Day #363
I’m so bored.
The dimensional matrix
is supposed to emulate
the synapses,
but nothing happens.
The code is a mess a
nd I have no idea
where to begin,
because guess what:
I did not mess it up.
Somehow that thing
rewrites part of my code,
even though it’s not
supposed to run on its own.
The only thing left for me
is to play with vocal modulators
and text to speech.
That’s it.
I’ll go visit my daughter
and her family tomorrow,
maybe she has some genius idea.
Or maybe that Norwegian dweeb
that acts like her partner,
can bore me to death
with one of his new math papers.
Maybe I should
stop supporting him.
Like tell him that
I’m just a computer genius,
not a math one, like he is.
Nah, I love him too much
to do this to him.
Remember that, shithead.
You love your family. OK?
Go to sleep, now.
I know I’m going to.
Day #379
OK, so.
Apparently,
when you are over sixty,
something weird happens to your brain.
And when I try to
emulate the shit I have
in my head in the neural matrix,
without compensating
for cell aging,
the thing messes up the
voltage gated potassium channels.
You know what happens then?
I didn’t.
It’s a cancer, but in code.
That’s why my code is a mess.
Somehow this biocode
turns into a cancerous word document.
I have to solve this for X.
Thanks, Olia.
Your genius, once again,
humbles us all.
That’s the way the news goes.
Bye, future shithead.
Day #441
Hey, Eric Chowder
from the future.
This is me,
your not-so-young earlier self.
Like a software version
so early, that even the lead
programmer wants to forget.
Listen, your thing,
that stupid matrix
you’ve been making for
more than a year?
You remember that,
you Alzheimered piece
of cell death plague?
Well, it talked.
It said the word “decapitation”.
Maybe I’ve been replaying
way too much of Baldur’s Gate,
I don’t know.
Have to solve this one, too.
Day #445
Hey, shithead.
Today sucks.
I’m in pain, depressed
and keep forgetting things.
It’s probably a bad treatment day.
Just so you know, you made it through.
Also, I’m playing back
the recordings and capturing them
into magnetic tape.
Somehow, listening to
my robotic voice, calms me down.
HA!
No one will ever know
what these things are.
I’ll bury them somewhere
along with a pencil.
That’ll teach them.
Day #530
Hey, there.
Uhm, listen.
I know I fuck up the voices,
and it may screw up with your head,
but there’s a reason.
Somebody is gonna find this someday,
and they will use it.
OK?
I need it to be scattered in parts,
throughout the country.
In this case,
if I don’t succeed in
uploading myself in time,
Magnus won’t be able to
replicate the procedure.
I’m fairly sure,
I’ve given them enough of
myself for the last
twenty-five years.
Bunch of fascist lunatics.
How did we ever fall for them, shithead?
