Madnesses longer than 400 characters

Random random thing
  • I was known in my time. Lady of Butterflies, Princess of Darkness... Mistress of Typos. The funny things was, I was nothing my dreamer was not. And she never bothered to hide any of it, either. We were just... different. Different upbringings, different directions, different stories, but the same motivations. Same wills and dreams. Same final resting place, for a few years at least. But things change.
  • It is an impossible sofa. A great mystery, unquantifiable, unsolvable. We all have them, little things we find that simply cannot be and yet they are nonetheless there, before us, taunting, tantalising, jarring our very perception of reality. There is no reason, no explanation, no hope of understanding. They are simply impossible. And they are sofas. And they are what make the universe worth living in.
  • Would understanding really clarify, though? Or would the randomness only become bigger, more elaborate and more intricately convoluted? Perhaps one could become less vague in general, but there is something strange about comprehension - the more specific things become, the more remains unknown. The more that is seen, the more one will realise what lies out of sight, and the more utterly intangible reality becomes.
  • You exist, without name, without form. You cannot see the light of day; you cannot see the dark. You sold the green earth and the sun and stars to save yourself. But you have no self. All that which you sold, that was your self. You have given everything for nothing. And so now you seek to draw the world to you, all that light and life you lost, to fill up your nothingness. But it cannot be filled.
  • You don't notice the dead leaving when they really choose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down. I would compare it to a woman in the back of a lecture hall or theatre whom no one notices until she slips out. Then only those near the door themselves, like Grandma Lynn, notice; to the rest it is like an unexplained breeze in a closed room.
  • Analogue gave way to digital. It was large, bulky, superfluous... digital is small. Clean. Precise. Too precise. Suddenly everything is so very finite, and the superfluous from the analogue is missed... so don't define so precisely. Define the analogue in digital terms, but vaguely. Not how it is, but how to make it... and suddenly it is as if the infinite lives once more. Analogue lives once more.
  • You know that little tingling sensation, that itch of foresight or sideways realisation at the back of your brain, that feeling when the hairs on the back of your neck rise and bits of your vestigial reptilian neuron-architecture start firing mad signals at the rest of your mind - the feeling when you realise something that you are so unsure if it could be possible you slide up to the idea sideways because you are afraid, if you look at the idea you have had face on, it might wriggle away? You know that feeling? Of realising something that is possibly nothing but might, might just come to be true?
  • It was a good cave. Wombats, for the most part, prefer burrows to caves for actually living in, and natural caves back home are generally treated as parks. Other than shoring up the unstable bits, we don't alter them much, so it's not the sort of place you'd want to retire. But it'd be a nice spot for a picnic, if you ignored all the weird little lizards who want to skin you as politely as possible.
  • Hangover? Suffering Hypervitaminosis A poisoning? Vomiting? Gods got ya? Got that just-went-to-a-party-reeking-of-warrior-herbs-then-got-shitfaced-on-mead-and-sleapt-it-off-on-the-floor smell hanging around your fur? Feel like a family of incontinent ferrets did the same thing then slept in your mouth? Convinced someone lodged your own pickaxe in your head? Trying to explain comparative ethics to a sentient shadow whilst coming down after mixing alcohol, testosterone-boosting herbs and unrefined opiates? Birds singing far too loud whist the day DARES to be anything other than overcast? Try new aspirin-flavoured Mountain Dew! For the wombat on the go!
  • The arrangement has its terms, but they involve no epic and bloody battle of the wits with the dire sir Reginald, no crossing the vast expanses of the plains of Dorani littered with the shimmering shards of broken things, no open war with the dragon Zaori amidst the fire rain as Shintaiden falls from the sky, no wrestling with a mongoose, and no long drunken bouts of workaround-oriented programming after a deadline pushed back month after month for lack of an Ironholds. It doesn't make for a particularly good story.
  • Moms are not supposed to be the source of your pain; they're supposed to make it go away. They're supposed to hold you and tell you everything is going to be alright. They're supposed to tell you that thunder is angels bowling, and that it's okay to be afraid of the dark, and it isn't silly to think there might be monsters in your closet, and that it's okay if you want to climb into bed with them just this once because it's scary in the room all alone... they're supposed to say it's okay to be afraid, and not be the thing you're afraid of. But most importantly, they're supposed to love you no matter what.
  • SCP artifacts pose a significant threat to global security. Various agencies from around the world operate to maintain human independence from extra-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, and extra-universal threat. In the past humankind has been at the whim of these bizarre artifacts and similar phenomena, but we have now reached a point in history where we can begin to control and contain these defiances of natural law.
  • This is a bar of soap. It might not look like much, but it is, in fact, a very, VERY powerful weapon. It carries healing magic more powerful than anything the gods could grant me! It kills enemies so deadly and subtle that us mere mortals cannot even perceive them, although they are always all around us, trying to do us harm. But if you rub yourself over with the magnificent soap, it will grant you an aura that even the terrible Germs will be forced to flee! So, mighty Lhoryn... take this soap. And vanquish your enemies.
  • There is a kind of laughter that sickens the soul. Laughter out of control: when it screams and stamps its feet, and sets the bells jangling in the next town. Laughter in all its ignorance and its cruelty. Laughter with the seed of Satan in it. It tramples upon shrines, the belly-roarer. It roars, it yells, it is delirious: and yet it is as cold as ice. It has no humour. It is naked noise and naked malice.
  • To someone who only knows how to dig with a spoon, the notion of digging something as large as a trench will terrify them. All they know are spoons, so as far as they're concerned, digging is simply difficult. The only way they can imagine it getting any easier is if they change – digging with a spoon until they get stronger, faster, and tougher. And the dangerous people, they'll actually try this.
  • I'm sorry, I'm trying to understand what you just said. A world in which there are no libraries? How is that possible, if there's anyone left at all? Libraries aren't just buildings, books on shelves. They're ideas, stories, and stories you pass on, tell to others. You can write them down to keep them longer, to share them further, but you don't have to, because they still survive in the people themselves. So long as anyone remembers, they're still real.
  • I used to be like you, a long time ago. All brand new and perfect; no mistakes, no regrets. People look at you and think of how wonderful your future will be. They want you to be something special, like a doctor or a lawyer. I hate to tell you this, but if you grow up here, you're more likely to wind up selling your bodies on the streets or shooting dope from dirty needles in a bus stop. And if you're successful, you'll make money selling junk to crackheads, and won't think twice about killing someone's wife, because you won't even know it's wrong in the first place. Maybe... you'll end up like me. A hobo with a shotgun. I hope you can do better. You are the future.
  • One woman sat near the steamer and in silence she threw scoopful of water to the sauna stove. No-one said a word. The only sound was water hitting on a stove. It was not awkward nor uncomfortable. The only feeling I had was the feeling I could call calm melancholy or longing. For me it was the essence of being a Finn. Sitting in a small room, naked, with people you've never met before but yet you're completely comfortable because you know you're all in that room only for yourselves. In that room, rushful weekday separates from free time, afternoon separates from evening, it's a place between restlessness and peace. Where you literally sweat your worries, pain and rush away.
  • The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
  • This idea that the whole world is wired together is mass death. Every biologist knows that small groups in isolation evolve fastest. You put a thousand birds on an ocean island and they'll evolve very fast. You put ten thousand on a big continent, and their evolution slows down. Now, for our own species, evolution occurs mostly through our behaviour. We innovate new behaviour to adapt. And everybody on earth knows that innovation only occurs in small groups. Put three people on a committee and they may get something done. Ten people, and it gets harder. Thirty people, and nothing happens. Thirty million, it becomes impossible.
  • What makes you think human beings are sentient and aware? There's no evidence for it. Human beings never think for themselves, they find it too uncomfortable. For the most part, members of our species simply repeat what they are told - and become upset if they are exposed to any different view. The characteristic human trait is not awareness but conformity, and the characteristic result is religious warfare.
  • The gods were here first, and they're bigger. They always were, and always will be living it up in their father's mansion. You only crawled from the drain a few millenia ago, after inventing legs for yourself so you could stand, inventing fists in order to raise them and curse the heavens. Do the gods see us? Will the waters be rising soon? The waters will be rising soon. Find someone or something to cling to.
  • We've always defined ourselves by the ability to overcome the impossible, and we count these moments, these moments when we dare to aim higher, to break barriers, to reach for the stars, to make the unknown known... we count these moments as our proudest achievements. But we lost all that, or perhaps we've just forgotten that we are still pioneers and we've barely begun, and that our greatest accomplishments cannot be behind us, because our destiny lies above us.
  • So many of the sources historians use to piece together the past are known fakes, but the best they can do is read between the lines or have no lines at all. There's a reason why medieval historians read farm reports featuring travel descriptions and saints' lives involving demons-living-in-buckets with the same attention to detail. Every dry history text you've read in your life comes from a pile of sources like this, bits of maybe-truth cobbled together with toothpaste and narwhal horn dust.
  • I understand you exactly. You could have been something once. You had all the worlds ahead of you, and you threw it away, you wasted it, you, because you didn't care, and so you slipped further and further away. The others lost you, too, because they were just like you, and they didn't care any more than you did. They were just like you, and they are still just like you were, now, and so you hate them. And yet the only one you hate more than them is yourself.
  • Sometimes the most important thing you can do for someone is to accept them for who they are. Accept their faults, their failings. Accept that they may never get better, or change, or be who you want them to be. But be there for them. Support them when they stumble, help them up when they fall. They may give you nothing in return, but they may also give you everything, show you things you never would have imagined, because odds are, you need the same things they do.
  • We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed. A few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita: Vishnu is trying to persuade the prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him takes on his multi-armed form, and says, 'Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.' I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.
  • The details don't really matter, but I've spent most of the day so stressed out that my skull is rattling from the pressure of my teeth grinding together. I feel like I have finally exceeded my stress limits and am about blow a gasket. But I can't go home, because if I do, the world will end, right? I'm trying to work, but every few minutes I have to stop typing and make fists so tightly that my whole body shakes.
  • It has come to our attention that you are in a dire and currently-unremediated state of having-not-been-sued, and as we, the parties inclusive hereunto referencing the party of the the first part thereunto, are well-equipped to carry out such legal maneuvers, we, the parties inclusive hereunto referencing the party of the first part thereunto, are hereby announcing our Intent to Litigate against you and yours, hereafter referenced as the parties of the second part.
  • I believe in rot. I believe in bones, in withering organs, in snapped sinews. I believe in the irony of life that made our smiles a flaunting of our skeletons, an omen of the grave, and I believe in the eternal nothingness that awaits me when at last I will close my eyelids on a long-expected pain. I know the morgues and the proceedings in black and the poetic epitaphs and I know them all to be crutches for the living, so they may accept death, extinction, perdition - loved ones first, and then the self, because your turn will come just like mine. Delusions: ghosts, monsters, nightmares, dreams, words, fears. A permission to live for nothing until you're no more.
  • When you consider socialism, do not fool yourself about its nature. Remember that there is no such dichotomy as 'human rights' versus 'property rights'. No human rights can exist without property rights. Since material goods are produced by the mind and effort of individual men, and are needed to sustain their lives, if the producer does not own the result of his effort, he does not own his life. To deny property rights means to turn men into property owned by the state. He who claims the 'right' to 'redistribute' the wealth produced by others is claiming the 'right' to treat human being as chattel.
  • Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate to buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, no place or purpose. We have no Great War, no Great Depression. Our Great War is a spiritual war. Our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd be billionaires and movie gods and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning this fact, and we're very, very pissed off.
  • There is a world that is inaccessible to me because it is riddled with the corpses of miscreants and idiots who didn't know better, and any misstep on my part will either send me to that graveyard, or I will nonetheless perceive that I am in that graveyard. Prurient thoughts loom perspicuously in my mind, imperceptible to others but readily apparent to me and determined to make social interaction difficult.
  • I take issue with the notion that there is anything in all the worlds that cannot be communicated. If no words are good enough, the language will evolve. If the language itself is broken, notation will be invented. Poetry, mathematics, silence, the very nature of the universe, we put everything down into meaning, and pull meaning out of everything. To those who do not understand it looks like magic, but to those who do, it is simply what it is, right there, laid out plainly against the page.
  • From trying to make others happy and tick the boxes of the many multiplying standards and recommendations for our meetings, I stopped making jokes of any kind, frankly my presentations became dull to my eyes. At the moment I have no plans to make any presentations or even take part in meetings in the year ahead. The prospect of starting up again and freely sharing knowledge or experience from my volunteer and programming through planned presentations and workshops does not excite me any more. Instead it now feels like the sort of painful hard work that needs to be paid for.
  • Remember always that names are conventions to express something, and this is true also for personal given names. Always in history names have been translated, because of usefulness, to keep them untranslated is only a recent practice. Surnames, if one studies their history, are even more clearly a convention, since they are an addition to the name to distinguish a person and a family from others, so they often are patronymics or names of a profession.
  • This is the reality of the Internet. Nobody has a plan. Sure, we work to build things, and they may end up in the general direction where we planned them, but everything takes on a life of its own as the mass consciousness and the consensual hallucination takes hold. The founders of anything successful describe, in retrospect, how they planned things, but the reality is that nothing ever goes according to plan.
  • That cathartic propaganda you enjoyed turned away the minds you want to change. The only people who read past the first paragraphs where those who already agreed with it. That's why objectivity and balance matter: you can only change minds if the reader trusts you, and actually reads what you write. Like a war correspondent attacking the enemy, partisanship erodes not only trust in your own writing, but contaminates all other journalists covering the same topic.
  • The whole concept of 'Hate Speech' is abuse of the language. Speech is speech. Those whose ideas need to be artificially propped up via suppression of the opposition are always wrong. In the free market of ideas, where people are allowed to talk about them freely, bad ideas can be dispelled through logical inquiry. When someone is allowed to decide what other people are allowed to say, anything they don't like becomes 'hate speech'.
  • This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements, technological advances, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of human freedom. But like every one of the super-states that preceded it, it has one iron rule: logic is an enemy and truth is a menace.
  • Icarus. The original myth had two parts. Daedalus said to his son, 'I fashioned these wings for you. Two rules. Don't fly too high, or the sun will melt the wax. But, more important, son, don't fly too low. Because if you fly too low, the water and the waves will surely weigh down the wings, and you will die.' We've left out the second part of the myth. We don't say to people anymore, 'Don't fly too low.' All we do from the time they are 4 years old is warn them against hubris. We have created this industrially led structure that says: How dare you.
  • There is something frightening about the universe when we consider that only our senses of sound and sight make it beautiful. Just think, the universe is darker than the darkest ink; colder than the coldest ice and more silent than a silent tomb with all the bodies rushing through it at terrific speeds. What an awe-inspiring picture, isn't it? Yet it is our brain that gives merely a physical impression. Sight and sound are the only avenues through which we can perceive it all. Often I have wondered if there is a third sense which we have failed to discover. I'm afraid not.
  • We use aggression and strength to bend dependent others to our will - or, in the absence of strength, use sickness and weakness to harness the force of empathy, and deceive our way to dominance, underground. Granted the opportunity, how many of us would not be Hitlers? Assuming we had the ambition, dedication and power of organization - which is highly unlikely. Paucity of skill, however, does not constitute moral virtue.
  • I got my heart broken and I survived, I failed 3 courses in university and graduated, I got rejected in the very first job I applied for and got promoted yesterday, I went through hard times with my family but then two years later, we laughed our hearts out over lunch, The closest friends disappointed me several times but I made new friends and loved them with all my heart. I did it once, I can do it again.
  • Too often, people who leave behind toxic belief systems might leave behind the beliefs but not the system. A toxic religious or political ideology teaches you to think something dogmatically; when you stop believing, you think you're free, but then you commit yourself to believing something else dogmatically. You see this a lot with ex-Christian atheists: because they don't believe in God anymore, they insist that anyone who does is illogical, stupid, etc. They've changed what they believe but not how they believe it.
  • And all the time - such is a tragi-comedy of our situation - we continue to clamour for those very qualities we are rendering impossible. You can hardly open a periodical without coming across the statement that what our civilization needs is more 'drive', or dynamism, or self-sacrifice, or 'creativity'. In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.
  • Musubi is the old way of calling the local guardian god. This word has profound meaning. Tying thread is Musubi. Connecting people is Musubi. The flow of time is Musubi. These are all the god's power. So the braided cords that we make are the god's art and represent the flow of time itself. They converge and take shape. They twist, tangle, sometimes unravel, break, then connect again. Musubi - knotting. That's time.
  • I realise now that to remain at one point of view is restrictive and will only provide a limited vista of the world. To jump from different perspectives of a problem, to assume different philosophies and view it through their lens in another light - that is how to live, how to work. To remain flexible, to keep an open mind, to not close yourself off because of what you believe in as absolute truth.
  • I've been thinking about trauma - how it's repetitive, and how we recreate it, and how memory is fashioned by creation. Every time we remember, we create new neurons, which is why memory is so unreliable. I thought, 'Well if the Greek root for 'poet' is 'creator,' then to remember is to create, and, therefore, to remember is to be a poet.' I thought it was so neat. Everyone's a poet, as long as they remember.
  • Anyone who knows anything about history knows that it is built on conspiracy, conspiracy is the engine of history … These people have never sat in a courtroom and listened to lawyers try men and corporations on charges of conspiracy … Conspiracies are a fact of life, for anyone to say that conspiracies are absurd, and that anyone who thinks that conspiracies are real is a 'conspiracy theorist' has a real problem.
  • I am pessimistic because I don't trust history. But at the same time, I am optimistic. Out of despair, one creates. What else can one do? There is no good reason to go on living, but you must go on living. There is no good reason to bring a child into this world but you must have children to give the world a new innocence, a new reason to aspire towards innocence. As Camus said, in a world of unhappiness, you must create happiness.
  • In tragedy, we find the worst of humanity. We also find the best of humanity. We find strength, real strength in hope. When the happy ending is not provided, we must create one for ourselves. We aren't past it, we aren't over it, but even just going on living is an act of defiance. An act of rebellion, a middle finger to all those assholes striving so hard to take away everything you are and kill you.
  • I don't understand why people hate puns, they're language taken and twisted and wielded to create a special brand of humour; they're the result of thousands of years of language evolution and combined with the finest wit, and resulting in an universal reaction of laughter and groaning. In a way it's a form of magic, if you consider magic as the power of words on the world. You could even say it's wit craft.
  • MediaWiki skinning scares people, and for good reason: implementing a skin that is not very much like Vector typically breaks every extension and gadget ever. Changing Vector is also a bad idea for the same reason. Changing the skinning backend itself is like opening a portal to unspeakable horrors: the fabric of the wiki turns inside out, extensions merge into unusable chimeras, and the site navigation starts breeding with itself. It is, generally, not recommended to try.
  • Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them — if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.
  • The main thing that I learned about conspiracy theory is that conspiracy theorists actually believe in a conspiracy because that is more comforting. The truth of the world is that it is chaotic. The truth is, that it is not the Jewish banking conspiracy or the grey aliens or the 12 foot reptiloids from another dimension that are in control. The truth is more frightening, nobody is in control. The world is rudderless.
  • You'd think horses were one of those animals that has horrible health due to humans breeding unhealthy animals to achieve a certain look, but no, they really are just naturally that fucked up. Horses' lungs bleed when they run at a certain speed. If their diet is too rich or low in selenium, their hooves fall off. If a horse's leg breaks, you kinda have no choice but to put it out of its misery. If a horse eats too much in a sitting it dies and they also don't have the ability to feel sated. Which means it will keep eating. Speaking of hooves, have y'all ever seen a newborn foal hooves? You don't want to, but, just saying.
  • When any current moment is over, it immediately begins to lose all shape and color. Like a fish pulled out of water and left to die on land, its colors pale and it flops helplessly around until its life energy ebbs beyond a certain point and it dies. However, there are some moments that refuse to die. As they weaken, they stumble and lurch through the now, wreaking havoc. Colliding with lives and events, they leave their mark, aroma, their scales, on everything they touch.
  • What people have to realize first is they're not just one single person who does weird, out-of-character things now and then. We're all made up of many different selves who fight and compete with one another constantly. Somehow we've got to get them to agree on a few basic things. Get them to stop fighting with one another. They all have different needs. One part of us wants safety, but another wants adventure. I want to be loved. I want to be left alone... Those aren't contradictions - they're independent selves saying 'I want this!'
  • In this world, there is nothing as impartial as death. For all living creatures, death is sure to eventually come knocking. Death is an equalizer - it is an absolute truth - and it is always lingering right beside us. Nevertheless, people make the best use of their wits and courage.... struggling... floundering... they cling to life until the very end. You see, we actually like this unjust and unequal world...
  • So the night is dark and full of terror? Be a light. However you can. In big ways or small. A thousand tiny gestures of kindness sustained over time will eventually make up a whole. Start somewhere. But don't you ever tell people it's pointless to hope, or to believe in a better world. Don't you dare take that from them. Do better. For your sake as well as others. You deserve better too. Hope is not the reserve of the naive, it is the foundation upon which better things are built. So stop trying to tear it down.
  • Being lawful is about how much you trust and value what other people think. Forget the actual law, that's what it's really about. It's about holding yourself to the standards of other people and acknowledging that you are responsible for meeting their expectations when interacting with them. Chaotic is about valuing your own standards above all else, even if you're acting on behalf of someone else. A Lawful Good person is empathetic, a Lawful Evil one is manipulative. Both are paying attention to what other people want and expect of them.
  • Evil turned out not to be a grand thing. Not sneering Emperors with their world-conquering designs. Not cackling demons plotting in the darkness beyond the world. It was small men with their small acts and their small reasons. It was selfishness and carelessness and waste. It was bad luck, incompetence, and stupidity. It was violence divorced from conscience or consequence. It was high ideals, even, and low methods.
  • It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.
  • Man created society in his own image; it enables him as much as it corrupts him. Man chooses evil, for the sake of the evil. Man exults in agony, delights in pain, worships destruction and pathology. Man can torture his brother, in an ecstasy of pleasure, and dance on his grave. Man despises life, his own weak life, and the vulnerability of others, and constantly works to lay waste, to undermine, to destroy, to torment, to abuse and devour.
  • Who can believe that it is the little choices we make, every day, between good and evil, that turn the world to waste and hope to despair? But it is the case. We see our immense capacity for evil, constantly realized before us, in great things and in small – but can never seem to realize our infinite capacity for good. Who can argue with a Solzhenitsyn when he states: 'One man who stops lying can bring down a tyranny.'
  • In any civilised society, I don't think there is any category of death worse than that of a child while his or her parents still live. It is an experience that turns the natural order upside down, that demands more in the way of strength and emotional resources than any rational person has to give. It can bring family members together or tear them apart; it can test faith or destroy it. But it leaves non as they were; it is utterly transformative. And within this unfortunate category, there can be no death more horrible than the death of a child by murder.
  • He's a guy who has seen so much, done SO MUCH... that he's calm. He's so far beyond wrath at the demons that he's entered a weird Calm and just LIVES there. Nothing shakes him of it. He doesn't grunt, he doesn't yell, he doesn't scream, he just breathes and moves on. New demon? Well, it'll bleed like the last. He doesn't revel in combat, he just moves through it like walking through air; it's a function of existence for him.
  • There are those dreams that sort of stay with you, lingeringly, coming back in bits and pieces over the first few waking moments, and then only as feelings and familiarities later. As the years go by, you remember, again, in the moments where the same thing happens again, and you cannot place whether the memories are real or imagined. But you know you've lived this before. You feel like you know it implicitly.
  • My grandfather's grandfather once stood in the presence of the Revan. It is hard to believe. They say we once lived on the surface and walked in the light of suns and moons. It is hard to believe. Here, the light of the Infinite Engine warms our skin and lets us look upon our faces. The Revan said to dedicate each newborn child to the machine. It is the first touch they feel when they emerge from their mother's bodies. The Revan said to give our dead to the machine. It takes back all that it gave them through the years and returns it to us as food, as medicine. Our homes are built and heated from the bodies of our dead. No one understands when I ask the question, "Would it seem strange?" What did we give up when we swore ourselves to the service of the Revan?
  • Fools on both sides. All who thought the Star Forge a mere weapon, they didn't know. They never wanted to know. It is the seed of worlds. Such power, even in a fragment. A fleet, that's what I made of it. Almost laughable now. What of its smallest piece? It cannot build ships, no, what useless fragments does it generate? Air. Life. It feeds on the Force, on energy, on mass, on whatever you give it. And it creates. That is its nature. It begins where we all began. A breath of air, a drop of water, the first chains of carbon. Why bother with fleets, when one day we might build our own galaxies?
  • Mountains. Heavy mountains, things that change over time. Sky, blue sky. What your eyes cannot see. Sun. A unique object. Water. something comforting. flowers, so many of the same, and so many unneeded. sky, red, red sky. The colour red. Red. I hate the colour red. Water flowing. Blood. The smell of blood. A woman who never bleeds. Man made from red soil. Man made from man and woman. City... a human creation. Eva, a human creation. What is a human? A creation of god?
  • Ask a hundred writers where their stories come from and you'll get two hundred answers, and even more stories. And that's not even the big ones. The ones we build over a lifetime, the ones we dream, and weave throughout our lives, that we always come back to, working and reworking. These stories come from everywhere. They are. They build on all the other stories, all the tropes and moments and feelings, every random bit of life that takes its chance to sing to us.
  • There are days I have categorically failed to comprehend a potato. It's like... what is this? What is potato?! Have you ever stopped to think about potatoes? As objects, they are squishy and firm, rough and smooth, solid but liquid. As plants, they're the entire plant packaged up for transport, or storage, safe and hidden. Every eye is a sprout in waiting. You can chop them up and each piece becomes a new potato. They sit in the ground and wait. Potate. Sprout, and infloresce, lush and green. But the green is poison. They have made themselves indispensable as food, and yet the leaves are deadly. Nothing should be comprehensible. Nothing is! It's all potatoes! All the way down!
  • The entire business model and culture was based on a having a happy demeanor even though it was the kind of job where you're dealing with customers and every minute of time is constantly monitored and you could get in trouble for performing 'too well'. Despite all being about positivity, people would cry at their desks and if management thought someone seemed too down they were required to start a 'happiness journal'. If you couldn't keep up you didn't want it enough and you weren't a fit.
  • It takes time to learn how to understand new forms of media. It takes experience to recognise the new scams and misrepresentations by the novel shapes and forms they come in. The child believes what he is told. The student believes what he reads. Not yet familiar with the methodologies and patterns that go into visual storytelling, the dilettante takes the presented story at face value, and takes it to heart, and so yet another generation follows the suggestions laid out before them, for why dig deeper? Each and every iteration, it takes time to even realise they can, let alone that they must.
  • Fixed misspelling of 'cahce' to 'cache', which was a critical bug that was breaking homepage. Then I removed cache completely. By the way, I haven't audited this code for security. In general, I would highly recommend against running PHP code on a public facing server. It's probably fine to run this (and mediawiki) on your local intranet disconnected from the internet (e.g. put it on a separate VLAN). Because the main use case of a blog is to have it not publicly facing.
  • A black hole creates a hole in your perspective by trapping light that would have otherwise contributed to the image your eyes perceive. But I will note that any object between you and the source of light can cause a similar phenomenon. A solar eclipse is not a hole in the sun. Just because black holes achieve this through a unique means doesn't make them more deserving of being defined as holes, ontologically.
  • Paul wasn't squeamish about sex so much as he was, I'm fairly confident, a self-hating pompous 1st century version of the Ivy League fancy Jewish Roman citizen misogynistic homo douchebag. He basically told young Christian men that premarital sex was a sin so only get married if you can't control your dick. If you can, leave the women be, they ain't shit. Nothing from Jesus ever said women were less than men or shouldn't teach, all that women should keep silent and ask their husbands when they get home bullshit was Paul. He also talked about wrestling with the weaknesses of the flesh. Dude was gay as fuck and super wanted to not be. Some sad shit.
  • One of my 4k monitors has a bug, thankfully not noticeable most of the time. Tried to get it out or at least shift it loose so it can fall down to the bottom, but to no avail. So instead I just live with it, because it's close to the left edge and unless I fullscreen an app or the app over there has a bright background, I don't see it. It's annoying but not 'toss out an otherwise perfectly good monitor that I paid hundreds of dollars for and get a new one for hundreds of more dollars' annoying.
  • Why the fuck do people always remind you that Taco Bell isn't real Mexican food? Do you not think that I know that? Do you think I go to Taco Bell because I think the 16 year old white guy behind the window just made me authentic Mexican cuisine two minutes before I pulled to the second window? No, do you know why I go to taco bell? It's because it's 1:30AM and my life is terrible so I order a coke and five dorito loco tacos and shove them down my face in the parking lot.
  • Princesses who can't do anything for themselves end up locked in a castle guarded by a dragon, alone. Princesses who can't make decisions won't become a good Queen. You're not raising a princess, you're raising a Queen. Queens need to do the hard work that some Kings neglect. They need to make hard decisions and make sure their kingdom runs smoothly. Princesses are pretty, but always require saving. Queens raise Queens.
  • The best thing about psyche hospital is your fellow patients. You form strong bonds in there and I have lifelong friends I've met in there. It's all stripped away and you talk freely about your mental health to each other and share things you wouldn't share with your friends and family in the outside world. I've learned that people living with mental health issues are probably the kindest and most understanding people in the world. They get it, they get the human psyche... and they don't want anyone else to feel how they feel so they treat people beautifully.
  • We're so lucky we're alive to see this beautiful world. Look at the sky. It's not dark and black and without character. The black is in fact deep blue. And over there! Lighter blue. And blowing through the blueness and the blackness, the winds swirling through the air. And there shining, burning, bursting through, the stars! Can you see how they roll their light? Everywhere we look, complex magic of nature blazes before our eyes.
  • A journey will have pain and failure. It is not only the steps forward that we must accept. It is the stumbles. The trials. The knowledge that we will fail, that we will hurt those around us. But if we stop, if we accept the person we are when we fall, the journey ends. That failure becomes our destination. To love the journey is to accept no such end. I have found, through painful experience, that the most important step a person can take is always the next one.
  • Real friends are the ones who stick by you during your darkest days, and have the guts to call you out on negative behaviors and actions, because they want the best for you. If you have people who only hang with you during your best, but not your worst, then they're not really your friends. I don't know if there was ever any moment she stuck with you during a dark time in your life, but based on this, she abandoned you when you needed a friend the most.
  • It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
  • I read of a man who stood to speak at a funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning... to the end. He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.
  • So far, not a single scientific model was even close to being 100% accurate at anything; but they worked. Our current models have things we can't explain or things that don't work - like that conservation of energy just doesn't apply to relativity, etc. We'll probably never have a complete theory of everything, but rather keep amending the models we already have with new bits to make them jive with newly collected experimental data, or just throwing stuff out and starting anew when we realize that we were completely off-track, or even, just being honest in admitting that we don't know something. And still there are people who can't get it. But every invention on history is a testament to someone showing an understanding of how things in this universe work, and applying our vast yet minuscule knowledge of stuff in general.
  • Infinite Jest. The best way I can describe it is 'The big, deep book about people written by a guy who reads big, deep books about people and knows how to write a big, deep about people and every part of the book is him showing us how he's writing the big, deep book about people, but we never get any big, deep insights about people to go along with the knowledge that this book sure was written to give them to you!'
  • I was looking out at the wall of a room but in my eye I was seeing infinitely, kind of like a never ending runway. Another time I thought I went too far because I had to close my eyes and these pulsing patterns were too much, and as I lay I think on my bed, in the fetal position, terrified and focusing on breathing, I had a sensation of going inside out, like a rubber glove you peel off your hand and the glove is left inside out.
  • In the Balkans, the mother is sacred to a son, and unless you're ready to throw down, you don't go there. Some will just give you a punch or a pimp-slap to cool you down if you're friends, some are ready to kill you for it though. And weirdly, between brothers and the very best of friends, once you get to the level of jokingly insulting another guys mother or sister without him grabbing your throat, you know you've made a friend for life.
  • He legitimatey thinks that getting a drivers license allows the 'government' to come in and rape your women (I didn't inquire as to whether that was handled by a specific US Rapist Department, but I digress). He thinks you should be able to get out of a speeding ticket by just... refusing it? I don't know, I haven't suffered enough brain damage to fully comprehend most of the things my father believes.
  • why the fuck did I come here? It's super uncomfortable being there, and it's not like you can really mingle or anything. It feels like you're giving a presentation in front of an arena full of people, but about a topic you know nothing about. It is.... incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. It's like the chicken salad sandwich from 7-11. It tastes like shit. I know it tastes like shit. And yet, I keep eating them.
  • Even in a complex system, there is no such thing as luck. All possibilities play out according to what occurred elsewise, bubbling outwards, interacting and converging over time and space in a series of disastrous coincidences, guided and defined by what men would call the 'laws of numbers'. These laws of numbers, these probabilities, are limited only by what functions are known, and by the very perceptions of those who know them. The paths are not linear, and may diverge. And so there are different outcomes in different stories, even with the same base numbers, the same pasts, the same events. Roll the dice. Reset the game. All is known, and the world still is not what it seems. The maths tell all, but there is not all to tell.
  • The man who has seen it all has not. He has seen lies, and horror, and betrayal. He has seen what people are, and the monsters that linger beneath their masks. He has seen demons, and been held in their sway. But he cannot see angels, for they wear the same masks as the demons. He cannot see love, because it looks no different from fear. And you cannot help him. Every truth you could possibly tell him he has already heard as a lie.
  • The forest is an ocean. The deeper you go, the stranger things get, the deeper the forest becomes, the darker. There are thousands of unknowns, and in the darkness, the species get bigger, scarier, more dangerous. Instead of whales there are giant elder deer. Instead of trenches there are taller trees and tangled roots and deep jagged creeks. You can walk across the ocean, but in these depths you will need to climb over the mountainous roots. You will see the need for size. Darkness clings to the monsters here, hanging. Is there another side? Or beyond the ocean is there only more ocean?
  • I've been cooking by myself for a while, and I realise I've been starting to make Early Apocalypse Onset Meals. I just made a pot containing rice, frozen peas, some frozen corn I found in a corner of the freezer, and Mystery Ground Meat. It contains the concept of nutrition without actually being a meal, and only noticing the concept of Food out the corner of its eye in a crowded square and pulling its hat down, trying not to be noticed.
  • I finally figured it out! See, they want you to tell them truth, but they don't want all of the truth. Like today. She asked how I'm feeling, and today I just said 'You know, I'm feeling really good!' when what I was actually thinking was 'I'm feeling really good, and also, I wonder what your face would taste like if I cut it off and ate it.' Like that. They don't actually want all of the truth.
  • I'll never stop being fascinated by the double standard people hold for intoxication. Its a mind altering substance and you can't be held responsible for any decisions you make while doing so, can't consent to anything, etc. Until you hurt someone. Then, not only did you apparently know precisely what you were doing, you deserve extra punishment because you were so incredibly irresponsible. And the drunker you were, i.e. literally more impaired and less likely to know what you're actually doing, the more people condemn you. It's honestly hilarious.
  • 'Vaccines cause autism' gives people a weird sense of comfort. You can direct all your anger and frustration at them, Big Pharma or doctors or whoever sell vaccines. They purposely cause autism, just for money. Because, what's the alternative? The truth? 'We don't know what causes autism, but it's definitely not vaccines. No, we can't tell you what does cause it and we can't cure it. It'll just randomly happen to some people without any reason and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.' People would rather live in a world with a clearly defined monster they can fight than a nebulous lack of information.
  • You're twitchy, shaking, and scared. You have the normal fear of not knowing what's going on, but with the virus really fucking the amygdala this is amplified a hundred fold. It's around this time the hydrophobia starts. You're horribly thirsty, you just want water. But you can't drink. Every time you do, your throat clamps shut and you vomit. This has become a legitimate, active fear of water. You're thirsty, but looking at a glass of water begins to make you gag, and shy back in fear. The contradiction is hard for your hot brain to see at this point. By now, the doctors will have to put you on IVs to keep you hydrated, but even that's futile. You were dead the second you had a headache.
  • You're alone, hallucinating, thirsty, confused, and absolutely, undeniably terrified. Everything scares the literal shit out of you at this point. These strange people in lab coats. These strange people standing around your bed crying, who keep trying to get you 'drink something' and crying. And it's only been about a week since that little headache that you've completely forgotten. Time means nothing to you anymore. Funny enough, you now know how the bat felt when he bit you.
  • I get that your horny brain made you think that fucking a coconut was a good idea, that's not even what surprises me. But your brain is supposed to return to normal after you blow your load, so why did your normal brain tell you 'it's fine to leave an open coconut in a warm room with semen and butter in it' and most importantly how were you not disgusted at the idea of fapping by using your several days old semen as lubricant?!
  • I've always had a positive outlook on things and am drawn to feel good stories of recovery, forgiveness, reunion, etc, pretty much the 'return of the prodigal son'. But I never really thought about how those stories gloss over the pain and resentment of victims who are unable to forgive unforgivable actions but are inadvertently made to feel guilty and ashamed for feeling that way. We just kind of expect them to just automatically be the bigger person, eventually come to forgive, move on, if not now, then with the passage of the years.
  • Life is long and complicated. You can never truly get a fresh start. Things wear you down over time. And you just get so tired. Getting excited about things is hard, and when you're an adult and you get excited about something, there's usually another adult in line that is ready to tear you down for it. Just because they're shitty and the only thing they get excited about, these days, is shitting on others.
  • The world is cruel and harsh. Human compassion is one of the few mercy's that can exist in your life. If you aren't compassionate then you're neglecting one of the highest purposes of human existence. We bring light into the world with our compassion. Don't give up on that. We need more compassionate people in the world. If everyone decides to be selfish and hostile then our future will not be one that we enjoy living in. The world is what we make it, with every little action, the butterfly effect is true. Send out positive waves and try to make positive impacts in the world around you. Nothing else truly matters in the end besides the perpetuation of compassion and goodness.
  • Take that imposter syndrome shit to the return desk and exchange it for brilliant conman syndrome, it'll change your life. Do you have great things in life? Shit yeah you do! Do you deserve them? Maybe! Maybe not! Do you deserve for good things to happen to you? Who gives a fuck! Will good things happen to you regardless? Fuck yeah they will! Get drunk on questionably placed power and tell the regret fairy to suck it cuz you're here to have a rad time!
  • When you have the refill you can see the pellets, they are tiny and the whole bag is light as fuck even though it is huge. A beanbag chair is a whole ass chair and it will float on water even if you sit on it, it does not take the level of foresight belonging only to animals before a volcano or a tornado to know that you need a plan to handle them. What lack of perception is even necessary to not understand that these things will act worse than feathers. It is the glitter bomb of pillow stuffings and if you touch it at all it clings to the hand like the scales of Satan. How can any person make such a miserable mistake twice? It baffles me.
  • Suicide will always be an option and you can keep it in your back pocket. For me, that makes me feel safe. But since it's always going to be an option, why not put it off one more day? You can always do tomorrow. You can always do it next week, next month or next year. It's never not going to be an option. So I got a kitten as a way to postpone it for myself. Right now suicide feels inevitable, and I am almost positive it's how I will die eventually. But for now I gotta hangout with my kitten.
  • The atoms are crushed into their constituent subatomic particles, electrons and protons squeezed together to form neutrons, and what you have is basically neutron soup. This is what you find at the center of neutron stars - degenerate matter, held up by neutron degeneracy pressure, which we don't understand very well. Theoretically, you could squeeze further until the neutrons are torn apart into their constituent quarks. Most of the 'matter' inside a neutron isn't really matter at all, only a few percent in the form of quarks. The rest of the 'mass' of a neutron is actually energy, mediating the interactions between those quarks. So you could have a star that's been crushed beyond neutron degeneracy pressure, and is now quark soup instead of neutron soup. Quark soup being thousands of times denser. But we're still not at the level of a black hole.
  • What do quarks break down to? Nothing, so far as we know, they are fundamental particles, not made of anything else. What determines their density, what's 'holding them up' and preventing them from shrinking further? We don't know. So this is where our knowledge of the quantum world stops. We don't know what's inside a black hole. It's not atomic scale, it's not even subatomic scale, it's something past that. Our theories offer no clue of what that something looks like, but we know it exists. It curves space-time, it produces gravity.

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Eapherod is a sideshow.