blogelly-blog1 - Tumblr blog

blogelly-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

Playing the Game: Alan Turing

Imagine living a life lived in hiding, without not much to say without not much to do, things ending up unplanned and life being a whole lot more than just the truth. It would be nice to say that it would be easy and it’ll eventually fall to its place. But as time pass by, people would just eventually come to continue as to question “why?”

“Play if if you can then...”

Having the Smarts

As it would all began Alan was hired by the British government to work on a secret project. He was assigned to work with a team as to the project would fall unto breaking a secret code behind the Nazis' communications machine named “Enigma” If they do so, this would result to a big chance of winning the war. Alan was different he had the mind to accomplish something more than loading himself with too much work and time.

“A machine is different from a person. Hence, they think differently. The interesting question is, just because something, uh.. thinks differently from you, does that mean it's not thinking? Well, we allow for humans to have such divergences from one another. You like strawberries, I hate ice-skating, you cry at sad films, I am allergic to pollen. What is the point of...of... different tastes, different... preferences, if not, to say that our brains work differently, that we think differently? And if we can say that about one another, then why can't we say the same thing for brains... built of copper and wire, steel?”

He had made something out of his brilliant mind.

That was the first step; you play what you want with smarts of having thoughts different from the normal. Because something so different could bear so much hope that any mind could think of.

Feeling the Past

“Do you know why people like violence? It is because it feels good. Humans find violence deeply satisfying. But remove the satisfaction, and the act becomes... hollow.”

Understand that people enjoy things because it’s different. Alan was and he was special even.

Play something special, second would be your emotion. As one being alive that would be of a priority, if not at first but could be on the second. It wasn’t because life was hard enough to be played around but to play, that was different, played in a sense that it was remembered. Those things that happened would freely trust unto the life in the present moment.

Then maybe this would come after the winning, that the thought of that certain flash of clarity, that thing where it went to some place remembered.

Play the game with a heart and live it with an inspiration.

Acceptance

Life, this one damned spit of proof of being alive. Where it won’t come from someone else this time; instead it would come from one singularity of you alone.

“Sometimes it is the people no one imagines anything of who do the things that no one can imagine.”

The third is simple.

You win or you lose.

The thing is that there’s only two ends of playing. Winning comes with this bright shot of happiness, this sense of contentment from asking from nothing more. While all the while there’s losing that comes along with so much things unexplained it doesn’t feel good.

All there is to understand is that nothing could go same at a time. But one could live through something as to playing too much while giving oneself a chance at that speck of gratitude from the achievement there is.

You finish your game.

You tell the truth.

And you live through all sorts of events that happens at the same time.

A game isn’t stopping midway it’s not giving something up, then it would only be enough to figure something out.

Alan Turing: Are you paying attention?

0 notes

blogelly-blog1 · 7 years ago

Text

THE FACES OF LOVE

“I will live seven times, and I will look for you and love you in each lifetime.”

The cold wind, a timid gloomy weather and a nice warm blanket; everything felt right at the moment. And a book would be best to compliment everything to be honest.

Marcus Sedgwick gave me another gem that has been discovered among piles of books at a typical book sale. Mindsets kept one hanging into thinking that this was probably worth the shot of the little amount of money I’ve got. So taking the risk I purchased one from the looks of the smallest review I’ve hinted.

A rainy day, the power was off but the light was still giving my small room a glow. There was really nothing left for me to do. So as I stumble upon piles of books I had stacked for reading breaks, I remember picking one up as to not knowing I had it. Was this fate? Or just a reminder that I should just read the books I’m buying? “Midwinter Blood” sounds like a title you give to a small spin-off of a vampire novel. Shaking off the idea of cliche plot lines the book started with a man in the year 2073. Futuristic, to begin with a name called “Eric Seven” yet from the moment that it was the line striking part, I know I was hooked and since I have none to do, this was to be finished within the day.

There were sets of stories that would go against a certain flow that you’ll observe as a reader. This story was not one of them. And typically that would be confusing, however the flow showed more of the story’s uniqueness; that resulted into a more artistic vibe that was new for me as a reader. The book containing parts of different stories that still connected to a whole. Notice that there were enough stories to offer such, this one was simple yet still showed variety and complexity at the same time. Now wasn’t that enough oxymoron for a description.

A feature therefore must be said in a way that is related to the book. So what more if one would say that the greatness within the story is explained in parts that correlate to each other?

“The sun does not go down.

This is the first thing that Eric Seven notices about Blessed Island. There will be many other strange things that he will notice, before the forgetting takes hold of him, but that will come later.

For now, he checks his watch as he stands at the top of the island’s solitary hill, gazing to where the sun should set. It is midnight, but the sun still shines, barely dipping its heavy rim into the sea on the far horizon.

The island is so far north.

He shakes his head.

He’s thinking about Merle.

How something seems to wait in her eyes.

How he felt calm just standing next to her.

“Well, so it is,” he says, smiling with wonder. He’s tired. His journey has been a long one.”

Midwinterblood, explains a story that tackles about love and sacrifice. Unlike stories that center upon an independent protagonist the roundness of a character would mainly revolve upon love as it is and as to what one would do in order to succeed the dream of coming close into having to belong.

“If a life can be ruined in a single moment, a moment of betrayal, or violence, or ill luck, then why can a life not also be saved, be worth living, be made, by just a few pure moments of perfection?” ― Marcus Sedgwick, Midwinterblood

In totality love does come in all aspects unexplainable. Not probably because it was meant to happen but because it is what it turned out to be. The truth is that there could be no one to say that love is just what it is. As said upon some words of wisdom is that how love could only happen once? But who as a person could question that? Notably no one, not now and somehow ever; just because we sought to find concrete occurrences of the imagery we would all want to happen, it would mean that it is not one to happen.

Flipping more from the pages the story opened up another view of how as a person should look up to love and hurting. Upon the youth’s mind love and hurt would translate to break ups and cheating. But what translates to this book is that when you love you come across the hurt that’s good and better for both of the parties. There’s this one connection towards Eric and Merle that is said upon this different bonds that no matter what happened love and hurting would connect them and set them apart at the same time.

“Eric Seven does not believe in love at first sight.

He corrects himself.

Even in that moment, the moment that it happens, he fees his journalist’s brain make a correction, rubbing out a long-held belief, writing a new one in its place.

He did not believe in love at first sight. He thinks he might do so now.”