Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts


son of das update

hey look, whitey's not dead yet.

node state: i'm still taking antibiotics for it, which seems wise; this morning i changed the dressing again to find the opening white, bloodless and clearly dead or dying. i am half-convinced that this is because it was kept too wet under the Jelonet, which is weird moist jelly-like clinging mesh that keeps wound lips together (my fault, i ought to have removed that shit as soon as i got back from the lab yesterday.) since wounds that get like that tend to reopen, it's not really a good sign, but i re-dressed it dry and here's hoping it will seal again. there's no sign of the node coming out. site was warm this morning, but seems to have cooled down since (probably something to do with the large amounts of antipyretics routinely flowing through my system as a catalyst for the DHC...) pain has abated greatly even when my dose runs down - yesterday was an opiate downday and i could still move all three joints without pain, unlike the day before. today my usual chemical halo is back in place and i feel nothing except when the wound itself presses against something.

status is therefore tentatively good.

sensory-wise, it's still too early for any EM sense to have come through, although magnetic function is obviously active (boring.)

also, i really like Cesium_137, and you might too.


das update

(cf Combichrist's 'Get Your Body Beat'.) i woke up this morning to a small chorus of little dull pangs that mean 'oshit, son, get your fat ass to a doctor'. so i did; i was about to take a picture of the node site, but first the examining doc made me take off the bandage, and then had to send me to the nurse so she could patch me up with shit tons of gauze and Jelonet and stuff that's making it hard to type right. i had several interesting conversations about why it is that i do this shit to myself, which is something i can never explain properly to non-transhumanists - i've gotta learn to do that, otherwise i'm never going to get anything like a research grant or unbiased medical help. the nurses are alright, but the doctors still think of me as some exotic species of self-harmer.

i have been known to slice my arms open for shits'n'giggles, sure, and do a fair amount of damage in the process (none of this emo cat-scratch bullshit, i've split my arm to the tendons like the little psychopath i sort of am), but this is not something i do when properly medicated. i need a better way of communicating that.

fortunately the doc didn't decide to cut the node out of me just yet and gave me a box of flucloxacillin, which will doubtless play havoc with my system. still, it's not like i'm not grateful.

that is all. also you should check out Project Pitchfork, because their track 'A Cell' is kickass.


straight edge

my immunocompromised, can't-handle-finals-week immune system can't fight off glandular fever, so i been pretty damn sick this week. in a way, illness kinda sucks ass: a week on your ass, losing ridiculous amounts of weight because your throat hurts too much to even swallow liquids, not being able to breathe properly (it was that that made me call the NHS, contra to my advice to other people about not being an over-macho i-can-take-it asshole and letting yourself get horribly ill), dehydration because you can't drink and if you do you vomit and you've got diarrhoea, yada yada.

the plus side was i got an entire stash of Kupkakes* - 30mg cocodamol, an excellent little drug that actually does something, compared to the 8mg that serves as a rather crappy bulwark against my codeine addiction. i guess they don't care about giving pills to addicts if those addicts are shaking uncontrollably with raging fevers, crying like pussies in the emergency clinic at 4am.

that got me thinking. i don't use the Kupkakes recreationally, though i sure as hell could - aside from their analgesic/antipyretic effects, they'll calm you down and make you walk around floating on a cushion of chill, but they're far too valuable to me as a CP patient to waste on chilling. i was looking at one the day before yesterday in an attempt to psyche myself up for swallowing it (yesterday was the first day i could eat solid food, and since then i've been fucking golden), and i remembered the stash of Rx Kupkakes one of my exes has.

i have a lot of ex-girlfriends and boyfriends, but most have been from my side of life - alternatives, sort of. i think i'm just attracted to that willingness to try anything; well, this ex - call him Will, names changed to protect the fucking guilty - was sort of an anomaly. had ink and piercings, sure, less than me but a few, and weird hair like yours truly - but Will's a straight edger.

this was sort of a shock to me when i found out, after we first started dating, but i figured hey, if the man doesn't tell me what i can and can't do with my own meat, i ain't gonna tell him what he should do with his. it was only after we had a conversation in which it transpired that if i got seriously ill and resorted to cannabis for pain relief, he'd leave me no matter how ill i was, that i realised there's something kinda fucked up about this straight edge philosophy.

for a start, i reject the argument that the philosophy bans things because they fuck you up. the SxE list of 'banned' substances is... well, sorta arbitrary. tobacco, recreational drugs, alcohol. some of them are also vegetarian, some don't approve of any drugs at all - no fucking paracetamol in one kiddie i heard about on the grapevine, some just stay away from those Big Three. but why just those three? just because they're common? why doesn't SxE doctrine ban fried food, standing right in front the speakers, skinny dipping, high heels or not taking your insulin on time? i believe people have a right to fuck themselves up, and to make their own judgements in what's acceptable levels of fucked-up. it's called bodily autonomy.

there's another thing. i see no reason to make an entire militant philosophy out of not doing something nobody is making you do. you don't smoke? well, i quit too. now i'm more stressed, less broke and no lung cancer. grats. you don't drink? welcome to the United Arab Emirates. i just don't get it why it needs a symbol and vigilantes and a movement.

third, i reject the idea that drug use is always bad and the only reasons people have for taking are peer pressure and thinking it's cool. i don't know a single fucker who's ever used because they wanted to be with the cool kids; the cool kids don't do that shit, they don't need to. people i used to hang with had the same problems as i and the rest of the City did: some were in pain, some had survived awful shit in their lives, some were addicts, some wanted the rush. using was just one solution. all of us did some stupid things, but we sure as hell weren't doing it for acceptance in the goddamn playground. to reject drugs on that precept is over-simplifying to a ridiculous degree.

the lifetime commitment thing bothers me, too. i respect people trying to make a commitment to something, but i worry when i see them trying to make a promise for life. like a marriage, you can't enter into a contract like that knowing for sure that you're never going to feel any other way, even if you really don't think you will; so when you've got an X tattooed on the back of your hand and you find that, shit son, you can't pay the NHS for your pain pills and you've got nothing to keep that tide of hurt away, i don't think you can honour a lifetime promise never to do drugs without putting yourself through pain for no real reason.

last up, the militancy. i don't have a problem with SxE kiddies who just don't drink, smoke or do drugs themselves; they wanna protect their meat, and we disagree purely on the best way to do that and the acceptable tradeoff between protection and other benefits. i have a problem with those like Will, people who look down on friends having a drink together, people who decide to make you pick between them and relief from the screaming abyss of agony where your guts used to be. my personal choices are mine alone; if you think they're wrong, we'll have a debate, but sneering straight-edgers with a squeaky superiority complex ain't good at that sort of debate. if you think my choices should be restricted because people around me are emotionally hurt by them, you can think again. everyone has the right to do legal things without fear that they'll hurt or offend others and be thrown in jail; what i don't have the right to do is physically hurt someone.

if my pain control makes me go off the rails and kill someone, it's my fault and i deserve to go down for it, because i shoulda been more responsible in choosing better drugs and locking my ass away while i was on them. if i take acid because i wanna know more about myself and i freak out and gouge out one of my eyes, i don't get to the top of the waiting list for a new one any time soon, and that's fair. but if i'm not hurting anyone, i don't need a lecture from some sanctimonious, cleaner-than-thou punk.


* Kupkakes are called that because they say KAP|AKE on the pill, as well as because when you're feverish, your muscles are screaming and you can't sleep, four of them are the sweetest thing in the Universe save the white angel.



so i'm sat in the lab, trying to follow Baal's Bum through Genesis. this isn't an easy task, especially when you've already slogged through the fucker once and you're opiated up to the nipples, and especially when you're unplugged.

that's right, it's Mental Detox Week, the seven days in every year when people like me, who fucking hate adverts, get yelled at by Kalle Lasn to turn the damn electricals off before we rot our modern brains out around our crappy, overpriced iPod headphones. i'm following it, as it happens, but not by choice.

you've all (both of you) seen me bitching and ranting about passing out in random places. it happens on the street too, and turns out that's not so good for all the shit in my pockets. i have no fucking clue how i didn't figure out this was gonna happen before it did, cause it's pretty damn obvious when you think about it, but in the space of three days i've smashed the shit out of the little iPod someone really close to me gave me a few years ago, and my one and only piece of computer hardware, my Fedora Core 8 laptop. they're both totalled, and it's 100% my own stupid junkie fault.

so i'm on my fourth day now with no Linux and no music, and holy crap am i feeling it. i'm so sick of the Windows XP boxes in the labs that i honestly have no idea how i managed to use this operating system, let alone try and hack anything with it, for so long. i'm also on the verge of stabbing someone with my penknife (yeah, all four centimetres of blunt blade we're allowed to carry here in Europe's favourite police state) - i never realised how obnoxious people are when you can hear them.

Kalle, man, you're not convincing me.




three new PDF / ODT format guides by yours truly, coming up within a few days, one for Linux newbies wanting to install Fedora Core 8, a second part for Linux newbies wanting to stuff it to the gills with hacktools, and a third for anyone wanting to recreate the baby-steps of my RFID project and learn about the technology.

i'm on it, i'm on it!


ps. i'm also seeding the new Subway to Sally album, Bastard. it rocks. get to the Pirate Bay and grab you some medieval metal! - L


no way, i won't pay

in your average lecture, i think there's a pretty consistent function for the amount of people who are not in fact learning jack shit about data engineering or cryptographic algorithms in the lecture theatre, but are instead quietly anaesthetising their minds via an iPod and some crap by the latest floppy-haired indie artist. generally, these kids' complaints can be heard afterwards drifting down the University's badly-painted corridors: that was too hard, what do they think we are geniuses?, what the hell was that hoodie listening to it sounded like factory noises, and most of all, i wanna buy x album right now but i've got no credit.

well, fear not, because if you can stand going outside the usual methods for a while and into the territories of t3h_w31rd, little wizened old Master Lepht is here to give you a short intro to my favourites in the free-and-legal world. (you want blackmarket, you're gonna have to contact me via the secure address.)

first up, almost all mainstream music of almost all flavours is on Pandora, which is a Flash-based net radio of sorts with a cool heuristic selector that discovers music it thinks you'll like, based on what you choose to seed stations from. i think it's a neural net, but i know it's awesome; the biggest downside is that you can't download or replay, and there's a 6-per-hour skip limit.

so, sick of skip limits and replay messups, you move on over to to see whether it has any tracks you want; you still can't download, though you can build playlists and get complete control over what and when. if you like it there or maybe you wanna look someplace else, take a peek at SeeqPod - same shit, snazzier interface, and it's a broader search too.

after that, you probably wanna put some stuff on that iPod and get on the go, right? so march your ass down to Jamendo and mingle with the unsigned artists, some of whom are crap, most of whom are at least decent lecture-ignoring material and some of whom - like the fucking awesome Zeropage or the even fucking awesomer Karhu - deserve record deals a fuck of a lot more than, say, Britney Spears. you can download whole albums for free here, or just listen to 'em (sans Flash no less).

and then if you're really kickass, you go and download everything from the System Shock and Thief sections of the TTLG Jukebox, and impress me forever and ever amen with your impeccable taste.

and i just told my target audience precisely how best to not listen to me, at no cost to them. i think i'm going prematurely senile.