self fulfilling prophecies

That's basically how it works right. Put someone through enough of an emotional rollercoaster for them to finally give up on you, abandon you and take enough steps back for their own sanity...

And you know you've done this because your own feelings of dependence and need shared the shit out of you. And because you never were in control of this relationship.

Inevitable really. I always said some of us were irredeemable.

What I want is not what I needed. But couldn't you see me edging, begrudgingly, slowly to what you were saying? But invariably you ran out of patience, as I knew anyone who I have ever been in an authentic exchange with has done.

I prove my own points. Self fulfilling prophecies to cry about in one's own time.

Ah well, disappointment, and heartbreak, we meet again, but we are well aquainted, and if I've been through worse, this is a piece of cake right.

your hope is futile

Some of us are unredeemable,
Somebody that cannot be saved
Someone forever enslaved
By the past,
And a dark life that has shaped
For longer then any saviour can claim,
To have saved.

Some of us are replaceable,
Some of us have noone to miss us when we go,
Therefore those on the periphery let us go.

Some of us can't believe in the goodness of anyone else,
The long road to trust repeatedly broken by all those who came first,
How can you believe anything else can actually be true, when life has always proved otherwise.

Some of us want to die,
That seems to be the way to an easy "life",
Some of us don't see,
The optimism others believe,
It jars with every knowledge we hold,
Requiring inside beliefs to crumple and fold,
And no we're really not sold,
On the idea of reinventing our soul,
It's a done deal, shaped by exactly,
Eighty eight percent of our time in the world.

ST Movie Thoughts

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (Spoilers but the movie is from 1989!)

[Spoiler (click to open)]So ten years later, literally! I watched the next film in the series. In a world of shiny alternative TOS timelines and sleek Discovery (of which I have not actually seen much), it was a truly unfair comparision :-D

It's highly indulgent isn't it. Three old men finally going camping in the country-side speaking about their feelings for one another. The bromance has never been more acknowledged. But seriously it felt genuinely like they belonged in the retirement home now. Not having another energetic adventure through space. If it was their retirement then yes that would be a true to their charactors retirements plans indeed. I doubt they would just be content watching the world from the sidelines.

And when did Scotty and Uhura become a thing? I mean I have forgotten most of "The Voyage Home" but surely I would have remembered that.

Anyway that was a terrible movie. Held together only by the familar roles all the charectors played. And the good will of the audience who will /would always look on the bright side of anything that that original cast chose to do. I must admit that God being just another Alien being is a trope reused so many times by the TOS cast it was not at all unexpected.

I went on to also watch Star Trek Animated Episode 7: The Infinite Vulcan, which raised almost no qualms about a clone of Spock running around the universe. I see this series as canon though. Immediate continuity from series three TOS as its all original cast stuff. And lol so far it hasn't unexpectedly sprang a half brother for Spock yet like The Final Frontier just did :'-D. I mean that seems to me such lazy writing. Insert random completely unmentioned for years, half brother here for story! I think Discovery plays with this concept, but thats a new show with new people so I'll give it that. Actually I liked the insight into McCoys fathers situation given by Final Frontier, some personal angst and drama out of the blue does give the story more depth, but secret half brother is really bending plausibility (in a show about humans finally achieving unity and world peace; real stretch to believe anyway; the sci-fy I see happening!).

I also watched TOS; The Doomsday Machine today. What a good episode. What a good show. I could tell I was watching the remastered version because my brain was going uurgh no no its wrong whilst at the same time admiring the touched up visuals. But the acting remains timeless without touching up.

Its been so long since I posted I believe I cant remember how to do an LJ cut. Ah LJ, still surviving, From an era when people still wrote paragraphs and attention spans could read entire posts. Now its a 140 charectors and an eyecatching gif to make every point on earth. Because that's the attention spans we now have left. Possibly we may all lose focus halfway to the path of self destruction as a species one day. But that focus seems unwavering.

maladjusted adulthood

What I don't understand is how well-adjusted everyone seems to be to the mundane routine that is their life. They are so reconciled with average. How have they all managed to remain driven and purposeful and attain some target or goal in their working life. At thirty, why am I starting over again, without commitment to something else, anything else, who even knows what. Why am I so opposed to growing up, donning a suit and turning up to work at 9am going yes sir, no sir, can I do anymore sir, can I grovel at your feet and sell my soul for an extra 10k a year sir. That would be the sensible thing to do, you know. I may even become suitable for a mortgage. And yet every year I grow older, I grow weary of the idea of working hard to make others ridiculously more money then I will be paid. I should be in some hands off management role putting my feet up on a desk by now. Other thirty year olds seem to be. All I want to do, is tell the world to fuck it, keep my hair dyed purple and go on a world trip. But the trouble with being 30, is that your knees can't take coach trips anymore and your too old and to used to comfort, to live in hitchhiking backpacking gap-year conditions. Ideally by this time, you'd be in that management job, being paid enough to travel in luxury, dipping your toes in to filtered cultural activities, that make you just the right amount of carefully measured uncomfortable. It's either that or fully embrace the life of the "hippie", embrace arts or writing rubbish and then spend a decade promoting yourself on fb, twitter and instagram till one day your pretentious shite is "discovered" and hopefully makes you a million. 

ravings of an inept computing student

push(<html> <(no-)body(loves me)> <p> <ravings>)

import wtflanguageisthis.crazytalk.*

public class Dreams extends Life implements dysfunctionalPerson, OOPSucks
public static void Dreams(sleep deprivation, clinical depression) throws RandomRubbish Exception
System.out.println ("At some point I realise that I may not be human. I can not feel anymore. I should. There should be grief, there should be pain, there should be sorrow for all the loss that I am going through, have gone through, will go through and yet there is nothing. I wonder if the sharp edge of a knife on my bare skin will cause pain. Will the cuts bleed? Would it prove that I am human? Would I believe the evidence or would the experiment require the exposure of bones buried deep under flesh. Would bone be conclusive evidence anyway? Who knows what simulation this mind is plugged in to?

My dreams consist of phrases related to automata. As I learn the language of computers, fragments of syntax weave through my unconscious. I define myself in states; awake, asleep, with the transitional relation being a count of numb days. My life consists of functional and non-functional requirements, my downtime is not visible to the spectators. This system is failing internally and yet the interface remains glossy. Life gives no choices; my states are finite and I wish things were non-deterministic but the final accepting state will be catastrophic system failure. It is only a matter of time. It always has been.

It is illogical, the union of overwhelming work and a lack of time should result in zero procrastination and yet I type this immutable String?!");


pop(</ravings> <p> </(no-)body(cares)> </html>)
q(n ∈ N)

Class not compiled.
'logic' expected; found human inconsistencies.


Heaven will be the cessation of existance. The end of struggle. There need not be a reward of bliss and contentment, just the end of existance will suffice. For every moment of existance is tedious. A struggle. A fight to survive and survive well. I will not survive today says a slogen; I will thrive. Thriving or surviving: existance is constant agitation. Constant struggle. Constant just... Constant.

Heaven need not be fancy. Need not be vast. That moment of existance before preconciousness; you know the one; as you sleep in your bed; blissfully flitting in and out of awareness, before the weight of yesterday comes crashing in to thought and the reason for the shrieking of the alarm clock becomes concrete in your mind; that moment; just that moment; no struggle; no striving; a perfect pause; for eternity; that would be heaven.

oscar, delta, kilo.

I've been meaning to post for a week. Actually exactly a week and one day. 21st Feb to be precise.

I gave my faithful, reliable, old, beat up, first car in to be "scrapped" for a shiny new obnoxious one. It's MOT was due and every year it was becoming more and more of a mission trying to get it to pass and this year the patch job on the exhaust was really not going to get it through. And as it is with these things; the cost of the repair verses the cost of the car weighed up and if every mechanic you encounter tries to sell you a new car, you know that maybe, just maybe, after eight years together it's time.

I found out today that the dealers who sold me my new car have put the old car up for sale which just winds me up. If I had wanted it sold on; I'd have done it myself. For a measly £100 to £200 pounds I'd have played the part of pimp and taken the pictures to put on Autotrader. But I didn't. I gave the car in to be scrapped. If I could no longer have it, no-one could. The height of creepy possessiveness, but it was MINE. Steering wheel (worn, never had power steering) to kerbed tyres, it was all mine. If I could have, I'd have taken it to the scrap dealers myself and obtained and framed its "certificate of destruction" because it was mine to love in life and mine to love in death. And after I'd stopped "abusing" it, I'd have at least wanted it to have a dignified end. No one could love it like I loved it. No one should. And yet that is greedy and spiteful, perhaps I should be happy that the car may get a new lease of life, some more years with another loving owner, if I can get past the fact that it is no longer mine.

It's traumatic. But I'm sure amusing to most. Standing on the sidewalk crying my heart out, unable to say goodbye to this beat up car, fully resenting the new one you've purchased which is pulled alongside it. It's incomprehensible that this car doesn't belong to me anymore. It's not the one I'm taking home. It's not the one I'm supposed to have the second keys for. That it is illegal for me to drive off with it now. "They took my car," I wailed to my bemused poor brother, "They're taking my car." The fucking irony is that I'm letting them.

We're such a throwaway generation. Seeking to find the new and the shiny. My car was old but it never ever let me down. It was simple but it always made me happy. It was small but it was the car that took me and my friends everywhere. It protected me from my own stupidity, my terrible driving. It helped me move house. It took me all over the UK. It was my roof when I never felt I had one. It was my space. And I let it go. And now it seems it wasn't because it was close to death either.

ETA: I told my friend I was dealing with a death this week not a bloody divorce. I never realised it was a relationship. But it was. I knew that car intimately. Noone else could drive it like I could either. Grown men would get in and struggle with the lack of power steering. And the new one.. I don't know it. Yes it's a car like any car but I don't know it. We've been matched together via checkboxes, a potential love story, very much an arranged marriage.

long term truths

I particularly like the line on the AI, "Compassion" being the defining human factor. It surprises me that I feel it's still a good marker of AI being sentient. (This thought comes from watching Ex-Machina recently).

The one that always sticks with me and started the vid search is, "The more complex the mind, the greater the need for the simplicity of play."
Not that I am arguing that my mind is particularly complex but this drudgery is getting to me and I want to play.

I think I've written on here about how I started a Computer Science course recently. It's been tough going. Initially I thought Maths was a language I didn't have. Numbers were the words of my cohort, to be manipulated on a casual whim to achieve sentences of meaning. I now realise programming is another language, another tool I don't have. The people around me manipulate lines of codes and numbers with the same proficiency and fluency that I manipulate my words with and I know that learning my words took me a lifetime, a lifetime of needing to express. And this frustrates, saddens, worries and annoys me. If I do not have the tools how will I achieve anything.

L(me) =! maths or programming :(