writings

Software I Use

On Appreciation

On Context

J

What I Play

On (My) Depression

My Compositions

Realizing You...

On Diet

One-Offs


software i use

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lu: 20220826t050459

OS: Voi d   L i n u x What Arch Linux purports to be—minimal, is more so achieved by Void. No systemd—need I say more? The bestest package system. Comes in both glibc and musl C standard library flavors. I'd used xubuntu for 1–2y ~2014, but had switched back to win7 due to constant issues, I hadn't then the tenacity to problemsolve, nor the time or willingness to learn to. 1–1.5y before switching, I'd fucked-, no, stabwoundfucked my installation by half-assedly, mischievously registry editing, causing boot-up to last a measly 25' on the dot. Rummaging round there shortly before doing the deed, I deleted vast amounts superfluous records, which too little, too late fixed the issue. The 'fast', read 2', boot was back, yey..? Happy-go-lucky me chose to forgo decision and take the plunge of switching before variegate other ugliness sprang up. My first void install was with the Enlightenment DE, a.k.a. crashmedadDE, but in 2–3 months after reacquaintance with GNU/Linux, I did a reinstall without a DE, taking the suckless pill. Very happy with just about everything.

Shell: zsh Everything about it I love (Too strong a word? My firm discontentment with bash, and less so (da)sh necessitates a push toward one extremum.)—globbing, recursion, flags and modifiers, loop shorthands, modules, PCRE, options galore, emulate of all the major shells, arrays, PCRE!!!, and more. Read the whole 32000 lines of the documentation. Additional resources in no particular order with more linked inside: zsh refcard, grml, zsh mailing list, rayninfo zshtips.

Window manager: dwm Small, fast, stable, easily extensible; pairs well with slstatus, what I used, and setroot, both likewise. Ages ago I used herbstluftwm with conky, and dzen2; configuration of all of which was unnecessarily clunky, also bloat. I use the hide-vacant-tags, columns, push-no-master, smart-borders patches.

Terminal emulator: st Small, fast, stable, easily extensible. I use the ligatures, scrollback, and ringbuffer patches.

Text editor: kakoune Chronologically, omitting notepad.exe, Sublime Text was my first big boy text editor, used 2011–2021. Sane settings, sane keybindings (coming from Windows, that is); extremely easily and verily customizable; bundled with a package manager, that just werks, and packages abound. Present day, since the fucking closed-source aussie cunts don't offer statically linked or musl builds, I've had to give quite literally every text editor, found in my disto's repo, an honest shake, and quite a donkeydicksack more from github. Usually, when something runs smoothly, you don't have much to say, you are content (or you're in awe and exult, if it's actually good). When it don't just werk—big oof. A very non-exhaustive listing of shits: dte and mle—both a chore to use, being mildly-to-roilingly obtuse to configure; sandy—too simple, lacked bindings, amidst other now forgotten reasons; lime—never got working; slap—more or less the same, albeit worse because JS. emacs: Just no—obtuse and abstruse as fuck, and bindings are for the M in S&M. vi(m): begrudgingly usable with mucho rebinding, reading, and head-scratching, alongside patience; learning everything, then shuffling and juggling configs and mappings to something familiar will durate coming from anything Window-y; exactly why emacs feels like it does. Even disregarding the many, for a user cryptic or unhelpful error messages, one can at least get some work done. zed, zsh's editor partnered with fast-syntax-highlighting is splendid for anything shell-related under 10kb, not involving here-strings. ed, acme, sam I'd put besides emacs. Why must keybindings differ so? vim is very obviously moribund as evidenced by the extended life-support proffered by neovim/lua. lite-xl is another Lua-based one, supposedly easy to write plugins for (probably more so than neovim) as well as much prettier and with sane default keybs. kakoune does everything I want of it, good choice of regex; front-end is real nice, internals are kinda shit; sane defaults. helix is great, though I dislike the modal paradigm, and think it should be kept as simple as possible, rather than adding modes willy-nilly (at least 2 of its modes could be nixed by treading over its principle of not using alt as a modifer, which it explicitly does not want to use). Being integrated with tree-sitter, however, is a big plus for normies, but you can't write your own syntax files quickly and simply—you must use treeshitter; can't fiddle with functions and config as much either.

File manager: noice Fast and easily extensible, not buggy or slow as ranger and as finnicky as lf.

Music player: mpd, mpv Dicking around for several hours-to-days with ncmpcpp is the closest thing to foobar2000, which is still the undisputed godkingemperor of players, in my opinion. These two are stable, reliable, quick, easily configurable, have terminal user interface, and support online radio stuff. The cover art thing is annoying...

Video player: mpv Cosmic amount of settings, if you're into that shit, otherwise does the job. Nice integration with yt-dlp.

Internet browser: vimb, boredserf, elinks boredserf is a fork of surf, both using significantly less RAM and CPU than Firefox— all versions of which, namely normal/nightly/ESR—, I've had unaddressable issues with for over 1.5y as of the IW relating to scroll-jitter, tab-crashing, and privacy. Anyway, I'm very happy to have contacted Jon Bakke, who'd written a patch for content blocking, who after some back and forth with me got to forking surf. A few issues with it have already been addressed, the main one of blocking various first and third party types of content is working smoothly, and it is the closest thing to uBlock we'll be getting using WebKit2 as a relatively suckless internet browser. I think he may have abandoned it..? Anyway, with two small tweeks to the source, nothing throttles, lags, crashes, or freezes on my end, so it's quite nice, if I do say so myself. (And I do.) For surf, I had keybound surfraw (some of whose elvi are out of date, but most easily fixable) as an additional prompt, and used only the userscript patch to use 4chanX to make messageboard more usable, customized. The lack of uBlockOrigin, can be partially compensated by wyebadblock supposedly, though I never got it to work. Additionally, sort -uing some big-ish lists of elements to hide (easylist, easyprivacy, fanboy-{social,annoyance,cookiemonster}, antiadblockfilters, etc.), and append to the default stylesheet, one gets very good results (along with having an 127MB /etc/hosts file :j). elinks has the benefit of not being able to or having to display any modern web bullshit, looking the exact same way on every website (no to-n-fro css switching or fiddling), and being faster to load anything. For reference material, fora, and plain text reading and dumping, it reigns supreme.

PDF viewer: zathura, qpdfview The lightest one that's easily customizable, not an eyesore, and doesn't leak memory (glaring at you, katarakt). mupdf (memory-heavy, single-file, no xid), xpdf, xreader, apvlv can eat donkey dick. Currently giving zathura with tabbed a shot (since the --unique option of qpdfview requires dbus, which I do not want); It... has issues, being prone to lag like vimb, which is also undiagnozable, and thus requires a refresher of sort, usually selecting the same tab. Higher zoom is real slow; otherwise minimal and decent. Still though, had I larger screen and more comfortable setup, it'd've'n perfert. sioyek is great too, but doesn't have tabs. Fugg, in the end, I'll have to writer my own or edit the existing.

Image viewer: sxiv, feh feh achieves a bit more than its competitors—as a background-setter, can sort according to image parameters, etc. *like nearly 2y* After awhiles, I've finally gotten round to sxiv, and I really like it. Regarding terminal graphics programs, chafa is the best (fastest, highest quality, on my machine, at least). I'd tried 3 others (1 forgotten)—tiv better than caca. I have nox versions for pretty much everything I use, ha-ha..

Torrent client: qbittorrent Written in cpp, fast, no ads/bloat/clunk, torrents can be added from command-line, and community-written search plugins for various trackers accessible from within the client exist, what more could you want? I've against rtorrent has problems: abstruse keybindings, inexcussable performance, usability, stability, and development issues. After an update to qbittorrent, I get segfaulting with either client, so I had to find an alternative, torrent, although a command-line program does the job, so I'm not complaining.

Pager: less There are extactly two pagers that predominate, more and less. Others exist, yes, but not as featureful or complete-feeling as less. All my reading is accomplished through it. It uses PCRE; has colors, if you like those, and keybindings are easily customizable. Probably my most used program, (not counting zsh, st, tabbed and dwm, which, it could be said, are always used).

HTML reader: rdrview Strips all unessential content, build in C from Mozilla Firefox's reader's code. All RSS items containing text are passed through this and piped into less. Getting the exact same experience perusing html pages, with all but the core content stripped.

Spritz reader: speedread When reading something inconsequential, or containing less than, say, 4000 words, with little-to-no valuable information or heavy-set sentences, this allows express consumption. fltrdr, flinks, cfastread, and many others I've tried from github have issues, be it keybindings, bad design, overextension. I wanted something that was similar to Balabolka's spritz reader, which introduced me to the idea first. Here is my edit.

HTML parser: pup Great tool for scripts involving html in any way. The virgin API vs. the Chad scrape.

Doc prep: tectonic Since learning LaTeX in uni, I've used it for CV, diabetes logbook, personal dictionaries, documentation, letters, emails, one-time diary and magazine, and a few others. I'd initially used miktex, while on windows, and then texlive distributions of TeX. The former has the standard windows issues: ugly, shitty, but still usable, UI—dl, click some boxes, click install, and whoop, it's done. texlive required more manhandling and a weird way of working with it. On the other hand, tectonic is a one-off binary, it installs any packages as needed without any fuss (of which there was plenty with texline); never interrupts execution to prompt for the in 99.9% of cases unneeded user input.

Filtering: pcre2grep grep sucks ass, POSIX suck ass. Its BRE and ERE—why do these exist? It's not 1979 anymore, perl is actually part of many distribution, why in the fuck isn't PCRE the default?! Acquiring usable output with grep requires half a dozen options, if not repeated calls, since the regex are shit. sed is god-awful, and another language altogether, because fuck you, that's why, as is awk. Necessary evils at times *sigh*—alternatively: sd. My fallback chain is usually perl one-liners, zsh, and sed/awk With documentation.

Line search: rg Gotta go fast! Specifically more so than ag, the silver searcher. Its option set makes it a better fgrep, and it's handling of pcre is swell for more complicated regexs.

File search: fd Vroom-vroom. Fast, sane regex choice. Fuck me, I hated find.

Fuzzy search: fzf, fzy Latter is smaller and faster and has better (for my usage) matching more often than not than the former, which has had a feature creep for over 2–3 years now. That said, adjustable keybindings, preview-window, formatting, and multiple selections and some other options allow creation of shell scripts and integration with other terminal programs.

RSS: sfeed Small, easily extendable and customizable, cronable, supports various inputs and outputs. I made some keybinding adjustments, and two scripts, one for spritzing, and one for flite, both, as well as the default page open, get rdrview treatment. The ui is very nice, no need for another even more piping.

Font: Fira Code Not software, but, but you're free to bitch about my but I use it for literally everything. Although I take pleasure in the site of each of these very round sans-serif fonts: Century Gothic, ITC Avant Garde Gothic, TeX Gyre Adventor, and Futura; these hinder legibility at higher speeds and or greater distances of reading. The ligatures are eyecandy, although only programming ones are implemented.


On Appreciation

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I claim that art can be (sub-/ob-)jectively good/bad—this gives rise to four distinct categories, illustratied in the below table. The subjective two needn't explanation. The others do—definitions for 'good', 'bad', and 'objective' are required.

subjectivelyobjectively
good41
bad32

One the one hand, you can start a tirade on artist merit, tradition, technique, etc. On the other, a straightforward, qualitative measure such as 'how many people like this how much' (a histogram) could be used. A rough guide to examples of good/bad, but not good/bad themselves—the four categories pertain not to why, but to what, so is fine. Answers from a large enough, random population, clusters should/will form, widely appreciable pieces of art.

I hear you say, 'How is this not medium-agnostic bubblegum pop?' Intensity should cover that. Hearing a random piano concerto from the last 3–4 centuries, from a composer whose works never grew to a sufficient prominence to allow his name cause to be forgotten, i.e., a nobody, people wouldn't have on average the same reaction as to a 'better' one. Complexity's invited back if one starts asking questions: '(Why) is x better than y?', where x and y may be groupings (genres), creators (artists), individuals (band members), and not necessarily of the same type: 'Is Lars Ulrich better than Metallica?'. The latter is answerable readily when put up against: 'Is ('popular'/radio) music better than highly technical and abstract, inaccessible, experimental music? Surely a single high valuation can't equal 1000 mediocre ones?' A non-linear relation is mayhaps a remedy—logarithmically, the 8 of 1 person could be equivalent to, say, the 10 7s of 10 others. The most accurate discerning would take place if perfect knowledge (pertaining to the art) were issued to participants.

A 4-year-old can express liking (or at least consistently pick when given choice) one thing over another. It requires: 1. a natured and nurtured (human) being—this allows differences in preference to arise according to circumstances of both; 2. an object of evaluation. I don't think a fully tasteless, preferenceless human, even lab-grown, would be possible, as, given a set of goals (to live, to be happy, to etc.), there would be objectively and subjectively better routes of attaining these. I'm treading on rationalization territory in attempt to extend the argument. One without an overarching or short-term aim would nonetheless tend toward evolutionarily instilled, hard-coded likes and dislikes, albeit these won't as refined as modern-day choice'd grant, such as: fat over lean meat, or sweet over sour/bitter plant matter.

A mature individual should be able to state, and continually introspect and permit change to (instead of doubling down) the why of its this-over-that. These two steps—acknowledgment of what and reasoning behind why, I think, are prerequisite to fair(er) appraisal of any objects to and not to one's nigh intractable liking.


On Context

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To for the first time notice and observe that some feelings and emotions, and even states of being depend very much on context, is not merely eye-opening, but more akin to a dot being transported from a 1- or 2-dimensional world, to one of infinite dimensions. Say you've been stranded in the wilderness six months, and your pudge just isn't enough to permit that long a fast. Once the circumstances of your predicament settle in, hastened by the danger, discomfort, hunger, thirst, exhaustion circumscribing you—social media (dis-)likes, unfulfilling job, relationship, life, and many other previous concerns will be beyond trivial at this point, they shan't skitter around, nor across your mind. Whether you're happy, or were a good friend, family member, worker, whether you paid your bills, etc., will not matter. A sharp shift in one's context necessitates reshuffling of priorities and reasons.

Loneliness's meanings as seen in wiktionary on 20210502, are 1. the depression resultant from being alone or deficit companionship, and 2. the condition/state of being alone or without companions. Just as rich/poor are inherently comparative adjectives, so too, I think, are lonely and whatever its antonym may be. One may be lonely compared to a person with solid connections to others, or one, center of attention for multitudinous others, or one alone yet un-lonely. But always compared to somebody else. Never would you genuinely experience it in the wilderness, outside the context of human society. You wouldn't mind some help, or a chat over a beverage, but you wouldn't be sulking day in, day out.

In the context of the 'standard' (whatever that may be to whatever majority) or 'proper' course of live as considered by people, living on inertia for a year (or decades, since childhood), or having had the 'luck'/opportunity to do so, one could regard me as a failure in most if not all aspects they value. These, in general, are along the lines of the following with my say bracketed: no finished formal education (dropped out twice), no friends (left) (I've pushed all people—I've never considered myself as having had a friend—, for various reasons, mostly not living up to my standards), little connection with family (needn't a greater one, I gain nothing I value: these people give only to receive later on according to what they believe is right and proper—human selfishness masquerading as care, internalized and rationalized), no love life/partner prospects (eh), bad/shit job/pay (gives me freedom I'd not have elsewhere).

Big city life in so-called first and second world countries has degraded the quality of life for many folk by constructing a faux context—ostentation built upon sand or an eroding shore cliff. Perhaps this extends to smaller settlements too, but I don't have neither experience, nor information about which. Still, I'd wager the QoL of all on average is higher in these. There is much wrong with society. Somehow humans successfully, inevitably, intractably fuck up things—up the ass, up the nose, through the ears, in the unhealing, gangrenous stabs from chronic mutilation— for themselves and everybody else. It is a grim thought, that this should be the normal course of huge swaths of humans densely populating the same area. I am reminded of the 'takers' from Ishmael.

I gave up on competition a (as if) long time ago, that with others however. That with oneself, with one's ideal(s) is eternal for me, as it should be. Another crucial idea from Ishmael: that 'takers' took evolution in their own too capable hand, and that man removed survival of the fittest, inter- and intraspecies competition for resources, mates, land, etc. Being alone in yours, or having no frame at all, grants the freedom to do as one wishes, to experience life without beforehand bias, priming, or expectations. You decide what has value (what is to be regarded and what ignored), and what that value is for you, and you derive these value, and opinions from your knowledge and your experience.

I gave up on people, on other people, on society, albeit not absolutely on the last two. Because one person rarely makes a difference—the amount of people with an IQ within 10 points (can't remember source for this) of me are far too low. The amount of people not on the same page is cosmological. I don't believe in exploitation, even though I was jokingly named science Hitler, SH, once, and it'd stuck. Given absolute power, it's very easy to end up being a dictatorship with population of yourself only: s. any leftist government from the past 200 years for examples for this occurring. Because the task is so towering, unending, because teaching one person is so hard, let alone all, because getting everybody to agree on the prisoners' dilemma is so damn difficult (although not impossible).

The single most depressingly frustrating fact about humanity's state of affairs on this rock is this—we are, on average, improving according to purely objective, measurable qualities like wealth, access to food&water, education, excess death, etc. (s. Better Angels of Our Time, and Enlightenment Now, both be Steven Pinker). But this is done with extraneous hardship, excessive inefficiency, and that lovely human quality as if—prideful refractory ignorance and unknowledge.

I cannot stand this context. Rather, one gains nothing positive living in this context, others' context, big X's context (where X can be way too many actors), especially not of worth equal to the imposed perpetual suffering. I've isolated myself from nigh everyone I know/knew, from 'modern' ideas and gadgets, in a monk- and hermit-like state. My disappointment, fury at humans I cannot put into words. I am so very malcontent only because I know how much more optimal, more efficient, better things could be for everyone directly and indirectly.

As it stands, I'd be better off 500km from the nearest other fucker, innawoods (or desert, boreal forest, tundra, arid mountain, maybe I'd even accept the fucking jungle). This is somewhat of a long-term goal of mine, if I don't off myself in the interim.


What I play

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lu: 20210602t172100

I don't play, or game, much. I wouldn't call it growing out of it (possible negative connotation, as has 'maturing'), rather more a combination of evolving personality or person (games are, by nature, an activity for children, adolescents, or aids in learning something) and refining tastes—knowing what and why you enjoy—, new activities taking up time associated with adult or solitary life. Time is, for sure, not to be had but to be made. One always has but the 24 hours on Earth in the current solar system. Time passes whether or not you do anything productive or wasteful. As a form of entertainment more so than anything else for me, there was little benefit. So, I cut down gradually—less flash, less MMOs, less open-world explorations, less RPGs. Sifting to the quintessence of what I like: a spatial puzzle; a top-down, turn-based killing simulator with stats; and a brutal, metal gorefest. I doubt I rack up more than 3–4 hours weekly in tetris, the rest get tended to sporadically, but intensely.

Nullpomino 10–13 years since initial contract with this gem. Gem—no, a masterpiece, what Diablo II with modding is to the ARPG genre—. The customizablity, the possibilities of play offered by this bricker is astonishes one who's only ever clicked play or start. Personally, I play not for score: t-flips are autistic, as is chaining things together, speed is a young man's game; I play for optimal piece placement, and or attempting figures or patterns. My main mode is garbage 18, and practice comes after that. I'll share my setting later on. Nullpomino is the sole reason why Java is ever to be installed. I play almost daily. It occupies spatial thought and the fingers, a good companion for an audiobook.

Cataclysm: Bright Nights I've been playing Cataclysm: Dark Days Ahead on and off for 4 years. The main branch is a shitshow. And things have only been getting worse faster with time (as with everything associated with humans). You can't fix everything with json-based modding, so some anon from /vg/ forked it He keeps up with new commits, excludes everything not fun, accepts suggested commits, and is a really nice, cool dude. It's a roguelike, a turn-based, grid-based, procedurally-generated, slightly stat-heavy game with a very open world, offering various roads to the same item or goal. Win conditions by default are nil, in BN, unless it's changed, there is one. Setting a goal with a starting scenario is preferable and awards some satisfaction. I usually customize my experience to minmax points and become a martial arts tank, ending up with the same power fantasy almost every time. Given there's no right or wrong way to play, merely default settings, one can play any scenario, with whatever and however few or many items and/or monsters. You can even farm in the desert with nothing else alive, if you so want. Or you can build a 6000hp death train. Up to you.

Diablo II: Lord of Destruction A few years back, I'd rekindled an addiction for a game I'd only ever played as a child with Hero Editor, and had watched others play 'normally'. RyuQuezacotl and MrLlama, two speedrunners on twitch, I'd taken to watching for faux virtual friendship. It was fun, but got rather repetitive, and unlike music, or reading, or doing any other normal for me activity it yielded zero benefit, being like a short fling or one-night stand. A movie's plot you should be able recall fairly in a month's time, unlike any of the 20+ streams, lengthier than the lotr trilo. I played like a madman: 16-hour sessions, interspaced with minimal, disturbed sleep. And still, I wanted more. (When, in your dreams, you see both the keyboard controlling your effigy (third-person dreaming, ffs) and yourself, being that effigy, from the third person, yet feeling everything. Not doing well. Not knowing how to control yourself. You wake up—liquid panic not brimming, but flooding the floorboards beneath your soggy bed and mattress. This dream I've had with Cataclysm as well; both times I'd taken a 1‐2-month-long break.) Well, after that came mods and attempting modding. The one that stuck, that kept me coming back was Resurgence. Both Path of Diablo, and Project Diablo 2 exhibit the exact same problems they attempt or claim to solve; MedianXL is a shitshow, visually and gameplay-wise, too complicated and distant from Diablo to be fun for me. 'Anti-cheat' mechanism baked in makes it some much more unfulfilling, unfun, unworthy. Fuck these three mod. Loot-wise, Path of Exile might exceed even MedianXL let alone the base game. It don't scratch dat itch tho. D2 is the ARPG, and a quarter century later it's still fresh and enjoyable for quick romps once every year.

Doom I really do not like hidden passageways within uniformly textured, multi-storied, labyrinthine maps, but... Brutal Doom fucks. Wholesale slaughter. And that shotgun is just, urgh. In the same vein: DUSK, which introduced an endless mode with the Intruder update; and Devil Daggers is a single platform by default, much harder though.


on (my) depression

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After a realization in the student bar under the chemistry faculty in the spring or winter of my 2. year in uni, I willingly or unwillingly started diving into depression. Not gonna write 'deeper'. Fuck that. I'm not gregarious, not a socialite, not social even, but I could go out, and have a ball drinking with people. Regardless what is was, that blight that struck me, led me to start imbibe alone—something I'd never done, because I thought it unnecessary or not fun. Alcohol accented, accelerated, buttressed possibly hidden, nonetheless extant thoughts and emotions.

I wasn't drowning my demons, no. (I can't concretely say what I was doing: was withdrawing, pushing away?) At my zenith, I'd be doing consuming some combination of: 4–6 beers and either 1–2 bottles wines or 1/3–1/2 bottle gin, almost daily. I had a filled in heart of wine bottles in the middle of my room, an almost meter-high stack of these rectangular cheap gin bottles. (I'd gotten lazy with recycling.) Half-bragging, half saying this with zero feeling. But whatever the reasons, I'd been having less and less 'fun', or whatever pluses I'd seen. In my 3. year, on some sunny April day, it struck me. I'm wasting my and my parents' money. I could play guitar drunk, a single beer impaired fine motor control sufficiently; I sure enough study or read drunk; and paying attention the the extremes was difficult. I could down a bottle of vodka with ice or tap, and for what? Cold turkey stopped. Other than the less than 10 dreams of all the sensory data my noggin's stored concerning pilsner, no effects for the I-don't-know-how-many-years since.

Around here for a period of 1–2.5 years (?) due to the many things going sideways and loopty-fucking-loop in my life, the chronological order, as well as the details of who, what, when, where, and why, are missing, muddled, muddied. The narrative module of my CPU responsible excusing, explaining, exculpating shrugs and hand-waves it all away under '(acute? chronological?) psychological trauma'. I don't really give a fuck. Thanks to a then friend, I spent a night at the uni psych ward. Turns out, in some countries, the police are obligated to, if you agree to be taken/accompanied by them, to minimize your risk to living persons, including yourself, by handing custody over you to a psychiatric facility. Where from could agree to coerced admission, or decline, and be forcefully admitted through state-issued violence. 'Nah, mate, the state owns you and your body.' I've seen lego blocks with more character, and less predictability the '''doctors''' and misc. staff there. It's almost as much a tragedy as the first 150 years of 'psychiatry', that somebody's subjective, unsubstantiated opinion about, in this case, purely subjective (and legal) matters, will get a pass as 'fact' to authorize serious drug-use and/or forced compliance through violence. Almost.

I stayed at an empty desk and basked in the hovering silence and stillness of the place. Thinking mostly. About how not to trust people ever. About the state's roles and actors. About Klara. About caffeine. I'd went to bed, but the screaming from outside my room by this lady with actual problems kept waking me up. The free coffee at 'breakfast', was nice, albeit they served nothing I can eat, so I drank 10 cups til noon, flipping through a book, and they let me go. I actually had to pay a bill for this shit.

My caring mother passed me some later summer to a some female psychologist. Big yikes. Women should not be allowed in many a profession, any requiring mental work, for example. Of zero help, I'm regret my mother perchance offering this quasi-charlatan money. The one thing she could suggest me was that I see a philosopher. Didn't know this was a service provided. Albeit, I'm to cheap to give anybody money for something I can do myself. Fuck everybody.

So, existential depression. Nothing to do with off brain chemistry, and even if it did, I don't want external or exogenous help, albeit I put up with insulin, reassuring myself I'd've never survived in the wild with these poor mutations, genes, etc. My one calming, soothing, equalizing thought is that suicide is always an options. And you really don't need much, a door knob and a belt or scarf can do the trick. You can have your final say in the matter if it's so bad. Is it bad? Yeah. But I've no firearm access, and the chance of botching it is frightful. Imagine screaming 'LET ME DIE' while your relatives or just somebody cuddles you, the sweet little potato, the vegetable boy, bedridden, with irreversible hypoxic brain damage. Defo don't want any of that shit. Be your own master, decide on something and do it. No point being a little bitch, whining and pouting on the crossroads of life and death.

Reading Geo Stone's Suicide and Attempted Suicide among other references, statistics such as: 45m falls in any orientation have >95% fatality rate, shotgun blasts to the head are fairly lethal, etc.; were fun enough to read once, but frustrating or further depressing due to lacking opportunity. I decided, were to ever have a, say, 1 in 20 chance of a failure, I'd take it without prior thought. I say that now, I said and thought it then, but the instinct for self-preservation might holler depending on the means that appears. Up til now, I've not heard of force multipliers, steep cliffs, cyanide salts materializing for wanton ideation of humans. Were we only in the beginnings of the industrial era—you could've gotta cocaine as cough medicine without a prescription at your local pharmacy... If it comes, it comes; if it don't, it don't. Suitable arrangements are better created, not prepared for: reading up on the method(s), securing location having backup plan(s). If you can't commit to a proper creation, then for you is not suicidal ideation. (I wanted to rhyme, sorry-not-sorry.)

Until then, I pass the time. I live minimally with little-to-no stress from human things; human society. I do what I value. I don't actively await death, but I'd welcome its premature arrival. Were I to have an epitaph—He went through the motions. I obscure my 'bad', useless thoughts by preoccupied myself constantly til exhaustion. I've no steady sleep schedule, often hitting it around dusk, seldom noon, rarely before midnight. Reading, music, games, movies, fora, etc., etc. Emotions are easy-ish. You perceive/think, and choice how to react. Keeping a clear head and thinking it through is relatively easy compared to being an third person observer of yourself, your life, your surrounds ever vigilant, strict and ready to take necessary action, not proceed on inertia, on defaults. Practice makes perfect better.

Saving Angel Syndrome a.k.a., putting all your eggs in a one (purely hypothetical) basket, is fallacious thinking à la post hoc ergo propter hoc. I was victim to this, to myself really (does circumstance explicate you, or inform your (re-)actions?), for 1–3 years. I've never called it this, but the name came to me and it does seem suitable. A deus ex machina to solve poor little ol' you's predicament. A fictional plot device for your very real life. A person or thing to delegate your salvation to, to do the heavy lifting, to offset your responsibilities to.

Suddenly, as with all things of import as if, it blindingly dawned on me around the time my condition was as if at its worst (if you could one-dimensionally measure it). Roughly, you can take either a proactive, or reactive stance. To what? To anything really. But 'anything', 'everything', 'everyone': there are nebulous terms whose meaning you expand as you go along on a case by case basis. Here I'd expanded mine to include depression and loneliness. (Putting anything into words subtracts a deeper felt meaning that you can easily act out. Rereading the text from few days ago, it strikes as insufficient, unworthy, imperfectly overlapping with what I meant. However...)

In the former, you take action—what that is, when it is, etc. is up to you to decide. In the latter, you fantasize about how you'd react, how things'd be if so-and-so happened. Well, nice things don't happen, generally, normally. Or at all, but that's an eternal disapproval. Being on the defensive, a reactive stance would seem natural. It needn't necessarily be wishful thinking—cocooning up, building walls could be viewed as a mix of both, albeit this happens when you have somebody to keep away, but you get the idea, it's not an either-or. But if you do engage with fantasy as your main strategy, only a catch-22 of deeper disappointment and further self-delusion comes of it. The former is an ever-present constant of life with others, not inherently bad; the other leaves you more vulnerable, less prepared. Neither extreme of accepting all blame for everything and attempting to remedy the world of its people's plights, or of wishful thinking, daydreaming without action taken or at least plans for it, help you towards any goal, possibly least to that of whatever you define friendship as.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, expect the unexpected. Only, be rational and weigh things by their estimated likelihoods—it's possible to win the lottery, just not too likely (s. also the birthday problem)—, as well as your (in-)capabilities and circumstances. Nothing is static. Forget the first third of this paragraph's initial phrase: don't hope. As Bane says: there can be no true despair without hope. Just don't fall for a saving angel.


My Compositions

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All music linked to in this article was composed by me, and is licensed under CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0. If you hear a guitar, then the piece is playable, and done by me (on a, like, 40–50cm cheapass guitarlet, I got as a gift; my good ones were back home) (also, recording quality is spotty at best as it served as audio providence: I sure wasn't going to write it all out in musescore); if you hear piano, it is very possible to be composed for the music's sake, without regard for performability by even a five-handed virtuoso.

I use MuseScore for composition. It's a score-typesetter, whose feature-functionality creep has from has yielded something really nice actually. Considering I've never accomplished more than (un-)installation with any DAW, or tracker for both Windows and Unix, I am content. V2.x's grand piano soundfont was kino, and thankfully it is free for use and download from the site, which I recommend, since the new one sounds hollow, meek, and flat. In the following, under 'ms' sheet music for some pieces may be found in the musescore website (requires JS); it can be played there. Exported score .pdfs will be under 's', and the .mp3s'll be the piece titles themselves. I do absolute music: music for music's sake and my sake, therefore, mind not the titles. I also fancy atonal, or frequently modulating music. I wish I could begin composing with any variety of microtonal music too. I don't despise repetition, even though I inadvertently, unconsciously doodle the same ideas over and over often enough. Forget about chronological order, years've past and, yeah... I've no surviving records of at least two complete pieces, and so many more DNFs, which is unfortunate. But hey, spillt milk and all that jazz.


1s Can't remember motivation starting it, but its evolution was fueled by heeey, this could '(be (better|more (chaotic|complex|a?tonal|(dis|con)sonant))|have more tones)'. I consider it more than 90% finished, and the last 5–10% as everyone, who's ever created something and cares, knows are non-linear as fuck.

2.1ms, s This piece was my outlet for several things I wanted to try out, experimental for the most part, only the ending is very meh, I'll improve it once/if I get musescore running again.

mmmms, s I usually don't do more than 2–3 voices, even my piano pieces that have 4 staves, usually don't all sound simultaneously. I wanted to do want my nigga Bach did back in the day on a weekly basis for a few years in the Leipzig's Thomaskirche. So I endeavored to compose a choral in three parts, based on the simple 6-tone melody of a children's song. The third part remains incomplete, with only 2–3 bars as intended. However, the rest is very serviceable, imo.

cwhms, s I call this the whole-half tango. In all parts is to be found the classic tango rhythm. Looking at the score would help here as only in the last is it actually heard unobstructed. The initial letter C was the the starting root, albeit, the wh scale can be considered as having either no root, or either four equivalent ones, or a 4-fold degenerate one. I'd thought up ways to modulate using some 4-fold degenerate chords into one of the neighboring two other whole-half scales, specifically the one with a half-tone to the next root. The dominant chord was suboptimal, but I'd love to hear better ones. There exist allowances of off-scale tones, but overall idea is kept to til the end.

lol1ms, s A.k.a., mobster-movie-car-chase-scene music; visually that what I hear. Only after I'd completed it, did I realize I'd made a small, but funny mistake: in having two different rhythms one has some choice in representation. I'd chosen poorly. But, I'll be damned, I'm not making it more proper, just to have it calculate the exact same note lengths. The melody and basslines could easily be expanded upon, but I decided to have it be a loop. Imagine it playing over the Wacky Races sped up.

b1s I wanted a blues-y piano thing, and I think succeeded. Short, but sweet.

holiday-y ?

nunu 1.2 ?

unnamed1 ?

work2.7 Very unfinished, but this was around when birds started flying each and every wind turbine.

For Milyan I'd been writing this for a long time, and at the very end, half-joking, half-serious I'd dedicated it to a then good friend, hence the name. I'm showcasing the recording on a lower speed without distortion, because the other one is aural holocaust, and I am ashamed at my impatience. Unfortunate the only surviving recordings are garbage.

For Ivana i.e., some pretty nobody.

For Klaras Felt inspired by this somewhat pretty med student working in the psych ward when the locked me up there. No feelings, just inspiration. Did the initial work in my head for guitar, but over it, esp. writing it out in musescore, I'd changed it to piano for note duration, and range, although it's still meant for guitar and still very much playable. Second mvmt. began as play with swing triplet ratio lengths, and somehow devolved into a pedal point experiment where chords lengths were exaggerated (bc. it could be played piano) and overly dramatic. And that in turn skipped several evolution cycles forward into probably my best counterpoint. Three undeserving to be accommodated under the same name mvmt's. Klara was touched somewhat, but didn't know what to say, her instinct was to negate all possible doctor-patient relations, so I left it at that.

?01 ?

?02 ?

?03 ?

5s ?

BFPs Inspired by Mike Gordon's BFG Division; was intended for piano, but stuff happened; incomplete.

There are no nice things.s In '16–17 in the supermarket I taken to humming this melody, which bore the lyrics of what is also the title. The melody is lost to time, but the feel and tempo of the first bare kind of, may, perchange, perhaps, mayhaps be similar enough. Featured here.


realizing you...

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are alive, conscious; perceive directly and indirectly; focus on at most one thing at a time, can (attempt to) direct your focus, can be distracted, can distract yourself, can decide, can think, can not simply react, can observe yourself impersonally. In my case, the prior sentence wasn't etched into my eyeballs for reading ease, rather over 7. grade's the autumn-winter I remember being conscious for the first time. I remember realization. Actually thinking things through. Principal thesis of Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning is precisely this, with more sentimentality, wishful thinking and other shit things.

Years later, around 2016-ish, a study about the prevalent (overwhelming whose had them) absence of an inner voice in test subjects. These were memed as NPCs. Never mind the meme, it's still staggers, given solipsism, and the psychological phenomenon of believing you're the center of the universe, world, other people, etc., that you're the action hero there to undo unjustice against unfair odds, and succeed. I'm not even gonna try searching for that one. It might have overlap with maturing, unveiling just how insignificant you, your life, possessions, family, choices, job, etc., etc., etc. are in the scheme of not only the world or further cosmos beyond, but within your country, state, city and very likely even neighborhood. Hell, most people have conversational, ethical and intellectual capabilities on par with a bonobos, and struggle getting those most tightly bound to them to cooperate, obey, listen, understand, etc. What animals have over humans is honesty, in strength and cunning, in relationships and intentions. Good-faith actors in human society are few and far between.

I use the word 'reactionary' in a non-political fashion, as in 'of or pertaining to reaction, as opposed to action'. I have, over the past, say, 6 years, tried my hand some 3–4 times during longer conversations, at augering this concept through my mother's thick skull. I failed. I believe not once have I taught her something. She's a woman, and old, though neither of these is a valid or acceptable excuse, and even if it were, excuses are of no worth, they're mere superficial social lubricant with bad aftertaste, that drive nothing close to the goal. She plows on, reactionarily.

So, are more people philosophical zombies? Reactionary automatons? Nested chains of if-statements? I'd say no to the first due to untestability by nature of definition. Latter two, however, I'd answer positively, prostrating years of observations. If I—, a bright but not genius, 1-in-1e7 human being, can model the vocal output (true thought is personal) and actions of individuals in my head with accuracy >50% (let alone approaching 1), then either I need better subjects, or... the hypothesis is not disproven. For all relevant purposes, most people I interact with or observe are hollow.

Before wrapping your taffy around this concept, that you inhabit (some portion of) the space of a meat suit, that you are and are not it—a fetching name for this period would be what? 'Pre-enlightenment' bares historical meaning, burdens. 'Pre-consciousness' is probably false on more than one grounds. I'm groping for something like 'pre-consciousness-consciousness', anybody dead or alive can tell you that's a bad name. I'd call it 'pre-consciousness-awareness' (still ghastly). Regardless, until my 14. earthly roundabout, I'd been riding a monorail. No control over direction or breaks, no knowledge of being transported through life. And sitting down and enduring it is perhaps the default behavior of any conscious animal—expend less energy, survive, procreate, repeat. The danger of easing back in persists, looms. Saying 'be self-aware, ever-vigilant' is easy, whereas being in the mindset to do so, and further so doing it, exponentially harder than one another. But it is your choice. If you're know: nothing is static, almost everything depends, much is relative, little is certain, you know fuckall overall, you can only trust yourself—, then can decide. And really, it's not a decision. You know which future you prefer, trudging through to it is wherein the rub lies. Defaults kick before the observer's noticed, if the other's not done the mental exercise of asking the right questions, realizing this and that, pondering it some time, wanting to know, etc.

Your arrive at awareness of your agency once, afterwards you remind yourself, or are reminded. It's profound similarly so to how sometimes simple, or rather short, equations in physics describe physical reality. Just as some believe civic duty should be inculcated in school (and in pre- and uni, too), and as some argue that critical thought (however you may define that as a subject) should be in curricula, I think, one should realize and every day not forget that one is human, one is conscious, one is aware one is conscious, and can. take. action. You can decide and take steps towards, e.g., becoming a Somali pirate, or a New Zealand goat-herder; becoming less angry at things of no direct consequence to yourself, or fully controlling your emotions, their ultimate intensities; thinking through your current life situation, where you'd want to be, where you'd not want to be.

I dunno, man, but calling it empowering is like calling electricity 'shock-y'. No. It's the difference between being given an unfungible, irrefusable movie ticket to the 2.1/10 movie named "Life" starring (You), feeling every moment of it without ever noticing the all millions sitting beside you, nailed to their seats with canvas tunnel-vision (never mind, they're doing it most likely to distract from the fact, the cinema's built on a mound a bones so high, Everest's pale cheeks would crimson); and looking around, picking a better seat (continually so according to current scene), or chatting up some other awake anon, or going to the concession stand.

You can even decide on how you'd like to leave the theater, if you so choose.


on diet

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My story I was diagnosed with type-1 diabetes mellitus 2011-01-29. It is an autoimmune chronic, i.e., for life, disease known to man for at least 4000 years, wherein the beta cells in the pancreatic Langerhans islets are targeted by your very own T-cells. Their destruction results in zero-to-no insulin production in, say, 1&dnash;2 years, as evidenced by declining to 0 C-peptide. A small group of Hungarian doctors, who run a clinic focusing on autoimmune disease, cancer and other things curable/fixable with return to proper diet, have published, as far as I know, the few documented cases of newly-diagnosed type-1 diabetics being immediately put on a strict ketogenic diet with ratios close to those of standard one for epileptics, with monitoring for long-ish monitoring, i.e., beyond honeymoon phase (wherein insulin need decrease exponentially for some month(s)- around within 1–1.5 years of start of treatment), with beta cell annihilation slowing down, though not ceasing, and with non-adherents getting the bullet quicker.[1,2,3] Actually, in Dr. Bernstein's 34. Teleseminar he mentions that several kids and or newly-diagnoseds, who he's educated and gotten on the diet and lifestyle, have had halted their beta cell destruction by normalizing blood sugars. Apparently, hyperglycemia causes autoimmune attack of the beta cells as well in addition to all the other harm caused through the body.[4] Well, like Bernstein, like every other poor fuck with angry T-cells, I received the pediatric standard of care, which is leaps and bounds worse-r than dogshit. Without insulin, you'd live longer and more contently were to only drink water, than following any of their braindead, irrational '''advice'''. Big pharma, big food, big wheat, and big fucking religious fucking cunts should be hung publicly, drawn and quartered, broken on the wheel, stoned, waterboarded, crucified. Fucking hell, I hate what humans do to each other.

Anyways, I have learned nothing of value from any doctor, endocrinologist, diabetologist, cardiologist, neurologist, or ophthalmologist I've had contact with over the years. No-thing. Nada. Naught. Nil. Zilch. Fuckall. Calling them 'baboons' would be a deep insult to these 'lesser' primates. These complaisant, stupid mites—these '''people''' should be hung for their crimes against humanity. University and higher education is an often a self-contained shitshow of cosmological proportions, but when it seeps out—by, say, ill-educated drones regurgitating provably, objectively false information as 'medical advice' (and defending it via arguments to authority, popularity, naivety, and much, much more) to the general population—then, motherfucker, we have around a third of the major issue. The other two being current system of higher education, and the people themselves.

Anyways, a year and something in sticking to whatever they'd told me, unconsciously I was noticing things. After the honeymoon period, in which exogenous fast/mealtime insulin requirements sink drastically (possibly to 100%), already with an interest in science, I'd searched around the internet and came across the arguably single most valuable resource for a T1DM: Dr. Bernstein's Diabetes Solution, (crucial information/chapters are provided gratis on the website in the form of navigable html pages, if you would rather not pirate the book).[5] Bernstein's story is astounding: that of a child diagnosed with T1DM and living through the tougher years (he says in interviews he's the only diabetic from those days left alive, not to mention his top notch health; reminder: T1DMs, on average, live 10 years less), when insulin's discovery permitted longer lives with less suffering, later getting hit PhD in engineering and dropping out to go through med school and specialization as an endocrinologist/diabetologist to be allowed to publish his various findings from experimentation with himself over the years. At some 85 years, he is still active, has new patients, gets articles published, and is even on YouTube.[4] Type1Grit became a thing after 1–3 low-carb conference talks on T1DM: it's a facebook group with strict rules that is tight-knit, encouraging and helpful to T1DMs. I know of two papers comparing results from Type1Grit and a control, the standard of care.[6,7] I've never had any, nor needed any, support, and have always disliked top-down, communal things; fb is, and I say this with no humor, evil, and about as pernicious as cpp-funded reddit. The people you can meet there, could be invaluable to your health journey. Personally, I dislike all the emotional, communal, top-down shit, but if it works you, if it floats your boat, don't let me stop you. This last example is of a family with child going through the ires these same ires, albeit two-fold (I doubt it can perceive all the damage being done to it, let alone comprehend all the science behind it) or more, since they'd be feeling like impotent parents.[8]

Post-Bernstein, I saw significant improvements glycemic variability and value range, and general salubrity. These have, with the years, become better (albeit diminishingly so) with diet strictness and adherence . Various other health markers (in the standard T1DM bloodworks) also swam to the respective 'better' limit, up or down, of the reference range for normal, healthy individuals (not diabetics!). Docs be, like, Yo, dawg, I dunno wu'kindsa magic you be spinnin', dawg, but, so long's I gotsa do nuttin, you cool wid me, dawg. Lest I question them on important to me and my fucking life with this permanent fucking chronic illness details, the answer to which they cannot hope to fathom to guess at, my visits are prompt and pleasant. I'd read Steven Phinney's papers, and the resultant books from his work with Volek.[9,10] I'd come across Jordan Peterson as he was experiencing his 15' of internet fame. Them first did I get ac,quainted with carnivore diets, from his daughter's and his experiences with it.[11] Here are two other resources, one of a Navy SEAL dude turned doctor and spreading the word, albeit in a very American-y, annoying at times way, and the other very focused, proper way.[12,13] Low Carb Down Under and AncestryFoundation conference introduced me to many new ideas, information, things I hadn't thought of myself, and I'm most grateful for getting to think about exclusionary principles in life, in general (big X wants you to buy product, add more stuff to fix problems), e.g., 'carnivore' diet, and (intermittent) fasting, and plant toxicity.[14,15] Paul Saladino was a new-comer with his own story and journey, although he kinda became a shill and annoying, to me at least. He is very thorough with the science, however, look in both camps for all the best evidence, and isn't afraid to 'get technical' which might scare the lay.[16] His book includes many key citations, pieces of information, and is, I'd say, lay-friendly. What then for me then was new: archaeological and anthropological data, and studies on plant toxins.

As of initially writing this, I've been doing (mostly subconsciously) intermittent fasting for ≥18–20 h with one meal consistently for 3.5–4.5 y, and have been consuming (almost) exclusively animal products: meat, lard, butter, eggs, fish, some cheese for ≥6 y. Once a week I may have sugary dairy, and once to twice every season plant matter due to rare meals with others cohabitants, or pressure + exhaustion. They're accommodating usually to prepare separate no-carb food for me. If I lived alone, I'd not have any trash (food) in my household (like, back in the day); being among people, however, can be another stimulus: every second eyestabbingly reminding me of what happens when you're a comfortable, stupid fuck, replaying all the detrimental effects on your health, wealth, and on the country paying for the former. I easily recall the effects of every infraction, every misdemeanor, every 'try', or cheat, or anything wrong: be it a thin film over chompers, hour-long bloating, flatulence or loose stool, dehydration, bad mouth-feel, or just overall not-well-feeling... Being alone and conscious of one's duty toward oneself; and reminded of others' failures to themselves, their society and world grants me resolve to be strict (not 'uncompromising'—shit food doesn't lose any quality or quantity when you very one-sidedly forfeit to surfeit) and thorough. But getting back to some stability is easy, if you're smart.


Evanition from collective consciousness Both Nina Teicholz and, more technically and very deeply so, Gary Taubes, have massively contributed to uncovering the lies, ties, the billions of taxpayers' and industries' spent in advertising, 'studies', bribing and influencing, and elsewhere in this shindig.[17,18,19,20,21,22] Another big dick here is Tim Noakes, a South-African medical scientist and doctor, who has contributed greatly to sports science and African health. He got dunked into a shark tank over a tweet that caused no harm. His book with an independent journalist goes through his history and experiences with running and diet, the science of what he advocates and practices, and the court ordeal antebellum to its terminus.[23] A woman is blame for starting this shitshow—the match; but more so by avaricious, unscrupulous execs and lawyers—the tanker's worth of kerosene dumped atop the smolder. Belinda Fettke, whose husband was raked over the coals in Australia.[24,25] He'd stopped the progression of a specific kind of aggressive cancer within himself through carbohydrate removal and had thereby learned of many of the subsequent benefits thereof, had suggested the diet/nutritional advice to some of his patients (whose health afterwards improved significantly by stopped medication, forgoing amputations and surgeries he'd have to do, etc.) and some colleague shill taddled on him. She traces the plain, refined carbohydrate push to the seven-day adventist sect of Christianity: Kellogg's, Ellen G. White, and all following big cereal and big food companies. Regarding Ancel Keys, and government-subsidized and -sponsored propaganda, other nations following the US without doing the work or asking the important questions, 'Mediterranean' diets, big seed oil and big nut, big cereal, big pharma, etc., read/watch Teicholz's book/movie, read all books by Taubes.[17,26] Read, read, read.

Why it works for the vast majority (99.99%) Well, if you can't digest protein, or have same rare mutation courtesy of your family prohibiting or hindering beta oxidation, then maybe not for you specifically. I know that there are veg* who some-fucking-how practice low-carb without withering and dying too much. But I take for extreme perversion of the case being made (it's actually been successfully implemented and carried out for millions of years...), as are attempts to substitute high-carb meals, e.g., any cake/bread/dough-thing/candy, with a low-carb version—wholly missing the point. You're feeding the wolf, the addict, deceiving your brain—it's nigh the same with artificial sweeteners (natural ones aught not be excluded: the stevia plant had one major sweetening chemical and the tens to the hundreds of derivatives—I assuredly do not want that amount of unresearched bioactives in my body).

The amount of people not: feeling better, experiencing major health benefits, having happier yet more bewildered doctors, are scarce or nonexistent. Given it's evolutionary history and anthropological findings, it should possible to ween some, say, 99.99% of all humans off of carbs, and get back to essentials, genetic abnormalities, mutations can, of course, make it unsuitable for some. Examples of elderly (>80–85 y) or middle-ageds abound, who have completely cut out or severely reduced up to 10 different medications for: hypertension, water-release, capillary perfusion/blood circulation, depression, anxiety, skin conditions, Crohn's, Alzheimer's, T1DM, T2DM, gout, bowel conditions, kidney stuff, appetite suppression, etc. Currently, there is not enough livestock to exclusively feed Earth's populace even inadequately. Nobody expects an overnight transition, but one over, say, 25–50 years is feasible.

Sustainability, etc. Putting aside that agenda-pushers—be it religdrones, 'activists' of any sort, member of any movement starting with a 'veg', corporate shills, and bribees—, have zero-to-no actual, substantive evidence supporting claims made (more strongly than we do). Inundation with predictable, pre-packaged propaganda—repetition of the same fallacies doesn't let me skip over them with eyes glazed, this ain't Orwell's 1984. But if you don't actively think, if you're comfortable, you'd at best agree (tacitly) and then go back to automaton mode, droning in this shit world.

Speaking of sustainability, according to vegans themselves, the average, let alone the median, of adherence for newly initiated is 1 year. The rest, whatever their reasons might be, visibly deteriorate, degrade, degenerate physically and mentally. Ample evidence of this exists on video-hosting sites. Veg* is not human-sustainable, and it's more tragic than humorous.

I would like to direct anybody interested in the discussion, argumentation, and refutation of claims most brought up the off to Peter Ballerstedt's YouTube channel.[27] He is a well-connected forage agronomist and is trying, and succeeding, in bringing together people from low-carb, animal producers/farmers, the wider public. The guests on his podcast are people most would never talk to, or see, unless you haunt cow-calf/grazing/forage conferences, and they provide valuable, indispensable even, information about soil, plants, ruminants, their interactions, dependencies, and so on. tl;dr, there isn't enough arable land on Earth to sustain whatever this hell is supposed to be called, there isn't enough usable water for continuing it, it's extremely damaging to the soil with restoration lasting into the decades, ruminants produce high-quality, highly-bio-available micronutrients and macronutrients in the form of meat, fat, and dairy, in proportions required by the human organism with the input of fucking grass. They also fertilize everything around. They also sequester more carbon than they excrete via burping and farting when managed properly. It's a win-win-win-win situation.

Conclusion So, if humanity is to be bettered at the breakneck pace of a petrified snail in heat, then not in my lifetime, but perhaps in the next 100–200 years will agriculture as a method for 'feeding' humans (and other animals incompatible with plant matter), and unethically or immorally, pathologically, hypocritically, superciliatorily making money hand over fist be abrogated, reducing significantly (say, 4–9%?) percentage of negative anthropogenic effects on Earth through mass-scale: carbon sequestration, topsoil restoration, biodiversity promotion, and reinstantiation of intricate but non-fragile co-dependencies between ruminants, flora, fauna, and humans.

A requisite would be a goodfaith within the majority, if not all, and—, not everybody being on the same page—, but at least a good myriad of the peiod in change, of the period in exploitation reaching some level of knowledge, reading some 100 key books, something like that. To have enough wits about themselves to stop themselves and those immediate to them from reaching for utopias. The latter, lit. ancient Greek for 'no-place'. Wishful thinking by adult-sized toddlers. Embrace hardship, seek knowledge and multitude perspectives, help yourself and then others—but don't fuck it up for everybody (yourself included).
Society all too often is prisoners' dilemma with the caveat that you only postfactum, if at all, realize this. Defeating all prisoners' dilemmas, that is, of all goodfaith players, is intractably difficult and daunting, if at all possible. Nevertheless, one should strive toward perfection or excellence, if only to grasp slight improvement of the shared lot of humanity/local society.


References Majority of original citations are given in the presentations/channels or books referenced. I'm not digging all that up...

  1. A child with type 1 diabetes mellitus (T1DM) successfully treated with the Paleolithic ketogenic diet: A 19-month insulin freedom. Csaba Tóth, Zsofia Clemens. January 2016, International Journal of Case Reports and Images 66(1212):752-757. DOI:10.5348/ijcri-2015121-CR-10582. URI
  2. Type 1 diabetes mellitus successfully managed with the paleolithic ketogenic diet. Csaba Tóth, Zsofia Clemens. October 2014, International Journal of Case Reports and Images 5(10). DOI:10.5348/ijcri-2014124-CR-10435. URI
  3. www.paleomedicina.com/en
  4. Richard K. Bernstein YouTube channel. URI.
  5. Dr. Bernstein's Diabetes Solution: The Complete Guide to Achieving Normal Blood Sugars, 4. ed. Richard K. Bernstein. Little, Brown & Company. 2011. URI
  6. Belinda S. Lennerz, Anna Barton, Richard K. Bernstein, R. David Dikeman, Carrie Diulus, Sarah Hallberg, Erinn T. Rhodes, Cara B. Ebbeling, Eric C. Westman, William S. Yancy and David S. Ludwig. Pediatrics June 2018, 141 (6). URI.
  7. How Low Can You Go? Does Lower Carb Translate to Lower Glucose? Carly Runge, BS, Joyce M. Lee, MD, MPH. PEDIATRICS Volume 141, number 6, June 2018:e20180957. URI.
  8. Low Carb for Type 1 Diabetes. Justin Hansen, Julie Reid. 2016. URI
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One-offs



001

iw: 20210514t183000

It all started with sinful, haram thought of cleaning my laptop keyboard after scratching with nail the dried, black sludge visible on some keys and most edges. Some 70% ethanol (acetone would dry quicker, but could react with plastics) solution and a cotton handful later, the keyboard was drenched, puddled. My working laptop, I'd only used slock to lock the screen to direct all unwanted input toward the unlikely combination of my password. To speed up drying, I used a hairdryer, to heat up the solution inside and underneath, hopefully evaporating it all.

Big no-no, for black plastic especially so. Eight molten letter later, I cottoned my mistake, took a hard gulp, thought through all worst possibilities and each of whose consequences and steps to take for fixing, breathe out, restart. Lo & behold, no key works. The seeping in panic is subsumed by knowing I can survive some of humanity's worst atrocities as have others; the harm I (can) issue myself, I can go through too. Better to sleep on it. Although, without reading material, or anything to do other than read Kolyma Stories on my kindle (all other books uploaded there were relevant to distant times, and I didn't feel like beginning a new one midnight). I wrote for 4 hours.

And slept for as much. 08:30, and some keys actually work. And still others are pulling not only their own weight, but that of nearby and faraway colleagues. Angry, I left it open to air out in the draft—stupidly I'd left the lid closed for the night. Stupidly, or again out of fury at myself. I rescheduled a planned walk for immediately. Weather was gorgeous. That pristine sky blue, stretching from horizon to horizon with gradient in shade (and other colors at dusk/dawn and sunset) shifting in extent with time I didn't reach my destination, had forgotten my map, but still. The cool 15km did me wonders.

Staring so much above the ignorant, frustrating, annoying, predictable, vapid 'people', as well as the many for that part of the city built and unused, ugly buildings (read 'money laundering') visually obscuring precious steradians of the day's firmament—my face burned. Temperate climate prenoon sun burns are now a thing, I guess...

Back home, once in 30' of jackhammering the same damn keys besides Delete the assumedly correct amount of times did I win the lottery of a successful login. Inside, the extent of my mistake further revealed itself—Space functions as return, making literally any input with standard IFS impossible. You see, c had 0–5 extras, z 0–1, / 1–3, but I'd sacrifice two thirds the alphabet for functioning mouse buttons (LMB was running the cursor down, which is some unknown to me key combination, since it's \033[n1 ANSI-escape-wise). I had my moment, but sans virtual keyboard I didn't know what I could do. Afterwards, no further password was accepted, and I did try. Even when certain by testing on the name field that input was proper, Enter could still be noncompliant, dropping a \[['|])_{QQ"_- before itself, and I wouldn't ever now.

Turned it off, another deep breath, decided to actually clean the damn thing, given reading wouldn't lend itself a person let himself to emotion. Disassembled Violated 95% of the keys apart, the amount of force might've been applied with improper leverage, or just too... Of the two scissoring plastic pieces holding the key in place, I'd broken both spikes on the one, which (I couldn't know) were inserted in the other one to function as a pivot—I hadn't printed out the W520 manual (something I still plan on doing!). So, say, 80% of those had 0, 15% had 1, and 5% 2. The other piece, a frame with two holes along the plane, was to 85% unbroken—the frame, the holes were not intact, or rather, they were extended to the outside accompanied by a frame bend.

Underneath all keys was the indescribable gunk, hair—arm, nose, eyelash, head, pubic—, food—crumbs, flakes, nuggets—, fingernail clippings, and sunflower seed hulls, you know, for good measure. These literal 2–4 handfuls of densely compacted into an thermoelectrically insulating, multi-colored, multi-textured fluff was extracted and disposed of. Definitely not gross but the aforementioned spring heat (thanks, global warming), and fine motor skill required for all the tasks coated my hands with sweat, which then mopped up. Meticulously scrubbed with a toothbrush, dusted, fanned, blew.

Two 90-minute hours of reassembly later, I'm an year older and I've learned my lesson to never clean anything ever again. Ever.
Do not, however, pass Go for. 98% of the keys input what they should. Space, Enter, g, h, do not. Even though it's a thinkpad, and nigh water-proof, it's not short-circuit-proof. They've yet to release those models out to the public. I could not log in. Today, some 40h hours later, the Lenovo service team told me: in detail how exactly I'd fucked up; that people take out even they BIOS's battery before doing certain work on computers; that spare keys and plastic mechanisms would not fix it. They looked up if any authorized workshop had a suitable keyboard of any language—I'd take moonrunes or blank keys at this point—, but You can try again in 2–3 weeks. The word 'order' was not uttered. I'll hope to find a secondhand one on ebay. Until then, I'll be using an external one. I wish I had an infrared keyb: a small box projecting light onto literally any surface...


002

iw: 20220908t033454

Hello, yes. Yes, hello, and henlo, and yes. Yes, yes, yes... I've been putting off without plans of commitment writing this. Letting it out. Letting it hang. Because it will hang. But like incorrigible marxists, dirty laundy too is best hung. About the latter, I slightly kid. (Tangential, but I really dislike 'hang' as a regular verb, extant solely from legal usage.) Slightly.

Anyway. My thoughts unbeleaged go to dark and/or unproductive places, exempli gratia from 0650 yetday, sun already peeking, me untired yet wanting to wake up in 7 hours and do stuff purposefully throughout the day, not procrastinating, not distracting myself, not indulging, not et cetera. So, you phantomically inquire, what are these 'dark', edgy-boy brain boogers? Although I had to renege my default of getting back up to do stuff until tired, if not asleep within 10 minutes, as sleep envelopes me within half that normally, I did eventually sleep, but before that after the default of thinking about nothing, namely, meditating yielded nothing, it was like this (to indicate tone when I vocalise (or otherwise emphasis in my mind) I'll indicate so with the font): yes... ... ye-ye-yessssssssSSSS. Fuck yes. Rather, fuck no. FUCK FUCKKASDdDAS Fuck, just sleep, for fuck's sake. Ach. Just fucking kill yourself already. You're unhappy enough as it is. Why did you actually stop thinking about suicide, my nigga? Why, fuck you? Oh yeah... Still though, you're not doing an awesome job at living, you know. At anything really. You suck. Plain 'n simple. Cannot even kill yourself. Serious, seniles have greater success rates with falling from bed, babies with investigating wall sockets with electroconductive implements, and women with finding their way to the kitchen (bad joke, but I'm tired). Obviously, highly mortal situations, which you told yourself you'd take without hestiancy, were they to present themselves to you with a equal to or greater than 1/20 change of survival, don't occur that much when you're a shut-in, a hermit really, let alone in 'normal' day-to-day life in a city no less. Okay, granted. but waddabout seeking def? What about, you know, taking a plunge and splatting? Plenty o' abandonned construction sites, ill secured against entry, let alone forced such. What, you srsly gonna tell me, deadpan, nigga, I is too scared I'm gonna survive a 50m drop. You're jello, ffs. Big talk, no nuts. (To be honest, I don't have a 10-story one near-by, though there is one much more manned, but with more security, that I honestly could bypass, given their age...) You're a pussy. Now, class, let's all point a <REDACTED> and laugh heartily. You have no life-FOMO. Actually, scratch the fomo, you have no life of value, period. Contributed just about nothing to society in the way of tax or otherwise, and to the few having interacted with you, you've given little, imparted more but still much-much less than you'd've liked to. You have no friends, and your few relationships are stilted and, again you've failed them as much as you've failed yourself. You read to forget, to not think, to not be alone, not that you ever really were alone, damn fucking world, to vicariously live: breathe, think, see, taste, feel, touch. Who is to live your life? Again I ask: why don't you saunter 3AM-ly to that nearby business building, jump, climb, and run to the vertical-most point and dive?

You talkin' t' me? You darin' me? Bad de Niro trasliteration, but it's a valid retort, I do try to pick apart my own thoughts and reasonings, sometimes with lines from movies. ... I have for QUITE some time now wanted to just leave my wallet (in case of capture) and just go to places I think would harbor cool vistas or vibes. Not quite urbexp, but not that far off either. So, I decided to spew here. Of course, the funnier bits and pieces that always make me laugh didn't come through here, since I'm recalling, maybe I was having a low. Mind you, 'lows' would've'n a title for this one-offs section, about how they're the one time even I'm at my most emotional, most easily irritated, most easily hurt, most feelsy, most easily depressed, most manic. I'd begun writing it during one such episode, but I had double vision and jitter, typing was not meant to be as can be seen from that the file's contents below:


low

iw: 20220517T061354

I'm currently experience a low blood glucose, barely below 2.6 millimolar, it is six and change—something in the morning. The mental anguish here, now, in such as a state I cause myself, I can most easily justify (to) myself. I wish myself. I've today read two whole books, yet those I've only distractedly read, as have I almost everything else, I can and will most vehemently argue; I've also peeled myself from bed around tea time, and decided to skip work; I've continue living in my miserable circumstance, opting to change nothing, further cementing my burying myself deeper—side-note: I feel ever more (another aside (Using parentheses this time!) regarding the 'ever more', the supposed quickening, that isn't and won't be argued for. But that will is my axiom here. Is it logarthymic or exponenthial, time, that is That is, Back to the first.)—, and in the negative other dimensions: money, relationships, career, music, hobbys?, walking, travels, chemistry, failure.

Failure, failure, failure, failure.
Failure to breathe deeply forever for once.
Failure to breed a female once.
Failure to befriend stably once.
Failure to have money.
Failure to invest.
Failure to grow.
Failure to be independent.
Failure to compose.
Failure to be deep.
Failure to not be alone.
Failure to be self-sufficient.
Failure to be comfortable.
Failure to win at anything significant.

(57 newlines)
    (( anguish is easy..? just add insulin and. stay low for . as . long . as . possibru ))
(5 newlines)
I wish to hate myself, life, others, others' lives, achievements, happinesses, etc. I wish to prolong, branch, intensify it all. I wish to derange, pervert.

I wish to always be trying to sleep in subeuglycemic state.
Be aware of all my failures, major and minute, in time.


See, you don't want that bad writing, even if there is nobody to witness is, I myself am ashamed enough of this poor a composition. According to wiktionary and urbandictionary, 'breed' most likely means anally penetrating a woman—not a particular fancy of mine. Did I mean that I haven't had children? I'd like to teach something to somebody, if it's my child, well, sure, I guess. *shrugs* I don't lament my non-parenthood. idunno, famalamazoids, idunno. im listening to ome metal, then gonna crank up some nightcore turbofolk, then some actual turbofolk, then imma update the booklog and upload this gay shit to the kiddie cesspool. then i'm gonna listen to the 1991's Best New Horror anthology, 25h. Guaranteed to introduce me to new names and stuff. And imma play tetris. Caffeined and quinined up. I WILL have a good time. I'll damn fucking sure for fucksies try.


003

iw: 20220923t103120

Well, I tried to no avail. Fun is not be purposefully had, one could say. Playing audiobooks, or just some nice songs on loop (forever) when concentrating on the game works dandily, but it don't when you are stringently aware of the moment, the reality of your circumstance, of yourself, of the world, of how alone you are. Which really isn't much different to my default state, which I battle with faux business. Back to square negative sixty-three. I've for 6 weeks straight now, I've not went to work, and I'm starting to wonder, just when exactly they're going to contact me. My sleep has also left been perverted, it's continued its creep, encroaching not only early morning, but on noon too. I had a good thing going with 4am for, like, 2 odd years. Lack of discipline and routine. Subtract a support when you few have to begin with, namely my 5km walk to-and-fro work and save for my long-acting insulin injection, there is nothing to anchor me physically in time: I go to the store for food once every 1&ndash2; weeks, and that's it for periodic activities that must occur in normie hours. I'm like a wind without a sail. That, or the creep suggests that my mind (but not body) is better suited to a ~30-hour day, no such planets exist in our solar system 'though.

What a shit world; what a shit people... Why don't we do better by our fellow man? By ourselves? Mortal disappointment. every. single. fucking. day.
Why would something nice ever happen? Why would after you've tried? Why would the universe ever given you any slack? All women are whores. All people are shit.

I can only hope they see the error of their ways once the suffering come. But they seldom do. * big sigh * I shouldn't be despondent over lost potential, lost opportunities, alternate universes. You play that hand you're dealt, or you don't play the game. Simple as.
Now, back to busying myself with others' thoughts, since my own are like thallium salts .