I was leaving home and I saw Kamwa ’s toy ball the pet shop had gifted him… I wished I could remain home and cry the whole day today…
How others manage life? It is so impossible. I really can’t take it anymore.
Yesterday, Zea woke me up in the middle of the night and told me there was an earthquake of magnitude 4.5. She said the whole earth was shaken underneath her feet and the doors opened. I was already unable to handle the passing of my angel Kamwa and now there this was. I felt my circuitry exploding of overflow for a north of five minutes and then I passed away to sleep. What could I do?
I will never wake up, make Nespresso and look through the kitchen window to see Kamwa sleeping on top of the embassy walls on the side of the street again. I’m crying
You may think what a horrible person I am, having lost Kamwa . I’m writing these as a performative profilicity act, but it’s my desperate move to keep his memories for others. He deserves to be remembered.
I was thinking about this rap being played in the car, singer is mocking a city for its race
And like other all bad days, it looks stunning outside…
Grief is the price we pay for love…
There was a scene in Person of Interest, that would say we all die alone, and Kamwa was that alone.
Tragedy is not that great work rarely exists, but it is that it requires people with enough nodes and tools in their facilities to understand it.
I like my new bag because it feels like a safe home you can move with you. My things are safe in it. What I couldn’t provide for Kamwa .
Anything in tho world is possible after all catastrophes. You can build cities after bombs, you can restore lost friendships, you can get hired back again, you can still buy that thing, but when you reach death, it is where you have nothing. No matter how hard you try, there no longer is any front to fight…
My mind is like one of these game characters that is trying to walk past the wall, but is blocked. I try to keep convincing myself there is a Kamwa to go back to and he isn’t there. I have to confront his absence and I have no idea how.
All the cats that I lost, I had a minimum of distance. Kamwa was my son, and I lost him…
When I was very young, four or five or so, I used to sit and look at things, and my mind would have visualized a fix or improvement and more and more, I would end with a whole different thing.
I could always have fixed everything, except for death.
Kamwa ’s death has given me so may ideas, my mind is fighting so hard not to think about it by producing breakthroughs. And I keep watching his videos as a way to say to myself no.
One of the things that came to me was LLMs saying I don’t reduce the world to symbols of Stephen Wolfram but I share his element thinking.
And I was thinking; how do you make a function universal? You put as much parameters as possible. But what if there is no parameter and you still can’t change anything? So i thought of something better…
Imagine your function had no parameters, it only had hardcoded data. If you wanted to change the data, you would have written a code to query that hard coded thing and change the tree reorientation of the function.
This may look stupid, but what if you could change all parameters of a function, but not the for loop? You wanted to add a nested one inside? In this system you could customize “anything”.
And so function calling would have become query its AST, and apply modifications… what a different world it could be…
Yesterday someone asked me how much I work? I told them I would work 7:30AM to 4:00PM as mandated and then go home and work till maybe 10, they asked why? I replied that I think this work is too much and that I have to do it. I still do. The loss of Kamwa is so heavy on me right now, but then I also have to move things forward. My body hurts and I must keep pushing.
I was commuting to work today, and he was listening to this song that was mocking people of a particular place in our country. There is still this belief that people on the city are in ways more cultured than those in town and villages here in Iran, and people very easily mock others because of that. It hurts right? it is being racist, and I was thinking that these things are fixed once you have more infrastructure.
Then I thought about computing, think about modern languages vs older languages vs assembly. Think about Rust vs C++ vs Assembly. In rust memory is safe and it is the most advanced, in c++ other things are safe, the memory is not, and in assembly no single thing is safe. But then on each level you have more freedom. What you can do in assembly in terms of freedom vs rust is just quite different. So what should you do? I somewhat feel that the safety and the way a programmer feels when they author a Dart or JavaScript code is amazing. More infrastructure underneath has made them loose some freedom but work much better. And it is less barbaric.
So what should 1285 be? I know that I’m deliberately destroying the ecosystem previously built, and I want to build a new one. (the classical music metaphor), but then am I making progress or going back to barbarism? I’m a bit afraid here.
Tayebe had asked yesterday to describe how the summer program’s space must be. This document is an attempt to deliver this to her.
The Plan
There are two forms of spaces: Locally-focus imposing spaces, and shared messy spaces. For the focus imposing we have tables for different activities: a computing desk, a stationary and paper craft space. These are bound to projects but to activity, and therefore they both impose focus and have people meet from different project and talk to each other.
There are spaces for projects where there is absolutely no focus imposed on them, they organize the space as they wish.
And then there is a space for absolute chaos: the food table, they can do whatever there.
Atmosphere
The atmosphere of Dynamicland, with all of its colors, wood, and fancy things. All with papers, crayons, drawings, and paper craft all over the place.
Kids require low medium light (as I love them.), plants, colors, cushions.
Storage
In between the spaces, well have shelves we fill with books and storage units. Storage units are really important. An LLM was kind enough to explain this:
Storage is Continuity -> Continiuty Creates Attachment -> Attachment Creates Seriousness
Yesterday; I went to feed Kamwa and his yet to be named brother. I fed the brother and he did a funny thing with the food; then got angry of the food and ran away. I thought that is maybe the neighbors day having eaten from the bowl and it smells like him, so I went to the street and tried to feed him; he was stressed clearly and I couldn’t read his actions.
I looked at the street for a second and found Kamwa … He was not moving; on the side of the street… I was shocked but not shocked. I crossed the street and saw him fully; his eyes were open; he had things came out of his mouth; and I had lost him fully. My son; my love; my absolute little angel.
I always knew this would happen. How could it not? he was on the street; he had no protection from humanity. Every time I came back home, in my head I had this killing fear of finding him hit by a car. Each time he disappeared I would cry for hours, thinking of all the very horrific things that could have happened to him, and this time it had actually happened.
I still haven’t cried…
I came back home and tried to eat dinner and watch the movie Zea was watching, and the thought of what I had just seen was killing me… Zea had thought I am angry at her; it was better for her to think like that instead of knowing everything that had happened. But then, I was angry at her, for not letting me adopt him; for not comforting me with her fears… It was so angry of her… and everyone else…
I miss Kamwa ; he was in many ways the cutest and the “childest” cat I knew. his tiny little world was so beautiful… I would come home and say “ Kamwa ; pretty kitten”, and he would rush to me; jump to my embrace; and I would hold him in my arms and we would sit for hours; with me gently touching him; holding him; we would walk to his bowl and I would have waited for him to finish his food;
He would always come back and we would go home; I would hold him in my arms and bring him inside; we would sit in a chair and he would go to sleep on my belly. Zea would sit on another coach and watch TV. once he would wake; we would go back to the parking; and I would have played with him for sometimes hours before he would go to sleep, or his mother Patoo would come and I would let him be there with her. That was the best I could do when no one wanted to adopt him and no one gone me the permission to adopt him. I loved Kamwa so much.
I had a long commute to work; now lets write the rest of it…
It was a horrible day yesterday. I only cried after the above fermata; before that I was still shocked. I really really don’t know what I should do without Kamwa ; he was my son. Mine. I remember how he came to me the first time I saw him in the street without her mom. ( Patoo ). I used to feed him as soon as he was two and a half months old. he was different from his siblings, he looked like Patoo — to an extent that no one other than me could differentiate between them.
Kamwa used to eat alone; he would also escape from a hole in the wall. He was special from the start. And so when I found him alone; he knew me. He knew me so much that he came and sat in my arms for hours. I was shocked. Before that moment I had never lovingly had touched Patoo . It was only to bring her to ret and give her medicine when she was too young and so after a while she stopped letting me; and then even to this day it has become impossible to hold her.
And so my assumption, when it came to Kamwa was he is going to be a rejecting cool kid like her mother; but then she gave me the permission and not only that; but I had become his best friend. When her sister died I was there and I would have held him and made him company so that he wasn’t alone; and he loved me.
Kamwa used to go to the Parking; open the door; move up the stairs; and meow behind our door; and I would go and play with him. It wasn’t about food. he wouldn’t eat if I had not held him and he would have risked other cats eating his food; just to be with me. When I held him; he used to circle his cute tiny hands around my hand and keep them with force, so that I couldn’t leave him and he would run and stop right in front of me to stop me from going back home.
Every day when I had to move somewhere, he would do this till I had reached the door of the car; and he would watch me with a sad; disappointed face. And I would die a thousand times each time I had left him…
Cats hate it when you touch their bellies. Kamwa would not have slept if my hand wasn’t placed wide open as a blanket on his belly.
These are things no one could understand. Once Mohammad —who I have no idea how to tell the news—wanted to adopt Kamwa (how much I needed it to happen). and he had come to visit us. When he came I said: “ Kamwa ; Pishi Khoshgele” ( Kamwa ; pretty kitten) and he rushed from under the Parking door and jumped to my hands, he couldn’t believe it. Then I went to talk to Mr. Sharif (the building next to ours), it was a construction site and so I said to Kamwa : “Don’t come here; it is dangerous”; Kamwa looked at me with a sad face and went back to Mohammad .
He couldn’t believe what had just happened, and was really puzzled. he said to his wife, and our good friend, Arefe: “he really understands Pouya; I can’t believe this!” but a few times more; he had easily accepted the bond.
I will cherish the gift my little boy had given me to the last moment of my life. He was the sweetest, kindest being in the world; and I miss him. I can’t believe he is gone and I have to say goodbye. What we had was so real and beautiful that it shocked everyone; and I really hope he had felt a little loved. I feel so guilty that I couldn’t save him and give him a safe life.
Fuck me.
I had some of the best moments of my life with a son I never let sleep on a beautiful home; but to wander lonely on the streets. I hate myself. I hate myself so much.