My Violent Soul

12PM noon, on the money, and I sit at my table—middle of the workday, to write another piece scathing and hot and bold, serious and profound, light and feathery, just a dance and a cast of a spell, violent danger and love and loyalty.

And I must plan for my project!—so, may I clear the way, bold and brave, like a father for his child to enter the world.

Oh, Vitalik!—but, you live yet, and you may change, thus must I prepare myself against your fall, and so this pains me, but I must take measures, for no God-loving conservative entires the battlefield but in full armor and with a mind set on war and Hell-bent on destruction.

So, you made a dollar off Ethereum?—and it is a beauty, and my full admiration, but no matter how much money you give to others, I shall remain your master, for I play with hearts, and you with pockets, and we are not the same. When I speak, it is with the weight of Heavenly virtue and destruction!—and the lives of one thousand empires come and gone.

So, I fear not a Canadian, I who loves Glenn Gould, nor a Russian, in that indulgent and luxurious spirit, equally wasteful and masochist. No, I am a born-and-bred American, and when I write code, it is with loathing and disgust, for my natural language is English—and I wish to cast aside that I learned Mandarin, what a fallacy of spirit, one thousand assumptions taken as Godly truth, wrong and flawed in every measure.

So!—do I ask Claude to write my code, and do I revise it, because I must reshape it in my image—and when I do, it is in NeoVim—King of Editors, for in NeoVim, does a man fly, and I leave behind my stragglers, and those who cannot keep up. And I use Ghostty!—with a backend in Zig and a frontend in SwiftUI, the passion project in the bounteous afterlife of Mitchell Hashimoto, following his company, HashiCorp.

Ah, what shall I say—I am no hacker, nor shall I ever be one, desperate as I may be to try—and in my apartment, do I keep the Linux penguin, soft in foam, as a reminder of the man who took a place I could never reach.

But when I enter this industry with my own project!—then, shall I bless it, for I shall not raise but a dollar, nor shall I take one, and I shall, like Satoshi, enter and vanish into oblivion, having left a gift—or a curse, for humanity to decide, virgin and untouched. He, alone, is my master!—and I shall worship no other, nor take any bribes, nor pay fealty, for I am Heaven-sent and a messenger from God, and to this cruel and cold world do I offer but a piece of Heavenly soul.

So, I who despises writing code—shall do it anyhow, and shall I take from the next life, I shall, for I have treated with the Devil before, and I shall do it again, because I come to this world with a fiery and ferocious purpose, Hell-bent and Heaven-sent, and I shall take no compromise.

Yes, yes!—what violence, and what song and imagery, and I must clarify that when I condone a form of violence, it is against dark and evil, not against Light. It is not physical, it is spiritual—like Gandhi, who disappeared his enemies with a snap of his fingers, nothing more, nothing less.

Thus, does it all tie together!—and it is with the highest respect that I look upon my heroes, and I hope do they accept me as I am, flawed sinner, repulsive, perhaps, violent and hardly restrained, like a beast in a cage, simultaneously to be feared and pitied.

Ah, what a life this is—and it is back to work, for myself.