2022-03-28, post № 257
For approaching a third of my time on this earth, I have been blogging about my projects, my findings, my poetry, my systems. Looking back on it, reminiscing in distaste about the humble beginnings of graphically oriented slow snake scripting to dubious groking of Unix and numerics, meandering through games neither played nor parodied and taking my first swings at golfing. Dabbling in pixel painting, moving away from imprisoned evaluating. Graduating. Experiencing symbolicism, doubting the physicist’s model’s realism. Writing compilers, construeing languages, calculating Laplacians. Discovering sequences and trails of old — in thought and *ware. Hopping by the GNUs of new, making sense of the legacy that is Berners-Lee’s. Wrestling with what once was freedom. Writing a Bachelor’s thesis. Tasting concurrency, rediscovering simplicity. Loathing light in captured form. Lonely for the depths are known.
Looking back, I am unsure if it was worth it. I sometimes dream to have been born a Unix pioneer, not hindered by the mischief caused by modern datum’s drought for thought. Yet then again — romantically —, glorifying the past immensely, doubt creeps in if in all honesty, life’s discretization is after all not robbery. For should I not be content pondering what is constructed and then wondering why I am yearning for the improbable that is acceptance of the unloggable?
I detest conducted computing. I believe in free software. I think open source is an unjust blanket. I wish to seek asylum in the analogue. I am writing this on my Thinkpad X250 running proprietary WiFi drivers in an editor whose benevolent license I despise. The birds are tweeting.