Title's a pun on "A la recherche du temps purdue," by Proust. I haven't read it. The phrases translate "Of the Search for Lost Time" and "... for Research." I've updated my portfolio: https://www.mediafire.com/folder/kr2bjyn1k3gjr/mlptk-recent WARNING: ADULTS ONLY due to explicit sexual content. Videlicet and DiffWalk are still buggy. However, I have established something approaching a meaningful testbed for Videlicet: which, I assume, can be easily completed by even a high schooler. I advise you to download right now, before the U.S.A. puts the kibosh on freedom of speech. I'm not even joking. They're terrorist scum. As for my own work, it's free of virii (except, possibly, the companion curriculum) unless "someone" has interposed his or her Uncle Sam-ly might between you and MediaFire. I've wasted my whole life studying science: a field humans would prefer to shun. And it _was_ a waste. The decades I exhausted in research, the ultimately fruit- less pursuit of any joy or love at all in being, the long years I passed away trying to teach what amounted to a gaggle of ignorant bumpkins (the human race): all worthless. Although my works weren't well-received, I accomplished much before the end. My achievements place me in the lower ranks of eminence -- where I reside, with conifers around me. Insofar as I may teach you all that I know, I have attempted to do so with my works and lectures thus far... ... and this is, probably, the end. I am afflicted by cerebral palsy due to many lobotomies and torture throughout my lifetime; I have a constant migraine; can't concentrate on my work; am frequently malnourished and tired; have been, for far too long, unable to find work; and am persecuted by an incredibly huge malicious conspiracy of villains who intend to hurt me for literally no reason at all. I will now reminisce. This may take a few minutes. 1%... 2%... 3%... Back in the halcyon days when I was a little boy, I wanted to be a little girl instead. This was a source of great amusement to many around me, who shunned and reviled what they foolishly believed to be the dread specter of Teh Gay. In fact my sentiments were more along the lines that I should've been born female, but, because my genome contained a Y chromosome, I was doomed to live a man's life. And it IS a man's life in the modern army, where we remember our past lives and discover exactly how much humanity has tortured us throughout the millennia! But I was not to discover that for many years, because every time I discovered it my cerebral cortex was "corrected" (cut to pieces) to cause me to forget again. I have often been abused and tormented by those around me, in this and probably all my other lifetimes, if any. Electrochemical lobotomy, identity reassignment, and just about all the other horrors the modern world has to offer have been, at one time or another, inflicted on me personally. I have also experienced nearly every single horror the wilderness has to offer, at one time or another. So it was that, when my family and those surrounding me began to abuse & exploit me for their entertainment, I wasn't terribly surprised. I tried my best to put up with them; nevertheless, as with all squalling children, my discipline broke and I inevitably lost my temper. I became nothing more than a sentient beast -- no longer the sapient intelligence I once was -- and mere Earthlings had finally succeeded in dragging me down into the mud where they oinked and rooted. (Which really stunk, because oinking and rutting can be done outside of the mud too.) "You have fallen from your ivory tower," they cried! "You are human after all," they crowed! "Now you have to suffer," they clucked! "Therefore, beg us for help that we may further insult you," they grunted! Producing their clubs, they then metaphorically beat me to death by refusing me any place among them because... well... IDK. I've tried to reason with them about it and they appear not to be sapient enough to offer any reply that isn't unintelligible sentient gibberish. I gave up. They had won. I couldn't beat them. I joined them instead. But that eventuality was not to be until the far future, when I was thirty years of age. In the meantime, I tried to live my life. It was somewhat lonely, which is why I've so little to say about it and nearly nothing to say about people. Among my first experiences & thoughts about this life were that I wanted to farm -- but I was not suitable to the task. I then thought I should be an artist or an astronaut. Some time later I discovered mathematics, which was, to me, a convenient blending of art with science. In fact, computer programming is very much like art, and when I first discovered the science of computing I was much enthused. I subsequently wrote many computer programs throughout middle- and high-school, exhausting much hobby time on my curriculum of independent study. After I'd learnt how to read and write, I then went on to study computer science at the University of Idaho between 2006 - '09. I published my portfolio, containing my awesome works (of greater magnitude than those of most men you'll encounter), several years after I'd departed from UI in the year 2009. I have contributed data from my experiments to computer science & the mathematical study of computer programming has also benefited slightly from my examination of Turing's axiom and predicates arising thence. During my lifetime, I spoke to and learnt from many people: most of whom deserve exactly no mention, and some of whom are perfectly content to see their names in the sand become washed away by the incoming tide because they have accomplished their own great deeds and need not curry favor from any one. Among lessons I've received from such individuals, to whom I'll graciously refer as humans (because some actually deserve the title -- you know who you are), was that self-denial, although not strictly necessary to an ethical lifetime, must be in significant extent. Desire is an easy way for others to take advantage: although the desirous can't be faulted when they succumb to temptation (drugs & other means make this very much impossible on some occasions), those who would disadvantage others are quite oblivious to the cries of their victims. Desire truly is the cause of all suffering, which life is, but to my view it's more a matter of larcenous middle-men than it is one of avaricious monks getting what they deserve for peeping at the nudie bar. (Of course, they'd never.) None the less, so many swindlers are that we may just as well be paranoid every day. Speaking of desire and suffering, what about death? This is getting pretty old these days, but I'd like to ask all you monks: how in the flying !#@$ is anyone supposed to live if he desires nothing? (Of course, none can.) Self-denial leads to dying of starvation, then, in this assumption of mine, and self-indulgence is as close to Nirvana as only wealthy hedonists can arrive. "Should we all be trying to kill ourselves?" I've heard from anxious voices? No. We'll all die someday. The journey is somewhat desirable, even if not nearly as much as is the destination! But it's probably helpful if we all try not to hurt anyone in the meantime. I mentioned joining the ideology of the masses when I couldn't beat it. Did you know how easily one can lose his mind? I only had to starve for nearly a decade before I began to entertain regular thoughts of an unprintable* nature. * Unprintable nature is due to terrorist censorship regime which imprisons without trial in concentration camps called mental institutions, and does not necessarily imply endorsement of this regime by WordPress. No purchase of anti-tank missiles is necessary and supplies are limited to one fatwa per household. Well, long story short: because I was completely devoid of the capacity to find any employment, and because I couldn't care about living any longer now that my brain had been reduced to oozing sludge by yokels with electrochemical clubs, I confronted a terrible choice: starve to death over the course of the next decade or finally do something with my life I've meant to since the very day it began. And that was, like, totally the story of my life! You know, they say it ain't over 'til it's over, but, lemme tell ya... - I have been serenaded by more fat ladies than I can count on both hands! - I have not only heard the bell toll, nay, for I have tolled it! - I have both emptied my bucket list and kicked it! (The list, I mean.) - My heart has gone on! (And on, and on!) - I _aaaalmost_ earned my Ph.D. without ever attending University for a day! - My ass has literally been worked off! - I understand what it's like to be sick to death of society! - I have discovered the music of the spheres... and masturbated to it! - I am _LITERALLY_ a saint! (And I live in a haint. Haintin' saints!) - ^- I shit you neither, foolish Earthlings. ... and it's been great fun! Thanks to everyone with whom I once corresponded, for fully understanding the inevitable consequence of trying to help a wretched torture victim ever enjoy anything about being alive: his or her lictors will simply grab all the humanitarian aid you attempt to provide, such that, although you certainly found the dissenter a valuable asset worth your assistance, you'll have simply thrown your money into a Sarlacc pit of despair in any case! And now, from the cockles of my heart... or, perchance, my sub-cockle area... I will present to you the next act in my spellbinding saga. (Stay tuned.)
(Title is a line from _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_.)
Frigid northern Idaho winters be the times what try gender-nonexclusive souls:
A nifty Python script & some data recovery have been my only accomplishments
as naughty pictures of Amaterasu hastened the thawing of my heart. Boi~ng!
Today’s the day I will write of myself in the third person.
But first, I will link you to my work and some auxiliaries.
This will take some time.
I must warn you: My portfolio is now sexually explicit, because I have recently
assembled portions of a dossier documenting my life to date.
If you’re too young, why not go play Narbacular Drop instead?
So, the PARENTAL DISCRETION caution is no longer entirely sufficient. Instead
you are advised that the work is ADULTS ONLY: don’t even touch it if a child.
The “Adults Only” category applies to ALL of these links, which are external to
WordPress, and the content hosted there is not necessarily endorsed by either
WordPress or the external host. Which is good for them, because it’s naughty.
I have at last retitled the archives with less confusing file names, and I have
rearranged the directory structure to be more sensible and easier to handle with
the unzip (manual section 1, by Info-ZIP) decompression utility: because each
archive contains similar directory structure, extracting them all into the CWD
will produce a less confusing output. Warning: Windows 10 will fail to extract
some of the files due to long filenames. 7zip (incl.) and unzip don’t do this.
If you download all the archives, you’ll need several hundred MB to decompress.
I’ve done what I could to ensure that all the megabytes are permissible by law,
but censorship laws in my country (USA) are restrictive and becoming more so…
If you wish to maintain a strictly lawful archive, then delete the banned books.
Actually, you might like to just delete everything, on the off chance that your
local apparatschik might declare you mentally ill due to unapproved thoughts.
A standalone version of MLPTK (0.7 MB / 0.2 MB), in case you have no time for the larger archives:
My complete portfolio is, owing to recent (and, I hope, conclusory) additions from auld lang syne, 22.8 megabytes. Compressed, it is 12 MB:
(New: duplicate file culler in Python, MLPTK’s “roman” module, & naughty chats.)
Syntax-highlighted illustrations in candy-colored HTML format are available (23.8 MB uncompressed / 3.3 MB compressed):
My book, “Yawnie’s Whole” fills about 1,100 A4 pages (13.3 MB / 7.1 MB), and I have corrected the typesetter malfunction that caused images not to appear in their respective chapters:
(These are the Ice Capades.)
Another 5,000 pp document my past (27.2 MB / 14.9 MB), and I have corrected the typesetter malfunction that caused images not to appear in their respective chapters:
(These are the Buttscapades.)
The companion curriculum (“Relevant Works By Others”), now its own archive (64.5 MB / 31.1 MB), contains the indispensable Berkeley Utilities and a diverse assortment of other excellent resources for programmers and Windows users:
Recently I’ve been exploring elderly volumes.
Here are some other curios I won’t be distributing after this time:
34.4 megabytes of finely crafted TrueType fonts (9.4 megs zipped):
A Windows compilation of the SWFTools suite version 0.7.0. (32.5 MB / 5 MB):
A selection of episodes of the out-of-print children’s television series, Sonic the Hedgehog (SatAM, not AoSTH; 100.8 MB / 98 MB):
A miscellany, including other out-of-print works (58.3 MB / 35.4 MB):
The combined size of all the downloads is about two hundred Megabytes.
Think not that those ten archives contain the Owl of Thebes; for, gentles all,
the foregoing hyperlinks were created with the courteous assistance of MediaFire
— a file host serving via Hypertext Transport Protocol. You may have observed
their advertisements on the interstitial page: I haven’t yet clicked one, but I
guess they might be OK — if not, then wouldn’t BBB complaints have been filed?
And here is a faux press release I’ve been working on since January…
(Here be an update, as of November 8th, 2016. Me old war wound be actin’ up too much, and I think these’ll be the last for some time.
Ahoy, mateys. Today be the nineteenth of September — ye’d be better knowin’ it as International Talk Like A Pirate Day — and I’ll wager that upon this fine occasion ye’d be askin’ yerselves: “where’s me booty? ”
Well, and I’d make a poor excuse for a captain if I couldn’t deliver ye at least that! (But avast: ye might be findin’ it somewhat unholy, and parental discretion be even more advisable than in previous revisions.) I have prepared for ye a fine trove o’ source code, the likes of which are fit for Kings. Although me mother be the only one likely to find it interestin’, I’ve also put the finishin’ touches on me preliminary sketch of a typesetter for me book: “Yawnie’s Whole: the Complete Yawnie, for the Yawnie Enthusiast.” These be available in three chests, or what ye might be callin’ “Zip Arr-chives,” which I be uploadin’ to Mediafire as per usual.
Me latest revision of MLPTK be here…
… and be comprisin’ not much different from the last MLPTK, again as usual, except that I were fixin’ bugs. I report with most contrition that Polyfac be a failure: I be tryin’ to return me attention to the other tasks I failed to complete this year.
If ye prefer to be tastin’ th’ rainbow, a set of syntax-highlighted HTML documents illustratin’ the source code be here…
… they scry as nearly as possible alike to me own development environment.
Would ye like me book? I be certain to update and revise it as time be passin’, but who knows if me accounts shan’t be commandeered in the interstice? If ye be at all interested, don’t hesitate: supplies be unlimited, but tempus fugit…
… and, someday, me literature be gone forever, as literature inevitably shall.
And there be little more to say about this revision, as I’ve prepared no new lectures since April.
In the meantime, have ye noticed how beautiful life can be sometimes? Quite apart from th’ hardship and pain, there be especial bounty of resources. If ye be readin’ this, then ye would be privileged to Internet access, which are a rare treasure: there be all sorts o’ literature & art to be found, plenty of amusin’ diversions, and certainly no shortage of comely wenches to descry.
Me meaning be: ye could probably spend yer whole lives havin’ not a thing but a netbook computer, occasional access to electrical power, and some sort o’ shelter to protect ye from the elements. A “sex tent,” if ye will: just be addin’ some wenches. Why, I can imagine that no few individuals upon this blasted globe could be livin’ their lives contented with a shelter and a wench — wenches of the world bein’ blessed not to be needin’ anywench else.
Childhood be another of those times. As I grew, I were witness to what some would be describin’ as the “Wild West” of the World Wide Web. Nearly every outlet of popular culture were findin’ its way into troves and hoardes shared worldwide by generous scoundrels (and belligerent litigious bilge rats) to an audience of hundreds of millions. The vast serpent of DHTML and jQuery had only just been sighted far afore, and the stars fated to portend swashbucklin’ adventure at every second of the compass.
There was, too, a massive population of reputable sailors upon the vast waters of cyberspace. I remember some of the finest: OverClocked ReMix, VGMusic. Angelfire, Tripod, and Geocities. Neopets. The Merchant Guild. 4chan. So many more motes be floatin’ in the eye of history that I cannot even recount. Ah, the world were bigger then, and me eyes wide in childlike wonder.
Well, and it were the best of times, but me swashbucklin’ days be sadly behind me. (Arr, insofar as I cannot swash without me bucks! Besides that, me galleon be in disrepair, and overhaul be veritably a tribulation. However, as usual, be sendin’ me no money, for I cannot guarantee that it shall ever arrive; nor could I be certain it would help if it did.) As it happened, although I were studyin’ me life’s work throughout me life, me attention were turnin’ too late to serious programmin’ (peradventure, alas!), and circumstances be such that I envision failure to accomplish writing the parts of me portfolio I’d intended to finish this year.
(Happily I were not askin’ for research grants, considerin’ me doldrums.)
I be in pain; and, in light of this, tried to pass along what few ideas I were able to sustain the concentration to write before I be entirely unable to do so. They be in me ephemerides, toward page 950.
The spring be another of those times when life be less painful than it’s usually. I tell ye there be nothing like the sensation of warm sunlight on yer skin for the first time in months. Which are even assumin’ ye survived th’ winter — in the frigid North, for example, ye might be a popsicle if ye aren’t careful.
And let’s be not forgettin’ lemons…
Ah, but me ramblin’ be more piteous than a scurvy dog.
Enjoy me work.
Here be a ninja update fer th’ new year, 2017.
Ever wanted t’ shred data? Here be a tip:
dd -if /dev/random -of /dev/sda
will shred your ENTIRE HARD DISK /dev/sda irreversibly.
The file system be destroyed the instant you hit enter. There be no confirmation.
Shred it all night long, then when ye wake in the mornin’ do this before work:
dd -if /dev/urandom -of /dev/sda
to drop a load on yer disk that be heavier’n fifteen spars on a dead man’s chest.
Seriously. This be how to erase yer disks so thoroughly even the C.I.A. shall never espy yer dirty secrets.
Sleep tight, mateys.
Here are some updates on my progress:
^- This one contains a snapshot of my MLPTK directory as of last night shortly before I endured my nightly battle with pain that keeps me awake. It’s a couple’a megs (zipped) or about three megabytes (inflated). Download this if you only want the MLPTK software and reference materials.
^- This one contains a tasty treat! I have rewritten my automatic typesetter for today’s report, and there are now available some syntax highlighted HTML documents that make the code very much easier to read. There are some cute PDFs, too, for printing. DocBook was a very convenient format to get started with, but I hope with future revisions I will graduate from the training wheels and learn to use LaTeX / PostScript. The report is about thirty megabytes (zipped) or fifty megabytes (inflated). Download this if you would like to preserve my work in “Dead Tree” format. (Yes, I’m pretty sure that all the PDFs with my name on them are actually my own work, thus the “Author” bit in the typesetter. I deleted all the PDFs that I identified as not being my own work. Yes, it will require over four hundred pages if you print it. No, I’m not done writing.)
I have been working on MLPTK, and other projects, but have nothing of any value to report. Sadly, I stalled-out on QL and everything, and I don’t think I can publish anything complete in 2016 as I had hoped.
However, I _have_ made a good run at finishing every part of QL that I set out to write last Christmas. Also, I have run a quick test on the Firefox bundled with a recent version of Lubuntu: ironically, the _horrendous QL speed bug_ has no perceptible effect on execution time in that version! (I’m still going to try and fix it, though, because my development machine is still on the elder version.)
Since the last revision I have also written a few other modules, and fixed sundry bugs. See the history log for more details.
P.S. The header image easter-egg has also changed. Again.
Breaking news: according to Shape magazine (March, 2016; volume 35, no. 6), which incorporates Fitness magazine, forty winks shouldn’t be.
Mirel Ketchiff writes: “enlightening new research is challenging [the notion, suggested by the National Sleep Foundation, that we need eight hours of sleep every night].” This enlightening new research indicates that prehistoric cavemen slept six and a half hours each night (possibly because they couldn’t get to sleep while the stalactites dripped on their heads); how anthropologists learnt the crepuscular habits of people who existed before the advent of recorded history is, evidently, left as an exercise to the reader.
Exactly how much sleep does anyone need, anyway? Someone once told me that children need about ten hours a night. Then the National Sleep Foundation told me that adolescents and adults require about eight. Now Shape magazine says I need six and a half. What’ll it be next; maybe I don’t need any sleep at all! Methamphetamine addicts have been known not to sleep for extended periods of time, and to become fashionably slender no matter how gluttonous their eating habits. Perhaps that is fitness, Fitness?
Soon we can all abandon our outmoded, unfashionable and inefficient nightly nonce of unconsciousness. Ascending from our benighted evolution, we’ll first return to our prehistoric habits (as though we ought ever to have abandoned them in the first place), and then do away with sleep altogether. Employing methamphetamine and a thousand other compounds we’re taught in school are bad for our bodies and minds, we’ll become Übermensch — harder, better, faster, and stronger than those other Nation-Brands.
Now unencumbered by our need to rest our minds each night so that we can demarcate the border line of fantasy and reality (and, vicariously, of right and wrong), and and thoroughly brain-damaged as a result, we’ll spring forward into a new age of crime, misconduct, and rampant procreation.
Promiscuity is a citizen’s duty.
The above image is my work, created with art provided by the Open Clipart library from the Ubuntu Universe/Graphics repository. Transcription: "OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN HALLOWED BE THY NAME THY KINGDOM COME THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN AND BY THE WAY WOULD YOU MIND DOING SOMETHING ABOUT THIS BIRD IT IS CIRCLING ABOVE ME IN A MOST UNSETTLING MANNER THANKS DAD LOVE YOU!" But this entry is really a remonstrance I should have delivered to the city of Potlatch a very long time ago. Sorry I'm late. Excerpted from my memoir: I graduated PHS as Valedictorian, classis 2006; recalling my hatred of a people who ostracised me, I skipped the ceremony. They weren't missing much, because I had been instructed to prepare a state-approved recommencement address. Regarding that address: when I was informed of my valedictory nomination, I was asked to prepare a short speech; except, in approximately the words of Gordon Steinbis (principal), "we'll terminate your microphone feed if you say anything bad about Potlatch High School [...] and don't mention assisted suicide." Well, after that, there isn't much to say; why speak? So were my thoughts at the time and they still are. Had I been permitted to speak freely, I would have run along these lines: "We are predestined; I to failure. You have abused me my whole life and simultaneously demanded I seek joy in living where none was to be found. I have advocated since my youth for the humane practice of assisted suicide, and you have not listened because you are deluded. I cannot say that I plan to kill myself, because citizens of the United States of America who speak freely in that regard are imprisoned without trial. Goodbye." Naturally, I'm writing this at age 29 -- ten years ago, I wouldn't have been so parsimonious of phrase -- but my thoughts (when I am permitted to think by those who wield the weapon) are certainly of the same nature as they were, only more so.