/* May 28, 2003 */
/* May 26, 2003 */
/* I've given up on Pascal. I'm writing my LISP-like Interpreter in perl.
This language is to be used in BIAS, hopefully... BIAS is a blogging tool which currently consists of three awk scripts and a nervous breakdown.
Oh, and 208 lines of perl. Which isn't bad, considering that I didn't know any perl this morning. What I've now got is something that takes in a reference to a perl list, and evaluates it LISPily. So one has code that looks kinda like:
Which is a start... note, however, that that's still perl. What I now need to do is write the parser on the front end, to stop it being perl. That line should appear like:
which will then be usable to embed in blog templates to do decidedly funky effects... */
This language is to be used in BIAS, hopefully... BIAS is a blogging tool which currently consists of three awk scripts and a nervous breakdown.
Oh, and 208 lines of perl. Which isn't bad, considering that I didn't know any perl this morning. What I've now got is something that takes in a reference to a perl list, and evaluates it LISPily. So one has code that looks kinda like:
$feh = ["car", ["cdr", ["quote", ["test1", "test2", "test3", "test4"]]]];
print &l_checkform($feh);
$myref = &l_eval($feh);
print $$myref;
Which is a start... note, however, that that's still perl. What I now need to do is write the parser on the front end, to stop it being perl. That line should appear like:
(print (car (cdr '(test1 test2 test3))))
which will then be usable to embed in blog templates to do decidedly funky effects... */
/* May 25, 2003 */
/* My travels with the GNU Pascal Compiler, NetBSD, and a Kinetic RISC PC (to be sung roughly - very roughly - to the tune of bits of "twelve days of christmas":
five failed "makes"
four random segfaults
three "make clean"s
two failed installs
and a broken gee see seeeeeee!
Grrrrrrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Grrrrrrrr.
I hate computers. */
five failed "makes"
four random segfaults
three "make clean"s
two failed installs
and a broken gee see seeeeeee!
Grrrrrrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Grrrrrrrr.
I hate computers. */
/* May 22, 2003 */
/* A day ago - or it may have been more, I have no time sense any more - I had a strange vision/dream, which I think people might find mildly entertaining, so here it is:
I was sitting at the computer when I suddenly imagined that I was looking down at myself lying in a hospital bed, in a kind of coma, as if I were having an out-of-body experience... had medical equipment around the head end of my bed... and I was surrounded by people I don't know, and a girl who I also don't know was in tears and saying "Rob, please wake up... please wake up..."... and the doctor said "I think he's dreaming...", and then real life suddenly came back.
This was very scary. */
I was sitting at the computer when I suddenly imagined that I was looking down at myself lying in a hospital bed, in a kind of coma, as if I were having an out-of-body experience... had medical equipment around the head end of my bed... and I was surrounded by people I don't know, and a girl who I also don't know was in tears and saying "Rob, please wake up... please wake up..."... and the doctor said "I think he's dreaming...", and then real life suddenly came back.
This was very scary. */
/* May 21, 2003 */
/* Jimmy - a belated apology for being quite so obscenely sociable at the last gathering thing... I agree, we were sitting in the wrong place... should have been on the sofas, ideally. And I should have worn a hat. I feel quieter when I wear a hat.
And dammit, man, please put anchors in before individual posts on your blog, so I can do references... if having a meaningless permalink offends your sense of style (hateful things, they are...) at least put the anchor in, so that I can get to it in the source... please?
And I believe in people now. Breakfast was very reassuring in that respect. */
And dammit, man, please put anchors in before individual posts on your blog, so I can do references... if having a meaningless permalink offends your sense of style (hateful things, they are...) at least put the anchor in, so that I can get to it in the source... please?
And I believe in people now. Breakfast was very reassuring in that respect. */
/* May 20, 2003 */
/* "I own a high-powered assault rifle, I own a 12-gauge double barrel shotgun, I own a regular shotgun, I own a regular hunting rifle, I own a 9 millimetre, a 357, a 45 handgun, a 38 special, and, erm...I own an m-16 fully automatic ground assault rifle..." -- GYBE, BBF3
Thankyou Solent "We'll Improve Your Service By Removing Most Of It™" Blue Line. The buses are completely screwed up now. */
Thankyou Solent "We'll Improve Your Service By Removing Most Of It™" Blue Line. The buses are completely screwed up now. */
/* May 19, 2003 */
/* P2 exam is happening in about an hour, or just over it.
Blogger's moving to Dano in these next couple of weeks.
Let's all cross our fingers and hope.
I need to revamp the linkset on here - a links page is more in order these days... with sections such as "dead blogs of live people" - I'd like to put in a "live blogs of dead people" section, as a balance, but off-hand I can't find anyone pretending to be Jean-Paul Sartre or similar - if anyone finds any, please let me know. */
Blogger's moving to Dano in these next couple of weeks.
Let's all cross our fingers and hope.
I need to revamp the linkset on here - a links page is more in order these days... with sections such as "dead blogs of live people" - I'd like to put in a "live blogs of dead people" section, as a balance, but off-hand I can't find anyone pretending to be Jean-Paul Sartre or similar - if anyone finds any, please let me know. */
/* May 15, 2003 */
/* [[ The character "Atarc" is Atarc Xerxes, who I'm pretty sure I've spelt wrongly. The only reason he's in here is that I needed a character who wasn't technically human.
This sucks, I know, but I felt like writing it. ]]
The artist took a deep breath and walked up to Atarc, who was sitting side-saddle on a chair in the corner of the otherwise empty room. In a savage whisper, he said:
- The age of heroes is gone.
Atarc sniffed. The artist completed another circuit of the room, foot foot-after, slow strides. He returned, and whispered in the ear of the other:
- The age of heroes is dead, Atarc. They are contemptible now.
Atarc raised an eyebrow in query. Quieter still, he was answered:
- There are no damsels in distress. Those who stand up for ideals are naive; those who stand up for beliefs are considered inflexible. Those who stand up for self-honour are told they can't take a joke.
If an answer was hoped for, none was forthcoming; the bronze sunlight shone through the window onto the etched marble floor. Silence in heaven.
- You cannot be a hero, the Artist said.
Atarc opened his mouth and made the little noise that comes preparatory to speech; but said nothing for a moment, then spoke.
- Whoever said I was a hero? I'm a troubleshooter. Nothing more.
- You are thinking like a hero, he was told. You can't be a hero. There's nobody wants you to be a hero for them any more. There's nothing left to fight.
Atarc grasped his goatee with his fist and rubbed his chin with his thumb.
- Are you sure you have no dragons left? He asked
The artist rounded on him.
- Your habit of using made-up words may impress some people, but it doesn't impress me. It just makes you sound pretentious.
Atarc smiled slightly. The artist's exasperation increased. He began to pace the wall opposite, his chin too in his hand.
- Just who are you, anyway? He eventually asked.
Atarc was gone; his stick could be heard tapping on the polished floor as he departed; he turned left, and his reflection could be briefly seen in the right hand side of the polished brass doorway. Then he turned another corner, and was gone. */
This sucks, I know, but I felt like writing it. ]]
The artist took a deep breath and walked up to Atarc, who was sitting side-saddle on a chair in the corner of the otherwise empty room. In a savage whisper, he said:
- The age of heroes is gone.
Atarc sniffed. The artist completed another circuit of the room, foot foot-after, slow strides. He returned, and whispered in the ear of the other:
- The age of heroes is dead, Atarc. They are contemptible now.
Atarc raised an eyebrow in query. Quieter still, he was answered:
- There are no damsels in distress. Those who stand up for ideals are naive; those who stand up for beliefs are considered inflexible. Those who stand up for self-honour are told they can't take a joke.
If an answer was hoped for, none was forthcoming; the bronze sunlight shone through the window onto the etched marble floor. Silence in heaven.
- You cannot be a hero, the Artist said.
Atarc opened his mouth and made the little noise that comes preparatory to speech; but said nothing for a moment, then spoke.
- Whoever said I was a hero? I'm a troubleshooter. Nothing more.
- You are thinking like a hero, he was told. You can't be a hero. There's nobody wants you to be a hero for them any more. There's nothing left to fight.
Atarc grasped his goatee with his fist and rubbed his chin with his thumb.
- Are you sure you have no dragons left? He asked
The artist rounded on him.
- Your habit of using made-up words may impress some people, but it doesn't impress me. It just makes you sound pretentious.
Atarc smiled slightly. The artist's exasperation increased. He began to pace the wall opposite, his chin too in his hand.
- Just who are you, anyway? He eventually asked.
Atarc was gone; his stick could be heard tapping on the polished floor as he departed; he turned left, and his reflection could be briefly seen in the right hand side of the polished brass doorway. Then he turned another corner, and was gone. */
/* Some points:
Someone, please drop me off a building or something - mavhc pointed me at a page on the Church of Euthanasia website (which I'd better not visit in college, I suppose - I'll post the link later if anyone's interested) - which recommended helium...
Alternatively, pass the rocket launcher. I'm off on a rampage. */
- Slashdot is full of intolerant fucks and bullies, ranting about other intolerant fucks and bullies.
- As is the rest of the world.
- As is the rest of the universe? [warning: large image]
Someone, please drop me off a building or something - mavhc pointed me at a page on the Church of Euthanasia website (which I'd better not visit in college, I suppose - I'll post the link later if anyone's interested) - which recommended helium...
Alternatively, pass the rocket launcher. I'm off on a rampage. */
/* May 12, 2003 */
/* It all gets rather difficult sometimes, methinks.
The sex I can forgive, but the DIY really gets me down. -- thanks to Jimmy for the link. It's good. Read it. */
The sex I can forgive, but the DIY really gets me down. -- thanks to Jimmy for the link. It's good. Read it. */
/* May 10, 2003 */
/* Well...
Am sitting here, lit only by monitorlight... brother is in top bunk, so all lights are off... listening to f# a# oo through headphones, as loud as I can...
It's strange, and very.
Very what we're not sure (we being Ben and I) - but it's Very Something. */
Am sitting here, lit only by monitorlight... brother is in top bunk, so all lights are off... listening to f# a# oo through headphones, as loud as I can...
It's strange, and very.
Very what we're not sure (we being Ben and I) - but it's Very Something. */
/* May 9, 2003 */
/* I have just been told off by Jimmy for not posting for a month... I'm sorry, but I'm not the only one (It's a highly specific nuclear apocalypse, if that's what you're inclined to blame it on, Sir...)
There's not much to say, really... been playing with setting up our server, and doing some more writing... Also busy failing my A Levels for a second time.
I am now about to hit a friend for putting up a mirror of goatse without warning. ESPECIALLY when it was in a directory where a couple of my files used to be. ESPECIALLY when I wanted those files. And DOUBLY ESPECIALLY when I'm in college.
*sharpens cleaver and fixes archives* */
There's not much to say, really... been playing with setting up our server, and doing some more writing... Also busy failing my A Levels for a second time.
I am now about to hit a friend for putting up a mirror of goatse without warning. ESPECIALLY when it was in a directory where a couple of my files used to be. ESPECIALLY when I wanted those files. And DOUBLY ESPECIALLY when I'm in college.
*sharpens cleaver and fixes archives* */
return 0;
}
