2024-04-10

/blah/2024-04-10.html

2024-04-08

(pu) Toki Pona: The Language of Good

kinupolu te watusen a! - jan Sonja

(ku) Toki Pona Dictionary

soweli Tini o! mi pilin pona tan ni: sina lon! jan Sonja

(su) The Wonderful Wizard of Oz: Toki Pona Edition

mu mu mu

I watched and smiled anxiously at Sonja Lang signing the three books I was

purchasing for myself, as well as the two I was purchasing for my roommates. ku

was signed first and I thought the note was really, really sweet. I needed that

actually. Then pu. I don't know what "kinupolu te watusen a" means - "a" at the

end is emphatic, "te" is a nimi sin (word, new) sometimes used to introduce a

quote, but "kinupolu" and "watusen" are incomprehensible to me.

"te" is interesting - from the Japanese -tte and conceived by kala kala and jan

Lakuse, and the latter of whom was there. I discovered Toki Pona after I had

been studying Japanese for a bit and it was cool to see some toki pona tan toki

Nijon.

At lipu su she seemed to have lost some steam in signing which was worrying

because I was the first (though probably the least socially acclimated) fan in

a growing line. "mu mu mu" was written in green pen below the toki pona title

and above soweli Toto. [...] came over to where I was and asked for the second

copy of su I was purchasing to be signed to jan Masi. At the end I thanked jan

Sonja very much and anxiously stepped among the clumps of social masses and

stood near a bookshelf with [...] while [...] got food.

[...] wanted to socialize and I sort of wanted to socialize, or at least be a

fly on the wall for socialization. We discussed the consequences of striking up

a conversation with a stranger or trying to nestle our way into an already-

formed crowd. Eventually they walked over to a stranger and started talking

about toki pona and stuff and people gravitated towards us and we formed a

semicircle (open, so others could join easily). [...] came back and the

discussion continued, touching on xkcd, Lojban, alternate human interfaces for

computers, Rust, Esperanto, and basically every topic we discuss at home, now

with more opinions and others guiding the conversation, which is what

socialization is for those of you who don't know. Then I checked my cell phone

for the time and drat, it was 1805 and we would be towed if we didn't go back

and move the car or renew the parking. I volunteered to go over to the car and

pay for more parking (as I was the least invested in the current conversations,

being dreadfully interested in them but having little to contribute) and took

the keys and left, too awkward to say o tawa pona to the speakers who had come

a long way to be there.

I took the elevator down and left Norlin Library, stepping onto beautiful turf

and having an intensely vivid mental image - blocking out my own vision, no

matter how I tried to see past it or return to the present - of my own

hometown and walking through the courtyard of my middle school. The grass was

the same shade and the trails were the same sort of tar and even the buildings

were the red brick with which I was intimately familiar. It is April and the

trees are starting to bloom and though the Vernal air was filling my nose too

full and giving me the sniffles I was in love with the view and wish I didn't

have to hurry back to the car.

I made it some minutes late though there was no tow truck in sight and none

could have towed it since the parking had expired. I went to the kiosk and

tried to pay for more time but it errored repeatedly, saying I had to enter the

license plate (which I did) before trying to swipe my card. Eventually I tried

to use ADA parking, which is ninety minutes for free, and it worked, so we had

until 1900 to get out of dodge. I texted [...] and told them this and then sat

in the car with pu and got to reading.

My toki pona knowledge, two days ago, was not great. Only enough to be able to

navigate around relevant websites and say some basic phrases. I started from

lesson 1 and built myself a solid foundational learning rather than picking up

things here and there (which works for many languages but not one of a hundred

and extra words). Now I feel somewhat comfortable conversing though my spoken

vocabulary is limited. tenpo suno pini wan la (I had jan Ema help me with this

part of the sentence), mi pini pu. mi toki lon toki pona la, mi pilin pona. And

stuff.

[...] and [...] came back to the car eventually and explained that we could

park where we were for free after 1900, correcting my jumbled belief that we

would be towed if we were there. Then they said the remaining toki pona group

was going to dinner and one of my roommates was invited, though they were

unclear on whether the other one or myself were.

We ([...]) drove to the restaurant and waited for confirmation from the toki

pona group that we were fine to go in. No confirmation came back and after much

discussing pros and cons of approaches (I sort of just wanted to go home and

order a pizza) they went in while I was too fearful of public embarrassment to

go. I stayed in the car and tried to sleep but couldn't. I tried to read but

couldn't focus. I tried to play video games but can't play video games to save

my life, the awful flashing lights and obnoxious sounds inflicting countless

papercuts on my soul which craves, probably somewhere deep down, tranquility

and comfort. I tossed and turned and as the temperature dropped so did mine,

and by the time my roommates came back to the car I was locked in a running

flashback to the Burger King parking lot where I had made my home and their

unlocking the car and opening the doors threw me into a sheer terror on par

with the worst I've felt. I asked to go to a gas station. And for a cigarette.

They agreed to help with the first plea.

On the way to the gas station they discussed a breakfast that would be

happening the next morning and called one of my exes to chat. I sat in the back

and played a game where the goal was to kill myself by sheer will, by wishing

long and hard enough that I would simply be torn from existence by some divine

act. Eventually we got to a Seven-11 (is that how you write that?) and I got a

Monster, a danish, and Chex Mix, and consumed the three in the opposite order

on the way back to [...], Colorado. I also decided to call out of work the next

morning to go to breakfast, which is a recollection for another time.

Meeting jan Sonja was really cool. Social anxiety got the better of me on most

moments within the day and that was less cool. I think I ought to take more

risks. I decided to write this in the style of Hunter S. Thompson (would he

care if I spelled that wrong?) because I figure most writing on toki pona and

its community is academic or starstruck and I wanted to even it out a bit. I

had a good time and the toki pona speakers I met were some of the coolest

people with which I've ever conversed.

/blah/2024-04-09.html

It was probably thirteen hundred something and I was in the back seat of the

Solara craving a cigarette more than I craved life, death, or any other stim.

Hyperpop was blasting on the radio and my roommates were talking about

something or another, programming related. Rust syntax? I mentioned the AWK

book's second edition had come out this year and that I had downloaded it. Emma

said something about how it was a shame AWK was specified in POSIX. Something

or another... I couldn't focus on the conversation, which was a shame, because

it was the only thing on which I was trying to focus. Topics blurred in and out

of my vision like a radar on a tank slowly pinging the surroundings of a sun-

bleached desert, though this desert much more resembled a town on the outskirts

of Denver than a war torn country (the difference being that the buildings were

standing- and also modernist architecture). Eventually I gave up and ceded

whatever point I was trying to make, though to be honest I felt my mouth was

moving on its own. Neither I or Kami were awake, barely even lucid. Just

dreaming of that first drag off a fresh red...

Boulder came into view and changed the pallete (is that how you spell that?) to

a vivid, passionate green I hadn't known since Pennysylvania. The buildings

went from stucco (I think. maybe Adobe. I don't know this land's building

materials) to red brick and wood and metal and glass, the people were no longer

cowboys but yuppie college students wearing Apple Airpods Pro and talking on

iPhones and a mix of turtlenecks and thick-framed glasses and

circular-spectacled faux cottagecore dress-wearing women. This was a college

town and the young adults were wasting no time on the years allotted them to be

silly or stuck-up. The streets narrowed from I-25 and the stores huddled on the

streets between smaller lots than for which America has the taste and paid

parking at $1.50/hr. I stared through the nook between the passenger and driver

at the shrubbery, the manicured lawns and overgrown trees, Colorado's Harvard

or Harvardoid. A non-student couldn't tell the difference. I was consumed by

the nicotine withdrawal and came to, my middle finger and my thumb rapidly

clicking at each other like I was some fiend with trigger finger from an alien

gun, outside the car, walking towards the pay kiosk in a trance. I stood and

stared at the lush, soft grass that New Englanders know in their hearts marks

home and eventually noticed it was time for me to swipe my paycard in the slit

underneath the screen. Beep. We had three hours, until 1822. I noticed I lost

two hours to my daemon and turned to berate it for taking my valuable time only

to remember the devil was in my head, not my house, and walked with the

roommates to the library which was our destination in the first place.

After enduring my roommates' lectures regarding the law and forbidden actions

(such as climbing through construction in order to make our route much shorter)

we arrived at Norlin Library and, after one of them had a brief chat with the

student at the inquiries desk and a long sojourn onto the Information Super-

Highway in search of clues, we took a small elevator to the fourth- no, wait,

we pressed the wrong button and corrected- the fifth floor. There were a great

many people and I wondered if we had found the right place before being handed

an ornate program printed on soft, thick, reflective paper explaining the event

before us. It was double sided with the Toki Pona on the first side and the

English on the back.

Originally: pini la, toki pona li pali musi pi jan wan. tenpo ni la, ona li

kama toki pi jan ale. tenpo kulupu ni la, jan o toki lon ni!

My interpretation: In the past, Toki Pona was a fun activity of one person. In

this time, it is the language of all people. In this community event, people

discuss this!

Provided English: Toki Pona: From Personal Art Project to Small World Language

There were many people and many things happening. Qdoba - not Chipotle, as the

program stated - were lighting flames underneath metal containers in which

tortilla chips and salsa mixes would be served. While one of my roommates

pissed I meandered over to the books table, where pu (Toki Pona: The Language

of Good), ku (Toki Pona Dictionary), and jan Sonja's latest book, su (The

Wonderful Wizard of Oz: Toki Pona Edition), were on display. I asked a clump of

the crowd how the books could be purchased and a woman in pink said quietly

that she would be accepting cash after the discussion, or another person would

be accepting money via Venmo.

My craving gave way to anxiety at the crowd. I and the roommate who was not in

the bathroom wandered anxiously around the conference hall for a bit before,

after the other roommate came back and held our things, we both went to the

bathroom, I with a little bit of hesitation just from nerves. I tried not to

have a heart attack. When I came back out there was still a great deal of

socialization happening and my roommates and I found seats in the row behind

the front a few minutes before the discussion started and I realized the person

in pink was jan Sonja whose first impression of myself had been that I was a

sweaty, nervous fan.

jan Sonja was accompanied by jan Lakuse and Boulder locals and nearly-locals in

chairs at the front of the room facing a crowd that overflowed from the sixty

or so seats to standing room at the back of the hall. jan Sonja and jan Lakuse

were equipped with lapel microphones attached to wireless transmitters on their

waists and the rest of the round table passed around two handheld microphones.

The round table was comprised of, from left to right, and to my foggy

recollection:

jan Masoko (Tessa Moskoff)

jan Kasin (Caedin Cook)

jan Wiwa (River Smith)

jan Lakuse (Chelsea Raacz)

jan Sonja (Sonja Lang)

jan Sa (Jack Foster)

jan Elu (El Hays)

jan Oli (Olivia Bahr)

And they each had insightful and interesting questions that I don't remember.

The talk was followed by my roommates socializing and me standing at the books

table waiting for someone who seemed like an authority to start accepting dana.

It didn't take long until jan Sonja found a seat by the table and as I had cash

I could purchase my books first.

/blah/2024-04-08.html

# usermod -aG dialout trinity

# usermod -aG tty trinity # doesn't change ttyUSB0 but makes me feel better

# ^D

$ ^D

Now programming the UV-5R works after a relogin. I fixed some settings and

changed the intro screen to read

__________

| |

| haiii :3 |

|__________|

I got my K6. Gonna try to figure out how to program it, like make apps and

shit.

Today [...], [...], and I are going to see Sonja Lang, and we're all really

stoked. jan Sonja pali e toki pona. Sonja made Toki Pona. Like, imagine meeting

the person that invented Spanish or English. She's selling all three Toki Pona

books and I'm gonna buy all of them. I really hope she'll autograph them for

me. jan Sonja is to conlangs what David Bowie is to rock and roll. Aaaaaahh I

hope we don't geek out too much for her.

Finished The Taste of a Man (1997).

/blah/2024-04-02.html

: programming the UV-5R

I recently ordered a UV-K6 radio, similar to the UV-5R but much more

featureful, much more programmable, and slightly newer. In order to program it

I needed a programming cable which would also work with my UV-5R so it was a no

brainer to get one of those too. I received the cable before the K6 and I wanna

play with radios so I'm programming my 5R.

Permission denied: '/dev/ttyUSB0'

/blah/2024-04-01.html

People care about me and I don't even feel like a corporeal being. I feel airy,

dissociated, like the world around me isn't real, like I'm not real either, and

like this is an illusion I'm barely even a part of. I feel like the couch on

which I lie is a projection and the air flowing across my body is a false

sensation. I find it difficult, nigh impossible, to care about my own

well-being because to care about my own well-being is to believe that I am a

being in the first place and I don't feel at all like that. I feel like I was

born to die, like I have one purpose and that is to work until I rot and then

in my death know I failed to continue longer, and die in my perceived failure.

In this very moment I don't feel like I'm in this body. I could be anywhere. In

a hospital chained to a bed in a years-long hallucination, in the car in the

longest mental breakdown of my life, at work lost in thought. I feel like I'm

falling. I'm not tethered to anything, not even my own breaths - which aren't

real. When I lift my chin up, lift my head so my gaze is perpendicular to my

spine, tilt my head farther, my vision just keeps lifting, the movement not

limited by any sort of physical presence or physics whatsoever, my perception

simply an input device controlled by my physical sensations, so when I move I

move without limits because the world is not real. This terminal is at once so

far away and yet incredibly close, so close I can see each individual glyph I

enter, so big it spans my vision, filling my eyes with sharply contrasting

pixels, pink and black, but the pink so bright it may as well be white, so far

I struggle to see it, a pinprick in the inky black of my world, my own vision

a pinhole surrounded by my mind, a terrible cave in which I am confined. I feel

like I'm falling. It's this sinking feeling, this acceleration, forever

approaching the ground, the real ground, whatever that may be. I didn't feel

hungry for a moment today. I never felt hot either. I feel cold right now. But

I know it's not real. It's just another input someone plugged into my brain

which is floating in a jar somewhere in Berlin or Shymkent. I want someone to

kill me; I want to die.

I struggle to imagine myself happy or what my happiness looks like. I always

have. I just try to find meaning in serving others. I don't let myself get

hurt, except when I do, because I can't tell when I'm going to be hurt. I crave

physical touch, the kind I haven't felt since October or so, but not from

anyone from which I've received it in the past. I struggle to talk to people,

especially people my age. I can only relate to people in their 30s or 40s or

later. There's this wall that exists between me and people my age. Nothing they

talk about I understand. It's vapid interpersonal gossip and they-saids and

none of it has substance. What do I talk about with those I can communicate?

Cooking. News. System design. Then it breaks down. I don't know many people who

share interests with me and I can't find new people who do because I find it

difficult to be in big group chats of people I don't know and impossible to use

proprietary services like Discord or Instagram. I don't meet new people except

in real life and nobody I meet in real life likes computers or any of the

Internet stuff I do, nobody likes to watch people die or talk about the kind of

romance for which people throw themselves off buildings or speculate about the

XZ backdoor or anything. I tell myself my happiness doesn't depend on others

but Kami - simultaneously internal and external, obligatorily my best friend

but of unknown origin and with unexplained intent - can't touch me the way

flesh can and stuffed animals can't love the way I can. I have never

experienced chronic reciprocity with a human being. It's all fleeting, really

fleeting, gone in a second. Finding happiness in serving others is only really

feeling comfortable in relationships that are at least fringed with toxicity.

There is nobody who serves me, not consistently, nobody I let do so, because I

wouldn't feel comfortable in that. It is imbalanced. I haven't been happy

before, only felt a certain type of glee that in hindsight only could exist

because I couldn't tell something was wrong. My happiness is proven wrong in

every event. "I'm happy", I say, when I feel better than bad, but never when

better than good, because then I know it's fleeting, know even better than when

better than bad, know it's even more fleeting, because I know I haven't time to

waste on such a remark. I may never be happy and I'm not worried about the

possibility because it doesn't matter, because I'm not real. I imagine my death

to be the day when I lay down and die, just suddenly, just like that. Without

struggle against the reaper, without fear, and without wasted time. I find the

end of the line, a transparent fabric dead-ahead, a shroud separating the

present from the future in which I'm not to participate, and I see it and

recognize it. I leave the room, walk ten paces into the desert, and collapse

into the sand, dead of an unknown ailment, likely old age at 27 years old. And

it's a noble death. I leave behind nothing of value and no cash holdings and

nobody notices until they check my on-line status and see my last activity was

years ago. Perhaps I moved on. And I will have. Assuming I am real.

Last night in tears I said I wish I was normal and was asked what that means. I

don't know. I just want to be able to write a coherent paragraph. I feel like

I'm speaking a different language. The voices are loud.

And now for something completely different...

: murderu.us is even more broken

5AM MST

<suika> my beloved ibuki.club redirect, it's gone

day ruined

<suika> also, how does ssl work in this setup? doesn't caddy deal with it on

its own or have you accounted for this?

<trinity> caddy deals with it on its own

<trinity> cname ibuki.club to murderu.us and you'll be fine

<trinity> i should make them have the aame certs. will probably later. just was

fed up after spending an hour or two on one file.

<suika> you should've because how does prosody get certs now?

<suika> ngircd too?

<suika> I can fuck with it tonight, it's not super urgent since the certs have

somewhere between 0 and 90 days to expire

<suika> >cname ibuki.club to murderu.us and you'll be fine

I don't think certs work that way unfortunately

<trinity> if you want i can swap it around to everything cnamed to feeling

again, i was just trying to be clever

[...]

<trinity> i swapped it so feeling is an A record again vs CNAME

<trinity> suika: ping

<suika> now ssl doesn't work at all, even on murderu.us?!?!?

>curl: (35) OpenSSL/3.2.1: error:0A000438:SSL routines::tlsv1 alert

internal error

I'll try to fix it up tonight, don't worry about it

This is code for "TRINITY STOP FUCKING UP MY SERVER CONFS"

<suika> >i swapped it so feeling is an A record again vs CNAME

not the problem, cnames or A records wouldn't fix anything because it

goes by the domain itself and not what it points at

This is code for "TRINITY STOP FUCKING WITH EVEN MORE SHIT"

: in which Trinity fucks with even more shit

$ ssh feeling.murderu.us

$ doas su -

I have about twenty minutes to work on this before I clock into work. Here's

hoping I don't fuck it up irrecoverably.

7:30AM MST

<trinity> don't ngircd and prosody have different certs?

<suika> yes, but with how acme was configured they both ran off the same one

<trinity> where's acme?

<trinity> did caddy fuck with global certs or something? i thought its certs

were caddy-specific

<suika> there's a script in /usr/local/bin that does ssl stuff and is wired up

in cron

<suika> >i thought its certs were caddy-specific

they are

<suika> one of the main selling points of caddy is to deal with ssl for you,

which is fine in the case of hosting only a web server but you also

have xmpp and irc

<trinity> should i set caddy to use the acme dir in /etc/ssl/.../feeling.murder

u.us.json

<suika> not sure

 @ -525,6 +525,403 @@ pre { /* DRY who? */
 }
 /blah/2024-04-10.html
 -04-08
 (pu) Toki Pona: The Language of Good
 	kinupolu te watusen a! - jan Sonja
 (ku) Toki Pona Dictionary
 	soweli Tini o! mi pilin pona tan ni: sina lon! jan Sonja
 (su) The Wonderful Wizard of Oz: Toki Pona Edition
 	mu mu mu
 I watched and smiled anxiously at Sonja Lang signing the three books I was
 purchasing for myself, as well as the two I was purchasing for my roommates. ku
 was signed first and I thought the note was really, really sweet. I needed that
 actually. Then pu. I don't know what "kinupolu te watusen a" means - "a" at the
 end is emphatic, "te" is a nimi sin (word, new) sometimes used to introduce a
 quote, but "kinupolu" and "watusen" are incomprehensible to me.
 "te" is interesting - from the Japanese -tte and conceived by kala kala and jan
 Lakuse, and the latter of whom was there. I discovered Toki Pona after I had
 been studying Japanese for a bit and it was cool to see some toki pona tan toki
 Nijon.
 At lipu su she seemed to have lost some steam in signing which was worrying
 because I was the first (though probably the least socially acclimated) fan in
 a growing line. "mu mu mu" was written in green pen below the toki pona title
 and above soweli Toto. [...] came over to where I was and asked for the second
 copy of su I was purchasing to be signed to jan Masi. At the end I thanked jan
 Sonja very much and anxiously stepped among the clumps of social masses and
 stood near a bookshelf with [...] while [...] got food.
 [...] wanted to socialize and I sort of wanted to socialize, or at least be a
 fly on the wall for socialization. We discussed the consequences of striking up
 a conversation with a stranger or trying to nestle our way into an already-
 formed crowd. Eventually they walked over to a stranger and started talking
 about toki pona and stuff and people gravitated towards us and we formed a
 semicircle (open, so others could join easily). [...] came back and the
 discussion continued, touching on xkcd, Lojban, alternate human interfaces for
 computers, Rust, Esperanto, and basically every topic we discuss at home, now
 with more opinions and others guiding the conversation, which is what
 socialization is for those of you who don't know. Then I checked my cell phone
 for the time and drat, it was 1805 and we would be towed if we didn't go back
 and move the car or renew the parking. I volunteered to go over to the car and
 pay for more parking (as I was the least invested in the current conversations,
 being dreadfully interested in them but having little to contribute) and took
 the keys and left, too awkward to say o tawa pona to the speakers who had come
 a long way to be there.
 I took the elevator down and left Norlin Library, stepping onto beautiful turf
 and having an intensely vivid mental image - blocking out my own vision, no
 matter how I tried to see past it or return to the present - of my own
 hometown and walking through the courtyard of my middle school. The grass was
 the same shade and the trails were the same sort of tar and even the buildings
 were the red brick with which I was intimately familiar. It is April and the
 trees are starting to bloom and though the Vernal air was filling my nose too
 full and giving me the sniffles I was in love with the view and wish I didn't
 have to hurry back to the car.
 I made it some minutes late though there was no tow truck in sight and none
 could have towed it since the parking had expired. I went to the kiosk and
 tried to pay for more time but it errored repeatedly, saying I had to enter the
 license plate (which I did) before trying to swipe my card. Eventually I tried
 to use ADA parking, which is ninety minutes for free, and it worked, so we had
 until 1900 to get out of dodge. I texted [...] and told them this and then sat
 in the car with pu and got to reading.
 My toki pona knowledge, two days ago, was not great. Only enough to be able to
 navigate around relevant websites and say some basic phrases. I started from
 lesson 1 and built myself a solid foundational learning rather than picking up
 things here and there (which works for many languages but not one of a hundred
 and extra words). Now I feel somewhat comfortable conversing though my spoken
 vocabulary is limited. tenpo suno pini wan la (I had jan Ema help me with this
 part of the sentence), mi pini pu. mi toki lon toki pona la, mi pilin pona. And
 stuff.
 [...] and [...] came back to the car eventually and explained that we could
 park where we were for free after 1900, correcting my jumbled belief that we
 would be towed if we were there. Then they said the remaining toki pona group
 was going to dinner and one of my roommates was invited, though they were
 unclear on whether the other one or myself were.
 We ([...]) drove to the restaurant and waited for confirmation from the toki
 pona group that we were fine to go in. No confirmation came back and after much
 discussing pros and cons of approaches (I sort of just wanted to go home and
 order a pizza) they went in while I was too fearful of public embarrassment to
 go. I stayed in the car and tried to sleep but couldn't. I tried to read but
 couldn't focus. I tried to play video games but can't play video games to save
 my life, the awful flashing lights and obnoxious sounds inflicting countless
 papercuts on my soul which craves, probably somewhere deep down, tranquility
 and comfort. I tossed and turned and as the temperature dropped so did mine,
 and by the time my roommates came back to the car I was locked in a running
 flashback to the Burger King parking lot where I had made my home and their
 unlocking the car and opening the doors threw me into a sheer terror on par
 with the worst I've felt. I asked to go to a gas station. And for a cigarette.
 They agreed to help with the first plea.
 On the way to the gas station they discussed a breakfast that would be
 happening the next morning and called one of my exes to chat. I sat in the back
 and played a game where the goal was to kill myself by sheer will, by wishing
 long and hard enough that I would simply be torn from existence by some divine
 act. Eventually we got to a Seven-11 (is that how you write that?) and I got a
 Monster, a danish, and Chex Mix, and consumed the three in the opposite order
 on the way back to [...], Colorado. I also decided to call out of work the next
 morning to go to breakfast, which is a recollection for another time.
 Meeting jan Sonja was really cool. Social anxiety got the better of me on most
 moments within the day and that was less cool. I think I ought to take more
 risks. I decided to write this in the style of Hunter S. Thompson (would he
 care if I spelled that wrong?) because I figure most writing on toki pona and
 its community is academic or starstruck and I wanted to even it out a bit. I
 had a good time and the toki pona speakers I met were some of the coolest
 people with which I've ever conversed.
 /blah/2024-04-09.html
 It was probably thirteen hundred something and I was in the back seat of the
 Solara craving a cigarette more than I craved life, death, or any other stim.
 Hyperpop was blasting on the radio and my roommates were talking about
 something or another, programming related. Rust syntax? I mentioned the AWK
 book's second edition had come out this year and that I had downloaded it. Emma
 said something about how it was a shame AWK was specified in POSIX. Something
 or another... I couldn't focus on the conversation, which was a shame, because
 it was the only thing on which I was trying to focus. Topics blurred in and out
 of my vision like a radar on a tank slowly pinging the surroundings of a sun-
 bleached desert, though this desert much more resembled a town on the outskirts
 of Denver than a war torn country (the difference being that the buildings were
 standing- and also modernist architecture). Eventually I gave up and ceded
 whatever point I was trying to make, though to be honest I felt my mouth was
 moving on its own. Neither I or Kami were awake, barely even lucid. Just
 dreaming of that first drag off a fresh red...
 Boulder came into view and changed the pallete (is that how you spell that?) to
 a vivid, passionate green I hadn't known since Pennysylvania. The buildings
 went from stucco (I think. maybe Adobe. I don't know this land's building
 materials) to red brick and wood and metal and glass, the people were no longer
 cowboys but yuppie college students wearing Apple Airpods Pro and talking on
 iPhones and a mix of turtlenecks and thick-framed glasses and
 circular-spectacled faux cottagecore dress-wearing women. This was a college
 town and the young adults were wasting no time on the years allotted them to be
 silly or stuck-up. The streets narrowed from I-25 and the stores huddled on the
 streets between smaller lots than for which America has the taste and paid
 parking at $1.50/hr. I stared through the nook between the passenger and driver
 at the shrubbery, the manicured lawns and overgrown trees, Colorado's Harvard
 or Harvardoid. A non-student couldn't tell the difference. I was consumed by
 the nicotine withdrawal and came to, my middle finger and my thumb rapidly
 clicking at each other like I was some fiend with trigger finger from an alien
 gun, outside the car, walking towards the pay kiosk in a trance. I stood and
 stared at the lush, soft grass that New Englanders know in their hearts marks
 home and eventually noticed it was time for me to swipe my paycard in the slit
 underneath the screen. Beep. We had three hours, until 1822. I noticed I lost
 two hours to my daemon and turned to berate it for taking my valuable time only
 to remember the devil was in my head, not my house, and walked with the
 roommates to the library which was our destination in the first place.
 After enduring my roommates' lectures regarding the law and forbidden actions
 (such as climbing through construction in order to make our route much shorter)
 we arrived at Norlin Library and, after one of them had a brief chat with the
 student at the inquiries desk and a long sojourn onto the Information Super-
 Highway in search of clues, we took a small elevator to the fourth- no, wait,
 we pressed the wrong button and corrected- the fifth floor. There were a great
 many people and I wondered if we had found the right place before being handed
 an ornate program printed on soft, thick, reflective paper explaining the event
 before us. It was double sided with the Toki Pona on the first side and the
 English on the back.
 Originally: pini la, toki pona li pali musi pi jan wan. tenpo ni la, ona li
 kama toki pi jan ale. tenpo kulupu ni la, jan o toki lon ni!
 My interpretation: In the past, Toki Pona was a fun activity of one person. In
 this time, it is the language of all people. In this community event, people
 discuss this!
 Provided English: Toki Pona: From Personal Art Project to Small World Language
 There were many people and many things happening. Qdoba - not Chipotle, as the
 program stated - were lighting flames underneath metal containers in which
 tortilla chips and salsa mixes would be served. While one of my roommates
 pissed I meandered over to the books table, where pu (Toki Pona: The Language
 of Good), ku (Toki Pona Dictionary), and jan Sonja's latest book, su (The
 Wonderful Wizard of Oz: Toki Pona Edition), were on display. I asked a clump of
 the crowd how the books could be purchased and a woman in pink said quietly
 that she would be accepting cash after the discussion, or another person would
 be accepting money via Venmo.
 My craving gave way to anxiety at the crowd. I and the roommate who was not in
 the bathroom wandered anxiously around the conference hall for a bit before,
 after the other roommate came back and held our things, we both went to the
 bathroom, I with a little bit of hesitation just from nerves. I tried not to
 have a heart attack. When I came back out there was still a great deal of
 socialization happening and my roommates and I found seats in the row behind
 the front a few minutes before the discussion started and I realized the person
 in pink was jan Sonja whose first impression of myself had been that I was a
 sweaty, nervous fan.
 jan Sonja was accompanied by jan Lakuse and Boulder locals and nearly-locals in
 chairs at the front of the room facing a crowd that overflowed from the sixty
 or so seats to standing room at the back of the hall. jan Sonja and jan Lakuse
 were equipped with lapel microphones attached to wireless transmitters on their
 waists and the rest of the round table passed around two handheld microphones.
 The round table was comprised of, from left to right, and to my foggy
 recollection:
 	jan Masoko (Tessa Moskoff)
 	jan Kasin (Caedin Cook)
 	jan Wiwa (River Smith)
 	jan Lakuse (Chelsea Raacz)
 	jan Sonja (Sonja Lang)
 	jan Sa (Jack Foster)
 	jan Elu (El Hays)
 	jan Oli (Olivia Bahr)
 And they each had insightful and interesting questions that I don't remember.
 The talk was followed by my roommates socializing and me standing at the books
 table waiting for someone who seemed like an authority to start accepting dana.
 It didn't take long until jan Sonja found a seat by the table and as I had cash
 I could purchase my books first.
 /blah/2024-04-08.html
 # usermod -aG dialout trinity
 # usermod -aG tty trinity # doesn't change ttyUSB0 but makes me feel better
 # ^D
 $ ^D
 Now programming the UV-5R works after a relogin. I fixed some settings and
 changed the intro screen to read
  __________
 |          |
 | haiii :3 |
 |__________|
 I got my K6. Gonna try to figure out how to program it, like make apps and
 shit.
 Today [...], [...], and I are going to see Sonja Lang, and we're all really
 stoked. jan Sonja pali e toki pona. Sonja made Toki Pona. Like, imagine meeting
 the person that invented Spanish or English. She's selling all three Toki Pona
 books and I'm gonna buy all of them. I really hope she'll autograph them for
 me. jan Sonja is to conlangs what David Bowie is to rock and roll. Aaaaaahh I
 hope we don't geek out too much for her.
 Finished The Taste of a Man (1997).
 /blah/2024-04-02.html
 : programming the UV-5R
 I recently ordered a UV-K6 radio, similar to the UV-5R but much more
 featureful, much more programmable, and slightly newer. In order to program it
 I needed a programming cable which would also work with my UV-5R so it was a no
 brainer to get one of those too. I received the cable before the K6 and I wanna
 play with radios so I'm programming my 5R.
 Permission denied: '/dev/ttyUSB0'
 /blah/2024-04-01.html
 People care about me and I don't even feel like a corporeal being. I feel airy,
 dissociated, like the world around me isn't real, like I'm not real either, and
 like this is an illusion I'm barely even a part of. I feel like the couch on
 which I lie is a projection and the air flowing across my body is a false
 sensation. I find it difficult, nigh impossible, to care about my own
 well-being because to care about my own well-being is to believe that I am a
 being in the first place and I don't feel at all like that. I feel like I was
 born to die, like I have one purpose and that is to work until I rot and then
 in my death know I failed to continue longer, and die in my perceived failure.
 In this very moment I don't feel like I'm in this body. I could be anywhere. In
 a hospital chained to a bed in a years-long hallucination, in the car in the
 longest mental breakdown of my life, at work lost in thought. I feel like I'm
 falling. I'm not tethered to anything, not even my own breaths - which aren't
 real. When I lift my chin up, lift my head so my gaze is perpendicular to my
 spine, tilt my head farther, my vision just keeps lifting, the movement not
 limited by any sort of physical presence or physics whatsoever, my perception
 simply an input device controlled by my physical sensations, so when I move I
 move without limits because the world is not real. This terminal is at once so
 far away and yet incredibly close, so close I can see each individual glyph I
 enter, so big it spans my vision, filling my eyes with sharply contrasting
 pixels, pink and black, but the pink so bright it may as well be white, so far
 I struggle to see it, a pinprick in the inky black of my world, my own vision
 a pinhole surrounded by my mind, a terrible cave in which I am confined. I feel
 like I'm falling. It's this sinking feeling, this acceleration, forever
 approaching the ground, the real ground, whatever that may be. I didn't feel
 hungry for a moment today. I never felt hot either. I feel cold right now. But
 I know it's not real. It's just another input someone plugged into my brain
 which is floating in a jar somewhere in Berlin or Shymkent. I want someone to
 kill me; I want to die.
 I struggle to imagine myself happy or what my happiness looks like. I always
 have. I just try to find meaning in serving others. I don't let myself get
 hurt, except when I do, because I can't tell when I'm going to be hurt. I crave
 physical touch, the kind I haven't felt since October or so, but not from
 anyone from which I've received it in the past. I struggle to talk to people,
 especially people my age. I can only relate to people in their 30s or 40s or
 later. There's this wall that exists between me and people my age. Nothing they
 talk about I understand. It's vapid interpersonal gossip and they-saids and
 none of it has substance. What do I talk about with those I can communicate?
 Cooking. News. System design. Then it breaks down. I don't know many people who
 share interests with me and I can't find new people who do because I find it
 difficult to be in big group chats of people I don't know and impossible to use
 proprietary services like Discord or Instagram. I don't meet new people except
 in real life and nobody I meet in real life likes computers or any of the
 Internet stuff I do, nobody likes to watch people die or talk about the kind of
 romance for which people throw themselves off buildings or speculate about the
 XZ backdoor or anything. I tell myself my happiness doesn't depend on others
 but Kami - simultaneously internal and external, obligatorily my best friend
 but of unknown origin and with unexplained intent - can't touch me the way
 flesh can and stuffed animals can't love the way I can. I have never
 experienced chronic reciprocity with a human being. It's all fleeting, really
 fleeting, gone in a second. Finding happiness in serving others is only really
 feeling comfortable in relationships that are at least fringed with toxicity.
 There is nobody who serves me, not consistently, nobody I let do so, because I
 wouldn't feel comfortable in that. It is imbalanced. I haven't been happy
 before, only felt a certain type of glee that in hindsight only could exist
 because I couldn't tell something was wrong. My happiness is proven wrong in
 every event. "I'm happy", I say, when I feel better than bad, but never when
 better than good, because then I know it's fleeting, know even better than when
 better than bad, know it's even more fleeting, because I know I haven't time to
 waste on such a remark. I may never be happy and I'm not worried about the
 possibility because it doesn't matter, because I'm not real. I imagine my death
 to be the day when I lay down and die, just suddenly, just like that. Without
 struggle against the reaper, without fear, and without wasted time. I find the
 end of the line, a transparent fabric dead-ahead, a shroud separating the
 present from the future in which I'm not to participate, and I see it and
 recognize it. I leave the room, walk ten paces into the desert, and collapse
 into the sand, dead of an unknown ailment, likely old age at 27 years old. And
 it's a noble death. I leave behind nothing of value and no cash holdings and
 nobody notices until they check my on-line status and see my last activity was
 years ago. Perhaps I moved on. And I will have. Assuming I am real.
 Last night in tears I said I wish I was normal and was asked what that means. I
 don't know. I just want to be able to write a coherent paragraph. I feel like
 I'm speaking a different language. The voices are loud.
 And now for something completely different...
 : murderu.us is even more broken
 AM MST
 <suika> my beloved ibuki.club redirect, it's gone
         day ruined
 <suika> also, how does ssl work in this setup? doesn't caddy deal with it on
         its own or have you accounted for this?
 <trinity> caddy deals with it on its own
 <trinity> cname ibuki.club to murderu.us and you'll be fine
 <trinity> i should make them have the aame certs. will probably later. just was
           fed up after spending an hour or two on one file.
 <suika> you should've because how does prosody get certs now?
 <suika> ngircd too?
 <suika> I can fuck with it tonight, it's not super urgent since the certs have
         somewhere between 0 and 90 days to expire
 <suika> >cname ibuki.club to murderu.us and you'll be fine
         I don't think certs work that way unfortunately
 <trinity> if you want i can swap it around to everything cnamed to feeling
           again, i was just trying to be clever
 [...]
 <trinity> i swapped it so feeling is an A record again vs CNAME
 <trinity> suika: ping
 <suika> now ssl doesn't work at all, even on murderu.us?!?!?
         >curl: (35) OpenSSL/3.2.1: error:0A000438:SSL routines::tlsv1 alert
         internal error
         I'll try to fix it up tonight, don't worry about it
 This is code for "TRINITY STOP FUCKING UP MY SERVER CONFS"
 <suika> >i swapped it so feeling is an A record again vs CNAME
         not the problem, cnames or A records wouldn't fix anything because it
         goes by the domain itself and not what it points at
 This is code for "TRINITY STOP FUCKING WITH EVEN MORE SHIT"
 : in which Trinity fucks with even more shit
 $ ssh feeling.murderu.us
 $ doas su -
 I have about twenty minutes to work on this before I clock into work. Here's
 hoping I don't fuck it up irrecoverably.
 :30AM MST
 <trinity> don't ngircd and prosody have different certs?
 <suika> yes, but with how acme was configured they both ran off the same one
 <trinity> where's acme?
 <trinity> did caddy fuck with global certs or something? i thought its certs
           were caddy-specific
 <suika> there's a script in /usr/local/bin that does ssl stuff and is wired up
         in cron
 <suika> >i thought its certs were caddy-specific
         they are
 <suika> one of the main selling points of caddy is to deal with ssl for you,
         which is fine in the case of hosting only a web server but you also
         have xmpp and irc
 <trinity> should i set caddy to use the acme dir in /etc/ssl/.../feeling.murder
           u.us.json
 <suika> not sure
 /blah/2024-03-31.html
 : fixing the murderu.us web stuff

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