I’m not really planning on coordinating my thoughts on this damn thing. It’s really just a fucking outcropping of LiveJournal, if we’re being honest. I don’t post technical crap anymore. I don’t really do anything except be an emo douche, but it’s therapeutic so suck my ass. If you don’t like it, you really don’t have to read it. If you do like it, I have to question who you are as a person. Do you enjoy watching me writhe, or are you just appreciative of my strange opinion? Maybe you can be both or neither, I don’t know. I’m feeling philosophical and I can’t stop it. I wish I could, but here we are. Me, writing, not stopping it. Though a well placed cat on the chest is a very good inhibitor, though by no means enough to suppress my writing entirely. I can type quite well without having to look at the keyboard, and it barely slows me down.
I feel like humanity is at a jumping off point. Between fusion energy, space travel, and advances in quantum computing as well as artificial intelligence- we’re likely to see a new era of primate evolution right at this point (should we not blow ourselves up with nukes first). Yet, all of this progress is in such an infancy that only perhaps my great grandchildren will pioneer it in earnest. I’ll have been long dead, and have lived before my time. How sad. In any case, them’s the breaks. I was born now, not when I should’ve been. It is what it is, but hopefully one day I can contribute to that future society in some way. I’d be content with even the smallest contribution. Maybe a publication, I don’t know. But something of genuine use to those in the future who will carve humanity’s dominion over the stars. Perhaps there’s something I can gift them that might place my name on their lips one day. It won’t be easy, I don’t think, and I don’t really have any solid ideas of what it’ll look like. But I’ll keep thinking. I’ll keep rolling ideas around, and maybe some spark can ignite and set it in motion.
I’m so weird. I know I’m weird. But I also am noticing that the older I get, the weirder I get, and the more “locked in” I become in this rigid oddness. It doesn’t feel pleasant at all. I’m accustomed to being pliable like plastic. I like being easygoing and highly adaptable. But age is a robber in the night, and he’s taking my plasticity from me sleep by sleep. There’s always robbing Peter to pay Paul, and I do that aplenty. Nootropics? You bet. Psilocybin? Of course. But these are simply bandaids for an old mind. They’re not any sort of “fountain of youth”, not by a longshot. I don’t know. We’re all doomed to contort ourselves into a single uncomfortable shape and rigidly retain it until death, it seems. But I love neural plasticity. It’s one of my favorite things, ever. It feels like parts of my soul are being stolen from me as the rigidity advances. I’m not a fan.
Okay, enough rambles from me tonight. Later.