I am thinking of The Binding of Isaac, Y combinators, recursion, and Marshall MacLuhan.
I had a long conversation about death with a good friend today over economy rice (I remember someone telling me that eating economy rice alone is the saddest thing in the world). Our conversation skirted the rims of the contingency of death, about how death doesn’t discriminate, and how the only thing that insulates you from death is either divine influence, or not caring. We talked about the meaning of life, and the ongoing conversation that I’ve been having with myself over the last decade or so (only) when I began better understand the proximity of death and the unlikelihood of life. Such conversations are always short on answers, so we can only try to ask better questions.
Life runs in little concentric circles that overlap but ultimately spin on their own axes. For instance, I’ve come back to writing down bits of my life in bits and bytes again, despite attempting to leave my rambling on a more secure space (i.e. pen and paper). For instance, I left computers when I was 16, only to find myself working for a software company at 29. For instance: I stopped writing in my early teens because I didn’t think it’d ever get me anywhere, but here I am, an actual paid writer (albeit in its less romantic incarnation) and spinning too-long essays on video games that (an appreciated) few read. As with concentric circles, the longer I’ve allowed myself to follow the orbit of these things that I carry, the closer I get to their centers (and hopefully, closer to my own).