Future Archaeology

Programming code is usually written with comments, if it's done in good form. This is possibly where the hashtag was first widely used in digital spaces, as the comments always begin with #. The hashtag is necessary so that the program does not interpret the sentence as code. For example, code might look something like this:

# Search spreadsheet and count tax entries from 2006. Word count function using lines, not great lol...
taxes2006 =(grep "tax*" jerometaxes92_19.csv | grep "2006" | wc -l)
echo "The number tax entries from 2006 is $taxes2006"

I've heard stories from telecom engineers who have to fix weird shit in the backlogs of telus, due to some incompatibility with newer tech, which means they have to go through all this old, unintelligible code. These companies never stopped growing and running their show, so instead of improving on old infrastructure, a lot of the time they just built new stuff on top of it. These engineers are looking through the writings of other engineers from a by-gone era. They have different grammar in their code, different functions available to them, different styles, but most interestingly, probably different comments.

Way in the future we might have computer scientists and historians looking into old code to figure out how things were once done. Or old techniques and algorithms now lost to modern knowledge. A lot of this stuff wouldn't be accessible online right? You'd have to dig up an old hard drive from some dusty server from the basement of a Rogers office. That would be the future archaeologist's work.

Last Impressions (a ramble)

"How old is 15 really?"

I remember when I was 15 I watched Dave Chappelle's show, For What It's Worth, where he asked that, thereby bringing up the double standard in how black youth are more readily judged as adults than their white counterparts.

I still think it's a funny bit but, unsurprisingly, the argument's kind of specious:

• Elizabeth Smart, white, young, and innocent, is kidnapped and left unrestrained by her captors only 8 miles from home and does little to save herself. She's only 15, a child who couldn't know better, and cannot be responsible for not having done more.
• A 15 year old black boy killed his neighbour while play-wrestling and gets tried as an adult, resulting in life in prison.

Now that comparison was also further skewed because it wasn't mentioned that the boy, Lionel Tate, actually killed his 6 year old neighbour via injuries that went far beyond any likely bout of play-wrestling.

The court had the impression that his actions were "not the playful acts of a child". However, he was around 12 when it happened, and was given life in prison nonetheless. 

Another case that comes to mind is Tamir Rice, who was also 12 when he was playing on a playground with his bb gun, and was thought to be an adult man with a real gun. Police arrived on the scene and got the impression he was a threat, about to draw his gun on them, so they killed him first.

Generally, white people, and perhaps other groups complicit with the hegemony, seem to look at young black people, and see them as older than they are. The majority of juvenile offenders in New Jersey who are tried as adults are black, which fits into a the general targeting scheme towards greater incarceration for black Americans overall, but still...

Why do white people see as black youth as adults? 

I think being seen as older means you are seen as less naive, less innocent, more intentional, and more threatening. Seeing somebody as an adult makes an action of harm against them seem less repugnant, and any fear of them seem more reasonable. In this sense, there are two factors which feed into each other: 

1. White people use the perception of adulthood as an excuse or avenue for their fear and violence.
2. White people innately have perception issues when it comes to black people which enables and exacerbates their tendencies towards fear and violence. 

Number 1 is already pretty obvious as to why it would happen, as it bolsters the ever-continuing systematic oppression that has always resulted in an economic advantage for the colonizer-class, via slavery in antiquity, or modern day wage-slavery, and prison-slavery.

Number 2 is something else I want to explore, as it's more bizarre to me. 

One simple, overarching reason for this is just that white people do not have much legitimate interaction with black people at all. Black identities are not relatable to them, stereotypes are pervasive, and negative portrayals in media outweigh any real-life humanizing interactions. 

They don't really know what a young black boy looks like. Or perhaps most bizarre, the point in development for a black boy of age 15 looks like another point on the scale of white growth and development.

This connects to the general idea that all metrics are relative, but a dominant group establishes their own range as the centralized, "real", or "normal" one. Akin to Greenwich mean time, different group's attributes are either more or less than the sanctioned values of white people. Stereotypically, east Asian people supposedly have small noses, or are feminine, or are short - all established as such because the centre of the spectrum is whiteness.

(Generally though, there is perhaps no real way we can judge a normal appearance or age for someone, but our strong ideas that such a scale exists is damaging to our perception, and prompts harmful assumptions.)

And here is where maybe, white people have established a standard of how old somebody looks. Again, stereotypically, east asian people don't age much as they get older. The same is said about black people ("black don't crack"). Why don't we just say, white people age / expire more quickly?  So with East asians supposedly looking young, combined with the perception of black people as looking older, I propose a biological mechanism.

Neoteny is the condition of some animals which retain their juvenile characteristics into adulthood, and adulthood really just means when they can sexually reproduce. The axolotl (below) looks so interesting because it is a neotenic salamander. A lot of salamanders look like that when they are larvae, but then they grow into the forms most people are familiar with (left). 

Humans are considered neotenic as well. We retain the juvenile conditions of having thinner skull bones, smaller teeth, and shorter arms relative to our evolutionary sister groups. Perhaps the natural variation in these neotenic characteristics between ethnic groups is what leads to these perceptions of age. East asian people have shorter limb lengths relative to their torso, compared to european people, and african populations have longer limb lengths. 

Overall what I'm thinking here is that biological factors may form some sort of innate knowledge, which has to be overcome through real life experience. There may be certain vulnerabilities in people's perception, which come from both media and our immediate culture, but also from the way we perceive other bodies relative to our own bodies, and the bodies of our most immediate in-group. 

Firstly, there obviously should be diversity in the bodies that portray different characters in media, and representation of each ethnic group in the various roles that people can have. Following that, I think multi-racial societies could greatly benefit from exposure and physical interaction with other ethnic groups in their early lives. Predominantly interacting with a limited group of similar people can lead to the development of some implicit understanding of "standards",  and in this particular case discussed, that standard is a double standard of where youth ends, and culpability begins. 

Around the Fire; It's a Story from TM87

it's my first post and do I have a treat for you.

Ya boy Swagger found an old draft of a short story he wrote back in 2010 ('11? '12?), in a time where we thought Vine would outlast Facebook and yoga pants were still fashionable. Having only read the first page of seven, I've convinced myself that the rest of this shit is literary gold and, through some coercing, have decided to post it up unfiltered for your authentic critique.

I repeat, I have not read past the first page in over 8 (7? 6?) years. There is no telling where this story goes. This is essentially a read along, word to Drizzy.

All Hallows Eve

With effort, Melanie shut the door on the last trick-or-treater of the night. He had been lucky and scooped up the last bits of chocolate in Melanie’s basin. Tired, but satisfied, she turned the lock on the door, flipped the porch light off, and headed back towards the living room to enjoy the rest of her Halloween night without the interruption of costumed children.

Waiting for Melanie on her couch was her good friend Halle. With her arms crossed and feet propped up on the coffee table, she looked deathly bored. The heavily tinted glasses she was wearing hid her eyes, but her body language was more than telling.

“Is that it, Mel?” Halle asked.

“Yup, that’s it. No more candy, no more kids.”

“Great! Now, let’s get ready for the party!”

As always, there was a Halloween party being held in celebration of the spooky festivities. It was a school affair; everyone who was anyone was expected to be there. Though this included the both of them, Melanie had not been in much of a mood to party as she had a midterm coming up in the next couple of days. And of course would be better off studying. The night was strangely dark and cloudy creating such an eerie mood to the point where Melanie was dead set to not go outside that night. But Halle was adamant about her going to the party and Melanie conceded after much nagging.

“Okay, yea. Follow me upstairs. I need to get ready.”

Quickly, Halle jumped off of the couch towards the main hall. She was climbing up the steps, leaving Melanie by her lonesome as she made her way to the staircase. Melanie was sure to switch off the lights she passed on her way towards the stairway. Her mother was always on her back for keeping unused lights on. It racked up the bills; bills her mother did not want to pay if she did not have to. As she turned off the last set of lights by the stairs, it left the whole floor in a blanket of darkness. It was unsettling. She was not afraid of the dark, but the aura left her rattled. She quickly scampered up the steps to join her friend.

“Do you think I should bother wearing these glasses?”

Halle had taken off the dark shades she had around her eyes and had begun inspecting them.

“I mean, it’s gotten sort of dark since earlier. They look cool, but they’d be useless now.”

“We’re going to a Halloween party,” Melanie responded. “Keep them; they’ll serve as a costume….of sorts.”

Costumes weren’t mandatory for the party. People were welcome to arrive in whatever outfits they could muster, but it was understood that full-fledged costumes were constricting. You were better suited coming in something light, such as a mask, fake devil ears, or even dark sunglasses. Melanie, however, did not want to do anything for that matter. She had not planned on going to the party and subsequently had no form of costume prepared. A regular party-going outfit would have to do.

Halle placed the glasses back on her face. She stood up from the bed and strolled across to the window. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the window pane and gazed outside. It had become almost pitch black outside. Looking upwards Halle could see the only source of light quickly being consumed by the clouds. She twitched, and then directed her gaze over to Melanie and the mirror she was attending to.

“Your make-up is off there…”

In front of the mirror cabinet stood Melanie, fixing her outfit to the best of her ability. She had to look good, even if she didn’t want to go tonight. She evened out her concealer over the area marked by Halle then went to her hair. After some quick thought, however, she decided to leave her hair untidy. The messy look gave it more style. It was fitting. 

THUNK!!

There was a loud impact noise followed by a softer bang. Melanie, startled, looked over to the other side of the room to see Halle sprawled out on the floor. She was a few feet away from the window, holding her wrist, cringing in pain. The dark glasses she had been wearing had found themselves on the floor metres away from Halle. One of the lenses had been knocked out. Where it had landed was a mystery. Confused, Melanie ran towards her friend and knelt beside her.

“What happened?!” She asked, “What was that noise?”

“Something flew into the window!”

“What flew into the window?” Melanie directed her gaze towards the glass. There was a miniscule chip dead center. A few cracks had extended from the dent, lengthening the impression.

“I don’t know, but it…it sent me flying back and—“

She cried out in pain. She held her wrist with her good hand and reeled in agony. Melanie could already see that her limb was swelling; she watched it begin to turn red as her pulse became visible from the throbbing of her hand. It might have even been broken. Melanie grimaced for the both of them. She stood up and offered her hand to Halle. Slowly, she grabbed onto Mel. They worked together to get Halle onto Melanie’s bed, where again she cried out. Melanie did not like this at all.

“I think your wrist is broken.”

More screams.

“Calm down. It’s okay.”

She was writhing.

“…Oh my God.”

Melanie got off the bed, pacing back and forth across the room. What a way to start the night; a night she did not want any involvement in. The handing out of candy was only put upon her from her mother before she left. She loved the Halloween customs, but had thrown it upon Melanie to complete this year. She seemingly had other obligations. Not to mention the night was horrid. Very early on the sky was giving away to darkness. Melanie had thought it would end up raining, with a chance of thunder and lightning. It would have fit the Halloween archetype perfectly. But bad weather was not in the forecast. The night was just strangely gloomy. In fact, Melanie could barely see anything outside by merely gazing at her window. She strolled towards it.

The damage on the window was subtle, but substantial. From the inside of the window Melanie could see that the outside had been chipped off. The cracks streaming from the impact site were long and jagged, forming a pseudo-spider web form against the dark backdrop of the night. 

She looked past it onto the world outside. Empty. There was no hint of a soul outside. No cars on the roads. No trick-or-treaters knocking on doors. Nothingness. Her focus went back to the blemish on the window. She pondered to herself.

What could have hit the window at such a high speed to cause the crack?

Moans trailed from the bed. Melanie collected herself, forgetting about her friend in need. She went back to her side. She was going to have to call someone. Halle was clearly in a significant amount of pain. If her arm was broken, it would need medical attention immediately. But she did not want to risk calling an ambulance for something that could be a mere sprain. They certainly were not going to the party tonight. Melanie wasn’t too sure whether to be joyous or not.

“Let me call my mother,” Halle coughed out. She was strong; she did not cry even though the throbbing in her hand was unbearable. “Then I can decide the next step.”

“Where is your phone?”

“I think I left it downstairs, on the coffee table.”

Thunk. Thunk Th-thunk!

In quick succession there came the sound of four concussive hits from downstairs, followed by a deafening silence. The girls looked at one another. They were shaken.

The girls sat atop the bed, closely together. They faced the door standing ajar showing the lightless hallway. They could not recall whether the door had been open before the onslaught of noises downstairs. Whatever had just happened, it had set the girls’ minds afar. Halle looked over at Melanie.

“You need to get my phone, Mel.”

“…Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Why not use mine?”

“You don’t have my mom’s number, and I don’t know it by heart…”

Halle had Melanie by the neck.

“We’ll call someone else.”

“Sure. An ambulance.”

Melanie peered into Halle’s eyes; she seemed to know that calling 911 was not at the top of her priorities. And as much as Melanie wanted to suggest to Halle that she was still fully capable of retrieving the phone, it would not be in good taste. She got off the bed. Briskly, she walked towards the door, opened it wider and stepped into the hall. The light from her bedroom provided a small dose of illumination.

“Be quick.” Halle called to her. 

She replied with a finger to her lips, signaling her to be quiet. They were still not positive of what had made those sounds. Whether something had fallen and caused a domino effect or whether someone, or something, had found its way inside the house. They had counted four or five noises. Whatever it was, Melanie would be the one to find out. She walked slowly towards the stairwell, out of view from Halle. As she arrived at the landing, she peered over the rail to the first floor.

Darkness.

Backing up, she headed towards the first step and flipped the light switch on the wall. It shed light on her immediate area, as well as the foot of the stairwell. She quickly trotted down the steps, taking care to not make any bold noises. She softly put her last foot to the bottom landing. Peering across the main hall into the living room, she could see the faint outline of the coffee table and what she thought was Halle’s cellular. She sprinted into the space, her eyes adjusting to the dull light in the room and confirming her thoughts. She bent down and picked up the phone. Then, inexplicably, her sights were directed to her left, towards the large window on the front of the house. Near the center were two identical, albeit larger, dents to the one found on her window upstairs.

She fumbled with the phone as she recoiled in shock. Melanie’s heartbeat was speeding up. She could feel it. The vivid image of Halle’s hand was in her mind, but she pictured that in her chest. The markings on the glass in front of her were throwing her for a loop.

She struggled to stand up. From where she stood, the dents were reminiscent of the spider web shape to the one upstairs. They, too, stood out against the black backdrop. The difference in size was the only thing that was off; these were significantly larger than the one found upstairs. It was nerve-wracking. Melanie then had a thought: there were two cracks here….

There were two or three more somewhere else.

She quickly turned around and made haste towards the kitchen. The whole bottom floor was dark, except for the stairway light. It provided dim lighting to the adjacent rooms but was no help in the further regions.

As she entered the kitchen, she directed her gaze immediately to the window above the kitchen sink. With no light, artificial or natural, it was hard to see anything at all. But, dead center on the glass, a faint spider web outline could be seen. Melanie gave a shrill shriek. Her breathing increased. Her pace quickened. She walked out of the kitchen backwards, but tripped and fell as she bumped into the frame of the entrance. The phone escaped her grasp and slid away into perpetual darkness. She patted her surroundings, hoping to find it, but had no such luck. She stood up and tried to find the light switch, but for some reason could not pinpoint it. She was shaken; there were one or two other cracked windows in her house, but she had no intention of finding them. She was going to head back upstairs to Halle. Then call someone to come to the house. But she needed to find the phone. And fast. She began to panic.

A loud, deafening scream came from the top floor. Halle was screaming out Melanie’s name.

In shock, she gave up the search for the phone and maneuvered her way back towards the main hall. There she quickly ran up the flight of stairs, heart pounding, down the top landing, and into her room. There, on her bed, frozen in fear, was Halle. Her body was directed towards the window, her expression one of absolute horror. Her hand was visibly throbbing beyond reasonable measures now.

Slowly, Melanie directed her own gaze towards the window. There, hovering in the darkness was the smiling face of a Halloween mask. The cloaked figure that it belonged to – unidentified…

Who convinced me back then that I was slick with that ending?  smh, why this so wordy? Why didn't I use Mel instead of Melanie countless times?  If I ever hear or see a Melanie in real life, they getting a swift chop to the throat. Damn. 

That said, if EL James can make billys off of some Twilight fan fiction, I clearly got the next best thing. Get Penguin House on the phone.

Keeping it Real on Fake News

December 20XX.

Say word.

It was not long after the start of Trump's second term when Project VoCo was leaked, and then shit really went down.

The software, made by Adobe, was around since the time Trump first took office. It was said to only be in development at that time, but we have our doubts. You could say the software is like photoshop, but for voice clips. VoCo allowed users to masterfully edit recorded speech without a trace of tampering; now people could be seamlessly censored, or made to say whatever somebody else wanted.

Back in 2017 when everybody thought we were headed for impeachment, a sudden supply of leaks came out. People who had only been targeted in tweets before were getting called out on cable news. Journalists, past presidents, contenders for the presidency, had all seemingly been caught on hot mics conspiring to do some crazy shit.

The public had been mostly won over. Yeah he's not the best, but he's not the worst either, they thought. Not long after the presidency was stabilized Project VoCo was released, but only for use under specialized industry licences. The FCC made that happen, no mention that it was restricted because it could be misused though, only that it had very narrow applications. Project VoCo was officially for the film and music industries, so that singing and dialogue could be fixed up more easily, no longer requiring re-recording sessions.

After that, any time Trump got into some trouble it was blamed on VoCo. An enemy of the state stole VoCo to make that, it was all fake news. The infamous pussy grabbing recording was accused as a VoCo fabrication as well. The "original" recording was released by the POTUS handle on twitter, somehow it went "grab them by the hand".

Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.

Finally somebody leaked VoCo to the public, like a modern day Snowden, and suddenly everyone was on even ground. There were leaks everywhere, supposed interviews, and speeches recorded. Conservative extremists would release audio of a liberal leader saying something they expected, but would never actually hear. Unwitting conservative followers rejoiced in their validation; "aborted babies are actually born and then thrown in the garbage, I knew it!!" Liberal extremists would create audio of conservative leaders saying surprisingly drastic things, to try and incite revolt from their own inactive peers. Both sides created messages that they wished their own leaders would say, but were too diplomatic to do so in reality. Both sides created provokingly offensive media of their own leaders to try and bait the other side into violence.

Now tell me, how can real eyes realize real lies?

How can real recognize real?

Many revolutionary groups rose to action in this time period, the most notable being BLM. Relatively immune to the information manipulation system, they were able to maintain authenticity and relay information to their supporters.

People today sometimes ask how they were able to encrypt their information. It wasn't that. It was more that they knew how to spot forgeries. White people trying to fabricate messages from BLM leaders would get the sound all wrong. They would use slang incorrectly, not reference the new memes, or would overcompensate with some lame ass slang used too frequently.

Eventually this defence was also overcome. Machine learning algorithms and chatbots frequenting hip hop forums like kanyetothe were able to build up a decently convincing repertoire. Further, vulnerable POC were being blackmailed, or bribed to cooperate with the government.

A new method was needed to keep it real, to ensure that leaders of the resistance factions could be distinguished from the fakes. Slang, grammar, diction could all be copied now. The content of the message was no longer authenticating, so resistance leaders added rhythm, rhyming, and ad libs. These were impossible for white people to copy effectively, and rapping became the main tool for revolutionaries. VoCo was simply ineffective when used alone; the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.

It was said that the great leader and martyr Kendrick Lamar was originally the one to spread this idea:

"You vandalize my perception but can't take style from me"

In the current time, nobody knows this to be true for sure though. People don't believe that the currently available tracks have the same bars on them as they originally did. That would imply that even rapping has been successfully faked with VoCo however, and there is a growing group of people that truly believe this. Some of us even believe that this VoCo software has been used to fake rapping from time ago... how else did they get those posthumously released Tupac tracks?

late night - europe: a GIF review

once every four years, adlib comes thru and blesses your rss feeds with a gif review. here it is. like the olympics and presidential elections, only truly momentous occasions happen every four years. see y'all in 2020.

after waiting years of new jeremih content, the man behind late nights decided to bless us with a late nights expansion pack. also noteworthy is that by adding "dubai" and "lebanon" to his love letter to europe, he comes out as a loud proponent of the idea that borders are a social construct; a construct that has no place in a world where people are looking for a safe place to make love to "paradise". much like late nights, he ends up in the place where he wants to be the most - at home with a couple buddies presumably catching an obscene amount of zubats. let's go.

1. dubai (ft. k camp and wiz khalifa)

2. belgium (get down)

3. berlin (she wit it)

4. lebanon

5. paris (who taught you) (ft. ty dolla $ign)

5b. ty dolla $ign's feature

6. czech republic

7. london (ft. stefflon don and krept & konan)

8. amsterdam

9. stockholm

10. oslo, norway (ft. the game)

10d. the game's verse

11. british headboards

12. hamburg (ft. smif-n-wesson)

13. copehagen (ft. sonyae)

14. the crib (ft. g-herb and chi hoover)

final thoughts: solid jeremih project, will hold us until "later that night". "lebanon" is a early favourite. "oslo, norway" is the best makonnen song he never made. may jeremih never go to sleep before midnight. late nights - asia confirmed for late 2018. find yourself a squad crew and dance the late nights away.

IS RIHANNA'S NEW VIDEO A SPIRITUAL CONTINUATION OF DRAKE'S HOTLINE BLING VIDEO?

At approximately noon yesterday Rihanna released to the world a 7 minute short film exploring her Caribbean roots.

At first glance it is an ordinary music video. There is dancing, revelry, and indulgence.

But just below the inebriating surface....there is a tale of heartbreak and madness.

rap game antonio cromartie

story time.

it was a warm, kinda humid day in our great city. i'm at my place of employment, selling an assortment of sporting goods ranging from the standard to the ridiculous (feel free to replace the word "ridiculous" with any of the following: expensive, bougie, non-functioning, awesome, best underwear ever). there's not a whole lot of traffic in our little store that could. that's a problem. i'm trying to hit my sales target before the end of the fiscal year. that bonus money is public transit money. it's that new phone money. it's that pay-some-bills-around-the-house money. in order to get that gwop (not to be confused with guwop), I would have to put on my Lux cape and put in work.

in case there was any doubt, I was putting in said work.