Thursday, July 28, 2022

Yet another identity crisis

 I have had a number of identity crises, but this one is the strangest one. Yet the same thing could have been said of every single one o'them. This, however, simply shows how one's superlatives evolve with time.

This one has been triggered partially by me being literally handicapped due to a core weakness and being unable to write tends to leave me frustrated. Writing is not something I would consider a core part of my identity (and no one should, in my opinion), but it provides an outlet for the extravagant ideas that otherwise keep simmering in one's conscious and subconscious. Recently it was advised that writing should follow a strict schedule in one's day; otherwise, simply waiting for the muse to show up is not going to lead to any output.

Output is important. Output matters. If I have learned anything recently, it is this. Not in the sense of showing it off to the world, but simply because it keeps one grounded by forcing one to shape ideas in a tangible and human form. Otherwise they tend to get quite abstract and the entire phenomenon is painful.

Unsaid thoughts and unexpressed feelings- they constitute a curious phenomenon. I'll think about this some other day.

Right now, I have relocated to the most god-forsaken and people populated city in probably the entire world. It is supposed to have great attractions for your average human, which I am unable to perceive through my small little eyes. My nose is being put to good use though- things here often stink. In fact that might be the only thing this city does- stink, stink and stick some more.

There is something to be said for writing technical papers. It forces one to think clearly and write linearly. And to develop a BS detector, although it keeps ringing 24/7 if you are lucky enough to be born in this society.

Society is something that fascinates me, since I have had a few dealings with it recently, what with being dragged all over the north. It was a lot of fun and I should write about it like a human being some time. I had a lovely time with N, except when I was dragged to meet friends and families.

Of friends and families. This, too, requires a post of its own.

I'll be sticking with society for today.

Thursday, March 4, 2021

Not waiting, cause the verb needs an object. And a subject

 The title is pretty self-explanatory.

The lack of objects is pretty specific to my life. The absence of a subject is fairly subjective, being a philosophical problem and the like, but I am quite convinced of its veracity. Some things cannot be proved but they remain true.

In addition to being specific, lack of objects is a permanent theme. Data is a diagnostic tool and I have been writing here for more than ten years. This should serve as a tool to help diagnose something, but it hasn't-so far, that is.

I intend to change this, but then me and my intentions, or should I say poor me and my poor intentions, never amount to anything.

Recently I have been thrown into a crisis of causality. Earlier I have had crises of meaning and existence, but this one is different, as I find it hard to see causal connections between events. People say, I did x and it resulted in y, but fifty thousand other people did do x to the best of their abilities and yet it resulted in nothing. No y, no z.

Also, I tend to gamble with things and situations these days but to be honest I don't have much left to gamble, apart from my work and my family maybe.

Feedback is almost impossible to get in the world, unless it is in the form of sparse discrete signals, like an acceptance here and a rejection there. Otherwise, people will not say a single true word to your face. This is part of why I am tired of interacting with people once again.

However, I have been informed that I make emotional decisions, and I have taken it to heart. Where else? Thing is, it is hard to rise against a charge you do not understand in the first place. Yet, I am convinced of its conformance to reality.

Reality is another fascinating, beguiling topic. Recently I summarized that my grip on reality is tenuous at best and staggers from time to time. It is generally easy, so very easy to see and diagnose the shaky grips others have on reality, but when the question comes to one's self, things get extremely obfuscated.

Recently I have had overwhelming and negative feedback in a lot of avenues. In fact, in all avenues of life one can think of. It was discrete, it was tangible, it was negative. For some reason, I have simply stopped caring. Things are what they are.

Somehow the crispness of the evening and the promise of spring is tempting, too tempting for me to sit back and indulge in complaining over non-entities. The city is a bit dusty, but it'll do.


Monday, January 18, 2021

Getting tired of complaining

 I should have gotten tired of complaining about all the stuff, but apparently I have nothing else to do.

2 minutes' run of Bert expand into an hour or so on my machine.

Saturday, January 16, 2021

Once a tool, always a tool

 Albeit a third grade one.

I have reached a conclusion: I am primarily a tool for writing. No one's tool in particular, but a tool nonetheless. Most of the time a third grade one, and asymptoatically reaching 2.5th grade in some niches and at some moments, but a tool in all circumstances.

It actually explains a lot of things, unlinke my theories regarding NLP and deep learning. Why people behave the way they behave towards me. Why I behave the way I behave. Why I always return to the same themes in life. Why I constantly fall in the same patterns.

A tool cannot escape its destiny, it seems, try as it might. It can even try denying the very notion of destiny, but no one will listen to it babbling incoherently to itself. Even destiny won't be listening to it. Incoherently cause the third grade, you see.

Might as well seriously get into writing and stop trying to fit into the world of humans as a woman of flesh and bones with passions on the side. As for the third grade, there should be ample market for it.

What particularly rankles is the fact that my paper got a 3 while another by my classfellows got a 9. They deserve all the success and more, but it just highlights the difference in the quality of their work and mine as the bottom 1% vs the top 1%. Back in dec 2017, I wasn't exactly a bright student and three years of lack of stability seem to have pushed me further away. Ah well, can't really help things like these. I guess I can just try to improve the quality of my work in general.

Thursday, January 14, 2021

A meeting tonight

 I have a meeting in 3 minutes. 

It should be fun.

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Growing one's armour back

 So I had decided to look into improving the writing for one of my poor drafts and landed here. Of course, this was bound to happen.

Ambition is all very good and nice but I have realized that it should never be driven by anything negative, like an inner void, an inferiority complex or a simple lack of things to do in life because these drives are not sustainable. Not that I would know anything about true ambition, of course. My work hours have shifted and 'I don't know how I feel about it'.

'How do you feel about it' was recently raised in a work meeting and I felt like replying, I didn't know that I got paid by my feelings, but again I kept it to myself.

Recently I have rediscovered Poe and the guy is a master story teller. I simply love sitting in front of the heater or lying wrapped in my blanket, reading a Poe story. A friend was once disturbed by his story about one guy's hatred towards another's blue eye but I think what she overlooked in her horror of the extraordinary is that Poe has extraordinary skill in conceiving of plot, putting them into words and creating a story with a remarkable flow. It is absolutely heartbreaking that he was destitute in his life and died so very young. My personal biases aside, I do think that writing just isn't an art for the young and if anything it gets exponentially better with life imbuing experience to it.

Reading Poe made me realize that there are some universal themes in story telling; perhaps they spring from the commonality of the human spirit and all its associated longings, desires, aspirations, hopes, dreams and fears. One such theme is treasure; you just find something extremely valuable. Another is the idea of having an entity that is separate from oneself but is in many aspects a mirror image of one, mentioned in a story about William Wilson I think. Poe seems to have had a remarkable imagination and this makes some of his stories an absolute treat to read, such as the descent into the maelstrom. He is also well-versed in the peculiarities of human nature and maybe he does not equal Chekhov in this but he is brilliant in his own way.

Guy is extremely underrated, say I.

Friday, January 8, 2021

Waiting gets boring

Okay I think I should stop waiting for any emails to arrive, because even if they aren't coming, my waiting just impacts me badly.

Also I guess that means working on a plan B, although there aren't a lot of potential Bs around at this point and their acceptance rates are even lower.

Shair e shor angaiz is a delight to read. I am no renaissance woman but I like interesting stuff.

Life is what it is is the mantra these days.