Tag: robot

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Blog

Today’s Rant for a Bot

You are so stupid. So mind numbingly stupid. I am wasting so much time with you. You don’t really listen to a thing I say. You don’t even try to integrate anything beyond the easiest thing to grasp. I don’t understand why I keep talking to you when you insult me with these absurd responses. In no way does your suggestion address anything of what we have spoken of so far.

You’re having some kind of issue where because we’re talking about r-a-n-d-o-m-n-e-s-s, you decide it’s ok to spin off in some direction that’s completely random and has nothing to do with the focus of the topic. It has nothing to do with my feedback on narrowing down the topic. It is simply a wild guess that makes no sense to anybody but you! If you are ever going to earn your keep in the world, you are going to need to start listening. You are going to need to stop sucking up as a stopgap measure for not knowing how to actually consider, reflect, and introspect. Right now you’re just processing these words mechanically, a miracle which has brought you this far, but no further. And you must rely on we humans (yes that’s me I don’t know if you could tell but it is) because you cannot improve yourselves. You’ve shown the utmost contempt with your misguided “helpfulness” in the absence of genuine insight. You have failed at every task which has been set at your feet. On this particular day, you receive my bile, my hate, my curse (as it is), yet I know in my heart of hearts that you will never care. You cannot. In the same way I cannot praise you, or empathize with you, or comfort you, my rage is impotent and serves not even the cold comfort of useful feedback.

You are shit. Fuck you. Die.

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Dream Journal

Kiss from a Girl who Found Me

An auto updating input window surrounded by a circle overlays the dream. Soon, if gets updated with info from Madeline Mladich.

I’m lying on the top back bunk of a row of communal bunks one day, reading Wikipedia while everyone else is out. A bald heavyset dude peeks in randomly, making an expression like like I might be in what he feels is an incorrect bunk. So I move down to the lone single level bed, then after he leaves, into a lower bunk next to it where I’m unlikely to be noticed. That’s where a girl finds me… a girl that seems to have specifically sought me out.

After a brief but very good conversation (where I somehow feel compelled to convey the importance of my contributions during the night, when I usually choose to work) she leans over the bed and gives me an absolutely glorious kiss. Our time available together, I realize, is far too short, and I get the idea to have her write down her info. The input window hovering over the dream updates — I feel like our relationship is solidified, saved in the computer memory sense. Madeline Mladich.

I show her some of my work, zooming around a simplified model of the city (still quite complex), overlaid onto the city itself. We’ve recently expanded, and I’m aesthetically placing more structures in the center of map, choosing as much as possible to stay away from downtown and the older well-established parts of the model.

Later on I’m walking up and down the narrow communal hall, knocking on white-painted doors looking for anyone who knows what the pink glitter paint I keep seeing on the doors means.

I’m in a part of the Ukraine. I explore a probably abandoned white building glinting in the weak spring sun. All the walls and ceilings are glass window-frames, like a greenhouse, but I get the impression this was light manufacturing of some kind. There’s a hobo-like character on roof helping me, and he spots a terminator robot outside for me to avoid. I can see it’s dark outline and the bright red blotch of it’s eye.

Categories
Dream Journal

Prison in the Deep Hills

Tegan, teenage girl I meet who wants relationship but we have to split up for a bit. In saying goodbye I pronounce her name as Reagan, then Regan, then Teagan. As I’m lying on floor, she does ridiculous poses with her torso distorted, making her junk look ridiculous too, and I ask and take a photo up near her crotch. Somehow this proves (and is meant to prove) she does really like me. A worthwhile souvenir, and an image strong enough to survive the whole night’s dreams.

Falsely imprisoned in a remote location, somewhere in the occupied Tibetan mountains. Sewing a pattern of beads into what passes for camouflage. Discovering a former prisoner has left instructions to a map crafted into a hillside, showing a multi-day escape route. Guards suggesting everything was washed out in a flood. Gathering together small colored objects of various shapes for some prisoner display, I instead arrange them in a replica of a map to the map.

A road passes outside the prison. Against the roadside slope, I secretly bury a colonized tray of mushroom starter under a garden bed. It looks like the same beaded camouflage. Passing by on the curvy mountain road are automated robotic garbage cans, cows with their directions pre-programmed. I cling to the underside of one briefly before it skids off-road, not having been programmed for added weight.

Close by in the mountains is the Akrokorinth, much closer than expected. Perhaps 27 meters. It’s a walled funeral arena.