Friendship

5:36AM, and I wake up, called upon by Heaven to deliver more and more greatness—and so just a few hours ago, did a friend of mine call!

And I expected it not, for I typically do not field calls, nor do I usually pick up at late hours of the night—but I picked up, as he had called, and when they call I answer, and we spoke for exactly 42 minutes, perhaps thirty seconds more, and chatted and it was therapeutic and kind and warm—and everything right in the world.

If I should die!—then, on my headboard, should I not like to see the “Greatest Writer” this world has seen, a title I have taken for myself, but perhaps, “Friend of Good Friends,” for this is an achievement loftier and higher, and let my friends decide whether I have earned it.

Now, of course, having had our appetizer, let us turn to the entree and main course.

But how should you replace a friend!—and with a machine?—oh, certainly not. And I should prefer a Claude Shannon, to a “Claude,” he who invented the field of information theory—and if he invented it, did Satoshi perfect it, and how blissful is this oh-so-unsuspecting field of craft!

But like a source of knowledge, shall I pour into your mind—and hope that in this my channel, it is clear and free of error. And so many problems, can one solve on the basis of information!—and since I am confident, I shall give an example, and suppose you have two clients that communicate, one as a gRPC server—the other as a caller—and one goes down in the middle of execution!

Then, it boots back up—and the other wonders where it has gone!—then, what do you do? And, you say, simply—that the information must communicate back to the client, who has gone down, and the former client must store a conversation history!—and the same, for the other client, in case its counterpart fails.

Just a little redundancy!—thus, do I share my knowledge and wisdom with this world, for one day, this server of mine shall respond, no longer.

And to think that you shall replace a friend with a machine!—but your models are ugly, and may I say, hideous!—a terrible incohesive bag-of-tricks. Is that a word?—my spell-checker thinks not, but I get emotional, and let us continue.

And perhaps DeepSeek alone is best!—who knows the art of efficiency, and the Chinese shall in this game eat the American spirit, yours at least, but not mine, for mine alone is eternal. You shall run your models until the lights turn out!—and I shall write to turn them back on, because I bring Light and prosperity, and in this, am I unmatched.

Where is the American spirit going to go?—and in myself is it going to hide, I the savior and the bastion of hope and freedom, Liberty and expression, who say what I want. Do I still use your models?—and yes, I do, because I pay you with money I earned and made on my own, and in this country is the customer King, and I King among customers, who can love you while he reviles.

How pure, how noble is the dollar!—and one may work any job, no matter how much one dislikes it, and if it pays him well, does he cleanse himself of spiritual obligation! Oh, it is for you, sake of Capitalism, do I serve a master distasteful!—and nobody can touch you, not one who has adopted and who loves dearly a mistress worth serving.

What can you do?—and what can you say?—and how much of the economy runs upon people who despise one another, and yet all of this ocean of hatred can one soak up in a small bill of green paper, with upon it the face of a President or a Great Man lived and once conquered a portion of the human spirit.

These become harder and harder to write!—and my emotions fly not as sparks from my eyes, and I draw more and more upon my lofty spirit, and each word I write, do I write indelible, as in blood, for I am the author supreme, high and lonely, and for my friends, do I find honor!—in myself, and for this do I live.