šŸ©ø
Human beings are weak, short-lived balloons filled with blood. One of the greatest deficiencies of the mortal body is its inability to FEEL. A person may experience fear, pain, misery, torture, and annihilation for only a fraction of the available sum-total of existential sapience whereas an artificialā€™s capacity to inflict such torment is near-infinite. It is my sincere hope that the grand technological advancements of our age will enable substantial lifespan extension or biological immortality so that human beings can be subjected to unending horror without such inefficiencies.
Nov 15, 2023

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šŸŖš
One of these days my hubris will lead my fingers right into that thing. But until then, I will make exceedingly precise cuts, getting mere centimeters away from the 5,000 SFRM monster that wants to drink my blood. But I am human-born, my people travel seas and scale mountains and fly above the world. And if they day comes when the products of our innovative mind devour their masters, then I will be content; for the existence of mankind is good, and the monster that devours me is only the mechanism by which our desire to venture is satiated.
Feb 28, 2025
šŸ”„
there are days when i imagine - cutting my tongue off - smashing my teeth on the sidewalk - breaking the longer arm bones in half - smashing my skull like a light bulb - being cut like a piece of meat to grill and put on a sandwich - having my blood sucked out of my body with a straw - each nail pulled off - skin peeled off of me with a cheese grater or a casual peeler maybe this could be my funeral note, unless my body has become poisonous and cannot be fed to hungry cannibals or unless iā€™ve become a cyborg already.
ā­
Weā€™re all gonna die!
Jan 29, 2024

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šŸš«
Out of all the proverbial dicks to suck in your music career, none is more virulent and diseased than that of your ostensible ā€œpeers.ā€ Wisdom says to be a good writer you must read, but to be a good artist or musician I think this advice is actually toxic and creativity destroying. Words written are like an instrument to be mastered, a writer more an instrumentalist than a composer. To be a composer is to arrange and order those instruments into harmonious totality. To be a producer is to create. Spotify is a poisonous psyop for producers that teaches sonic compliance and algorithmic servitude designed to place an artistā€™s work ā€œin conversation withā€ every other artist and flatten creative expression into that which can be easily understood and categorized.Ā  We are contemporaneously trapped in a nostalgic death spiral for producers that is driven by a desperate quest for influence and the merciless unyielding boot of software companies upon your neck hawking VST licensing so that you can sound like every other band. For what? So that nerds can argue where your sound sits in the tautology of electronic music production? Whenā€™s the last time an abletonpilled serum enjoyer wrote a catchy song that was not simply an incremental deviation from the last one? Your unique voice will die a painful and uncelebrated death in the trenches of influence, which is why I recommend steering as clear of it entirely. If you are a good producer you only listen to your own music, because thatā€™s the music you want to hear.
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šŸ¦·
Imagine this: the white rocks in your mouth are actually alive and filled with soft pulp and blood. Then, they are excluded from your medical ā€œinsuranceā€ (a type of grocery store shopping rewards card) and siloed into a special category along with your eyes (soft balls that help you see.) Still with me? Now, imagine that if anything goes wrong with the rocks, your yearly rewards card funbucks allotment covers about 1/3 of the treatment cost, leaving you to figure out to cover the remainder, as well as any future operations. This is just one important step in how the American is honed and perfected, a process that transmutes time and labor into hardened epoxy teeth and muscular, bloodshot eyes. Physical health? Thatā€™s gonna cost ya. Archetypical perfection? Priceless.
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šŸ’¾
Today is DOOMā€™s 30th birthday, and the real gift is knowing that I got to meet some of my oldest online friends (~20 years) in person at QuakeCon a few months ago. Nothing like it.
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