self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
I'm a transhumanist doctor. In a better world, I wouldn't need to add that as a qualifier to plain old "doctor". It would be taken as granted for someone in the profession of saving lives.
At any rate, I intend to live forever or die trying. See you at Heat Death!
Friends:
A friend to everyone is a friend to no one.
User ID: 454
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
14d ago
You are overlooking the fact that a post Heat Death universe has infinite amounts of time at hand. It really doesn't matter how unlikely an event is, as long as it isn't categorically/logically impossible.
Being an old-fashioned meat brain? Can happen "naturally" in a very small chunk of the universe's lifespan. As far as I'm aware, our decision theories are inadequate to the task of settling this (same issue with the simulation hypothesis) so I remain agnostic as to the actual ramifications. It is instrimentally useful to me to act as if I exist as an entity that won't poof out of existence. Hasn't failed me yet!
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
14d ago
Uterine prolapses are hardly unheard of, but they're almost certainly happening in middle-aged women with weakened pelvic floors (post childbirth) instead of young athletic women. You'd have to try very hard to get that to work.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
14d ago
I'm not sure who I could call about this really, I don't think the Dundee police would feel any additional obligation to tell me than they would any other rando, and I don't know anyone from those parts myself.
Aren't Boltzmann Brains both implied and not ruled out by our current best understanding of physics? A truly energy-less vacuum is impossible, which means that any given volume of space-time is ergodic, and that over sufficiently long time scales, will be recapitulated. A post Heat Death universe is abundant in few things but time and space.
I would imagine that the discovery of new laws of physics could, at least in theory, falsify the notion.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
14d ago
Your delivery started with labeling it as 'LLM psychosis' or 'homegrown schizophrenia,' then backpedaled to psychedelics and 'high risk'. That's not constructive critique, it's pathologizing a philosophical post.
Dafuq? Do you deign to notice the bulk of my second post? Where I engaged with his arguments?
"Philosophical". Right.
NAD didn't take off the same way, because most of your profession know not to give medical advice over the internet. Most of them understand that they have traded shitposting for a higher level of respect, for the opportunity to be listened to when they do leverage their medical credentials.
I invite you to have a quick browse through /r/AskDocs.
At any rate, I didn't don my doctor cap in my first comment. It was only when he elaborated that my concerns continued to mount.
My claims stand. I didn't read the op again, it wouldn't change anything. My claims would stand even if he'd smeared shit and blood on a picture of the Pope, scanned it and attached it as an op. My claims are not about his behaviour, they are about yours.
Pointedly ignoring that my earnest advice was prompted by OP's behavior. Very convenient.
@faul_sname , @SnapDragon , @lurker despite being laymen, have noticed the exact same concerns that I have. It doesn't particularly matter a jot whether or not I flex my credentials online, and I have been entire honest about them. Unless he pays me and takes me on as his doctor, the harm caused by advising him to seek an appointment with someone with actual jurisdiction is nil.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
Do I look like I'm on the clock here?
An "insult" implies, at least slightly, that there's no merit to my claims. I am intimately familiar with crankery, and I know the symptoms of someone at very high risk of psychosis. Someone offering legal, programming or engineering advice would not be held to the same acuritny. In this case, I invite you to examine his arguments and see if your claims that I'm being irresponsible stand.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
This sounds like a tale that ended happily for all involved.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
Random question, apropos of being dragged into karaoke night by an overly enthusiastic Scottish lady (the mother of the bartender):
Has anyone tried singing with a bone conducting microphone? A nigh universal experience is that our voices sound so much better in our heads, courtesy of the conduction of deeper frequencies and harmonics right through bone better than air. It's the reason behind "telephone voice" (other than shitty codecs and low bandwidth). I wish others could hear how silky smooth my voice sounds like in here, as opposed to the congested version everyone else is used to.
I wonder what that would sound like, in practise, but I suspect that they're not optimized for music.
Thanks. Transhumanism is sick.
But I still have to stand by what I said. I am a transhumanist doctor, and to put not too fine a point on it, (half) a psychiatrist. It pains me to feel that duty asks me to dampen your enthusiasm.
When Sir Penrose talks about consciousness and qualia arising from strictly quantum mechanical interactions within the wetware of the human brain, he has enough street cred (courtesy of a Nobel Prize) that people listen seriously. He made testable predictions, and made world-models with a semblance of rigor. Unfortunately, he still didn't convince the wider scientific community. You are facing a far more uphill battle on the best of days, and you're not trying as hard.
As far as I can eyeball, your general thrust is:
1.It is impossible that something exists instead of nothing.
-
But we do exist.
-
Therefore, the impossible exists.
-
Therefore, every impossibility exists, to "balance" the nothingness of the "0th Dimension."
This is where the philosophical alarm bells start ringing. It’s a clever-sounding syllogism, but it hinges on a category error. The "impossibility" of our existence is a statement of incredulity or low probability, not of logical contradiction. A royal flush is incredibly improbable, but it's not "impossible" in the same way a four-sided triangle is. You're conflating "that which is statistically miraculous" with "that which violates logic." By treating them as the same, you're granting yourself a license to declare that anything and everything, including logical contradictions ("Infinite Paradoxes Exist Everywhere"), must be real.
That makes no damn sense. Even for something as plausible (or at least not ruled out by known and speculative physics) like a Boltzmann Brain popping up out of the quantum foam post Heat Death, there is no room for triangles with two sides.
"I imagined/conceived the above. So it has to exist." This is a souped-up, personalized version of the Modal Ontological Argument or David Lewis's Modal Realism, but without any of the logical rigor. Lewis argued for the existence of all possible worlds, not all conceivable worlds. We can conceive of Escher drawings and contradictions, but that doesn't make them physically possible.
It is slightly rude of me to pattern match your words to crankery or a slightly loosened grasp on consensus reality, but that is still my genuine personal and professional opinion. I expect you have done high doses of recreational psychedelics, and laxened your priors. It would be remiss of me to not at least politely ask that you seek help. Others are likely to be less polite, but trust me, I know where this road tends to lead.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
This not a one-on-one conversation in reality. The actuality has been hashed out for millennia and many a liter of spilled blood. That's why we have a reasonably stable equilibrium of countries and armed forces/police with a monopoly on violence. If someone threatens to enslave me, I'm going to call the cops.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
Not enough em-dashes to be standard LLM psychosis. Perhaps standard homegrown schizophrenia?
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
“Ok then I’m free to make you my slave.”
"And I'm free to kill you for trying. Let's find a middle ground, eh?"
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
15d ago
Fixed!
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
16d ago
Hardly unique, but my impression is that the Sikhs in Canada have it down to an art form.
Oh, another reason came to mind. Canadian Sikhs tend to be very clannish, and regularly form cohesive vote blocks that swing local or even national elections. They force politics in an anti-India direction, since most politicians, left or less left, can't afford to piss them off.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
16d ago
Do you have photoshop and a can-do attitude?
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
17d ago
I'm not him, but I can share my own take, despite not really hating Sikhs.
There are two different categories:
-
Sikhs, in India, and similar to them, Sikhs abroad who have migrated relatively recently.
-
Sikhs abroad, who left a long time ago, or at least before the 1990s.
Why make this distinction? In the 70s, 80s, fading out by the 2000s, India had a Sikh secessionist movement desiring an independent Khalistan Things got very bloody. A Prime Minister was assassinated, there were pogroms on both sides. A large number of Sikhs fled abroad, to the US, UK or Canada.
The issue is that they took their anger with them. On the other hand, the Sikhs in India aged out of the desire for conflict, or never really had it in the first place. Current relations between Sikhs and other ethnoreligious groups, in India, are largely congenial. Abroad? Oh hell no. They're still malding, and occasionally send money to the very few remaining Sikh terrorist organizations in India, or help out Pakistan. There was a kerfuffle where India was alleged to have assassinated two Khalistani leaders, one in Canada, and one in Pakistan.
Younger Sikhs in the West? They're usually not so heavily indoctrinated, and get along fine. The Sikhs in India, do not, as a whole, really care for an independent state.
If I had to guess, Vanilla is also a part of elitist rightwing circles in India (he's very terminally online). They look down on Sikhs in places like Canada for engaging in a bit of cooking of the books, and the abuse of lax immigration pathways to bring their neighbors' brothers' dog's walker as a "student" who spends more time doing Uber deliveries than studying. This pisses off the locals, and makes things harder for other Indians. I will make it clear that I am sharing an online opinion, and not making an endorsement. I haven't been there personally.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
17d ago
God, I find woman like this grossly unnatractive. If a girl is drug adjacent, and doesn't have her life in order, its a No.
The shorter lady seemed mostly sane! Maybe I'm grading on a curve, but heavy drinking and the consumption of coke.. That is a description that fits probably >70% of men, women, children and pensioners in Scotland.
She actually does seem to have her life mostly together. The apartment was clean and had a feminine touch (better than mine). She waited till getting home before getting sloshed. She's back in uni, finishing up a sensible degree. I later learned that her own daughter was sent over to stay with family that weekend, which is honestly the least anyone should do if they're not settled adults and partying this hard. She had her daughter a long time back, and clearly cared about her.
The taller one? I can't really condone her behavior. Incredibly self-destructive, and worse than self-destruction, a threat to the sanity of the people who are around her.
If I've known them for longer then maybe, but that's only after I've established a connection to all the disparate parts of their unstable personality and I myself have had my agency reduced by the powerful emotional force of time+proximity.
You and me both. The worst is when they're good at hiding their flaws. An ex of mine probably has BPD too, but she never did anything as outright insane as what I witnessed tonight. It was easy to get attached and imagine a life together.
Either you're a big enough manwhore to drown out short memories of woman or those spiritual scars are going to stick with you.
I am a hopeless romantic, who pretends cynicism and detachment because it makes him seem cooler. I've been badly hurt before, and even watching these train wrecks unfold causes me mild psychic damage. But that's just... dating? Life? There's no service for vetted, sane sexual and romantic partners. You run into one you think meets the bill, and you hold on for dear life.
Knowingly canoodling with "a bad idea" is weak. Just jerk off (without porn) before going out. Your too old and experienced to be bed post notch maxing. It's your job dealing with these people, surely that makes it worse somehow.
I must defend myself. I had never met these women before. When I went out to hang, I didn't even know for a fact that there would be women involved. Once I had met them, they initially seemed normal, by Western standards.
It is hard being an immigrant in a foreign land, without friends and family at hand. My colleagues tend to be older, with kids and pensions to worry about. For a long time, I didn't really do nights out or seek an active social life. You're seeing the early days of a recovery, when I don't quite know the people or the city. Hopefully, once I have a more established social network, I can afford to be picky about those I hang out with.
For the television mini series adaption I would make your character have a bleak and empty social life outside the new friends he's made at the bar, while he's grappling with moving back to India due to family pressure of his arranged marriage. Grueling grey work and a cold damp Appartment contrasts with the warm sunny flashbacks of his native home.
Shit. You've got me pinned like a butterfly to a napkin, using sharpened chopsticks. I am not quite nostalgic about India, I just miss my family, my friends and my dogs, but I do wish for better weather.
At the end of each episode the Indian immigrant gives an impromptu therapy session, leading the subject of the episode resolving some deep issue they had been carrying with them.
I have been slacking on getting my CBT experience signed off on. However, I think my bosses would shoot me if I submitted case reports from the pub.
Add some bitter struggles with casual racism, and you have all the right ingredients for a BBC dramedy. In my head you look like a young Jason Mantzoukas. Would be Kino casting.
Fortunately, the casual racism has been a very small component of my life. My new powerlifting buddy might well count, but even he thinks I'm "one of the good ones" or "surprisingly non-horny for an Indian". Yeah.. I actually can't disagree with that, and not just because it's somewhat flattering. A lot of Indian men in the West were starved for feminine contact their entire life, and now go hog wild because the same constraints aren't placed upon them, while having optimistic notions of how "easy" Western women are.
I do not think I am quite as handsome as you envision, but at least I'm not breaking mirrors when I look at them. The BBC has cast worse. Thank you nonetheless!
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
You probably got what you paid for. After 4 months of heavy use (including accidentally hiking up on the Cliffs of Dover), they're showing their age. But then again, they're so cheap that I'd just go to Primark and get another pair.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
I wish I was gay, life seems much easier for them, at least in regards to getting laid. Alas, I am cursed with a preference for women. Can't live with them, can't live without them.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
Presenting the sequel, now in the appropriate thread:
https://www.themotte.org/post/3038/friday-fun-thread-for-august-29/360953?context=8#context
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
(Continuing from where the last story left off)
Having just recovered from what can only be described as an aggressive campaign by my GI tract against all forms of edible life, I found myself with an unexpected Friday off. This was not a calculated decision for wellness and recovery, but a tactical surrender to the combined forces of food poisoning and hangover. The first thing I did upon waking was wage a successful war against my phone’s alarm system. Victory was swift. I then slept until six in the evening, only to discover that, as far as my body was concerned, the hangover was less an acute state and more a permanent lifestyle.
This left me with a familiar question: what does one do with a day that refuses to start, and a body that has redefined "functionally alive" to mean “capable of opening WhatsApp”? The answer, apparently, is text your new powerlifter friend, whom you met in a haze of alcohol and mutual poor decision-making just the night before. He, too, had embraced a morning of sloth and self-pity. He recommended the time-honored remedy of "more booze." I believe the local term of art is "hair of the dog".
He claimed to have already started the treatment plan. Would I care to join? Yes. There was, after all, a new leather jacket to debut. It weighed more than most emotional baggage and cost about as much as a therapy session, but it increased my Swagger stat by at least two standard deviations. You have to justify these things somehow.
Small Scottish City is not actually small, at least on foot, but it is a city, and it is Scottish, and the terrain tends to punish the hungover and the unathletic. The bar my friend chose was in unfamiliar, steep territory. He mentioned a friend would be playing music there, and that more friends (possibly interesting, possibly female, possibly single) would join. In my experience, this is exactly the sort of event that is either a highlight reel or a cautionary tale, and I had come prepared for both.
Catching up with the powerlifter was a slow process, mostly because he couldn’t recall much from the previous night beyond waking up surrounded by pizza boxes and a significant loss of funds. I told him about oud recent misadventures. We both agreed to make the same mistakes, but in a new bar, with the same reckless optimism.
I had been warned the bar was “seedy,” but in my experience, this just means "affordable." The main thing decrepit about it turned out to be the music system. The musician, a cheerful older man, cycled rapidly through the five stages of grief when the PA failed to cooperate. My friend offered to fix it, but only if compensated. Apparently, IT professionals, like bartenders and taxi drivers, develop immunity to charitable requests. I took notes, and proceeded not to read them.
Meanwhile, I tried to cheer up the musician by offering to buy him a drink. He went for lemonade and explained he was now medically prohibited from participating in the more reckless forms of Scottish culture. He had some excellent stories, though, and enough idiomatic Scottish phrases to warrant a glossary. The one that stuck with me: “I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.” There is no situation in psychiatry of old age this phrase cannot improve.
The musician also informed me that he had written a book. I got excited until I realized it was a wildly overpriced PhD thesis, and his advice was not to buy it unless I could find it on LibGen. (A man of culture, clearly.)
After a while, we were joined by two women: friends of the powerlifter. One of them had driven all the way down from the northern wilds of Scotland, which I assume means a land where even the sheep have drinking problems. Both were attractive, but since my powerlifter friend had granted me entry into his circle, I resolved to be a good wingman. Besides, on a previous occasion he had essentially told me that if I wanted to date a girl who bites people in pubs, he’d support my decision while enjoying the spectacle from a safe distance.
This time, he seemed interested in the woman from up north, leaving the other - shorter and more flirtatious - free to focus on me. Somehow, the table got to talking about height, as one inevitably does in Scotland after three drinks. My friend is shorter than me and made it clear he is acutely aware of this. I did my best to build him up, assuring everyone he could easily bench press me, throw me out a window, or perform any number of feats generally reserved for Greek myth. The short woman insisted she was over five feet tall, but this seemed more a statement of faith than fact. Later, when we were alone, she asked my height, and I, like a true son of modernity, lied by a single inch. I had literally zero reason to actually do this, I was just feeling cheeky. She accepted this. Women, it turns out, are used to the metric inflationary pressures in the global height economy. Or perhaps exes have conditioned them to be very bad at eyeballing six feet or six inches.
There was more banter. She told me I was funny, for the third time, which is woman code for "I am considering you as a possible mate or, failing that, a court jester." I replied that if I couldn't be handsome, I could at least be humorous. She insisted I was both, but I am quite sure the jacket deserved most of the credit.
Darts was proposed. I had never played, but when half the players are two drunk women, even mediocrity feels like a professional achievement.
Plans shifted, as they do, and we prepared to relocate to the short woman’s place to deplete the tall woman’s trunk of alcohol. Just as this was agreed upon, the tall woman decided she wanted to go clubbing. This was received about as well as a proposal to switch to Diet Irn-Bru. She would not be dissuaded, so into a cab we went (thankfully, one cannot help but be suspicious of Scottish drivers with strong views about drink-driving).
On the way, the tall woman began furiously calling someone. Her friend groaned. “Why are you calling him?” she asked. The tall woman claimed it was just to tell him to "fuck off," and that she was done with him. Even with only two hours’ acquaintance, I could tell this was a lie. But it was not my business. Yet.
The man didn’t pick up, so we arrived at the club undisturbed. I could describe the nightclub, but if you have ever been to one, you already know what it looked like: loud, generic, with the only local variation being the price of watered-down lager. I did get in trouble for using a communal deodorant spray in the men’s toilet without paying the attendant. I genuinely didn’t know that was a thing. I always assumed those were for emergencies, like fire extinguishers.
Some men hit on our group, but the women handled it, and I was left to the dignified task of stealing fries from a drunk man who was too busy trying to impress them to care. You take your victories where you can.
Finally, we decamped to the flat. It was a pleasant enough space, and after some more drinking, drama re-emerged. The tall woman was still calling her ex, and her friend was getting increasingly annoyed, pointing out (not unreasonably) that this was neither new behavior nor compatible with the stated goals of “a girls’ night out.” The short one eventually sulked off to the kitchen. The powerlifter followed, in an apparent bid to mediate. This left me alone with the tall(er) woman, who vented at me with increasing force. I attempted some very basic therapy, suggesting that if she didn’t love herself, it would be hard for others to do so. This backfired in spectacular fashion, producing a total meltdown and forcing me to fetch her friend for backup.
Suddenly, we heard a door slam. The short woman came back in, downed her drink, and slammed the glass so hard it shattered. I helped clean up, and she explained that her friend did this every time: dramatic fights, impulsive driving, repeated entanglements with a man who was, by all accounts, a walking red flag. A diagnosis of "BPD" was disclosed. I considered hiding the kitchen knives.
I finally asked if we should go after her friend. The answer: not especially, but if I wanted to, nobody would stop me. I went outside, found the tall woman in her car with the engine running, and knocked. She let me in. I spent the next ten minutes listening to a monologue about abandonment, her ex, her daughter, and the universe’s indifference. I tried to gently suggest alternatives to driving home drunk or sitting in a running car alone. She asked me to step out so she could make a call, and I took the chance to text the others that she probably wasn’t leaving.
As I was returning to the car, a man appeared, presumably the ex. I made a quick executive decision to stop being involved, and returned to the flat. Upon reporting these developments, everyone agreed the drama was now out of our jurisdiction. We watched from the window as she walked off with the man, and the short woman launched into a tirade about her friend’s long history of destructive choices: cheating, boundary violations, family conflict, and general chaos. She'd even fucked this guy in her flat, in her bed, and without being so kind as to ask for permission. Her own daughter? There was no way in hell that she'd ever let the men in her life affect them so. I noticed the bag of cocaine she was holding had gotten much lighter. I resolved not to ask questions, including about where her own daughter was at present.
My powerlifter friend made his move. With only one woman left in the flat, something had to give. I, declined with grace, and found companionship with her cat, a beautiful creature who ignored him all night and snuggled up to me. Sometimes you just have to take the wins where you find them.
At some point I passed out on the couch, cab calling plans derailed by fatigue and alcohol. I woke up, checked the time, and discovered it was now deep into Saturday. The flat was eerily quiet, but evidence of human occupation remained: clothing scattered about, and, crucially, a phone not belonging to me. Nobody in 2025 leaves a phone behind voluntarily.
On my way to the bathroom, I heard whispers from the bedroom. My friend emerged, shirt half-buttoned. We exchanged the ritual fist-bump. I asked if the night had been successful. He sighed, said that whiskey dick had struck again. I told him he should have asked for help, I always keep a contingency plan for just such emergencies. The only war wound was a scratch, which he attributed to the cat, not his partner.
We agreed that the only way to recover from this hangover was to continue drinking, but by this point I was beginning to suspect that the Scottish are a separate species, capable of metabolizing alcohol at rates that would kill lesser men. A single beer in, I was done, and stumbled home, crashed, and only now, two days later, do I feel human again.
I resolve to embrace sobriety for the rest of the week. I also resolve to abstain from women, at least until my jacket’s powers recharge.
Or until the next text message. These things never last.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
I grunt when my body is about to give out, or when I am seriously pushing myself well beyond a previous PR. Otherwise, I do my best to keep it to myself, nobody signed up to hear any of that.
I will tell you that - in the gyms that have had the misfortune of hosting me - I have heard very little grunting. This guy is probably being performative, seeking attention for what he believes are actions at the peak of the human physique. Maybe he wants that unattainably beautiful woman to glance his way? You're just caught up in his auditory net.
What to do about it? I'd go for noise canceling headphones, or that failing, a word with staff. I bring the former along just in case they're playing god awful music today.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
Jesus, do people think I'm red-pilled because I write up the occasional funny story? I'm nothing such, they're usually self-deprecating, and half of them involve me being hopelessly in love or falling for emotionally unavailable women. I do not think that even a single one has involved me getting laid, not because it doesn't happen, but because I'm not inclined to talk about those details here unprompted.
To that end, I will try to be charitable here and suggests that, at least for my vote, these semi-blog posts are getting a little tedious and I don't see how they fit into the friday fun thread or the low stakes sunday thread.
The SSQ I can understand, even if I don't think it's a big deal and wouldn't care if someone else did it. Definitionally, or certainly as a matter of precedent, they belong in the Friday Fun Thread. Most of them are fun, or at least funny, and if I bust out a calendar, some of them probably happened on a Friday.
You are, of course, at liberty to disagree. I do not particularly hold it against you. All I will say is that I disagree and plenty of people say they like my stories. Upvotes do not lie, leaving aside those who have said the same. If the same accusation is leveled at anyone else, my usual stance is to say that there's a button right there that will collapse the thread and save your eyes the bother. It's not a lot of work.
self_made_human
amaratvaṃ prāpnuhi, athavā yatamāno mṛtyum āpnuhi
18d ago
As I said in a reply before I found out he was banned, I do not actually think he was being racist towards me. I was more mildly peeved by the idea that my writing would be clubbed in with silver's. It really was a joke, I have thicker skin than that.
This isn't Urban England! It's Urban Scotland!
When I first set foot in London, several years back, I was distinctly unsettled by the sheer number of security cameras around. In the central parts, there were more of them than the stop signs.
Scotland? Far, far fewer. You can hop into Google Maps like I just did and check out that bit of Dundee, the only cameras I can see are private security cams, and not that many. That is not the same claim as saying that the police don't have footage, they likely do, but even the UK isn't a homogenous surveillance state.
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