It is dark in my bedroom. The dim silver light of the street lamps shines through the windows and the curtains, forming an ornate pattern on the wall they fall on – and on my chest, when I stand in front of them. And I look at these bright spots of light and smile, watching them move over my shirt as I lean on the wall, because I’ve learned to appreciate the beauty of small things – even when, in the absence of a moon from this side of the house, I have to settle for artificial lighting along the road through the garages.

(as usual, the use of randomising device in the decision is interpreted as a refusal)

Damn, there goes my obvious intuitive objection to Newcomb’s problem.

My netbook screen cracked :(

Update: Ordered a new one. Whew.

Eldritch abominations in fiction, their sheer sense of presence that makes you realize how insignificant you feel compared to them, reminds me of the way I think about outer space.

The universe is vast, very empty, and hostile to life. Earth is a tiny kindle of low entropy, enjoying its place under the warming Sun until it, too, burns out.

It’s possible that life is unique to Earth—and our imagination fills the universe with aliens, just like storytellers once filled unexplored corners of Earth itself with dragons, giants and cities of gold. But then every patch of Earth’s surface was mapped and measured, and all the dragons flew away somewhere.

It’s a really unsettling thought, that the entire human history may mean nothing in the long term, because if not now, then eventually there will be nobody out there for it to mean anything to.

I’m not saying anything new here—all this has been said before, countless times. I try not to think of this. I try to convince myself that life is worth living, and history is worth contributing to, because of its current, immediate, rater than eventual value. But some ideas are difficult to expunge from one’s mind entirely.

Now I can honestly say I survived a car crash!

Without a single bruise, at that. Although seriously, what were the odds of one taxi ramming into another?

I read it in my childhood in some fairy tale book.

Once upon a time there lived a prince—who, despite having a kingdom and loyal subjects, and everything he wanted, just couldn’t find happiness. He sook an oracle, who prophesized to him that he’ll become happy when he dons the shirt of a happy man.

And so our prince began traveling around the world. He tried on shirts of kings and noblemen, wealthy bankers and traders, yet he found no success in his quest. With every shirt he tried, he felt no different from before.

Finally, on the road back, just as he was approaching his castle, he saw a peasant resting near his plowed field. The peasant seemed so blissful that the prince couldn’t help but to call him…

“You there! Are you happy?”
“Extremely so!”
“And you wouldn’t even exchange your fate for that of a king?”
“Never!”
“Please… sell me your shirt!”
“Shirt? I don’t have one.”

I like the irony of people calling science useless… on the Internet, using a computer.