GM

#Bitchat purrrrfect for #BurningMan.

GM

Woke up with too many coding ideas. GM.

I want justified barriers — an intellectual fortresses against masses who won't do the work. Not the desperate bar. I want the impossible nightclub where goddesses slip through darkness. NOSTR must be a digital cathedral for the technological elite. The cypherpunk list was esoteric as fuck — digital shamans weaving spells to topple governments. I want to cut myself on the bleeding edge.

If you develop taste, you don't need to think about developing a "style" or "your style" — that manufactured personality poor bastards torture themselves over. Style will just come, seeping from your pores, manifesting in every word. You can't force it any more than an orgasm. Do what you find interesting. Forget what others want. Make what you think is beautiful. Beauty isn't democratic; its a dictatorship of the individual soul - and the more tyranical, the tighter the style.

For what it's worth — and Christ knows the worth of anything in this silicon carnival — I'm programming MORE with AI, not less. The doom-peddlers have it backwards, these merchants of technological apocalypse who see every new tool as humanity's coffin nail. If I'm any indication, and I'm just one poor bastard stumbling through this digital labyrinth, then more human coding time will be spent. Not death but resurrection, multiplication, the orgiastic explosion of creation itself. It's the inverse of everything they're selling us. Programming becomes more fun — more intoxicating than absinthe, more addictive than the finest Parisian whore — so naturally more time gets spent doing it. Simple arithmetic for those who remember what joy feels like. Today I needed test files. Told my silicon collaborator to fill them with something funny. Got cheesy Dad jokes ... the stupid things made me laugh until my belly ached. There's beauty in this marriage of man and machine, something that speaks to the cosmic joke of existence. People think coding is like coal mining, bound for technological obsolescence. These ignorant souls have never felt the electricity of a perfect algorithm, never experienced the orgasmic rush of solving the impossible. It's the most direct application of knowledge creation there is — pure thought made manifest through the alchemy of syntax and logic. Not only won't it die, it'll be the final thing we are doing when universal constructors automate everything physical into oblivion.