The past is a grotesque animal

Beating my heart against a brick wall.

'I wish that insanity had got the better of me', said in full sanity. It was a catch 2-2 for the genie; to take it demeaningly literally, as it was wont, was to provide a greater personality into which the individual could slip when succumbing to madness. The best counterpoint that could be provided immediately was to provide unstable access to a split personality.
Lots of people get to make true, actual, magic wishes.
But cock up..

So, there's like these three countries. America, India, and Russia. And India and Russia are sort of forged by their interaction with the United Kingdom. And, like, in temperament, I'm India, and Simon's America, and Paul's Russia. And Li's China. Or something.

is what happens when destruction stops navel-gazing.

you're having a discussion, or about to have a discussion, or even, sometimes, after you've just had a discussion, then you should consider how you're behaving in the discussion, or think about how you're going to structure the discussion, or about how you just dealt with the discussion that you just had.
Why is it so anaethemic to popular interest, then, that we think about how we structure our policits? Why can't we think about AV, or PR (alternative vote and proportional representation, respectively) alongside our ill-informed vocalisations on our positions regarding military expenditures and (lol!) council tax?
#Whatever-the-reason, fuckkit.…

It's the surface you have to touch if you want to be near the infinite Volume of truth. Spheres are easier, and have an injective mapping onto the truth; even though no finite subset has a surjective mapping, even. Ugh. Fuck you, Gödel, and your intellectual hangover.

Carl had never been especially comfortable with the potential implications of the program. So its bare bones, supposedly, were that it would look at a new paper, and cross-reference with its 'speculative results' set, and essentially compute potentially a new bunch of proofs.
Except it didn't work that way.

After a short while, posts began to appear, in the form of 'Serena MalAdebpft'. Entire journal articles, posted on the comments pages of the most prestigious websites that had comment pages.

And it was found that she'd abused the freedom granted for search queries, and that to adjust it, it being…

whenever we butt heads, one of us changes their mind :)

"How much do you think I should take?"
'Please don't kill yourself'
"How much do you think?"
'I don't know. I'd guess… ten? What were you thinking of?'
"I don't know. It feels really bad. 6 or 8?"
'Fucking hell. I was just joking when I said ten. Four. At most. Hold on - at least let me look it up….
… you still there?'
"Yeah"
'Okay, well, it looks like there really isn't a safe overdose. Four.'
"I've already taken four."
'Well.. shit. Don't take any more. I guess the good thing is that you're meant to throw it…

Utterly without hunger, Gabriella sank into the puddle of sacks for a second time. Almost immediately, she began to have a restless night. In her dreams she was talking to someone very far away. Someone, she knew, who cared for her a lot.
They were asking her questions. Insignificant somehow, but only in content. “Where are you?” they asked; but she knew they were saying ‘I’m thinking about you’. She was swirling through dark blue nothing. “No you’re not”, she denied the heart of the question.
“- care about you”, they were saying. Was that an I, or a we?…