Qais

A turbid day, spent all indoor. A nimbus that encircled my whole ratiocination caused me to sleep—a lot. Whole day in-and-out of consciousness. I had so much planned for today, but at the end achieved nothing at all. I did manage to bring up-to-date two of my websites that run Mediawiki. Bringing these two sites to the current version (via the manual process) was easier to than the automated process—which I still have not figured out. If I were to take a plebiscite on the matter, I would have the proclivity towards the manual process. The two websites only saw a downtime of two minutes during this whole process. After this I had a look at two of my other sites that run Flatpress. I did a quick check and we are still waiting on the next version to be released. They must still be perfecting to perfection. Is that not what the ancient Greeks mostly wasted their time on, searching for The Republic. When do you know you have the complete information to call something perfect?
It is all some type of polity. Whether it might be an oligarchy, totalitarianism, or even the crude and ordure democracy where criminals elect criminals to rule over criminals. How does one fix a system? If my car stops performing it’s main function—which modern petrolheads forget—‘transport,’ then I must mend the said mentioned machine. Now a car is not a system nor is it a human which can be put into a metaphysical state. I cannot puts cars into a good or bad category, or can I? When a car breaks or stops it’s normal function, one does not curse the car or stop giving it the essential needs: oil, petrol, water, break fluid. Will taking these essential needs be a way to punish the car back into reformation? This activity works with humans and maybe it might work with the new AI thinking process. Panel beating things into shape has been the norm for many centuries, why use language of reason when you can brow-beat people into an automaton.

It was a gloomy and tumultuous day with added rain and people with never ending questions. Have you noticed how children ask one question after another, they don’t even much care about the questions. As if the questions are a test of your patience and not of any learning process. Every question does have an answer—fatuous one mostly—and sometimes it could very well be a befitting truer answer, but those are quite often rejected unceremoniously or not even entertained. What exactly is the reason for that? One would suppose people would readily accept any dithyramb answer floating about in the welkin. And they do while engendering an ethereal form of life devoid of any erudition. Let me end with a brilliant envoi:
Questions should only be seen and never heard
Just like watching the movie, “killing a mockingbird.”

It’s quite annoying to watch a foreign movie and the subtitles are in another foreign language. You are left with mere gesticulations to gain any comprehension. One could try to translate a book that is in an unknown language to another language that one does not know. Let me open up the catalogue raisonne and see if any of this is possible; possibilities are endless with a swashbuckler. This one person was quite fastidious; a moll normally has this personification. She would wear quite luxurious dresses, very haute couture. Much later, a convivial assayer comes along and translates the book.

The street was crowded with people, from a distance it seemed as if there was a mad-dash carpet sale in progress. As I grew closer to the commotion, the state of confusion also grew proportionally. I finally got close enough to see a man lying in the street, his head being held by another man whispering something softly.

The man lying in street was profusely bleeding from a gaping chest wound, the man acting as a necromancer was performing some act of absolution. I finally got close enough to eavesdrop as to what was being said by the necromancer.

How did you injure your finger?

Upon closer observation I saw a blue band-aid on the index finger of the dying man. The gaping wound was not worrisome but the cut on the finger posed quite an eschatological dilemma for the necromancer.

I see it clear as day.

Do you?