when the LNP wanted to sell off public assets, including our state-owned _WATER_SUPPLY_ and was swiftly voted out of office for tabling such ridiculous proposals. Apparently people didn't like the idea that they might have to pay by the glass for drinking water as a direct cost of supporting the LNP's vision for our future, and I honestly can't blame them for that.

PS: If you'd like to discuss helping me out with my university studies or student fees, making a donation is as easy as giving me money, which you can do in a variety of interesting ways. Not the least of which is the ever-popular: "fold your donation into a paper-plane, then fly it out of your high-rise office window in Spring Hill to alight upon such gossamer wings of hope that the light of its glory in the form of almighty currency may trickle down into some kind of benefit for such unfortunate have-nots as myself."

Careful Preparation Will Be Rewarded

2015-06-10T09:22:32Z

Preparing crab cakes as per an SBS network Food Safari episode from the USA where Mauve O'Mara interviews a man who gives his recipe for Chesapeake Bay crab cakes in a New Orleans style with a spicy Remoulade. Very delicious, but called for a handful of parsley. Usually there was parsley growing in the garden but today it along with several other plants which haven't been faring well have been removed by the new gardening service. Lacking parsley, I defaulted to dried herbs but decided to pick a sprig of mint from the lone remaining plant. Uncustomarily, I didn't take the time to shake the sprig before going inside. I will never forget this action again. Further, my washing of the herbs was unsufficiently attentive to detail, something I will never again omit, but moreso the vigorous shaking of freshly-picked herbs. Back inside the kitchen, slicing the mint I noticed a small green caterpillar, and had time to pull the knife back, but was in that state of flow that motor neurons activated by the cerebellum provide and was unable to stop... gashing the poor creature almost clean through, in what would probably be around the area of the thorax-head. Mortally wounded, it thrashed and seemed to exclaim its utter distress. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't... I was careless. I'm sorry."
Suddenly anthropically personified through apology, the tiny thing seemed to regard me through black eyes the size of pinprincks "You were careless? My life! My beautiful life! I was supposed to have been a butterfly... my life. I wanted my life." as, in possession of a nervous system or not, it writhed as the juices of its tiny life flowed outwards through the gigantic wound.
"I'm sorry." suddenly tearing up with remorse that my lack of attention had callously murdered this tiny thing, I tried to put a quicker end to its suffering, and probably even messed that up.
Moments of carelessness like this don't often cause eye-watering emotional pain, but there is the occasional exception however irrational it is. In this case, it was a caterpillar, which was eating the mint plant, and a small insect which any number of other animals which populate the garden would have eaten without a second thought. In the end, it's more the inattention leading to the needless death which can unnesscessarily burden the soul. Certainly I don't think a desire for minted peas was rooted in much but innocent intentions, but for the sake of how testing these experiences are sometimes, executing my intentions will involve more care.

Affaires D'amour Bête Noire

2014-05-01T00:30:37Z

She said:
"You sound like a poet."
So I said,
"For you, I hope I always do!"
You make my mind's choir sing,
Set my heart aflame, aloft.
For you, my coarse, stark utterances
Transform upon my tongue.
Into the very best eloquence
my lips may command.
You set my desire aflame.
Change my quill's strokes
On vellum soft.
First gentled, tender, questioning
To bold, confident, glorious!
Effulgent being.
Pan himself would weep
Upon descriptions of thy pulchritude
If mere wordy metaphor
conveyed the proper essence
Of any feelings reserved just for you.
And so, she said:
"I just meant you rhymed a lot."
So I said:
"Thanks, that's really cute."

Sunday Night Techical Support Kumite

2014-04-06T15:20:21Z

Ladies and gentlemen, it's Sunday night! Time for Technical Support Kumite! In the blue corner, wearing a solid-gold jockstrap padded with hundred-dollar bills, the reigning heavyweight telecommunications champion! Let's hear it for the Internet Service Provider! In the red corner, a featherweight challenger appears! No cash on this Customer! Just brandishing their fault reports. bills, and shares to the referee!

Though two contestants may enter the Ring Of Complaints; only one will leave satisfied!

Now we want the worst, the dirtiest fighting this audience can take! Let's see the spit fly, forehead-veins set a-pulse, the crunching hum of vocal chords-on-bone! Let's see them take those gloves off for round one! FIGHT!

A textbook opening from the Provider, the first blow a kindly how-do-you-do. Some needlessly pummeling queries on the Customer’s guard. A vicious jab to the business ethics from the challenger shows the Provider they really mean business! This is ten in the evening on a Sunday, folks! The Provider falters, the referee calls a quick end to the first round! Both contestants return to their corners.

Round two, FIGHT! The contestants circle the ring, the Provider is visibly bleeding from the ears. A roundhouse punch to the Customer’s jargon! The Customer swats the blow off like an irritating insect! The Customer explodes with a series of lightning-fast body blows up and down the specialist lingual domains! the Provider reels to the ropes! The Customer follows at a run, swinging a left-hook up underneath the Provider's guard! It catches the Provider in the responsibility! the Provider is down, hitting the mat hard! The crowd roars! They've seen this happen before, will the Provider rally for round three? The coaches are calling for towels and water.

There's the bell! Round three! But wait, what is this? The Customer is walking to the ropes, they're tagging someone... a front-row audience member! The Customer is pulling them through the ropes, who is this? Who will enter the Ring Of Complaints? Oh my... this doesn't look good for the Provider! It's the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman! Looks like they've got a full thirty or forty kilos on the Provider and stand at least a foot taller! Oh dear, they're putting on a pair brass knuckles, and the Provider is shaking like a leaf in late autumn! The referee is leaving the ring! Running down the aisle into the changing rooms! Doesn't anyone want to see what will happen?

What a sickening sight! The Ombudsman has stepped on the Provider's foot! A right uppercut to the chin! A left hook to the temple! A push towards the ropes, the Provider sways back! Stumbles forward! The Ombudsman lunges in... Oh! Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was a knee to the groin! The Ombudsman grabs the Provider by the shoulders and is pulling them up. Oh! A head-butt, right on the nose! the Provider crumbles to the mat like a rag doll! The Ombudsman turns to deliver a swift kick to the ribs with what looks like pointed-toe steel-caps! the Provider is curled into the foetal position, gosh, that flow of blood is starting to pool. Perhaps this is it, folks? I think someone ought to call an ambulance.

As much as we all want this to be over, the Ombudsman has pulled out a switch-blade! He's cutting off the Provider's clothes and throwing them to the Customer! The Ring Of Complaints rarely sees this sort of treatment! The Customer and the Ombudsman are shaking hands! the Provider is coughing blood and trying to cover itself, and the crowd goes wild! Their evening blood-lust sated beyond their wildest dreams! Just remember, it's all here for you: the guts, the glory! Late night Sundays on... Technical! Support! Kumite!!!!! Ladies and gentlemen, thank you and goodnight. Always remember to take care on the Internet!

I'm not going to post this on Steam until I've played enough hours to merit such negativity...

2014-03-20T09:09:23Z

I bought early-access Godus because I managed to make myself believe for an instant this would be a return to good times had with Populous. Godus is the game 22cans made with funds generated by iOS users crazy enough to fund their previous, depressingly mercenary project-game Curiosity. I didn't like the concept of Curiosity, feeling it traded people's curiosity for money (and gave a random person a sense of importance). A more important question than whether you ought to play Godus would be: "How does Peter Molyneux continue making games?" The answer being foolish people such as myself continue to fund his hit-and-miss efforts. Let's just say I feel foolish for spending money this way, and hope my decision can be redeemed with the full release.

Other terrible Peter Molyneux games include Black & White, B&W2, Fable, Fable 2, Fable 3, and a number of other games which never made it to market (Project Milo). However, excellent Peter Molyneux games include Populous (the reason I bought Godus), Dungeon Keeper... oh and he produced Magic Carpet and the original Syndicate. With a track record like that, it's difficult to say, based on an unknown element of involvement in game design/programming/production, whether future games are worth it. But it's clear projects with Molyneux in a design/programming role suffer less critical acclaim than projects he produces.

For what it offers players for $20, Godus is only slightly less of a one-sided money-making venture than Curiosity, 22cans say they "thoroughly enjoyed developing our dream game", which misses a salient point. If developers enjoy their work more than players enjoy their experience--something is wrong. What's wrong is that the early access release of Godus isn't fun. By their 22cans combined, Tim Rance and Peter Molyneux seem able to ignore all feedback while marketing terrible game after terrible game. Even after Lionhead Studios' failures. This is probably due to the insatiable hunger of stalwart adherents in the United Kingdom and France for more locally-produced endeavour.

Godus isn't fun, because this sandbox game clamours for your attention like a an irritating hallway monitor, while simultaneously demanding action on your behalf to continue functioning. When you attempt to play in your sandbox, you can't move even a grain of sand, for want of not clicking on what you're supposed to. Good grief, don't you know anything? Better flash some icons to spawn modal help windows filled with irrelevant information explaining why you're so stupid you can't understand the highly intricate concept of repeatedly clicking on things while drooling. To put it bluntly, playing this game is like working with Filemaker Pro through a Zynga interface.

They've said with this early access release of Godus that they're aware that the game "involves too much clicking" and that this and other obvious gameplay deficiencies will be remedied in the final release. Perhaps buy the early access edition of Godus if you're especially tired of your current mouse. Or if you need something to ease any Farmville-esque cravings suffered while jonesing for a Facebook dopamine fix. Early access Godus costs $20.00 -- Cookie Clicker is free!

There are so many Godus elements which would be conspicuous by their absence, here is a list:

1. Obvious elements which will be soullessly used to market virtual hats/cards for cash.
2. Obvious game design for mobile platform (to be monetised for extra cash).
3. Obvious design choices to keep players chained to their mouses forever in the hope they'll swipe their credit cards... for extra cash.
4. Game comes with 50% off voucher for a Razer Naga, so you can use all the buttons for clicking.
5. Clicky-clicky-Clicking on subjects' houses to obtain belief.
6. Clicky-clicky-Clicking on subjects' houses to force them outside to build new houses.
7. Clicky-clicky-Clicking on subjects in utter frustration because they won't do the above, and even when they try, their actions occur at well below snail-pace.
8. A game where making yourself multiple coffees isn't an essential element while waiting for ages of civilisation to advance at 1:1 time-scales.
9. Clicky-clicky-Click-dragging to sculpt landscape which expends all your resources, then rubber-bands back into shape rather than being sculpted.
10. Timers which stop randomly for tens of seconds with 1:24 on the clock.
11. Annoying beeps demanding you click on alerts which display modal timeline menu showing things a tooltip could have related more easily.
12. A game extremely derivative of "From Dust", but less visually appealing, or mechanically rewarding.
13. A game which isn't a terrible money-grubbing attempt to have a game to play over your girlfriend's shoulder. Sorry, did I say girlfriend? I meant wife.

To put all this in a less frustrated way: From Dust is much better than Godus, and has a very different pedigree, being designed by Eric Chahi who also designed Another World. From Dust was released in 2011 and is $14.99. Since I enjoy God games, it's best to conclude this review with one which is far superior to and and cheaper than Godus. Have fun playing "From Dust"! :)

Many years ago I wrote this, and I'm glad I'm still here to post it

2014-01-07T11:32:44Z

Warning: If you dislike the idea of reading potentially depressing thoughts concerning the subject of euthanasia and suicide, please don't click on the cut text link. I wrote this nearly five years ago, while I was in a truly awful, terrible state of mind. It was a thoughtful outlet I engaged in instead of performing the unthinkable activity I mention.

Sitting with the tip of the knife pressed against my wrist its almost real, I can almost see the puddle of bright crimson blood pooling on the kitchen tiles of my mother's house. I can hear her and my son, the bright happy exuberant two year old, playing in the other room. My mother is the most generous soul one could ever hope to meet. She is a wonderful person, full of life and creativity and love. I love her dearly. I don't know if she can save me. I don't want to talk to her about what I'm feeling now because it won't go past the simple nature of suicidal feelings are to be avoided.

Worldwide a million people kill themselves every year. Every thirty seconds, a person kills themselves. Commits suicide. Tops themselves, offs themselves, bites the big one, gives their gun a blowjob, hangs from the rafters, does the big jump--the hang-glider of hopelessness. Its almost real. I can almost do it. I've been here for a few minutes now, sitting with my back against the corner cabinet of the kitchen, knife in hand. I got it for free, by waiting in line at the supermarket where they were giving away free high quality stainless steel merchandise including sharp things. Pointy things. Dangerous things.

Maybe I haven't thought it through all that well though. Perhaps the color of my blood won't be crimson. Would it be bright red, well oxygenated? I doubt that, the slow suicide of cigarettes and alcohol probably renders my ability to carry oxygen in my blood next to useless, it could be a pool of viscous, brackish dark gruel flecked with sticky haematocrit grime. Dead cells. Death already come to who wish to die. The grand nature of the universe, the impossible scales of distance and time mean nothing, can drag you out of nothing when you feel this hopeless. I imagine that if I wasn't an atheist, my lapsed faith would similarly offer me little solace.

A million people each year. I could be one of them. I'd have to move the knife, press down. Down the highway not across the road. I've done this before, it'd be easy. Just have to stay quiet when the pain comes. Thats difficult to contemplate when you can hear them from the kitchen. Its almost real, I can almost see the blood pooling from my wrist, flowing down my hand. I want my life to flow away so I can feel ecstatic, simultaneously hopeful and hopeless at the prospect of making it reality.

Death is the mother of life. Linking the entire family of organic kingdoms together in the unknown. To each other and to everything alive, as if life is the water of the universe, flowing through all living matter. Everything which respires, drinks from the eternal chain of being: of death bringing forth life, of life ending through death. We're meant to be here, fought to be here. Dragged ourselves from the sea on flippers, gasping for breath and life. Fought and howled with triumph at the carnage of our victory in the hunt, moaned with sorrow at the death of our own. We've all stood up on aching hips, knowing the unnatural nature of our existence harms us, but we simply cannot stop. We will not stop because it's real. The drive, the ambition, it's all real. I can see it every day in everyone, the burning need to survive and flourish. But I don't have it, at least not now. My sense of reality has been subsumed by the desire to make this 'almost' moment happen.

It's like I'm wearing rose-coloured glasses, they make the drop of blood now on my wrist a torrent, a gushing stream of my life into a little kitchen floor lake so powerful its almost real.

I worry that if I ever do it, I won't have time to think about it, that there won't be time to write a note because it will be an impulse. An impossibly bad moment that will spur me into action. It could be over too soon, is the fear, I guess. Definitely this is a cry for help, since I feel no desire for a quicker end, like cutting my neck or jumping from a high place, either of which are probably just as easy or easier than wrist-cutting. So worrying about it being too quick is more a worry about not being able to get help in time, about changing my mind about dying during the act itself and consequently wanting to be saved, yet not being able to reach the phone to call emergency services? Thats probably it. That and the action of slashing the wrists, it's bothersome that it's so universal. Also hangings, there seem to be lots of hangings, but that mostly appears to be men. Perhaps because of the crossover data, caused by fashionable 'scarfing' fetishism for auto-erotic asphyxiation. I think for women and girls, the more common image of how suicide is done is bleeding from the wrists after having taken too many analgesics and benzodiazepenes in the bath... ? No wait, thats completely the wrong generation for me, must be getting that from a powerful image in my culture's collective memory.

After skimming over this briefly a month or so after writing it deliberately yet spontaneously, this seems a dark piece. But I'm not going to conceal it, delete it, or try to get rid of it for any reason, as there's a lot of suppressed good here. Happily I'm not going to commit suicide, though mostly that is because of my concern I would lose any shreds of self-respect I may have had during the moment of passing. Even better, I'm currently in little danger of relapsing into the sort of depression outlined above, nor are my thoughts constantly revolving around suicide (though I have been at risk with that in the past). I have learned to cope with, suppress and even in some cases work out and resolve my suicidal feelings and thoughts. These thoughts are, I believe, intimately linked with my anxiety and depression problems and I'm sure they stem from the same neurological basis.

Knowing how children of my generation were unknowingly tampered with biologically (things like food additives, colouring agents, flavouring agents, preserving agents, compression agents, expansion agents, anti-caking agents, baking agents, secret agents, etc.), psychologically (even sesame street in the 1980's contained intercuts and scenes which artificially raise the stimulation level of the brain, and which have been shown to increase the likelihood of a child developing ADD/ADHD disorders), emotionally (we've all been told that we'll grow up to be movie actors, professional musicians, or perhaps even successful bankers, but the sad fact is that most of us won't. Most of us will be working dead end jobs to buy stupid shit we don't need, and this is essentially a damaging activity). I really find it hard to blame us for having these problems, but I also find it hard to take people seriously when they denigrate either people with depression or depression itself. When you have a truly crippling depression and want to stick a knife in your neck but cannot for lack of a will to die (for it takes more strength of will to decide not to end an intolerable existence than it does to carry on an even barely tolerable one), sometimes you have just the amount of stimulation required for you to carry on amidst the drudgery of what may seem like impossibly Hobbessian-like hellish conditions.

The reason is described so well by T.S. Eliot in "The Wasteland". We exist and live our lives within a system built by our ancestors, with little to no chance for greatness for ourselves. Our liberties and opportunities curtailed irredeemably, what we are allowed to work upon is attenuated to small victories in battles fought according to plans larger than ourselves. The loss of individual identity and consequent loss of functionality dangerously strips our lives of purpose, then happiness. Without some measure of those, we quickly lose any ability to travel forward in time under our own power, and are then dragged along by the inexorable torrent of our self-made society until we scuttle ourselves, capsize, or are towed to safer waters, or even right ourselves, regaining our course towards our shared destination.

I can guarantee it has a happy ending (for I am still here, and thankfully feel much better now). Happiness is the sunrise beacon towards which I can sail my wayward narrative ship.

Poetic traduction

2013-10-21T15:56:54Z

Finally, he spoke, "My lady... you are a vision of pulchritude! Your hair, like succulent treacle waves of profusion! Your eyes, sparkling gems of sapphire moonlight! In your effulgent presence I feel... coarse and unworthy. I must go," and with that he turned and slumped away.

Heavily bearing in his heart the tragic, unrequited love of a poet. I didn't know what to say, what could I do to ease his tortured soul's great pain? So I chased him outside into the parking lot, then just as his eyes shone bright with hope, I kicked him in the shins. What a creep.

Tea & Coffee and why I'm not drinking either.

2013-10-16T19:05:22Z

Have you ever woken up at 4:30AM, compelled to write down better fridge magnet slogans for tea and coffee than "Do stupid things faster, with more energy!" and found that one pretty hard to top? Must've been a 3AM effort is my guess, the ideas that come from that hour of the morning are usually of better quality than ones which arise closer to the sun itself.
I'll have a go anyway, although this is more a tea analogy, have you ever noticed that cups of tea in English-speaking cultures are peculiarly British? Even the question "Cup of tea?" sounds like a train rattling its way up towards some Scottish highland, or over towards Delhi or Bombay, chic-a-choc-chic-a-choc, cup-o-tea-cup-o-tea-cup-o-tea. Are we there yet? Cup-o-tea-cup-o-tea.
This is why I gave up drinking tea. I gave up drinking coffee because it's a ridiculous habitual stimulant but tea is so mild you forget the roots the plant itself drives into your very life. As James Marsters' character Spike said to Anthony Stuart Head's character Giles in Buffy: The Vampire Slayer "Did your life flash before your eyes? Cup of tea, cup of tea, ALMOST got shagged! Cup of tea?" Think about the hours of every day you spend making and drinking cups of tea. Remember, even without the time-wasting aspect, stimulants are generally BAD for you, even if you don't sugar it up and add milk so you can feel your mouth . Stephen Fry related on QI once the concept that tea-drinking made the ancient Chinese so self-satisfied with their perfection of teapot and cup technology they failed to advance beyond porcelain for about a thousand years. Really. I have my own internally self-consistent theories about what halted further advancement in ancient China and it has more to do with one half of a society deciding to waste most of its effort and waking hours systematically oppressing the other half. Often with newly-invented traditions so insanely barbaric they can only be rationalised as forms of 'ritual' abuse.
Back to tea, in the time I've spent writing this I could probably have made two cups of tea, but I'd still be contemplating the phrasing of the first sentence over the hot fuming tannin vapours. Sure, I know how to savour the world's finest Ceylon leaves, but if you do anything 5, 10, or 30 times per day there's hardly any point in stopping the endless repetition of the activity to smell the roses. About the only people who need to drink tea as many times per day as lots of people do are tea farmers--and that is because they either need to grade their own product, or they simply need to do something to distract them from the mind-numbing repetition of tea-farming itself. Which brings me to coffee.
Although I have at various times in my life been incredibly addicted (5-10 double espresso per day) to coffee, I believe it is essentially a silly activity. As a child, my parents used to load me up with coffee for breakfast before school. This is probably as ridiculous as it gets. Obviously they had little idea (or were woefully, wilfully ignorant) of the health detractions of giving your child coffee, or not making them eat breakfast. But who cares? They wanted to go to work, and I was an accidental inconvenience to them at the age of five to twenty-five.
In conclusion, I offer these tarnished gems to the world:
"Cup of tea? Or would you prefer a Salvador Dali melted clock?"
"Cup of coffee? Or would you prefer to just stop doing silly stuff?"
Perhaps we'll all switch to caffeine-free, artificially sweetened, non-carbonated, naturally-coloured, flavourless soft drinks. I've got a good brand name for these; "Why Bother?"
I also think that is a good name for decaf soy lattes with a twist of lemon.

quiddity @ 2013-10-10T23:49:00

2013-10-10T13:49:37Z

One of the things I dislike about socialising is that it's essentially people saying "I like you," over and over again to each other. What's especially dishonest about the process is that as soon as you've left and gone home with people you really like, you'll take the opportunity to say "How I hate them!" as soon as the people you just finished an evening telling you liked are at home with their loved ones doing exactly the same thing. This doesn't make it okay, far from it in fact.
Every time you mistreat, scoff, or ignore when you could have helped, you show what you truly think of this world. I'm no exception, but for the fact that occasionally I write in here what's really going through my mind which is nothing other than "Kill... destroy... eviscerate... disintegrate... obliterate... perish!" and honestly, sometimes I mean it. If that bothers you, please leave your comments in the section below.

Hrm.

2013-10-10T13:49:19Z

I've been a bit odd the last few days. I'm incredibly irritable, it's dangerous to participate in social networks when you feel like this; unless you've decided once and for all you're not actually depressed--just surrounded by jerks.
I'm feeling awkward about the purge of recent entries from here. I realise now it was a knee-jerk reaction to the responses I've gotten from real, actual, concerned people who probably read this output and have contacted me using other systems to invite my participation in activities which may hold hope of bringing me back to humanity or some other goals.
My feeling at the moment is that this will fail to achieve much, mostly because of my crummy state of mind, though I thank you for your concern and efforts. The truth is I wish to write my way through this to see if I can't channel the negative emotions I'm feeling into a creative work through which to transmute them into something positive. This is a difficult task, and I can't engage deeply enough with the activity if I'm under constant pressure to socialise.

bzt

2013-10-07T09:53:02Z

There's been a slight memory-purge here lately.

I've been exploring a pretty dark place with my writing and I'm not going there anymore. Suffice to say my imagination scares me sometimes. Looking over this output over the past few days, I've decided to write another short novel outline soon--I will be using some of the material from the purged posts, but trust me it will be a good story, not an evil story. *phew*

I think by exploring the mirror opposite of ideals what we wish we to represent we explore new possibilities for 'epic' narratives. I guess my ambition is to: imagine the most horrendous evil I can, recognise the good in that story, then tell an apocryphal tale in which light becomes dark/dark becomes light. An eternal life cycle we are both fit to and form for ourselves.

Also for once I have no idea what the title will be, I just want to write an outline of my story. First there are some books to finish reading.

quiddity @ 2013-10-03T18:55:00

2013-10-03T08:54:09Z

I've just worked out why I think the people in the http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1854_Broad_Street_cholera_outbreak loved the water laced with cholera from the eel -- I think they were the people who in some way wanted to die. They could have been contemplating suicide a great deal, or only occasionally and could have been depressed.
The people who were already, perhaps, already contemplating suicide a great deal, but were unable to go through with such action.
The disease, which was largely non-communicable (except in water) killed them slowly, but more quickly than they otherwise would have died.
This fit with their view of the world, and probably slowed the dynamic rhythms of their hearts, causing a melancholy depression from feeling the onset of inevitable death. They would sleep a lot, extending the time between each beat, a state slowly and with the administration of pain relief / antidepressant medication would help the patient to slide into a state approaching death from a sleeping state. Gently.
.
Interestingly I've only figured this out after a bout with intense illness. Not very strange. :)

quiddity @ 2013-10-03T13:57:00

2013-10-03T03:56:00Z

I'm trying to improve at creating and sustaining an idea an idea in my mind so complex it must be put into writing to be adequately expressed. The trick is to understand that the longer you contemplate the idea in your mind before putting it into writing the more refined the idea becomes--but there are limits. Beyond a certain point, the idea will refine into a thing so perfect it becomes a dream, and then could be lost forever.

Admit it, everyone wants to know if deja vu has a purpose.

2013-10-02T15:17:02Z

About a year ago I was having a conversation which turned to the subject of competition, a theme I find sort of repeats itself often times. I short changed a teaching aphorism by exclaiming competition such a waste of time; why bother with it at all? This didn't seem to make much impact so I changed tact and said:
"When faced with the opportunity to compete, I refuse and simply win instead." which certainly set the wheels of reason turning.
"How do you do that?" she asked, interested.
"I can't tell you, which means I've already shown you." I said, having already ejected myself from the competition concerning who was better at explaining the nature of competition.
"What?" confusion had set in, I guess.
The point of saying that was that the whole lesson of how to avoid competition and simply win was already contained within those few statements. It's not about being able to win any competition hands down, that would be insufficient for the victory conditions implied. If you notice you are being enticed into, subjected to, coerced into, or somehow embroiled in competition; the first step towards winning is realising you're competing. This is one of the fundamental principles of Game Theory.

The best way of recognising you are competing is to be very aware of what is happening and what you are doing about it. The best way to win any competition is to immediately terminate and/or change the interaction upon realising fierce competition is imminent. In games, this is a strategy known as "enhancing the branching factor", which enlarges the domain containing future actions. There is an equation (F = T ∇ Sτ) describing how intelligences best achieve this, formulated by Alex Wisser-Gross. An algorithmic explanation of this equation defines intelligent systems as wanting the best possible future, being one where they are unconfined. To resist confinement, intelligence predicts possible futures. Adjusting time horizons (τ) of predictions, so they are reliable enough to make decisions. From all possible states, a value for freedom of action (Sτ) is applied to each one. In this map of states, the state with the highest potential for future actions is chosen. This is the decision giving the most freedom and power. Achieving power enough to grant control of the future (which competition defines as a winning state) relies upon forming an understanding of a system's function and determining its current state. Now you move in that direction.

If the desired state is not effortlessly reachable, a force (F) has been imposed on the world against that direction. The force is intelligence. The temperature (T) represents the power or "resources" you have to reach the desired state. The more power you have, the more force you can impose. As competitions move, heat, and cool, acting intelligences constantly validate their desired state and adjust their actions to reach while expending the least effort. All adjustments further confine actors, not only because models of the future are only predictions, but because the time horizon closes, and as it progresses the future changes to reflect the reality of decreasing resources.

Obviously the optimal outcome of any competition is a behavioural change to co-operation, but this not always being possible there are many avenues of conduct open towards ending competition quickly. Fierce competition is about as immature a pastime as revenge. Intentionally choosing competitive behaviour over co-operative behaviour is insane, because you wind up doing the same things repetitively (even without expecting different results) and are subject to diminishing returns of reward for this behaviour. If you're competing, you're subject to more entropy than if you're co-operating. If you can't understand that, you're immature. I don't think can state that more simply.

  Of course I don't believe this in a vacuum at all! Getting into the mathematics of co-operative communicating networks trumping over competitive networks in terms of qualities like: entropic density, robustness, growth and propagation speed, etc. is a subject for a bunch of well-researched scientific papers. All of which involve more analytical power than I'm willing to expend at this time of night. Suffice the idea of competition/co-operation has been extensively explored in computing science and I'll reference some of the interesting papers here in an edit [edit: Two interesting papers on deeply associated topics: Preferences, Choices, and Satisfaction in a Bargaining Game, Consistency and the Competitive Outcome Function, and the mathematically focused book: "Game Theory: Analysis of Conflict" by R. Myerson].

  For now, I'm going to explore something else I've been writing about on and off for over a year as well. People are going to call me more crazy for this one, but it's straight out of Star Trek: Voyager's plea for "holographic rights" for digital citizens of the Federation, in that it is an extension of the same concept (when does a computer program, disregarding the issue of when the nature of it's intelligence makes it "alive" or not, deserve the affordance of some of the rights afforded human beings by nature of their existence inside consensual reality?).

  I had an idea which hurt my head incredibly to give birth to. The idea is that ideas are living things, and must be treated with the same love with which we treat other living things.

  Of course I qualified this heavily in previous writing, because hey, I didn't want to seem too "out there" which in retrospect is silly. But couching this concept in terms of "collaborative, free, open, public digital structures of data have assumed more of the properties of living things lately and this must be further considered" (I used the analogy of plants, and worked back from comparisons of tree-like data structures and the way we interact with them versus the way we interact with orchard plants) doesn't change its core; ideas are living things.

  Not at all like the way we are alive, but they are still very much alive. Humans have a long history of rejecting and denying the existence of anything too alien after failing to understand it. That is okay, at every stage of existence there are some things which will be unable to be understood. However, align yourself in competition with a self-modifying idea, and you will lose before you've begun to do things the old way.

  The only way forward is further co-operation. This IS the future, after all. Rejecting and denying its existence matters very, very little to the universe. :)

Philosophy department reporting in

2013-10-01T23:08:31Z

When you're unsure of anything you can always ask a seven-year-old:
"Is this real life?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"There are spiderwebs."
"Oh?"
"Yeah! In the rubbish bin."
"I see..."
My sides. :)

Burgeoning basques of buccaneer bluegrass beats

2013-10-01T14:58:14Z

So I've realised all by myself that I generally blog when I have deep thoughts or when I'm really angry, scared, lonely, frustrated, bored, or depressed about something. I want to change that by attempting to blog about nothing other than the good day I've had.
I went to the medical centre again today and booked myself into a Medicare-sponsored health care plan to see a counsellor (of some persuasion, I can't remember). Apparently that will kick off on Sunday, so I'll try to keep everything sorted until then.
My mother babysat Xavier at her patchwork shop while I was in the consultation so I collected him afterwards and we went shopping for a gazebo. I am now the bemused owner of a dread gazebo. I can barely lift it by myself, but at least my tent will fit underneath it. I've said the CWA can hire it from me for $20, for which I'll help them set it up and take it down (after the experience of setting it up and taking it down, which is worth about that much to someone who doesn't want to deal with the hideous attack bonuses of the dread gazebo).
Following the gazebo-purchase, which afforded me many chances to say the word 'gazebo' which is just fun to say, I went to the hardware store for clear sheet polycarbonate with which to build an ant farm for Xavier who has recently become interested in ants. I wanted to buy MAPP gas as well but there's nothing I need it for and I couldn't justify the $134 for an impulse purchase of something just because it's dangerous and awesome, so I settled for impulse-buying some welding rods and fertiliser.
When I bounce back from severe illness I seem to do so in a big, big way, so when we got home I installed SimAnt on Xavier's PC and while he was playing ate a bunch of stuff. My first real meal in a few days. I opened a steak sealed in one of those cryovac packs and there was quite a lot of blood held in the plastic. For whatever reason it just smelled so amazingly good I decided "Well, if Masai tribespeople can whisk bovine blood and milk together for a kind of warm, curdled milkshake..." so after 10 seconds of thinking I brought some cream to a simmer with some duck fat and poured it all in and whisked briskly. It turned into what would probably be a base for something like blood sausage or black pudding, but I used it for a sauce. Not for everyone, but interesting nonetheless.
After that sort of meal I needed to lie down for awhile. So I had Xavier heat up some heat packs in the microwave and fell asleep for 30 minutes. Then we went to the park to play frisbee and swing on the swings. Xavier refuses to use the "baby's swing", and because I refuse to be an adult, we have to take turns on the only swing big enough for me to use. Then we chased each other around until we got tired, watched the ants in their colony for awhile, then walked back home. That night, we all watched Star Wars episode 2. Xavier loves Star Wars. I'm quite impatient to get to the original movies, because, hey, I'm an original Star Wars fan over episodes 1-3. Those films are amazing, and by comparison when watching the newer ones I just keep thinking of George Lucas's comment on all the CGI after the release of ep1: "We can do anything now!"
Referring of course to the Industrial Light & Magic input for these works, the animation is ageing quite well. Indeed, using digital effects which completely paint the entire frame sets produced by cinema projectors you literally CAN display anything--not that doing so is necessarily a good idea, though. The choppiness of the film is awful, for a 2hr18min film, there are so, so, so many needless cuts. In the effort to prove that they can show literally any part of the story, nothing is left to the imagination, the viewer soon feels underwhelmed, spoon-fed every tasteless morsel of unintelligible alien/droid dialog. Also, I'm sorry, Samuel L. Jackson was NOT a good choice for a Jedi master (especially opposite Digital-Yoda. Hayden Christiansen was not a good choice for lead character. Natalie Portman and Ewan McGregor languish for meaningful dialog and are just under-utilised as the real talent in front of the camera. There's so much which is bad about the first three chapters as films it's hard to go on, mostly because so many people have trodden that ground ahead of me it's been squashed into an actual road leading to a town called "HowNotToMakeAMovie".
Also the musical hook from the Game of Thrones theme is very clearly audible in a certain refrain concerning the Empire at the end of SWep2; I'm wondering if John Williams is responsible for that. :)

Setting course from East of Eden, from Utopia, to a cornucopia of realities.

2013-09-30T11:15:18Z

  For an plethora of pertinent reasons made apparent to everyone on a daily basis, I've decided that this planet largely deserves to be the forsaken place it is. Unfortunately, the pressure of these realisations has worn in over time, causing me to erroneously conclude that everything in my life is very, very sad. Since I can't reproduce my selfish genes, the desire to make some form of lasting impact on this place is magnified, and even if I could, I would like everyone else, remain enormously subject to the same desire. Wishing to be remembered forever, but understanding you'll eventually be forgotten, is a bitter pill for all to swallow. Shelley said it best in Ozymandias, king of kings! "Look upon my works ye mighty, and despair!" The meaning that even the most powerful ancients have their astoundingly deep and broad achievements lost amidst the sands of time. Against the backdrop of our vastly scaled and aged universe, the sum total of all human endeavour amounts currently closer to nothing at all than anything substantial. An existential pointlessness Shelley or Satre could well have appreciated.

  Fortunately even if you're not into etching your words deep in stone or sculpting your likeness into rocks, limits come in to help. We all need help describing the form our legacies will assume, because it is only by the goodwill of others they will take any lasting shape we might recognise. For a legacy to exist as long as possible while issuing the sort of impact you intended is difficult and requires an integrity of vision so fundamental to serving its purpose it is easily understood by everyone. So if you're going to attempt this, extreme care must be taken to ensure your legacy stands as being completely intentional, rather than the inverse (let's take most religious cult splinter groups, cults of personality, and fascist governments as examples of movements which were derailed from their intent to better our world). All petty despots, autocrats, and dictators really desired remembrance as great leaders--yet because their visions of their legacies lacked integrity or focus; by and large these people are remembered as evil monsters.

  When you're setting about the game of empire-building things get out of control and devolve quickly, unless you keep beneficence clear in mind during the execution of ambitious plans. Empire-builders throughout history have ambitiously stacked rocks on top of one another in their efforts to reach ever greater heights of achievement. Inevitably bureaucrats throughout history have followed, taking those same rocks down again in almost equal measure. Without getting too far into the motivations for destroying the achievements of others (because these are both good and bad), it's far past time for the emergence of progressive new ideas concerning how and what we bequeath unto the future.

  In trying to uncover a way to surpass these limitations, a deep desire has originated in me, something which because of my sadness, will never go away. I want this planet ripped apart. torn asunder, continental shelves flung from her heaving mantle. Not in an apocalyptic cataclysm, but a great and glorious upheaval of intelligence beginning the obvious next phase of human evolution. I finally have an answer to Larry Niven's question of "If aliens arrive offering us entry into the galactic amalgam of star-faring cultures, what are we going to say when a teenage mother throws her baby in a dumpster?" When grown men swing axes to slice off the arms of boys who refuse to bear arms for evil or no cause? We're going to unapologetically laugh then say; "By comparison to our ancestors, we're tame. They were capable of and did things so evil they defy description." Barbarism is barely a sufficient word to encompass the ancient cultural practices which produced our modern world.

  Yet still, we identify greatly with our ancestors because they were perhaps even more human than we are capable of being. Now we are largely detached from both our past and present evils. Anyone living in modern society only has to watch films like "Baraka" to see how far we've drifted. From our original war-torn communities which suffered so much strife, disease and grief, the backlash sometimes causes their descendant societies to fall into a kind of eternally pacifist, subsistence existence of penance. This monkish trance produces so much happiness for individuals they can bliss out in ignorance--of the fact they are descendants of those vicious enough to destroy any competition so thoroughly, their ancestors were finally able to cease the perennial madness of killing thy neighbour to meditate on what they'd been doing. Afterwards, they disliked what they'd been up to as much as we dislike hearing about it historically, so those able to carry on raised their children to behave better than them. We are those children, and we all owe our present and departed ancestors the honour of raising children who behave far better than we do now.

  In view of our past, for my vision for the future, I choose to meditate upon ways the world can change for the betterment of a future so far-flung few people can imagine how the human condition will be realised rather than suffered. I want this planet to become a world where nobody has to lose their sense of humour or childlike nature. Where our technologies constantly reshape our world into such a wonderful, amazing place, which everyone can enjoy in such variety, reality will truly be what we make of it.

Good grief

2013-09-30T02:59:49Z

Yet another reason why the iOS LJ app is a piece of dung: it doesn't understand CR/LF characters, and destroys other formatting as well! FFS LiveJournal, it's shit like this which forces people over to Google+/Facebook blogging services DESPITE the overexposure and advertising of the social networks.

The Digital Crack Pipe of MMEHs (Massively Multiplayer Eternal Hell)

2013-09-29T15:18:40Z

So I've got to thinking I need to put some thoughts down about why Star Trek: Online is bad, when it's sooo good.
It's like crack. Before I got into ST:O, I often described MMOs as a "digital crack pipe", and only marginally healthier than an actual one. Now I've been through the addition grinder of the game, I stand by that description.
Why is it so bad when it's Free To Play, you may ask? Especially since ST:O going F2P was what got me playing in earnest.
Well, it's because Cryptic/Perfect World KNOW they are essentially digital crack-dealers.
If you've never bought crack from a dealer before, and you try, they're going to want you to give them twenty bucks before they give you a rock of crack in tinfoil and the rest is up to you.
Just like Perfect World wants your email address, name, age, and other details (these things are worth real, actual cash to them and their advertising affiliates) before they will give you access to their digital crack pipe.
After you've bought crack that first time, knowing the powerful addictive properties of the drug, they can let you have more crack in twenty-dollar dosages on credit. "Come on man, I really NEED it, I'll pay you tomorrow."
They know you'll want more by then, so the hook of the addiction is what ensures your custom. Today, they will spot you some crack, tomorrow, knowing you'll be back, you'll owe them twenty bucks. Then the day after that, and so on.
In Cryptic/Perfect World's Star Trek: Online conception of the digital crack pipe, you have to ask them "Come on, I really NEED to refine dilithium!" and they will let you refine twenty starbucks worth of pink crack-rock every day, KNOWING that the likelihood of your eventually spending real, actual cash to speed that process grows with every click of the "Refine Crack" button.
Back to the world of crack addiction, let's say you have $200.00 of real, actual cash. "Can I buy this much crack?"
Of course you can!
Just like in F2P MMEHs (Massively Multiplayer Eternal Hell)! If you want to spend your money on digital crack, you can buy as much as you want!
You'd be an idiot to do so, and indeed I once heard a gem of wisdom from someone on The Daily Show being interviewed by Jon Stewart who'd written a book which broached the subject; "Crack is an idiotic activity."
In both the physical and digital worlds, idiocy is characterised by possession of the soul by the unlimited desires of the id. An idiot unfailingly repeats pleasurable activities to their own detriment as an organism, especially if the activity itself degrades the ability to recognise such diminishing returns of pleasure evidenced by repetition. Things which do this have "addictive properties" and it shows wisdom over idiocy to get off, and stay off both the physical and digital crack pipe.
Unless your ego can avoid the dissolution of addiction, subjugate the desires of the id, because you really, really enjoy crack? Powerful argument, from the heart, but it doesn't matter. Eventually, everyone reaches a point where realisation sets in--that no matter who you are, this sort of solipsism doesn't work forever. Either you put the crack pipe down and stop, or you die taking crack or from poor health caused by taking too much crack while life has passed you by too quickly for you to realise you're missing out on what else is happening.

quiddity @ 2013-09-30T00:16:00

2013-09-29T14:16:08Z

"Will you come here and talk with me?" asked the adult of the child.
  "Talking with adults is boring, because they never want to talk about what I like." said the seven-year-old, who firmly believes he will be seven forever (and since in the minds of children that age anything longer than an hour is forever, he's at least partially correct).
  "So what do you like?"
  "Mostly video games."
  "What about talking to other children? Is that boring?"
  "No, they're interesting."
  "I see."

  The reason why talking to adults is boring, my child, is because the inverse can be doubly true! For children to be interesting to adults, their little heads must be filled with at least enough information that they can ask interesting questions, uncover interesting facts, or make interesting observations. For instance earlier today when you told me that scorpions belong to the arachnid family--a fact I certainly didn't know and still am not sure of. Thank goodness for the Internet!

Earlier today I was talking with my mother, who is twice my age and must have done something correctly because I don't find her boring (just sometimes frustrating). We were discussing cities, and she was trying to understand why some people who live in larger cities, when they take their frequent holidays to escape the clutches of the conglomerate's magnetic pull, only seem able to talk about moving away from where they have chosen to live (often at great cost).

  This was like an echo in my head, and I remembered my own brush with city life which I found distasteful. Thankfully the ambrosial sweetness of living in a small, elevated concrete box turned bitter for me sooner than most, and I escaped after only having lost a few years of existence to such ridiculousness.

  Why then, my mother asked, are city-dwellers so entranced by country life? My assumption is that it seems "more real" by rose-coloured comparison. The quiet dignity of country life says to them "You may not choose to live as we do but you can learn from our strengths, since our communities allow yours to exist and function."

  An entrancement with city life is far more than just a youthful attraction to bright lights. Everyone can see the flow of society's energies from the country to the city, the confluence of transport and communications linkages forming a bright, bustling hub of activity. In a very real sense, the city is a reactor for society; the fuel is accumulated and distributed to the outlying suburban fat cells, so the central business district heart can pulse with life. People wishing to contribute to something far larger than themselves accumulate like blood cells, the energies they expend in their daily lives driving the force of civilisation ever onwards.

  There is a more shallow attraction which we covered and that was the retailing aspect. I expect consumer fascination is driven essentially by the satisfaction of ownership, and a desire for repetition. "I want that robe, that bauble, that person." Take what you want, and pay for it. Use it until you tire of it or its lustre wears, then repeat the experience of acquisition. An object-driven perspective, where an individual is the sum of their acquisitions.

  While I tread my different path, admiring and deploring what I see.

  Which I suppose is just as much of a personality flaw. The self-possessed don't give of themselves easily. Fearing love and affection, because of the underlying transactional nature of such emotional exchange. "See how I possess myself? Unless you follow my ways you will never have that."

  The victory of the acquisitive mindset is by no means assured, but the self-possessed are in danger of keeping so much bottled up by their strange, old ways, that when it does release there is this overwhelming wash, everything given in an irresistible tide.

  There is no easy compromise, because such compromise would weaken. Some problems cannot find their solutions that way. There are decisions which must be made no matter how bitter the outcome of the choices. Which is why we're in the countryside, talking about why people living in the city must be talking about being elsewhere too.