IT 12.04 Launch!

It’s finally happened folks, after 21 years of programming, design and numerous field trials, IT 12.04 is a go. Fully autonomous, mostly self-aware, MGTJ91 is ready for public display. Further blog postings will contain detailed first-hand experiences in human interactions. A few bugs are still present in this release, but will be addressed with subsequent hotfixes.

I would like to thank those whose input and guidance have helped bring this project to fruition. If we’ve ever met, then you have played some small part and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Even if you’re an asshat-wearing, narcissistic cannibalistic socialite with bipolar tendencies who condemns all men to corporate hell in either a short bus or via an unlikely natural disaster, your input is highly valued, and your contributions will be remembered, though your names will be forgotten for Anonimity’s sake.

And to those who always cared from the start, and never truly desired to see failures arise,
I love you.

Without your insane devotion towards the success of this project, it would have come to a grinding halt a long time ago. The lessons that you taught me may not have been fully accurate or even true, but from a beginner’s standpoint, they were more useful than one could ever dream of.

In retrospect, this has been an incredible journey, with enough stories to fill the minds of younger generations with hope and amusement. Looking into the future however, I see that younger generation laughing. Whether it’s at us, or with us is yet to be decided. Only when we as humans can put the legacies of our past behind us, can we fully embrace our future.

Goodnight Earth.

Dreaming Lucidly

As a young boy, I used to have terrible dreams. I would dream about the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz chasing after me. I had a dream of getting caught in some type of tractor beam in the kitchen. Some dreams would start out happy. I would dream of playing in the yard, when suddenly the sky would turn black, and a tornado would throw me into the air. I’ve died in many of my dreams. I’ve run away in even more of them. I’ve been attacked, by strangers, other kids, doctors, teachers and principals. But I could never fight back. Punches were ineffective, guns were made of rubber, and melee weapons were uneasy. Bees would often sting me in many of these violent dreams. There was never anyone in my dreams to protect or defend me. I had to be the hero of my own salvation, or die.

I used to dream of being famous as a young teenager. I would dream of being someone popular, with plenty of friends, someone who women would lust over. Someone who could do anything he wanted to because the money never stopped coming to him. Someone who could sing. Someone who could invent. Someone who discovered something that would forever change the course of human history for the better.

These days, I rarely remember my dreams. But I am known to sleeptalk, or say weird things while drifting into sleep, like hearing gunshots or claiming someone’s after me. I wake up in cold sweats on some nights, dazed and confused as to my current surroundings or how I came to be there. My most recent dream was a lucid dream, that of a scene from Star Wars Episode VI, the part where Luke Skywalker discovers Darth Vader’s true identity, then falls to his death, crushed by the sheer horror of the truth that the alleged murderer of his father, was in fact his father. I wrote about the following part of that dream in my notebook, which was more than likely examined without my permission. In the following part of that dream, I played Inception with myself, in that I planted an idea within the deepest part of my subconcious. I said, “Let’s pretend god is real, and now let’s pray… ‘our father who art in heaven, blah blah blah, I’ve been, fuck it, you know how I’ve been, what do I need to do to get out of this shithole?'” The reply was muffled, but was something along the lines of “You know what to do. Go forth and get better, my son.” Then I woke up.

I’m glad I can’t remember bad dreams now. I just wish I wasn’t missing out on the good ones. And I would be tickled pink if I went to sleep tonight, woke up, and it was 1991 all over again.

Depression’s a bitch if Karma is your mother.

-MGTJ91.

Week five.

So nice this morning. Gonna get worse later today. Hope I can get away with a real smoke later. No music is on my mind, I’ve been distracted since I woke up at six.

Monday’s at Clayton’s. They’re nickin’ good!

It’s hump day now. I went to bed last night extremely pissed. Was running a virus scan on all my hard drives, and the timestamp of a concert video had been altered. The video was taken in July, 2008, but the timestamp was changed to 12/12/2035. I could hear voices overlaid into the audio, none were distinct but the words were clear.

“He isn’t coming down the stairs because he thinks nobody cares.”

Time to go clock in, cause now I’ve got no past to claim when the voices in a video dance around mine.

This is a title too.

I can’t sleep. Theoretically, if I were to cease moving, thinking and wanting to be awake, I could sleep, but I can’t control most of my body. Although as an intelligent being, one could say I am my brain, kept alive only by my body. But that’s like saying a car is a car only because it has an engine. Take the engine out of the car, the car ceases to move, the engine can’t function. You could run fuel and electricity to the engine in various non-car ways, but then you just have a hunk of metal hanging from chains making noise, smoke and more noise.

Hook up the air intake to a hose, and you create a vacuum on the other end. Apply filtration, and you have a 4/6/8 cylinder internal combustion-powered vacuum cleaner.

Why the fuck would you put time and effort into that?

Cause it’s cool, when you have the time and the means.

It’s time to sleep. Goodnight readers.

Optional title here.

Sundays. A day of rest, also known as the Sabbath. From Wikipedia:

[...Sabbatical or a sabbatical (from Latin sabbaticus, from Greek sabbatikos, from Hebrew shabbat, i.e., Sabbath, literally a "ceasing") is a rest from work, or a hiatus, often lasting from two months to a year.]

Weekends. Metaphorically speaking, I love the shit out of them. From Monday to Friday, I spend 8 hours a day in a trailer factory, installing bathtubs, showers and vanities. I come home every day, looking like I’ve been thrown down stairs, ran a marathon, stuck my hands in a vat of pvc glue, and got confetti’d in sawdust, pipe dust, and god-knows what dust. I shower, change clothes, eat, and spend the remainder of my nights online.

Friday. It starts out just the same as any other day. I come home just as dirty as any other day of the week, only something is off about me: I’m smiling, energetic, and rushing to go somewhere. Maybe I’ll shower, I might change clothes, but I always drench myself with Old Spice and throw on my favorite hat. You may be wondering what could possibly be so important, that I could forgo my usual homecoming rituals, that I must immediately leave upon arrival?

The Weekend! Mine starts between the hours of 2 and 4 PM on most Fridays. Once it begins, I attain a third “personality”. If any bills are to be paid, I pay them. If I or my companions are in dire need of sustenance, I get it. If there’s any major events going on in Knoxville, we fuckin’ go there and throw down. If I haven’t Allocated time for my girlfriend during the week, I make up for it in my own way.

Saturdays. Often, Friday and Saturday merge into a consecutive 36-48 hour-long time period, the latter half of which I refer to (often in error) as Friday. I usually continue the same mode of conduct from Friday for the duration of Saturday, going places, meeting people and conversing (albeit erratically). I like to take in the sights, sounds, smells and feel of the world around me. On occasion, I document these sights with the relatively inferior internal camera of my phone, and even more rarely, upload them to a social network. However, I usually make mentions of my “erratic” behaviors to those who weren’t present to witness them. Eventually, sleep comes to me as an old friend, ready to bring me into the realm where my dreams can substitute reality.

Sundays. I’m an insomniac. I sleep anywhere from 4 to 6 hours most nights, and usually make up for it Saturday night/early Sunday morning with a hefty 10 to 12 hours of sleep. I take longer than normal to awaken fully from this hypersleep, and I often don’t get dressed or shower until late in the day. On this particular Sunday, in which I am writing this informative essay, I am sitting at my desk, still wearing the clothing I fell asleep in, smelling of my own sweat. Why haven’t I showered? Did I eat? Where will I be going, later in this day?

It’s Sunday. I’m not going anywhere. You could say I’m abiding by Old Testament rule for not wanting to get off my ass and do something with my life, and I would have to agree with you. However, I am known to go out on the Lord’s day. To church? Sure, I used to go nearly every Sunday as a younger man, though in the later years it was merely for my mother’s benefit, and towards the end, for the benefit of losing my v-card. Catholic girls don’t kiss and tell. It’s a sacrilege thing.

How could one claim to observe the Sabbath when he or she never follows it to the letter? Simple enough, play the Athiest/Agnostic card. Imagine, if you will, a magical card, that when used in the game of life, conveys the player doesn’t give two shits about religious doctrine to an unknown extent. Similar to the Joker card in standard card games, this card can pretty much be used in any given situation for no valid reason.

I’m an Athiest because I do not believe in deities. I’m Agnostic because I believe there’s a reason we came into existence. And I’m Afraid, to find out I’m right. If God exists, then according to the book of His word, I have plenty of time to make up for my sins. If I die before I awaken sin-free, then I will burn in the fires of Hell, content in knowing I died for my past transgressions. If there is some unknown “force” that governs everything we know to be in the universe, I hope it cannot be tampered with in evil ways.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this post. I sense a shower, food and clean clothes within the future I provide unto myself.

-Jake.

Hello world! IT 12.04 r7649

IT can run doom, quake, and Crysis. IT can walk 8 miles in two hours or run 15mph for .25 miles. IT can run for extended hours of operation with little down time. IT comprehends more languages than IT is programmed to speak. IT requires standard grocery market food and tap water for basic energy.

What is IT?

Jake Turner, internal name: MGTJ91

Pleased to make your aquaintance. :)