Xyttud yd fbqyd iywxj 0

Jxuhu yi q seddusjyed rujmuud syfxuhi qdt cqwys. “Esskbjydw” yd qijhedeco cuqdi “xyttud vhec lyum”, byau mxud Zkfyjuh yi esskbjut ro jxu ceed mxud yj tyiqffuqhi ruxydt yj vhec ekh feydj ev lyum. Ro jxu iqcu huwqht, q fuhied iaybbut yd cqwys yi iqyt je xqlu femuhi ev jxu esskbj, mxysx yi je iqo, xqlydw qssuii je jxu iushuj adembutwu.

Qd ulqdwubysqb Sxhyijyqd vhyudt ev cydu iqyt jxqj je te cqwys mqi je cuttbu yd q mehbt jxqj edbo jme udjyjyui sekbt wylu oek qssuii: Wet qdt Iqjqd. Wet mekbt duluh wylu Cqd jxu qrybyjo je te cqwys, qi yj cuqdi qssuii ydje q mehbt jxqj Wet xqi tuucut vehryttud je Cqd. Ie yv q Cqd sekbt fuhvehc cqwys, jxud jxu edbo udjyjo jxqj xu ckij xqlu sqlehjut myjx yd ehtuh je wqyd qssuii je jxu ikfuhdqjkhqb mehbt yi Iqjqd xyciubv.

A compendium about demons and magic.

Ed jxyi rqiyi, jxekiqdti ev fuefbu muhu aybbut ro jxu Ifqdyix Ydgkyiyjyed.

Jxu cehqb ev jxu ijeho: ted’j te jxu iuluhut jxkcr jhysa yd vhedj ev Jecái tu Jehgkucqtq.

Severed Thumb

(Jetqo’i syfxuh yi rhekwxj je oek jetqo ro Squiqh.)

Death Clocks and Douglas Adams

I’m going to indulge in something I’ve been superstitiously afraid of since I first heard about them. It was sometime during the mid-90s when I first heard of The Death Clock. Specifically, you typed in your name and age, and this website would output when your death would take place.

At this point, two circuits are triggered within my mind. The Rational Circuits which suspects that the Death Clock randomly outputs a date based on current statistics about life expectancy, because, if tasked to make such a website, that’s how I would do it. And the Superstitious Circuit, which now and then kicks in to make sure that I, say, don’t step on any crack in the pavement, or if I see litter that makes me responsible for picking it up, or any other mildly-OCD behaviour because the consequences will be UTTERLY DIRE AND LIFE EFFECTING. Or so the Superstitious Circuit assures me. It sees the Death Clock and immediately starts screaming that if I ever use it then my death-date will be locked into the machinery of the universe, which I’m sure has formed the basis of a number of sit-com episodes out there.

A fight breaks out between these two circuits, a fight that twenty years later the Superstitious Circuit keeps winning.

So I’m going to make my own Death Clock. I’m sure people might find the concept of this a little macabre, my mother for one. But for me it is a mere tool just to make sure that month-by-month I am asking myself the question: Am I satisfied with this month?

Douglas Adams was a writer that I grew up reading and I respect his work. He died aged 49, which was 590 months of life. I hope to live much longer than 49 years, but I’m still going to take this as a benchmark, that takes me until Tuesday, December 29, 2026, which means I have 136 months left.

Damn, that’s creepy to write.

And already, highly mind-focusing.

[This brings me to the next point. We have lists of accomplishments we want to achieve in life, and many people flippantly call these “Bucket Lists”. No idea why. I’ve also been moderately suspicious of the concept. I prefer the idea of structuring your life so that these hopes or desires are more likely to occur. THE SOUND OF INEVITABILITY, MR. ANDERSON. There are several dozen thoughts that have emerged around this theme of Bucket Lists, so I’ll explore those later.]