#depressing cw ?

[snarp]

90% of documentation sucks. 99% of LLM documentation sucks. Why? Possibilities:

LLM devs lack the necessary skills to write docs because they're under the age of 25 and have been working on the same couple projects that whole time.

LLM devs don't understand why docs are important because they're under the age of 25 and have been working on the same couple projects that whole time.

LLM devs view their work in the way that mystery cults view their worship, and enter an ecstatic state not conducive to communication upon opening Jupyter Notebook/Google Colab/etc. (It's like when a snake-handling churchgoer picks up the snake.)

LLM devs choose not to write docs because they think that providing publicly-accessible information on how their code can be used makes their expertise less-valuable in the job market:

"If I'm the only one who understands the tools I made, people who want to use my work will have to pay me."

-- Final words of 10,000 naive LLM devs who have spent the last 2 years duplicating each other's work without realizing it, because they have never provided a coherent public explanation of what their work is intended to do, making it impossible either for them to find each other or for prospective users to find them. They died of dysentery.

If they had lived only a few months longer, they'd have gotten back in the computer chair and discovered, with mounting horror, that they no longer know how to use their own work, because they spent a few months doing something else (hospital, PT, etc) and the unwritten knowledge that they thought they had hoarded - in fact recalled only due to near-daily repetition - fell out of their heads, teaching them an important lesson about their own fallibility.

They didn't, though. They died of dysentery. Very sad.

[tabby-shieldmaiden]

My intrusive thoughts: “Hey, maybe the fact that your University graduate parents wanted you and planned for you was a sign that you weren’t actually a soul which needed to be here. Maybe that’s why you don’t intuitively understand yourself and your likes and dislikes. God didn’t push through to put you here, he just conceded to one-and-a-half mortals’ demands. Maybe that’s why you can’t stand the thought of who your “true self” could possibly be. Maybe that’s why you’re meant to be just a faceless member of society.”

My agnostic thoughts: “Or maybe you’re just tired and hungry and mad at everyone and dehydrated and about to start your period.”

[snarp]

Majority control of the cohost source code will be transferred to the person who funded the majority of our operations, as per the terms of the funding documents we signed with them; Colin and I will retain small stakes so we have some input on what happens to it, at their request.

-- cohost to shut down at end of 2024 (2024-09-09)

Being very careful never to mention this person's name. What multimillionaire is out there debt-trapping devs to get hold of social media site code?

[regularbeans]

am i gonna die without ever being happy? that would _suck_

[prospitianescapee]

Johnnie L. Turner got into office in 2020 by means of, basically, identity theft:

He ran against a reasonably-popular Democratic incumbent named Johnny Ray Turner. Didn't do much campaigning - that might have alerted people to what he was trying to pull! Common sort of situation around here.

if you die this way you go to American Valhalla

[borderlinejessie]

I'm the kind of heavy nobody wants to carry.

[canipleasegetthenumber15]

CW: Depression, beginning of panic

B-Team hurt/comfort (the pages I've finished so far, anyway) </3

Mikey is struggling with depression, and the refusal of physical comfort isn't helping. He tries to keep his depressive episode a secret, but it suddenly dawns on Donnie when he goes to check on the littlest bro (which results in Donnie feeling both incredibly worried and guilty).

Ofc this is fiction, but I do wanna point out that IRL the best response to mental health issues is to remain calm and patient, and to not panic (panic/stress is understandable, but often counterproductive).

[prospitianescapee]

Perhaps the lowest point in the downward spiral of our public life is epitomized by the "CostCo Guys," a duo consisting of father Andrew "A.J." Befumo Jr. and his son Eric Justice Befumo. They gained popularity on TikTok and YouTube in 2024 for their videos filmed at the warehouse store Costco. Their first viral video featured them shopping for meatballs for Eric's mother. They subsequently began producing videos in which they rated products from Costco, categorizing them either positively as a "boom" or negatively as a "doom."

These videos are riddled with paradoxes that defy easy understanding. On the surface, they appear to be spontaneous amateur recordings, but it has since been revealed that they were carefully staged with the help of assistants. While they seem to serve as publicity for Costco, they were initially made without any collaboration with the company—and at one point, the duo was even thrown out of a Costco store while attempting to record there. As such, the CostCo Guys epitomize a widespread trend of free publicity. Thousands of individuals, particularly young women, post video clips online that promote brands of body lotion, lipstick, or nail polish—a capitalist’s dream come true and an unexpected byproduct of economic neo-feudalism.

zizek's critique of the costco guys

[quarterlifekitty]

cw: death, murder, severe grief induced depression, alcoholism

Undead!Husband!Ghost who stalks his way home just as soon as he claws his way from the damp, heavy soil on top of his coffin.

Pain in the ass. Doesn’t have his damned phone and he has no idea where this cemetery is.

Doesn’t have his keys, either, and it’s the middle of the fucking night. Finds a window open just a crack— his absence in your life shows. He would’ve never left you vulnerable like this. Kitchen is a mess of takeout containers. You haven’t been taking things well. Answering machine flashes a bright red number— 38.

He takes off his shoes and his jacket— like he’d only stepped out for the day, rather than having been dead and buried for months. Hates the fucking formalwear they buried him in. Ambles his way upstairs.

Sees some fucking stranger in his house. Sleeping in his bed. Right next to his wife. Bruises on your neck.

It was yet another self-destructive attempt at distracting yourself from what happened. The shitheel you picked up at the bar doesn’t even fully wake up before his skull is cracked against the hardwood of the headboard. You barely stir. Simon leans close and smells the liquor on your breath. He tilts your head gently so your cheek is to the pillow.

He digs through the dresser drawers for nearly half an hour before he finds the obscure little corner where you’ve hidden your wedding ring. You tell yourself it’s to make yourself seem available, but really you just couldn’t stand the sight of it. Whose gaze reflected back from the polished gemstone.

It’s slipped delicately back onto your finger. It’s looser than it used to be.

The body is dragged from the bed and deposited on the floor, blood already soaked down past the sheets and into the mattress. He doesn’t care. He’s still covered in dirt and rot and he doesn’t care about that either. He’s so fucking tired.

Crawls in the bed next to you, an arm loosely thrown over your waist.

When you wake up, he’ll cook you some real food.

[snarp]

This is the source of Hayao Miyazaki's "insult to life itself" quote.

I see my friend who has a disability. It's so hard for him just to do a high five, his arm with stuff muscle reaching out to my hand. Now, thinking of him, I can't watch this stuff and find (it) interesting. Whoever creates this stuff has no idea what pain is or whatsoever. I am utterly disgusted. If you really want to make creepy stuff, you can go ahead and do it. I would never wish to incorporate this technology into my work at all. I strongly feel that this is an insult to life itself.

The quote is a criticism of ableism: Miyazaki thinks a horror animation he's been shown is insulting to people with limited mobility.

This video was recut and reposted to YouTube in November 2016. Breakout AI image generation site "Neuralblender" launched in 2021.

The channel which posted the video was "Manhattan Project for a Nuclear-Free World" (mp-nuclear-free.com), an apparent astroturf effort by US-based fossil fuel industry lobbyists. It has no known members, and operates by editing and reposting unattributed content made by others to adhere to a broad anti-tech message.

[ionomycin]

Welcome home

[prospitianescapee]

[dreamsteddie]

Enamored with an Eddie who comes back from the Upside Down completely changed and turns to writing as his only solace, eventually turning it into a successful career.

When Eddie realized that the grate wasn't closed properly and the bats started swarming, when he saw the fear in Dustin's eyes as they quickly lost control of the situation, he had been well and truly prepared to die. Part of him, privately, was hoping to die.

The town was out for his blood, his friends hadn't even come to the trailer park to check on him, and despite what he said, he knew 86' was not going to be his year. Not even close. At least if he died in the Upside Down, he died as a hero. Not a failed rockstar, or a high school dropout, or another victim of Hawkin's endless bloodthirst for anyone outside of their preconceived ideas of "normal". Not a mirror image of Al Munson.

So when he wakes up in the hospital, bedridden and dehydrated, it doesn't feel like a victory.

When Dustin comes in to see him, positively bursting at the seams with excitement at Eddie's long-awaited return to consciousness, Eddie can't say a word. He has to watch as the light in his too-wise eyes dims as Eddie just stares. He's trying, he's trying so fucking hard, to say anything, but the words have dried up.

All Eddie can think about is the lack of anything worthwhile waiting for him out in the big, scary world. He's missing the pinky on his left hand, and the corresponding elbow has been chewed to bits. Even through the opioids, he's aware of an odd, sharp tingling that screams nerve damage. He knows that he'll never play again, and if he does it will never be worth anything to anyone. He's not going to graduate, which is the one thing Wayne always wanted for him. The one thing that has always kept him going despite how much the world has tried to bury his head in the sand has been taken from him, his excitement to get out into the world.

When Eddie looks out the window in his hospital room, all he can think about is how badly it wants to swallow him up and spit him back out.

Dustin has to be dragged out of the room by Steve and Robin as Eddie's silence seems to make him hysterical. He's screaming at Eddie, mad and desperate and sad.

Eddie doesn't see him for a week. When he comes back he's sheepish but determined, carrying a load of books under his arm. Eddie still won't say a word, but Dustin sits by his bedside and reads out loud until his voice is hoarse. Tolkien, Le Guin, Pratchett. He ends every visit by taking his hand, squeezing it tight, and telling him he's glad he's alive. Eddie can't agree with him, but he's grateful that doesn't stop him from saying it.

Wayne is faithfully by his bedside. He doesn't say much, content in Eddie's silence the same way he was in the midst of his endless chatter. He holds his hand, brushes his hair, turns the TV to all his favorite channels, and settles in for the long haul the same way he always has. Eddie doesn't know what he would do without him.

The rest of the monster fighting crew are in and out. Steve is there the most, standing in a corner with his arms crossed near the door during Dustin's visits. He never says much, but Eddie thinks Steve might understand him the best. He thinks back to those moments in the Upside Down.

"Don't be cute"

"Please be safe"

"we are noooot heroes"

"We'll try our best"

"Steve...make him pay"

"I'm scared, but I'll keep him safe"

When Steve looks his way, it feels like someone is hearing him, hearing how loudly he's screaming in his head.

He's in the hospital for five months and not once during that time does he breathe a single word. He feels hollowed out in a way that's foreign to him, like a great void has taken the place of organs, veins, and muscles and left him cold and stiff.

When he gets home, a new but almost identical trailer sitting in the same plot as the last one, he's far from better. He's weak, and sore, and tired to the bone. Wayne has to go back to work, no two ways about it, so Eddie spends his days wasting away on the couch. Dustin is back at school, leaving long stretches of time where Eddie is alone with his void and the sound of him screaming into it, so he turns to his books.

Except there are only so many books in his possession and even if he wanted to leave his house, a feat that seems insurmountable in his current condition, he still can't walk more than the length of the trailer without feeling like he's going to collapse. So, he turns to his notebooks.

At first, it's just reems and reems of sloppy-looking screams. He tries to make them as loud and angry looking as the voice in his head. His hand aches, weak from damage and disuse, but when he's done his throat feels just a little looser. Like maybe that void just got a little smaller.

That's how Steve finds him, sitting on the couch huffing like he just ran a marathon, surrounded by pages and pages of frantic writing. He's been coming by once a day, usually for an hour or two after work, to sit with Eddie and hang out. Eddie is pretty sure Wayne asked him to, but he honestly doesn't care. Steve is a little more chatty in the confines of the trailer when it's just the two of them, and Eddie craves the presence of someone who gets it. Gets him.

Steve takes in the scene, gives a low whistle, and asks if Eddie feels a little better getting that all out. Eddie still can't talk, kind of hoped for a moment there that he would, but when all he does is nod Steve still gives him that annoyingly charming smile and a firm pat on the back with a wide, warm hand.

And, well, Eddie doesn't think he's ok, but for the first time in a long time, he thinks maybe he will be.

After that, it's like something is unlocked. He spends almost all day every day writing away in his notebooks. They used to be for songs and campaigns, but even the thought of music and DnD makes him feel like he's going to be sick, so instead he writes stories.

Eddie has always loved to spin a tale. As a child, his mom would make up stories of knights and princesses, bards and bakers, peasants and children, love and life. When she died, Eddie wrote as many as he could remember in a book that sits proudly on his shelf. He can't bring himself to crack it open, crack himself open, when he's already so vulnerable, but the act of building a narrative makes him feel closer to her.

He writes stories about a young alchemist falling in love in a foreign land. A scribe reluctantly taking up with a rouge knight until she reaches a more accepting kingdom. A princess working to expose the ugly underbelly of her village.

A handsome prince abdicating the throne to fight on the side of the rebels.

A disgraced bard finding his way home.

Day by day, page by page, the void gets smaller.

The first person he shares his writing with is Dustin. The younger boy spends all Saturday at the trailer with Eddie, chattering away about Suzey, the Party, school, and all the things a kid his age should be worried about. He never asks what he's writing, which probably means Steve warned him not to, which Eddie can't help but appreciate.

Eddie wordlessly hands him a notebook. The one he's been filling for the better part of the last two weeks. Dustin takes it with eager hands, flipping through pages until his eyes are clouded with tears and he's flinging himself into Eddie's side.

It's about two brothers, separated at birth but brought together by a mutual cause. They adventure across the kingdom, seeking the knowledge that will end the brutal war ravaging their homeland. In the end, the eldest must sacrifice himself for the other, but the youngest defies fate to save him. It ends with the eldest, unable to live the life he once thought he would lead, thanking his brother for fighting for him when he wasn't brave enough to do it himself.

He lets Dustin take that one home with him.

Ultimately, it's Steve that gets him to speak.

He doesn't try, never seems bothered by Eddie's lack of voice, content to pass notes and relish in the silent company.

Eddie hands him their story, the one about a handsome prince and a voiceless bard, and for the first time since he woke up is met with that terrible smile. The one that isn't a smile at all, but an apology. While Eddie and Max may have come out the worst, no one came out of the years of interdimensional terror unscathed, especially not Steve.

He explains that since last summer, his ability to read has deteriorated steadily. The doctors aren't sure exactly what the cause is, but they assume the continued damage to his head has damaged the centers of the brain dedicated to reading and writing.

But Edddie needs him to read this, needs him to know this. Because this is the only way Eddie can think to confess. Writing has become so much of who he is since he left that hospital bed, and he wants more than anything to offer it to Steve.

When he speaks, it's rough. Scratchy and almost incomprehensible but when he chances a look up Steve is giving him his undivided attention. It takes him all day, stopping and starting and getting water and fighting off the pull of the void. The only thing that keeps him going is the stars he sees in Steve's eyes.

When he's done, there's no room for the silence to build back up because Steve is cupping his face in his wide, warm palms and telling him how much he loves him, too.

In the end, Eddie never regains his voice entirely. He goes days, sometimes weeks without saying a word. A year in, when they've all accepted that Eddie will never be the same as he was, Robin invests in a handful of ASL books and drills them all in sign language until their fingers cramp.

Two years in, Steve and Eddie watch as the kids walk across the stage, all six of them flipping Principle Higgins the bird as they accept their diplomas. Eddie cheers so loud his throat aches the next day, telling them how proud he is of them even as their parents tell them off.

The year after that, Nancy confiscates one of his books and sends it to her friend in publishing, mailing him a generous publishing offer and a heartfelt letter that makes him cry. Steve holds him tight as they call Nancy to work out the details, his boyfriend talking into the phone for him as Eddie signs frantically.

Five and a half years after Eddie survived, Eddie's first book opens like this:

To the love of my life

Who hears me in my silence

And to myself

For filling the void with words

[borderlinejessie]

I want love but I don't want to have to beg for it. Please love me too. Please acknowledge me. It's like you don't want me here anymore...are you better off without me? Is everyone better off without me?...

[vive-le-roi-au]

Prologue

(This post contains both images and text.)

(You’d been looping back to just the third floor for… you don’t know how many loops. Hundreds?)

(Maybe that was the problem. You didn’t do it all in one go. You just have to do it all, from start to finish, and kill the King.)

(From the top.)

(…Again.)

(You went back. Again.)

(Maybe you took too long. Just need to go faster.)

(…No. Still not enough.)

(It feels good though. Killing the one who killed you, thousands of times. It’s cathartic.)

(You’re even strong enough that you don’t need the Housemaid—MIRABELLE. HER NAME IS MIRABELLE, MIRABELLE, MIRABELLE!!!)

(…You don’t need Mirabelle’s help anymore.)

(…)

(You wouldn’t mind doing this a few more times.)

(…)

(Back to the stage, Siffrin.)

(…)

(…)

(…)

(It’s just another part of the loops now.)

(Go through the House. Kill the King. Talk to the Head Housemaiden. Something’s broken, failing, rotting. Loop back to Dormont.)

(The worst part?)

(Murdering the King has stopped bringing you joy.)

(It used to make you smile, seeing him crumble, blood spilling from his mouth, pooling on the ground.)

(Sometimes, you reduce his body to dust, cutting it up more and more and more until there’s nothing left. You’ve killed him slowly, draining him of his strength and bleeding him from a million places all over, watching the light slowly leave his eyes.)

(And you can’t even enjoy it anymore.)

(…)

(So why are you still here?)

(Whose fault is it that you’re trapped here?)

[wh0r3zzz]

I'm so tired of feeling like this.