I'm very disturbed right now with humanity.
I don't remember anything anymore.
My life always makes me feel like a robot. Basic doldrum places us in a schedule where we forget the Important Things. As if anyone ever knew what the Important Things were in the first place.
However, I did figure out why I have always liked computers.
The reason deals with power. As a programmer, you have the power to give instructions to a computer, and the computer follows them. It starts out showing the computer to say, "Hello, World."
But it builds into worlds. Rather, you build it into worlds. You form dynasties of instruction and compliance, creating order and efficiency. Building information and communication in languages of ones and zeros. Beautiful things.
Which is why I loved the movie Forbidden Planet. Besides having Leslie Neilson and bad acting, the story was rather good. the special effects were amazing for the time period, and it was the first movie ever to have an electronicly produced soundtrack. Most of all, it introduced Robbie the Robot.
Robbie was a companion and protector, who stayed behind to face the Id monster after warning, "Morbius! Something approaches from the southwest!"
Robbie was content to stay behind. It's what he was programmed to do, and he followed the program.
But I think content is the wrong word. I think that Robbie fulfilled his absolute defintion to stay behind. It was his job, it was his honor, and it was part of his soul, all rolled into one. I'd like to think I would be capable to fulfill a destiny such as that.
All of this doesn't matter, because you all are really alien robots sent to test me.
I have a way to prove my point, but it involves talking about things you might not want to hear from me. I don't blame you, I'm not sure I would want to hear about some of your bodily functions. If you have a problem with my bowels, in all their greatness, click there.
The same guy has been in the same stall for the past two days doing whatever it is he is doing in there. It's that first stall, you know the one. You can see his shoes under the stall. Brown Bass loafers.
I have been waiting all morning just to relieve myself while he is in there sleeping or picnicing or writing the Great American Novel or something. I walk in every 30 minutes to see his shoes under the first stall. Brown bass loafers, not moving.
I think I hear his giggling, under his breath as I walk to the next stall to see if that is also taken. Of course, the Phantom Shitter is in there. You can't see his shoes at all. You know the stall... it's the handicapped one that's an extra two inches off the ground so your feet don't touch the floor.
I have no idea what the Phantom Shitter's shoes look like, but I'm sure there is a defecation conspiracy between these two. As they silently laugh at their masterminded plan take effect as I pull on the second stall door, confirming its locked nature.
For a split second I consider an option. I could ruin their fun by ambushing them.
But I know that I can't do that.
If I were to vault over the edge, to scuttle their little game, screaming "AH HA!" with a large grin on my face, I know what I would find. They would just be two robots placed there by the space aliens to test me. The aliens want to know how I will react to this situation. You see, this whole world (or at least what they want me to perceive as my world), is created by them to test my psychological and biological nature as a human. The only human, really. All of you are robots too, sent to test me.
If I were to vault over the edge, then the space aliens would have to kill me, because I would know the true nature of life, and the experiment would be ruined.
My lower intestine lets out a stiff growl as I cross back across the floor, which heightens their sick, silent pleasure.
Damn their eyes and brown Bass loafers.
And my genitals are uninsured, but I'll get to that later...
There now,
don't you feel better about being a robot alien?
When I was younger, I knew this kid.
His name was Tony, and he was what you would call a social deviant. He always got into trouble, and had a real switchblade. I hung out with Tony when I was around 12. I hung out with Tony because I really didn't have any other friends at the time.
One day, Tony and I were out shooting at ant hills and whatever with my pellet gun. Just playing around, building tree forts and being 12.
A rabbit came right up to us. It was large and white. It Flopsy-Mopsy-Cottontailed up to us, then passed out.
I didn't know what the hell to do. It seemed dead. I mean you could touch it, even pick it up, and it wouldn't move. I wanted to help the rabbit. It was big and beautiful. And it hopped right up to us like a present.
Tony said it was dead and we needed to bury it. I just didn't know what to do. To prove his point, he grabbed the rabbit by the ears and drug it around. He might have even thrown it once or twice.
Sand was sticking to the rabbit's eye. And the rabbit wasn't blinking.
Tony said we needed to bury it. I think I just wanted to leave it. Maybe it was just sick. Tony was sure we needed to bury it so no animals could get to it.
But, we needed to make sure it was dead. We needed to shoot it in the head.
I stood there while Tony loaded a pellet into the gun. I remember the blood from the rabbit's head and I don't think I had ever seen anything killed before besides a few bugs but bugs aren't really alive they are just non-intelligent machines that fly around randomly eating each other. Like robots.
And I remember Tony laughing.
Recently, I heard a story about a guy who like to torture animals. His forte was to skin kittens alive, watch them die, then nail them to trees.
I guess we all knew someone like that in our neighborhoods, but this really bothers me. He has the power to take those little animals and feed them and pet them. He could take part in the creation of a beautiful thing. Cats are so happy when they are pet. And that's pretty much all it takes.
Instead, he creates little pain machines. Organic robots coded only with suffering. They don't even know what the moon looks like, and he bombards their neural nets with absolute pain. All they have known is the pain of birth, mother's milk and torture.
I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, and all those little kittens knew was pain. Their eyes were probably still blue when it happened.
I don't remember anything anymore.
My life always makes me feel like a robot. Basic doldrum places us in a schedule where we forget the Important Things. As if anyone ever knew what the Important Things were in the first place.
However, I did figure out why I have always liked computers.
The reason deals with power. As a programmer, you have the power to give instructions to a computer, and the computer follows them. It starts out showing the computer to say, "Hello, World."
But it builds into worlds. Rather, you build it into worlds. You form dynasties of instruction and compliance, creating order and efficiency. Building information and communication in languages of ones and zeros. Beautiful things.
Which is why I loved the movie Forbidden Planet. Besides having Leslie Neilson and bad acting, the story was rather good. the special effects were amazing for the time period, and it was the first movie ever to have an electronicly produced soundtrack. Most of all, it introduced Robbie the Robot.
Robbie was a companion and protector, who stayed behind to face the Id monster after warning, "Morbius! Something approaches from the southwest!"
Robbie was content to stay behind. It's what he was programmed to do, and he followed the program.
But I think content is the wrong word. I think that Robbie fulfilled his absolute defintion to stay behind. It was his job, it was his honor, and it was part of his soul, all rolled into one. I'd like to think I would be capable to fulfill a destiny such as that.
All of this doesn't matter, because you all are really alien robots sent to test me.
I have a way to prove my point, but it involves talking about things you might not want to hear from me. I don't blame you, I'm not sure I would want to hear about some of your bodily functions. If you have a problem with my bowels, in all their greatness, click there.
The same guy has been in the same stall for the past two days doing whatever it is he is doing in there. It's that first stall, you know the one. You can see his shoes under the stall. Brown Bass loafers.
I have been waiting all morning just to relieve myself while he is in there sleeping or picnicing or writing the Great American Novel or something. I walk in every 30 minutes to see his shoes under the first stall. Brown bass loafers, not moving.
I think I hear his giggling, under his breath as I walk to the next stall to see if that is also taken. Of course, the Phantom Shitter is in there. You can't see his shoes at all. You know the stall... it's the handicapped one that's an extra two inches off the ground so your feet don't touch the floor.
I have no idea what the Phantom Shitter's shoes look like, but I'm sure there is a defecation conspiracy between these two. As they silently laugh at their masterminded plan take effect as I pull on the second stall door, confirming its locked nature.
For a split second I consider an option. I could ruin their fun by ambushing them.
But I know that I can't do that.
If I were to vault over the edge, to scuttle their little game, screaming "AH HA!" with a large grin on my face, I know what I would find. They would just be two robots placed there by the space aliens to test me. The aliens want to know how I will react to this situation. You see, this whole world (or at least what they want me to perceive as my world), is created by them to test my psychological and biological nature as a human. The only human, really. All of you are robots too, sent to test me.
If I were to vault over the edge, then the space aliens would have to kill me, because I would know the true nature of life, and the experiment would be ruined.
My lower intestine lets out a stiff growl as I cross back across the floor, which heightens their sick, silent pleasure.
Damn their eyes and brown Bass loafers.
And my genitals are uninsured, but I'll get to that later...
There now,
don't you feel better about being a robot alien?
When I was younger, I knew this kid.
His name was Tony, and he was what you would call a social deviant. He always got into trouble, and had a real switchblade. I hung out with Tony when I was around 12. I hung out with Tony because I really didn't have any other friends at the time.
One day, Tony and I were out shooting at ant hills and whatever with my pellet gun. Just playing around, building tree forts and being 12.
A rabbit came right up to us. It was large and white. It Flopsy-Mopsy-Cottontailed up to us, then passed out.
I didn't know what the hell to do. It seemed dead. I mean you could touch it, even pick it up, and it wouldn't move. I wanted to help the rabbit. It was big and beautiful. And it hopped right up to us like a present.
Tony said it was dead and we needed to bury it. I just didn't know what to do. To prove his point, he grabbed the rabbit by the ears and drug it around. He might have even thrown it once or twice.
Sand was sticking to the rabbit's eye. And the rabbit wasn't blinking.
Tony said we needed to bury it. I think I just wanted to leave it. Maybe it was just sick. Tony was sure we needed to bury it so no animals could get to it.
But, we needed to make sure it was dead. We needed to shoot it in the head.
I stood there while Tony loaded a pellet into the gun. I remember the blood from the rabbit's head and I don't think I had ever seen anything killed before besides a few bugs but bugs aren't really alive they are just non-intelligent machines that fly around randomly eating each other. Like robots.
And I remember Tony laughing.
Recently, I heard a story about a guy who like to torture animals. His forte was to skin kittens alive, watch them die, then nail them to trees.
I guess we all knew someone like that in our neighborhoods, but this really bothers me. He has the power to take those little animals and feed them and pet them. He could take part in the creation of a beautiful thing. Cats are so happy when they are pet. And that's pretty much all it takes.
Instead, he creates little pain machines. Organic robots coded only with suffering. They don't even know what the moon looks like, and he bombards their neural nets with absolute pain. All they have known is the pain of birth, mother's milk and torture.
I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, and all those little kittens knew was pain. Their eyes were probably still blue when it happened.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
n8tvegrl:
Who would want to see that.. it's mind boggling to me that it can be done..
stuzzy:
nice website. very feng shui.