https://epicmountainmusic.bandcamp.com/track/fentanyl

I think I've already met more than one person who said something like, "I don't wanna get old. That's why I smoke and practice other unhealthy activities, so that I die young :3"

Bloody fools. Instead of safeguarding themselves from the suffering of old age, they will most definitely prolong it. Instead of living in pain from, say, 70 to 75, they will live in pain from 40 to 60.

But I know how desperate they may feel. I too don't wanna get old. I sometimes look at the infirm elderly on the streets: such an abhorrent life. Unpleasant-to-look-at meatbags, they can barely see or hear, they can barely walk. They limp, stumble, fall, break their brittle bones. And still they push themselves back and forth, to the grocery, or the pharmacy, apparently having no one who'd do it for them. Can I become like that? It may become like that. It's unlikely that I will have descendants who will take care of me. It's unlikely that I will be rich enough to hire a caregiver, or live in a country that provides one.

It's unlikely that I will produce anything of value while having such a body. Hell, I struggle being productive even now. What a miserable state of existence it would be. Won't I just commit suicide? I try to imagine myself in that situation. It's difficult to be objective while not experiencing any of that. But I fear the answer may be no: I may still prefer an abhorrent life to death.

It's sad. Death can be sad, but the lack of death for the certain people can be just as sad. We can fix it.

A language to shun the neurodiverse.

A while ago, I tried to come up with a concept of a language which the retards won't be able to use. At first glance, it's a simple task. Just cram as much as you can. Make them memorize a billion contradicting grammar rules, stems, affixes. However, it's not what I'm really aiming for. I can't simply make the language *arduous.* This would have very little to do with actual intelligence. This would merely make language acquisition a little bit harder for some and a little bit easier for others. Then, they will use an equally negligible amount of brainpower to recall and spit it out.

No, no. Every natural human language (and those which resemble them) is flawed in its heart for my purpose. Every human language, no matter how difficult, can be acquired by a complete moron. Otherwise, Japan and China wouldn't have a 100% literacy rate. I need something completely alien that's designed in a way that makes it absolutely impossible to use for some but very easy and natural for others, something that isn't based on memorization of patterns.

My first immediate thought was to base the language on math. Here's one way to do it. Each positive integer can be represented as the sum of the powers of 2:

15 =
1*(2^0) + 1*(2^1) + 1*(2^2) + 1*(2^3) =
1*(1) + 1*(2) + 1*(4) + 1*(8) =
1 + 2 + 4 + 8

9 =
1*(2^0) + 0*(2^1) + 0*(2^2) + 1*(2^3) =
1*(1) + 0*(2) + 0*(4) + 1*(8) =
1 + 0 + 0 + 8

6 =
0*(2^0) + 1*(2^1) + 1*(2^2) + 0*(2^3) =
1*(1) + 1*(2) + 1*(4) + 0*(8) =
0 + 2 + 4 + 0

Each such power of 2 can be seen as a flag that can be either on (1) or off (0). My idea was to encode meaning with these flags. Suppose the first 4 flags are 1000, and it means I ask a question, the next 10 flags are 1010101010, and it means I ask a name, and the last 6 flags are 001001, and it means the name I ask is associated with the listener. Thus, to ask "What's your name?" you'd say "595281," which, in this language, could be just a few syllables or symbols.

It's a neat system, because there will be no patterns to memorize: "255" can look and sound completely different from "256" and have a completely different set of enabled and disabled flags, and therefore a completely different meaning. Similarly, close meanings won't necessarily be represented by close numbers or similar sounds and symbols. In order to communicate, you'd have to continuously encode and decode between long sequences of flags with their own unique grammar rules and concisely expressed numbers.

I'm terrible at mental calculation, actually. But that's okay, I thought. I felt capable of becoming good at it. As I was thinking about it, I realized that my system was almost as flawed as any natural language. You see, mental calculation is not some innate ability of a well-developed brain. It's a learned skill. Humans don't *compute* that 8 + 7 = 15 or 6 * 6 = 36. They simply remember it. And more complex calculations are simply sequences of recall. Everything will still be based on memorization, perhaps with some fancy extra steps, an additional layer that will do little except increase learning time.

I still love the idea, but I don't think it's well designed for what I want. I can't base the language on something everyone can learn. Currently, I have no understanding of how to achieve the necessary result. Perhaps it's a foolish thing to try. Perhaps there is no way to achieve it, because what I feel like a huge gap between IQ125 (top 5%) and IQ75 (bottom 5%) individuals is in fact negligible, and both will be seen as imperceptibly different worms by artificial or technologically augmented intelligence.

The "professional" IQ test isn't that good, actually. You can't measure intelligence by evaluating previously learned skills or memorized information. The test checks your knowledge of vocabulary, for example. Obviously, this gives native speakers with specific interests and experience an enormous advantage, regardless of their brainpower.

However, the parts of the test that evaluate so-called "fluid" intelligence are great. For example, Raven's Progressive Matrices—it's usually the only part you see in the small online IQ tests. You aren't taught how to recognize those shape sequences and whatnot in school. More importantly, you can't learn it. Trying to do so will increase your test results only marginally (as far as I know). Since it's not taught and cannot be learned, it really estimates innate brain abilities and not your education or diligence, for example.

You can often see clueless simpletons trying to use previously learned skills or memorized information as a measurement of intelligence: "I am fluent in several languages, which means I am smart," or "You can't quickly subtract 7 from different other numbers, which means you are stupid." In reality, all it shows is whether the person happens to have learned it or not. There would be, of course, some correlation, but such an estimation of intelligence would be wildly inaccurate.

Maybe the language I seek should be based on the fluid-intelligence parts of IQ tests somehow. Think about it: it's absolutely impossible to get 50% of the correct answers for some but very easy and natural for others.

Another pristine sign of intelligence is a sense of beauty. No one teaches you in school what constitutes an aesthetic masterpiece or a hideous abomination. And it's not something you can learn easily, I believe. And so people are just naturally drawn to things beautiful and ugly.

It's still controversial though. On the one hand, I find this ability important. There was a girl, who might have liked me, but whom I wasn't really into for several reasons. One substantial reason was her aesthetic sense, or the lack of one. She was bright on paper, but on the social media she shared photos so unintentionally bad she seemed borderline mentally ill. (And it wasn't the "I have schizophrenia and make the most unearthly music" kind of ill. It was the "I have no understanding if feces are good for food" kind of ill.) On the other hand, I practice humility. I used to think: "Wouldn't it be nice if those who inherit our Solar System will understand and value beauty—in symmetry, fractals, order, balance? In trees and mountains, in nebulae and galaxies? Wouldn't it be sad if they won't?" Now I think it was naive and arrogant. Beauty is a byproduct of our rudimentary biology and experience. Basically, it's our bodies saying, "Yes, this is healthy," or "Yes, this doesn't strain my eyes," or "Yes, this strikes a good balance between familiarity and novelty, between risk and reward."

Every creature has its preferred stimuli. For all intents and purposes, we can say they have their own sense of beauty. We can imagine cats thinking of us, "These hoomans seem to be pretty advanced—worthy successors of our rule over this planet if we were to go extinct. It's just so sad they don't seem to have any understanding of aesthetics. They don't appreciate confined spaces, the touch of cardboard on fur, the scent of valerian root and mouse meat, the just-right amount of darkness of the starry night, the masterfully performed purr." Silly, isn't it? Species far more intelligent than us may find our sense of beauty primitive and unnecessary, and that's fine.

Half a year ago, I bought a slate and stylus with the strong determination to become literate in Braille. It's almost like a numinous experience, I thought, to read with your hands. It's what prophets and wizards do. And there were other reasons too. But I clearly didn't know what I was signing up for.

The frustration from the process was driving me insane. If you want to feel a fraction of what I felt, try reading a book, but after each single word you read, make a five-second pause. During the pause, you can't look away, and you can't think of anything other than the shape of the word you've read. Try reading a whole page like that and not hurl the book at the wall.

It is said that people who weren't taught Braille from early childhood will never be able to read it half as fast as sighted people read regular text. So will it always be nothing but frustration?

My feeble sensory-deprived nervous system might not be well designed for such a slow pace. I haven't used public transport for almost five years, probably, but when I did, I sometimes couldn't bear the fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop back home. Step, step, step, then another step, then one more, then again... And so I bloody ran, as fast as I could, till I was out of breath.

Or maybe it's the type of activity that's most important. Not everything that is slow and monotonous frustrates me. I like writing on paper, especially logograms, even if typing can do the job so much faster. It's almost like a therapeutic experience for me.

I think of giving Braille another try. Maybe I will find a way to make it less frustrating and more pleasant.

Does the rustling of the leaves sound different for different trees? I love how the tall poplars (e.g., Populus nigra 'Italica') sound, swaying in the surging waves of a strong wind. I didn't know I missed that sound until I heard it.

There is a tree named specifically after its distinct shimmering noise—trembling aspen. I wish to hear how it sounds. I wish to lie in its grove.

The house I'm renting is falling apart. The landlady, blessed with a vagina, chills in Sweden right now and cannot care less, busy getting her free education and counting her monetary compensations, in addition to my rent transfers.

I guess I *could* pay for the renewals from my own pocket and hire a handyman to work under my own supervision, but... Apparently, I am the kind of person who'd rather shower in cold water, and shower less, than bother fixing a water heater and whatnot.

I remember when I was a teenager I imagined I'd be the kind of person who'd shave every day and work unpleasant jobs if only that meant a bigger paycheck — couldn't be further away from reality.

"Apathetic, lazy, introverted, and infantile," I blurted out casually in one of my previous writings, without realizing how comprehensively it actually describes me. Well, you can still nitpick. Laziness means different things to different people. For an OCD mom, it's her energetic child's cluttered room. For an ADHD friend, it's the fact you aren't physically active all day every day. For me, it's perhaps that I hate chores and lack the capacity to work toward my goals most of the time. One must also remember that laziness does not exist. It's a colloquial substitution for other things: a particular system of values, a set of habits, or health issues, for example.

It's not all that bad though. I still have passions. And I have faith. But it's not something I can brush off either. It's a constant, old nuisance. Six years ago, on June 4, 2019, I wrote, "Blessed are the hungry! For the belly of him who desireth shall be filled. How can I increase my appetite?" I was pondering exactly on the problem of my apathy. I'm not hungry enough for hot water, not hungry enough for money, not hungry enough for many good things. And I don't feel like a monk, free from petty earthly desires. I keep tolerating my own pettiness.

This is so weird. I don't speak languages that distinguish between animate and inanimate "they." I never learned this difference in other languages. Yet recently, for some reason, inanimate "they" feels very wrong to me.

"I found some clothes, but they were dirty."

Who was dirty?

"I looked at the tables. Someone must've brought them here by mistake."

Brought whom? Who are talking about?

I even had to double-check the rules. Apparently, it's permissible. 

The AI says the confusion may be connected with the fact that "they" is rarely used to refer to inanimate objects, though it was unable to provide sources for that information.

Previously I said one of the best ways to improve a language is to introduce new everyday words. I wonder if a language can benefit from this separation and the introduction of a new "they," or if I just somehow developed a completely unnecessary bias that I should unlearn. Technically, there is no ambiguity, so it's probably the latter.

"There she could watch the children—their young bones laughing at winter's bite—and the sea beyond."

Who the fuck talks like that? Writes like that?

Nora Roberts does, an American author of over 225 novels, with over 500 million books sold globally.

I wonder, is it truly a bad sentence? Or am I just not fluent enough, not well-read, to see its genius? I refuse to believe I know better than such a well-established writer.

I can't imagine George R. R. Martin, for example, putting this line into the mouth of a character, let alone a narrator. (He's currently my go-to when it comes to quality noveling. I've only read his one book, the first one in the Ice and Fire series. I wasn't a fan of the genre, but it was unparalleled in terms of sentence fluidity, word choice, and the like.)

I guess that sentence could work in the right context. For example, "The grandmother was already *chilled to the bone*, but decided to climb the hill. There she could watch the children—their young bones laughing at winter's bite—and the sea beyond." But there was no such context. (Maybe it was lost during editing?)

I expect humans will provide roughly the same commentary as the AI did. Some will reinforce my concerns, saying:

"You're exactly right. The use of bones here is jarring and unconventional, and your instinct is correct—bones aren't typically associated with laughter or resistance to cold."

"This is an awkward and overextended metaphor."

Others will try to explain why this metaphor works and is perfectly natural.

Real contemporary writers, like George R. R. Martin himself, may be the only source of valuable insight, but I am not interested in that sentence analysis enough to bother such people. Instead, I want to ask my future self. My future self, I hope you are in good health. I hope you are far more literarily experienced and fluent than I am. What do you think of that sentence?