Solve for X

Trelawny sat at the small kitchen table. He took out a small pack of Lucky Strikes and lit one up, exhaling smoke that wreathed the bare 20 watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. He looked at the detective sitting across the table from him.

'When did I first notice something was wrong? Is that even the right question? There was always something off kilter about him, the flywheels of his mind always spun a little faster than most. You got the feeling that he angled away from reality in a direction you couldn't quite follow.' Trelawny took another draw from his Lucky Strike. 'Of course there were rumours of what he got up to even back then, although nothing was ever concrete. But if there was one moment when I noticed that his direction to the rest of us had changed, it would have been the game of chess we had in his lecture hall before the war.

We had played fairly regularly together as undergrads at Kings, but it was never anything too serious. On my part at least. He was mad about Capablanca and would play though his games constantly, especially after new games would come in after a tournament. It was the math of course, that was driving him. Quite before anything Turing was doing with it, he felt every game was a puzzle to be unlocked. That there was one true game of chess locked away inside the pieces. Fiendishly difficult yet devatatingly simple. He won our games more often than not, but after I went to the States to teach we fell out of touch and hadn't played each other in years until I came back home for a short visit. I recieved a telegram from him, quite short, abrupt really, in his usual style, simply asking me to come around to his school for a game that Saturday.

Well of course I went, but as soon as I arrived he ushered me from his office to an empty classroom. The whole place was deserted being the weekend and all, but he closed and locked the door behind us. Said something about not wanting to be disturbed. On the student desk on the front row a chess board had already been set up. As we sat down he told me that he would not be playing me, but that he had worked out a formula that would be playing me instead. I asked what he meant and he just smiled and moved his first piece out. Pawn to king four I think it was. I moved out my piece and then he did something quite peculiar. He dragged up a second desk with some papers on it and began writing on them. As he worked he explained he had created an algorithm that would assess the value of each piece, it's position, and give him an answer on the next move.

So we sat there, heads bent over the desk towards each other like two young students gossiping in the front of study hall. With him just working away furiously at his calculations. Each move took around half and hour for him to compute. I asked him if it would not just be easier for him to make the move, but he shook his head. 'No' he said. 'Only math can find the true move to make.' That phrase has always stuck in my head ever since. 'Only math can find the true move.'

Well we continued on for most of the afternoon until he made a horrible blunder, left a rook en prise I think it was. He looked quite shaken when he made the move, he knew it would lose him the game, but the math had told him what to do so he did it anyway. He looked back over his notes and shook his head. Got up quickly smiling, shook my hand, said he hoped I had a good trip, and then walked out of the theatre. I didn't see him again for five years.'

Trelawny butted out another cigaratte and stood up. He walked to the small window that looked out into the snow. A train whistle sounded in the distance.

'The next time I heard from him was by telegram. Again, it was simply a short message. 'Have completed the machine stop come at once stop'. Well, I didn't have the foggiest what he meant, but I was heading home anyway and it was a simple enough thing to drop by. But when I got to the school I was told he had been fired twelve months earlier. What for they would not tell me, but I had never heard of it so it must have been scandalous for them to hush it up. I feared some of the old rumours might have been true so I rushed over here.

Gods, he looked like he had aged twenty years in the time I had seen him. Well, you know what he looks like I guess don't you? Just horrible. I had come in and barely removed my coat when he started without any preamble into a long rambling monologue about algorithms and this abstract pure mathematical argument. Never my strong suit you know, application of math was always my field. But from what I could follow it seemed quite advanced from what is being bandied about in the literature. Suddenly he stopped and simply said 'I built it.'

'Built what?' I said.

'A Turing machine.' he replied.

Well, I can tell you I didn't know what to say. You may not know this detective, but a Turing machine is not something you build, it is an intellectual exercise, like Schrodinger's Cat. No one ever put a cat in a box with some decaying radioactive material. Just as no one has 'built' a Turing machine. It is merely a way to think of a procedure of ascertaining the truth or falsity of an assertion in a finite number of steps. For heaven's sake, one of the core components it needs is an infinite amount of tape to run through it. You could never 'build' one.

I told him that and all he said was 'you don't need an infinite tape if the correct algorithm is given at the start. The right algorithm will tell you the truth of any question.'

'You mean any mathematical question' I asked.

He looked away and asked me to come by again tomorrow. He would have it ready to demonstrate to me then.


When I came back, I found the place as you see it now. It is like it was last night, except for his body on the couch with the back of his head blown out and the smashed pile of gears, rotors and tapes lying on the table.

Trelawney tapped the last cigarette out of its packet. He crumpled the pack in his hand, dropping it onto the table.

'I can see him now, detective, entering into that infernal machine the one question he needed so desperately to know the answer to. Then, with the cold implacable logic of the universe, the machine spitting back out the one, ultimate answer. Math showed him the only true move he could make.'

Kodiak Island Air Station

Big Day Out: Band of the Day

The Last Days of Old Kashgar

Some great photos from Ogle Earth

Just finished... From the Ruins of Empire

First draft

The cement floor that lead down past the cells glistened under the fluorescent lights.

‘Mopping the floors at 3am Riley?’ Carter asked. ‘I’ll have to tell Anne you do more housework here than at home.’

Riley paused filling out the attendance book and grimaced. ‘I’ll get you a chair so you can sit outside the cell.’

‘I usually sit inside.’ Carter said.

‘You’ll not want to sit in there and I’m not opening that door. You can talk through the slot.’

‘If I have to, do you have the facts sheet?’

‘The Sarge will be coming in with it soon. We want to take a DNA sample tonight. It can either be with his informed consent’ he snorted. ‘Or not. We have reasonable cause under section 46 if we want to take it anyway. But he’s asked for you.’

‘Well I’m going to need the facts sheet before I can advise my client if you have reasonable cause or not.’

‘He’ll be here in a minute’ said Riley, and went back to filling out the paperwork.

The door to the rest of the station opened and the Sergeant walked in. Still dressed in his civvies with a faint stench of cigarettes and bourbon hanging around his enormous frame. Every cop had been called in tonight, on duty or off. Both of them.

‘Sergeant.’

‘Carter.’

‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on here? All I get is a call saying get down here, Jack’s been arrested. What’s he done, gotten ratshit drunk and beaten up his old lady again?’

The Sergeant looked down the corridor. ‘He cut her head off. Here’s the facts sheet’ he said, handing Carter a sheaf of paper.

‘What?’

‘It’s all in there. You’ve got fifteen minutes until we’ve finished the paperwork for the sample, then we’ll take it.’

‘I’m going to need…’ Carter started.

‘Fifteen minutes’ said the Sergeant. His eyes stared back down the corridor as he swayed slightly, unfocused. He wasn’t drunk. Hell, Carter had seen him finish an entire bottle of scotch at a sitting that barely affected him, but he wasn’t steady either.

‘Alright, fifteen minutes. Riley give me that chair I’ll go talk to him.’

Riley passed me the plastic chair and Carter started carrying it down the hall. There were only four cells in the station, lined up in a row on the right hand side of the hall. Each one sealed up by inch thick plexi-glass that had replaced the steel bars years ago. The first three were dark and empty. Carter approached the last cell door and stopped. The entire glass door has been smeared with blood. He looked back to the monitoring desk, but Riley and the Sergeant had gone back inside the station.

Carter placed the chair down on the floor and sat down, peering through the slot where meals were feed through. The office beige walls inside of the cell were also completely covered in blood.

He bent forward to try get a better look around the cell. It looked empty.

‘Jack’ he said. ‘Jack’. No response. ‘Look Jack, it’s me, Carter. What the fuck is going on here? Are you alright?’ he paused. ‘Are you hurt or cut? I can get you to the hospital if you are. You’re being charged with’ he looked down at the papers the Sergeant had given him ‘homicide. As well as a bunch of back up charges. Jesus Jack, what’s going on? Are you there?’

Silence. ‘Look, Jack. They’re going to want to take a sample for DNA. Now, pursuant to section…’

A loud crash against the door cut him off. A smudge on the smeared door marked where it had been hit.

‘Jack?’

A low growl came from the cell. A primal sound that a hundred thousand years ago had howled across the Siberian wilderness, lodging in the lizard brain of early humans who had evolved an instinctive survival trait when they heard it. Run. Run for your life, run for your sanity. The growl came again and that instinct, dormant for hundreds of generations, kicked in again. Carter started up, knocking the chair over behind him, and slowly backed away down the corridor.

Another crash pounded against the door. Carter saw a hairline fracture crack along the door. ‘Holy shit’ he murmured to himself.

The door to the station flung open and the Sergeant and Riley burst into the cells. ‘What the fuck is that cunt doing?’ shouted the Sergeant.

There was another crash from the cell.

‘Alright then’ said the Sergeant, ‘you’re fucked now Jack.’ He picked up a some keys and a baton off the monitoring desk, and walked up the hall towards the last cell. ‘The cameras aren’t working in here Jack, so it’s just you and me buddy’. The sergeant turned to Carter. ‘You, you’ve met your client, now get the fuck out of here. Riley, get him out.’

‘Sergeant’ Carter said. ‘Don’t open that door.’

‘Don’t given me your lawyer bullshit Carter. You didn’t see what this animal did back there. This is resisting arrest.’

‘Sergeant’ yelled Carter. Riley grabbed him and dragged him to the station door. ‘Sergeant’ yelled Carter again, ‘I don’t give a fuck about the law or your cop bullshit, just do not open that cell.’

Carter grabbed the doorframe as Riley was trying to pull him through it. He watched as the Sergeant held the baton ready in his right hand and slowly put the key in the lock with his left, turned it and pulled opened the cell door towards him.

‘Come on Jack’ said the Sergeant. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ He walked into the cell.

There was a muffled cry and then a loud, wet crunch. ‘Sergeant’ yelled Riley.

The Sergeant backed out of the cell and turned towards the men in the door at the entrance to the cells. His chest had been ripped open, ribs pointing out of grisly red flesh like white fingers. Without a sound he fell down onto the floor. The third growl came from the cell.

‘Sergeant’ yelled Riley, who started into the cells.

Carter grabbed him. ‘No you idiot’ and pulled him into the station, slamming the door shut.  Carter looked at it, it was solid steel. ‘Riley, can you lock this door?’

Riley stared blankly at Carter. ‘The Sergeant’ he said.

‘Riley, listen to me, can you lock this door?’

Riley looked at Carter as if for the first time. ‘Yes, yes, it locks automatically on the inside. You need to swipe the pass to unlock it’.

Carter sighed. ‘OK then.’

A massive impact hit against the steel door from the other side, as if a large weight had been slammed into it. 

The Backyard Professor

Dang tootin'

Iakopo

The Fofo's shack squatted in a grove of banana trees. Thick broad leaves blocked out the bright sunlight, so the house was always dark, tucked away on the outskirts of Fagamalo. Although the village was so small everyone's house was on the outskirts. You could stand at one end of the village, next to Mama Daphoney's house where the road to Ap'uaton started, and have a conversation with a person standing on the other side of the village, so long as you spoke loudly.

Hemana and Iakopo were hiding in the long grass from Mama Daphoney who had chased after them with a broom for yelling outside her house when her shows were on.

The two boys sat still until the violence had passed like an afternoon storm blowing out to sea. Peering out, they saw the banana grove and Fofo's house.

'You know drunks get the shakes pretty bad' Hemana said. 'And he's the man who is going to cut off your pua next week at the Taumafa Ava.'

Iakopo wriggled uncomfortably. He had been thinking about the ceremony a great deal lately. Couldn't they justsay he was a man, why did they need the knife?

'You know sometimes if the Fofo doesn't do it right it gets infected' Hemana continued, warming to his subject. 'If that happens they have to cut the whole thing off. Then you are a girl and you have to wear girls clothes.'

'That's bullshit' said Iakopo.

'No it isn't. My cousin said when he went to the Big Island there was a girl there who used to be a man thats what happened to him.'

'You have to get cut as well you know, it could happen to you.'

'Nu uh' said Hemana . 'I will be a man and drink lots of kava and have my pe'a inked. Poor Iakopo will have to wear a dress and sit down to piss.'

Iakopo punched Hemana in the arm. 'Shut up, you are full of shit.'

'My cousin told me the Fofo keeps a jar of the skins he cuts off during at the Ava in the house.'

'Your cousin says a lot of things Hemana , most of them stupid shit lies he makes up.'

'He swears it's there, you calling me a liar?'

'I'm calling your cousin a shithead.'

'Alright if you don't believe me, go and look.'

'In the Fofo's house? No way.'

'Go on, I dare you. You have to go touch the jar - or, or I will tell Laura that you had a dream about her.'

'You said you would never tell anyone that.'

'I won't,' smiled Hemana . 'If you go in.'

'You're full of shit.'

'Full of shit am I? Well then go into the Fofo house and see how full of shit I am. The jar's there, I swear it. Go on, you know he is going to be sleeping off all the kava he drank last night' encouraged Hemana .

Iakopo nodded, there had been a big celebration last night, with all of the adults standing around drinking into the early morning. The Fofo always attended these big celebrations, drinking more kava than anyone and burping into the faces of the women which he thought was hilarious, letting out a earth shaking laugh from his gut which hung out over the front of his pants. This would usually lead to a fight with the husband of the woman he belched over, and he would forget himself and start yelling in his native Javanese while he punched away at his opponent until both sides were pulled apart by the rest of the menfolk. The fight over, he would promptly forget all about it, drink more kava and commence burping again, starting the whole cycle over. This would continue until he passed out several hours later and was dragged back to his hut, snoring heavily.

Iakopo and Hemana watched the shack. Loud snores were coming from the windows, clearly audible where the boys sat, fifty yards away.

'Alright I'll do it, but you better not say anything to Laura.'

'Of course not!' said Hemana.

Iakopo knelt into a crouch and began to scurry towards the shack. Passing under the banana trees, he felt felt a shiver as his hot skin came into contact with the cool air. Snores were still coming from the window nearest him. He came up to the junk scattered around the house, old rusty metal drums, a VW bus that hadn't moved in thirty years and half a dozen chickens pecking the dirt.

Iakopo slowly moved around the back of the house. The back porch here was also piled high with trash, but the back door was wide open, leading into the blackness of the house.

Iakopo stepped up onto the lintel and stopped for a second peering down the dark hallway. His heart had started beating heavily. He looked around, Hemana had followed him around and was crouching behind an old oil drum at the edge of the yard. He waved his hand at Iakopo to keep going.

Iakopo turned around, took a deep breath and stepped inside the Fofo's house.

***

The hallway stretched down the entire length of the house. To the left was a small kitchen, filled with empty beer bottles and cockroaches. The snores were still coming from the front of the house. To the right was a closed door. Iakopo opened it and walked into the room.

He immediately came face to face with frozen screams etched onto shrunken heads, beaded together on a grisly necklace. Iakopo looked around. Heads, heads and more heads. From floor to ceiling, row after row, the room was full of heads.

'Tui Fiti save me' thought Iakopo 'this is much worse than the pua jar.'

Iakopo stood silent. It was then he realised he could no longer hear the Fofo snoring. Just as he tried to turn to go an enourmous hand grabbed the top of his head, squeezing it in a vice grip.

'Oh ho' came the deep throated voice of the Fofo from behind Iakopo. 'What is here? Little dewan?' The Fofo shook Iakopo violently. 'Well?'

Iakopo sputtered, 'Uh yes sir. Um, no, um. What's a dewan?'

'Bah, stupid uncivilised islanders. Why you come into Fofo house? To steal from Fofo? Yes?

'No' said Iakopo . 'It was a, I mean, it was a dare to come in and see the pua jar'

The Fofo looked blankly at Iakopo . 'The what?' He thought for a second looking at the boy and then a smile grew across his broad face. A deep belly rumble began as he began to chuckle. 'Oh ho, little boy. You have not had the chop chop yet, and come to see what the fuss is about. Does Fofo keep all the boys little trophies after he takes them off. Time to see, yes yes, time to see.' He dragged Iakopo out of the room and across the hall into the kitchen. He cleared off some bottles from the table and pointed at it. 'Sit there' he commanded Iakopo . Iakopo sat on the table as the Fofo turned around to the cabinet.

'Oh ho, so the boy wants to see the crazy old Fofo, well, well, that is for a good reason these things will be happening.' He turned back to Iakopo holding a carving knife in his hands.
'And now little boy. You will see what it is to be man.'

Iakopo looked at the knife and bolted off the table, but the Fofo's hand snaked out grabbing his arm, dragging him back to the table. 'Now now, little boy, do not run from Fofo.' With that, the Fofo took Iakopo's hand, placing the handle of the knife into it. Then the Fofo, guiding Iakopo's hand, plunged the blade into his own heart.

***

Iakopo stared, his hand still on the knife jutting from the Fofo's chest. The Fofo grunted, blood spurting out from around the blade that had been embedded in his sternum. His dropped down to his chest and he began to intone in his sonorous voice:

Le Fe'e e! faafofoga mai ia
O au o Fale le a tulai atu nei.
Le Fe'e e! au mai ia ou mūmū fua
Sei tau a'i le taua nei.

The Fofo looked up.

'Now Iakopo, son of Eloni, son of Fetu, the last living son of Tui Fiti. You have killed a man. My blood, the blood of the Fofo, is spilled. When the time comes, you will know the gods and the spirit of Salevao will come for you.'

The Fofo took hold of the knife and, grunting, wrenched it out of his chest. He grabbed a towel off the table, holding it to the gaping wound as he slid to the floor. He looked up at Iakopo.

'Pretty good eh boy?' He winked and smiled before grimacing against the pain.

'Are you alright Fofo?' asked Iakopo. 'Do you want me to call the ambulance?'

'No, no' said the Fofo. 'I will be alright. Bring that jar of kava on the bench.'

Iakopo took the jar and held it up to the Fofo's lips. He drank deeply until it was emptied.

'You better go now' said the Fofo. 'I will be alright I said, now go' he snapped.

Iakopo stood up, and walked out of the house. He walked passed Hemana and down the main street of Fagamalo. Hemana ran after him.

'Iakopo' he yelled, what happened to you? Why are you covered in blood? Why are you holding your arms up like that Iakopo. Iakopo? Why are you laughing?'

Just finished... What I talk about when I talk about running

Tube Funk

The 'real' life of Pi

Twenty down

Monday Jan.14 2013, 07:18 pm, 00:34:37, 5.37,
Saturday Jan.12 2013, 04:54 pm, 00:13:50, 2.4,
Wednesday Jan.9 2013, 06:44 pm, 00:31:25, 4.72,
Monday Jan.7 2013, 06:42 pm, 00:26:36, 3.87,
Thursday Dec.27 2012, 05:06 pm, 00:26:06, 3.99,
Thursday Dec.20 2012, 07:17 pm, 00:29:28, 4.54,
Tuesday Dec.18 2012, 06:43 pm, 00:30:02, 4.42,
Sunday Dec.16 2012, 07:21 am, 00:20:00, 3.8,
Friday Dec.14 2012, 06:47 pm, 00:24:33, 3.73,
Wednesday Dec.12 2012, 06:50 pm, 00:27:10,
Monday Dec.10 2012, 06:44 pm, 00:26:27, 4.03,
Friday Dec.7 2012, 06:59 pm, 00:28:51, 4.31,
Wednesday Dec.5 2012, 07:20 pm, 00:28:56, 4.6,
Monday Dec.3 2012, 07:29 pm, 00:28:12, 4.22,
Friday Nov.30 2012, 06:49 pm, 00:25:33, 3.59,
Wednesday Nov.28 2012, 06:38 pm, 00:25:13, 3.71,
Monday Nov.26 2012, 06:50 pm, 00:26:55, 4.21,
Friday Nov.23 2012, 06:25 pm, 00:25:53, 4.21,
Wednesday Nov.21 2012, 06:40 pm, 00:27:38, 4.07,
Monday Nov.19 2012, 06:44 pm, 00:16:04, 2.48,

Beijing: 1911 - 2012

Hark! A Vagrant

Gourmet of loneliness

Man ・" ikoretogo* (inogashiragorou) running import chandler in individuals visits various towns every day on business.
And we eat in one, restaurant where we dropped in at incidentally.
And we meet gourmets who cannot express by words――

Of original popularity comics that do not speak great erudition of dish, and spell the meal scene and psychological description of chief character earnestly, and is serene like documentary, and story drifts to, "gourmet of loneliness" take a photograph on a spot; the second of drama.
Delicious "restaurant" where Goro drops in at is not restaurant coming up in the original, and the every time program staff is looking for existing "smart restaurant" with own foot.
In addition, after drama, at "QUSUMI corner, author, Masayuki Kuzumi appears aimlessly"!
Kuzumi deals with drama attendant of program other than scenario cooperation and participates in program production eagerly.

we left, and it was OK

code:

To go to go and not return 
Is the lesson for which we all shall burn.
Crack stone, tumble wells
On we go to burn in hell.

Tears of tears were in my eyes
There I go, we go to die
Never there was a ghost to see
I bang a drum, my timpani.

See you out; oh vicious foe
Now you tell a tale of woe?
Strike hammers, fall the chains
To emerge again and feel the rain.

What now comes is out of luck
We tried that once, and it kind of sucked
You laugh now; but by my beard
The October land was always weird.

Shivering gales, caterwaul
The caves of Uffren beckon all
One last stand, one last fight
Before we go into the night.

Meadow shadows stretch and leer
They’re coming now for you my dear
Any way we run our race
We come again to see that face.

A toast! A toast! To the best of hosts
Rarely seen he left his post
Left us to rail ‘gainst walls of hope
The gates were shut, we couldn't cope.

Pauldron cauldron smelting ire
Burning man, from ice comes fire
Descending now to place so new
I lost your hand, I lost mine too.

End on end on end on end
Whatever breaks will never bend
What Now! Bloviate!
I hate I hate I hate I hate.

Anger wells and consumes
To the Devel with your flume
It grows and feeds on dogglesworth
Butcher it then fall to earth.

And leech that tumor from your breast
Catch your breath, take your rest
For now this comes out in the mist
We have to stop, unclench thy fist.

The falling rain is back inside
It had to come, we cannot hide
From words or thoughts or calumnies
A final rest sunk to our knees

to go to go and not return
is the moment for which we never burn
rub your lucky portmanteau
something to pour your heart in to.

20 years

Bulge

Spartathlon

Just finished... Wool

Cool Struttin'

Alternate Covers

Sinocism

China in the 21st Century

Xi Jinping is making clear that the corruption crackdown will continue. He received a CDIC report at the recent Politburo meeting (China Daily) and reportedly said that (Duowei Chinese) “some cadres, and especially high-level cadres, have seriously violated discipline and the law (“个别领导干部特别是高级干部严重违纪违法”).

On Wednesday Xinhua wrote in 对“半拉子”调查 监督不能“烂尾” that the corruption investigations spurred by online exposes can not be allowed to just fade away with no resolution, while today’s People’s Daily says the new Internet law will not harm netizens’ freedom of speech or impact the internet anti-corruption campaign (人民日报-社会各界热议网络信息保护决定 不损害网民言论自由 不影响网络反腐效果 ). Online exposes continue, as noted in the “Politics and Law” section below.

Skyfall

2013