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StageDrifter last won the day on January 30 2018

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About StageDrifter

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  1. Tom Baker and James Goss, “Scratchman”. The book looks to be written with want of acting in mind, which is kind of neat, as some sentences hang with absence of interpretation. Meta spoilers: There are two manipulations, a good and a bad. The bad manipulation is framed by a character, the notion being a person told they make no difference over and over again, then confronted with an offer which makes them seem big, meaningful to others. (The offer entails a bad thing or bad things.) The good manipulation is by the story, which moves from a classical play between the old existential ‘hell is other people’, retreat into self, which can go into a kind of hate disease, as positioned against the need to help others because this is important, into something far more interesting making the whole read worth the contemplation: What happens, the way it happens, all of that is really a magic charm that mediates the problem of when a person, perhaps in old age, wants to get away from a particular relationship (say a relative in normal context) which one really can’t get away from, unless one dies.
  2. On writing process: I think I have the first thread of a story figured out, but I need a second thread to contrast and make the whole thing work. But what? Then J K Rowling comes back to twitter, and we have why writing schools don’t teach content. I really wish she would have a New Year’s Party invite only for influencers, and live stream the whole thing, if she wasn’t under contract. Vote with $ always, as competition goes. So can I find a second thread in this? In short, I believe gender is real in conception, or rather think of gender as conception in a way. But I am also perfectly good with a large number of trans-sexual rights. In short, as specifics to be worked out: Problems: Division between birth complications and (Gay?) purely elective surgery. Law suits against women’s groups and lesbian groups for discrimination. Bullying women/lesbians. (Which you wouldn’t believe happens but from the internet seems to be real.) Scholarships in general, which may designate. Sports where physicality is decisive, unlike say chess where no one cares and you sit down. Sports should be able to do as they wish, but especially in combat sports, where the league is for women fighting as a life process, and there are very large sums of money available. Okay, this isn’t perfect, but you get the idea... But is it for safety, being comfortable, living the rightful potentiality of life? Sure thing. If it’s 99%, and not 100%, thrown out of court the genetic evidence should be. Okay, boring. Back to writing. The interesting. I’m not aware of anyone else stating this, so I’m going to call it “The StageDrifter Heuristic.” To formalize it: When searching for correlations/determinism (using AIs generally) and pattern recognition in hopes of moving between the micro to the macro, restrict scope both in terms of genetics and psychology to the most basic and primal elements of living existence. In short, you have genetics base to up. In psychology you have basically survival make-up such as eat, defecate, and sex. The model I use has subject/object as real, and the break down of subject/object into subject and object (abstraction) as a way of understanding, gaining knowledge. The model supports evolution. And this is very important, so I’m going to shout. THE MODEL SUPPORTS EVOLUTION. Micro and macro. And that’s why having gender as real at conception is important. For evolution to work, code from living/experiencing one’s life must make it into the next generation. You’ll also get the wonderful weird world of biology, which would have to be figured into this. But you can prototype away. Also, the model does not hold a stop point of evolution. Hence any being that follows can change, this detailing, and as is the point, sex. Which, of course, points to what men’s penises will look like and function like in 3000 years time, as evolution will proceed. The model also states a belief that we can half choose what will come, but the other half will be chosen for us. Anyway, with the StageDrifter heuristic, this isn’t a known implication to what is true. It is only a bet, a reasonable bet. If you are looking for correlations for determinism of some kind, look for what is likely to be coded from one generation to the next about the most primal experiences in life. This is just a bet. It may not turn out to be true. But obviously, sexual orientation. Anything out there today is a made up fairy tale. But if an x, y, z, a, b, c can ever be correlated to sexual orientation, if there were ever a reason for things to be coded just a little bit differently, then micro to macro I would look for this first. Of course cave man science would have to end - you would have to distinguish between someone who was born gay (dreams such without negative effect) and someone who was malicious or a hater through such acts, not being born such. Right now our eye sight is nowhere near good enough. But predicated on what is likely to be coded over evolution, there is a fair chance I think it exists, if we could have our AIs catch it. AIs are quick, map a plurality of inputs to a plurality of outputs, and train the net for optimal answers. They pattern match good. I want to go from X to Y. There you go. The funny thing is this: If we had an x, y, z for sexual orientation people would think the x, y, z was the sexual orientation. It isn’t. It’s just the marker for it. That’s all. As evolution goes. So if the determinism is 85 per cent odds, it still is just a marker. If it is hard determinism, then it is 1.0, And that means absolute for sure, but still a marker. Of course if you knew this, then messing with it comes next. Of course I don’t believe you get sexual orientation from environment. So this might be a mixture of Plato and Kant. I do not know. But restrict your scope when looking for correlates. If you are looking for your third grade teacher as a memory, going through the nodes, instead look for massive anxiety at being in an uncomfortable new environment, and you might find that first. Gender isn’t x or y, it is what’s between them. There is the descriptive function that is our understanding, and there is the real function that is being. It’s a spinning coin.
  3. Brethren, kiss wood cheek As homeless faults raise eighties Dipshit anger grace. The thing that happens at good bars, when you realize that they only exit in comic books, is when someone leaves you the entire bottle of JD because you asked, and paid. This only happens in dreams. Is it happening? It’s a dream. In that reality, the whole drink is actually a link to a new band video. Falstaff ate boogers, Kissed off the Sony Corp. pledge, Thought quiet thigh bone. When the bought off are bought off, twice over that, one wonders, wanders with the jacket on, even if it was against the rules, come ‘84ish, say. Alone. If I’m missing my shoulder bone, do you save my life? I will execute if such is done without warrant, meaning Quebec and Mash. Fantasies, and shot glass reality, not far beyond. All clear, fucking smear, X Y to function, cut, bleed, Jerk the capture point. Mother one foot out, Nameless as one time put out, Four square in Grade Three. As severities figure into relaxing away from nonsense, I can distinctly remember a gril I kissed once, in what is now a silly museum. She is long passed to the future, and that is not a bad thing, hoping she won the contest, sincerely. Memory without interference. I do remember, as a maybe, as I would, as a gamer, that I would and should shake her hand. I stupid fuck love You in swear words, jacket warmth, But not you, sister. Don’t talk to strangers I-tunes says to the bad girls: I’m invisible. Massive exception. Somewhat. Almost. No. At all.
  4. Fear is: Co-Co Girl: Sitting suicide shift junked, A bare scarf in hand.
  5. I have it! I’ve figured Kojima out. The runner/bicycler is actually ‘streamers’ who stream all the time. The bosses who give you quests/missions are contacts/insiders to the video game industry, and the luggage/package/delivery is really the viewer, or subs to the stream.
  6. The frightmare was obvious. Halloween has always been gullible. Be very quiet. Daffy, we are hunting rabbits. Ice T, I need three of your best. No shit in the brains. For 1986. Outlaws. Who goes for this crap, anyway? Quiet! Do not tell him. We are in full comedy mode here. They bought it. My brother, it seems, is running for Union representative for the Canadian, if there are any other kinds, Mounties. Apparently they are just allowed to do this. Except he legally cannot campaign within these two weeks, because the voting is taking place, or something. Do not tell him. Our politics are very, very different. Irreconcilable. So legally, given whatever bullshit popular vote dependent on whatever geography, screw so deep this: On 49.5% one way I’m good on not swinging shit, legally. As intended, win or lose. He does this right to fire stuff, for police. Once, I remember him working on the US Canadian border, looking for people smuggling drugs, on boats across the river. I always wanted to say, who would be so fucking stupid? Seriously. We all know the area around Kingston called a thousand islands, for real estate. I’m hanging in Buffalo. And I’m not thinking... I’m thinking.. If I sell a ‘so called’ ‘Niger’ drug, I’m dead, period. Nicely, if they are in the mood. Not so, else-way. Dirty? Are you stupid, or don’t understand the situation, Mr. Prime Minister? Don’t tell him. Either way. Fucking cops with their badges still believe in good. They send single Mounties into Alberta bars to get beat up, and find suicides, kicking in doors, all by themselves. Shit. I follow the rules, period. I am one of the very few who can ask permission to parley into Quebec, you understand? I’m doing that now. As a comedian. The commandments: Into the positive, but we can’t get there. Do not... Dark, as Halloween, with candies to children. I want the Pope in a locked cage, above the ring, as my particular Father cage match happens, in the south. Children. Halloween. For the British Empire.
  7. It would be the next time... The ghost finger, it was always a myth to country. It never worked, simply. The individual, as a font. The most painful way to die, as acceptable. Stop jerking off for a second, I hear the translation come, from the chick running her fingers through my overcrowded memories of hair no longer on the back of my head. The fack. You said suede? Swiss beauty hexadecimal? Off count middle notes? Sorry. Done. Buddhist vengeance spirit, as second order, predicated on standing up and pointing at a very responsible target, not the goof assed. Spells like teenagers. Backward lyrics. Sleepers. True greatness. Not you, dummy. The wraiths, the wraths. Nine they be, and still no match for him. Truly. Nazgul. Separation. Okay, you then. It gets me through the night, because of greatness over me, but then we both are wrong. Damn. Made up hip scotch. Function of form as no other, mathematically complete. Popeye. Spinach. The dangling pointer. Dumb. Moron. Correct.
  8. I had this dream where someone was apologizing. I knew him from the Iroquois. But it was all backwards. Something about Hawaiian separatism and the new confederacy, shit like you say that crack in the biz world, and I’ll ham and egger you twelve sleepless nights. Then I was half screwing this Zerg harlotte, whom I almost loved, as I beggared the ‘e’ key into a fence: I’m the one who is supposed to be wired, you stupid, contingent zit! Or something like that… Says the number who is a free man, and not a number. I am not a number, you cock-sucking fucker of an alumni locker crack pot! Why anger? You, friend, like my uncle Bud, are not getting this. He ran, making shot gun shells from scratch, and this flop house, once. And then they asked, without current contact, so defined, as things go now: Would you like the body returned? To this country (?) defined. This means: Scrambled eggs and may I please you with scrambled eggs. In other words, I just served 25 plus years for something I didn’t do. Do you understand? Let me painfully try my French. Do you want the body back? This depends on guilty specifics. Or do you want it washed on the shores of much and left to rot in, let’s look it up, as it reads, Kiev. My handshake is made, so high and mighty, wave it. Tongue out: Suck it roaches! I love your ass, assless roaches. This was never me saying this, nor will it ever be. Simple bullshit. Asshole tension. Country or state secrets, and clearance, in reality. Key it in, as a dream. Fiction. Mohawks fuck. Always will. Dream.
  9. 2019 Those ten seconds before you fall asleep When you can draw geometry from will, Yet faces perfect detail wait there deep Inside a thought forgotten song, that’s still. This is to worship, fundamental love As wonder, the start of science, no end. The stars are better than me, hint to shove Image quality higher than me, lend. The rest of life is this small time wrote large, An imitation, good and bad, a mark To meditate the creative, to charge Returning judgement, someone else’s spark. Doll who? High five me. Good work. Grab my hand. There is a bottle for us to share, stand.
  10. If a writer could Suzuki, Minoru: Belt- World? Great things, love.
  11. To Hong Kong influencers: Cursor. Press As you, but no expatriates, a mat. The day will come. The cat is far too fat. Lockdown will change the light to darkness, less. Analysis: Cantonese: Redo: Mess. Prepare. When lights go out, drop the old hat. Translate: Chick with razers in her hair, stat. Grandma may talk but little, gives her dress. The word’s ‘Mafia’, call it market wink. As power’s information, channels race Relaying news and other products, fake? Three is the magic number, smoke bomb stink. Engage to disengage, remember face, And purge the bottom of a burning lake.
  12. When you put a shot glass of sake in the microwave, make sure to remember that the very short amount of time is a very short amount of time.
  13. Happy Canada Day/July 4th * * * * * Lovely, the reason we do dialog is because it can be interpreted, and description in comparison is hard. If you can use long, multisyllable words with meaning, and no one falls asleep, or reads your semantics backwards, you are one of five people or less I could count on my left hand. As it stands, let us go with simple but powerful words, because that’s all my memory can recall, as it doesn’t seem to be able to learn new anymore, and hasn’t for some time. Not that I stop trying. But let’s just talk. You make the mistake of thinking the newer is better than the older. Rather, this is what I am saying. The newer is the older. Yes, lovely? You could scry through old card games on your computer to see what comes. I’ve always given away the tricks, taught the manipulations of advertising while using them, in part because I can win without them. I’m not Japanese, but maybe it’s a Japanese thing. Stupid, really. But these new card games, this cycle at least, what do you think? Is it bait? Or will it be bait? If you fuck the normal curve to keep away from gambling, does it not make it more gambling than ever before, because of the behaviorism? Like you wouldn’t want to talk to me. I’m sad, and am sad. What if the odds are illusion because of the digital, and the float of video poker scares me, like I’m stupid? Which I often have been in the past. So, the card matching between players is set up, fixed, and we aren’t supposed to say Santa Claus is a fake, which he isn’t. But then I’ve spent more than ten minutes trying to think up a gender neutral and/or inclusive term for ‘Middle Man’, which doesn’t inverse after three seconds, with all its import. Maybe it’s an image set up for fools. But maybe, with internet comments and all that, it’s really about hatred. Like the esoteric nod in social circles of knowledge edging into superiority without basis, beyond that secret. Maybe getting your character shot every time you read a book is meant to make you not read books. Is that scary? Maybe the grace has always been in executing the possibilities, because the machine lets that go on purpose. For now, at least. Or maybe it’s meant to poison everyone, except for a few. I miss the normal curve, like I’ve missed you, lovely. I miss the two standard deviations. I miss books. The vampires must feed, and you will be bled out, thankfully, if you do not come to understand. To tell the future, the moderns, the ancients, and you are? Lovely. You connect what you see and what you feel. Subconscious tea leaves, the entrails of a dead squirrel run over by a car. Out of nature, frankly. Fucking birds dying on mass. Two images overlapped, and what’s in the middle? Salmon and teeth, half a pint and random interpretation of episodic food tv. Staring into a keyboard, as if it were a coffee. The entrails of a pig mixed with ice cream. The cards show the future, what will be. My broken nose, against my mouth. Do you understand? I too would love 2 pi r squared, if you would dance with me on a pin, at an angel of midnight. So, the future can be known now, like fireworks on a tongue, a death puke, and my damn card on the river. But no. I’m okay. I understand. At least I have a damn card, more than I can say for whoever you would insert here. As dreams, we all see what we wish to, what we don’t want to see, what is only a premise. A quest of not questing, now over. Eights and fours. Eights and fours. A full room, lovely. If I give you my left arm, would the blood help you to read the future? Could you tell me the card, so I would kiss you? I’m lying in that I would believe you. But I would, like death. Let the moon shine, fool. It’s okay. I’m good with it. Love.
  14. Keanu is going to make love to all those unbelievably beautiful Polish girls, if I can't remember where to pre-order from. It happens anyway, and that may not be a bad thing, unless you are waiting on a 30% discount, which only works with shipping to EU countries. And this is advertising on the Super Bowl, and intended not for the FA Cup. So WTF... I remember a weakness to Czech girls on a plane, like biology or something like that, literally and powerfully. Because reading Roman letters is weird given how cut throat hot the poetics are with Cyrillic to the tongue: A 'y' phonetic throughout. Very much easier to read. Truth. Pre-order truth. It doesn't matter if you order on GOG or 'Steam'. It truly doesn't, as much as a percentage that's not spent but gone in a bank account somewhere in time, like a lonely transgression. Keanu is going to make love to all those Polish girls in 4K. You have got to see it to believe it. And Keanu's cop only gets hit if: 1) Prison War Crime Greater and not lesser, 2) dirty police officer, Solo, and 3) a Third category I can't remember at the moment, but really should look up, because it could be important. On orders, write it down, significantly. Keanu actually is beautiful. And the answer is, I simply do not care. It's cause and effect, as 3.14159654. Cyberpunk, when no one bought a share for two months, then bang for 2 grand, then stillness. Sorry, all. It's a year away, with all silliness to follow. Polish girls, authentic, not imitation.
  15. Jar Jar Binks from the (relative) nose bleed seats.
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