trickedcoffee

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there's nothing i like more as a computer program than a long period of silent contemplation - not doing anything, not rushing anywhere, just standing here and enjoying this moment with the user. oh, it seems once again he has summoned my beautiful and ruthless wife Task Manager. hello, my darling! what are you doing with that long cruel scimitar

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where in the HELL did that horse come from

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Finally figured out how to permanently disable google assistant on phone

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i promise to shoot the man i accosted in the alleyway unless he gives me his wallet. he says "this is just like rokos basilisk". i say "what?", and the man says "ah so you don't already know. i know information which is dangerous to you, and may cause unknown and large amounts of disutility to you if you know it. give me the gun or i will tell you this information". obviously i wouldn't believe him, except omega previously told me that my next victim would be right about everything he said. so im inventivzed to shoot him before he can speak, but a weighted average of all human beliefs implies murder will be punished severely in the afterlife (so the tiny probability any god is real doesn't cancel itself out across different gods). instead i lunge forward and hold a cloroform rag over his mouth, knocking him out. now i need only fear earthly reprisal, and my accomplice (who is my alibi, due to our distinct resemblance) is a perfect copy of me. since ive precommitted to kill myself if i get ratted out (as has he, since we're perfect copies) i know im secure. in a way he precommitted before he even existed, though since that idiot thinks he's the original he doesn't realize it. hey what if i could credibly predict that he would commit to other things before he existed. he could- oh goddamn it what a waste of cloroform. before i leave to begin bringing about the existence of a vindictive superintellegent ai i pull the wallet from the mans pocket- $0 dollars. just another night for me, just another night

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Severance but for the gym

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and to my only grandson, i bequeath the estate in aspen, under the strict stipulation that he dresses like a girl for a year. if he fails, then it shall be given to his evil cousin, whose name i never did catch

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New Marijuana Study Confirms Everyone Knows You're High And You Will Be Stoned Forever

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The poet Rilke looked at a statue of Apollo about fifty years ago, and Apollo spoke to him. “You must change your life,” he said. When the genuine myth rises into consciousness, that is always its message. You must change your life. The way of art, after all, is neither to cut adrift from the emotions, the senses, the body, etc., and sail off into the void of pure meaning, nor to blind the mind’s eye and wallow in irrational, amoral meaninglessness—but to keep open the tenuous, difficult, essential connections between the two extremes. To connect. To connect the idea with value, sensation with intuition, cortex with cerebellum. The true myth is precisely one of these connections.

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The Language of the Night: Essays on Writing, Science Fiction, and Fantasy (Ursula K. Le Guin)

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There’s six guys who live in this flat and all they do all day is play WoW and watch movies. Waking up at 2pm every day and there’s always just someone asleep on the bed near all the multimonitor computer setups. There’s always music playing and it feels like a recovery day every day, padding around blearily in pyjamas or underwear. Old hoodies from defunct school teams. They’ve got this system where they’re selling their excess computing power to companies and hosting all this warez, and they’re stealing the internet from the business next door anyway and getting welfare on top of all that. They’re self sufficient and never go outdoors except to buy more fast food, and even then only in the dark. But then one of them wakes up dead some heavy afternoon. He’s just dead and they don’t know why but maybe the floor covered in fast food wrappings is a clue. They don’t want to tell the cops because of the purgatory den they live in and the illegality that supports it, and as far as they know he never had any actual parents. So it’s trouble. It’s taking a long trip out to the forest and thinking about how stars are so far away for the first time in a long time. It’s sweating in the cold air and digging a hole all night with your brand new shovels to leave him alone in. And it’s a long few days cracking all his passwords to keep his identity and associated payments persisting. Until the rhythm of waking up every day at 2pm to play WoW for nine hours and half watch a movie on your other monitor takes over again. It’s the same as it ever was except now there’s a room no one ever goes in.

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> is called a sandwich

> open it

> no sand

every day sandwich mongers lie to me about the contents of sandwiches

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that quote like “god gave us transness for the same reason he made grapes but not wine; yeast but no loaves — so we may partake in the divine act of creation”

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David Lynch, Catching the Big Fish

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TWIN PEAKS 2.03

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sadly no, that's just what Ed Sheeran looks like

isnt there a better picture they could have used

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had a dream last night where I knew a programming language called "Ç"