“Fuck it” being exactly the correct attitude to take in many situations and scenarios, or so I reckon. I've been noticing recently that not overly investing myself emotionally in results and outcomes hasn't really lead to any noticeable decrease in profit but is certainly lowering my cost-per-unit.

Caring is like assembling a handmade flower from shards of broken glass, basically you'll only really cut yourself up. I don't mean this in a bitter I've-just-been-fucked-over sense, I mean, in the past tense I've cared way too much over stuff that really wasn't worth it.

Note to self: be more brutal.

I'll drink to that.

I'll drink to you, I can almost taste my blood on your lips already, we'll drink to life together like two vampires at the vein of a giant.. And I'll raise a glass to all my friends! We're not misfits dudes, the rest of the world just has the wrong jigsaw. Fuck that and fuck them, yeah, you know what I'm saying right?

We'll roll through their village like a MOTHERFUCKING AVALANCHE.

Sometimes engineering can be appreciated like a work of art. Like long graceful suspension bridges, or locks, or like the slammer worm. Elegance is the word. You can appreciate the way it's been put together, the stark economy of parts, each piece, simple, functional, working towards the cohesive whole. I guess I never paid much attention when it first came on the scene, but I've been doing a bit of research on worms and botnets and the like recently, and the slammer worm strikes me as extremely elegant. Who thing fits in a single UDP packet, so no connection needed. Just fire out UDP packets randomly into the ether and don't wait for a response. 90% of all vulnerable machines were infected within 10 minutes! I mean: whoa.

Sure, it was a little broken round the edges, the pseudo-random number generator turned out to be a bit fucked, but what a wonderful wonderful idea. Totally old news of course, but it doesn't stop me appreciating it.

I don't know how to define elegance, but I can use it in a sentence. Something about everything being in proportion, with crisp & under-stated clean lines.

Man, I'm getting old. No longer young and not as sharp as I used to be. The fire in my belly doesn't burn anymore, it only gently smoulders. My liver is nearly empty of acid and piss and vinegar and I think I've mellowed out with age—I drink a lot less than I used to (admittedly that's still a lot) and shit that used to make me absolutely furious, or throw me into long spiral pits of despair, just doesn't anymore. I've gained the ability to let things slide. Like the man said immediately after he jumped out of the airplane: “I've gained a sense of perspective”. On the whole I think it's kinda positive. Very far from well-adjusted still, but then again who isn't?

Kind of at a loss as to what to do with the project of my life though. Maybe I need to hitch round the country, “find myself”, go on some grand adventure. Mid-life crisis? Most likely just the continuation of the same old one.

As long as I'm still doing cool shit then I'm ok I reckon. New shit, interesting shit, shit that makes me learn and try things out, that shit is all good. Shit that makes me STRETCH and yawn and extend my fingers. Someone's granddad was sayin that he had all these friends who retired and they just shriveled up and wilted with the time. Nothing to do, their work gave them meaning and challenge to their lives, and without that they had nothing and they evaporated. I'm not really in the same position, I just work to pay the bills,everything interesting is outside that, and as long as I'm still doing cool shit then I think I'll be ok.

Just so long as you're still living, then I guess you ain't dead yet.

I don't know what I'm doing exactly, I am running on the oily rag smell of pure instinct. That said, I've decided to take a fairly relaxed approach. I'm pretty good at over-thinking things, winding myself up into these tight little coils, bending a piece of thick metal wire this way and that until it finally snaps into two jagged pieces. Low tensile strength, metal stress fracture... and I know that you can't help attraction, it's one of those savage and perverse laws of nature, but making myself miserable over you doesn't achieve anything I figure; for anyone at all.

Attraction is the moon to the tides, it pulls regardless, and you gotta navigate these currents like a salty old sea captain being largely impervious to absolutely largely everything: cold, wind, wet—giant monsters from the ocean depths, whatever. You know you can fit the entire moon in a single bucket of water if you angle the reflection correctly, just so. You can hardly tell the tides in a teacup, barely maybe.

If chlorophyll was a radioactive isotope we could all power our nuclear reactors with lawn clipping.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

I'm kinda confused a little, but well, hell, I'll deal with it. I'm not sure whether it's mixed messages or if I'm just reading things the wrong way. It totally could be the latter. Open to interpretation, extrapolating too far out from a far too small amount of evidence. Sometimes I wonder if I'm kinda crazy, even thinking it. You're so beautiful, and I have, uh, such a great personality.

But down that path lies madness. So I relax.

Ah M, I've been missing you, you bright electric dynamo. Kinda had to shut down my feelings so as to be able to cope. I'm glad you're back soon, I miss, I miss, I miss, this insane mixed up love jigsaw we got going. Even if it all turns to mud pies, it was so completely worth it. I wouldn't take it back for all the gold in the Vatican.

Soon. Getting back to what passes for normalcy. I hope your friends don't hate me too much, I worry about it sometimes. I make a better door than a window. There's text, but as reassurance goes it's not as good as curling up spoon inside spoon.

Ah M, stupid feelings, they always slide sideways on me, they're intractable, like fluid dynamics.

Note to self: relax, goddamnit.

Maaaaan. Man. I'm missing you There ain't enough obscure shades in the entire catalogue of house paint to describe the feeling. I kinda closed it off, shut it down; I mean, it's a long time right? so as I could deal with you being away, but now I'm a little bit drunk & fuck fuck FUCK I miss you. Ain't too long to go I guess, and then we can resume 'normality' or what passes for it with this relationship.

Come to bed and I'll cook you eggs benedict in the morning... & you'll wake up at like 4:45 and try and me make start the day... & I'll roll over and snore some more... just the ordinary everyday domestic blitzkrieg of the both of us. Come to bed, I promise we'll figure out the rest of the logistics, how the heads fit together with the nooks and crevices of shoulders, that kind of thing.

I was ok for so long but I guess I kinda bottled it all up, that's the only way to do it sometimes, you just gotta get through right? Talley up the months and put lines through the fives.

I miss you.

Come to bed.