Cracks you could drive a truck through.

Cracks you could drive a truck through.

I’m also beginning to understand this online living.  At least I’m hanging out with people I have positive memories of.  We don’t really talk much, but I like seeing them around, and their smiles brighten my day.

So, the “cracks” analogy.  Imagine your socio-economical-legal system.  The banks, gas stations, big box stores, corporate chains, liquor stores, check-cashing franchises, clearance and resale shops, all integrated into a path.  You follow this path daily.  It is all you know.  It is the most consistent thing you have ever known, this path, until one day, it cracks.  This may be something that happens when another, you thought you could remember someone saying, had said that it didn’t happen.  I know this is completely mind-boggling to you right now, but stick with it.  Reread it after you’re done.  It doesn’t matter.  The analogy continues, the cracks become more frequent, and larger.  Huge gaping wounds in the path, forcing you to jump just to keep your footing on your “consistent” path.  Eventually, you’re paying for help getting across cracks, and you’re being asked to fund the maintenance that doesn’t seem to be happening.

A better way to think about it.  Imagine the system, functioning properly as taught in school.  No kick-backs, no extended lunch breaks, no fudging numbers, and less “spin” than honest factual information.  This would be a flawless system.  The “database” handles all of the requisite data.  Then, something changes.  Someone starts doing something differently, or associates two types of data that weren’t associated before.  The system can’t handle it, so a small hack, workaround, leak, or data normalization glitch occurs.  If a systems designer can’t contemplate this sort of thing, the system is basically fucked from the get-go.  People love classification, categorization, and rankings.  It’s your fault.  So, if you let them decide what’s best, on a person-by-person basis, the proper one will rise.  This fucking political system is a money laundering murder machine.  It doesn’t feed you.  It doesn’t house you.  It doesn’t foster your communications any better than it did at the advent of the printing press.  It doesn’t respect you or your abilities, as a mammal, as a human, or as a sentient being.  Your “leaders” spend most of their time schmoozing for cash.  Slimy whores (not even the real respectable-have-sex-with-you kind) with perfect hair run your planet.  This place fucking sucks.

Where the fuck was I?  I’m totally scattered today.  I bailed on a punk-rock show after party.  I was way too sober.  Terrible excuse, I know.

Systems designer.  How might humans interact with one another?  What is going on in the spaces around where they exist?  How are these not your concern?  What the fuck are you here for, code-writer?  Do you not think that there is an ethical and an unethical way to do even your job?  Oh, so you’re writing an advertising algorithm?  Doing a logo for a new law firm, eh?  You’re living off of the war machine.  You are the war machine.  Every dime you spend goes into further enslaving humans through the most poisonous, destructive means ever devised.

Design me a (de)centralized water and power system (including grey-water) that can support 50 people in an average mcMansion.

None of this is worth reading today.  Sorry.

Eventually, there exist beings who exist only within the cracks.  Yours truly is an example of this.  Those of you who dwell on the path have become insufferable to many of us.  Your way of living so denies the realities of our own existence, that we wish no longer to interact with your entrenched, clingy, and crumbling shitstorm of pain.

I’m feeling like a bike ride.  You’re a diary of sorts, you realize.  Like it matters.

Lucky me.  It matters.

I’m somebody’s buddy.
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-11-7 (Sunday).

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