Inside of this machine

So curtain call already, uh?
It did not take long in the end. I carefully tried to weave my way through the mud, but I stumbled upon a crack. It was easier than I expected. I still thought I was gonna be given a few more shots at this thing.
Anyways.
I fell early, so it is unlikely the wound is that severe. There certainly won't be any scar this time. Yet it was an interesting test bed. My mind collapsed, but the rest seems fine.
It is a pity, because now that I've crossed to the other side, I have to keep going. I don't have the luxury of a choice anymore. There is no turning back.
My eyes can't seem to figure out any direction.
There's mist everywhere. A huge , thick blanket of grey surrounding all. I'm right in the eye of the cyclone and can't even see my feet. But if I don't move, I won't ever move again.
Which way then? I have my pick of choices.
But none looks good to me. None looks promising.
I'm doing a really good job sheltering the little box. Our brains were designed to learn from experience. It's what I've always called intuition.
It's not some godsent ability. You remember the shapes, the environment, the parameters. They're always different, but somehow, the patterns remain similar. The only thing that needs some adapting to is the opponent. But in a given situation, when you've made more than enough blunders, you will know before even knowing.
That things are bad.
And my built-up experience is right.
So I had a nanosecond to jump on it and wrap myself around the little thing. I took the blow. I'm suffering.
But it does not have to be broken yet.
Let it see from the inside. Let it learn fear, anguish, disappointment, mild despair.
Let it see defeat. But let's not lose it this time.

There are two main parts of me. The first is just the little life-awkward kid who grew up and got beat, over and over and over again until he broke. The second is the persona that was shaped to replace the first, to act as a surrogate for as long as the first needed to get fixed. He took way too long to fix. He took too many years to find the fitting piece. So the second developed by itself, became a self-sustaining entity, and took over.
The first part came back. And they cohabit together, if they're not thriving. It's a mess, but an organized mess.
The second is a little insane. The neural network used to create it was damaged at the time, and it breathed bugs, loopholes, flaws into it. It snaps every now and then.
It has been going rogue for hours now. The sight of blood.
The second was designed to be, in every respect, a better version of the first. Stronger, calmer, colder, smarter, better. An upgrade from the raw and rough draft. A clean version birthed after trials and tribulations - but with all the red ink removed. And I realized today.
This was THE crucial mistake. The thing I had been chasing, hunting down forever, at the core of the looping pain. The writing was on the wall.
It has not experienced anything at all. It has memorized, not felt. He knows what is theoretically good, but can't ever quite make sense of it. It's a well-crafted imitation of a being.

It cannot deal with red ink because it's never seen it flow on the ground, crying from its veins. It's never tasted the bitterness of its own blood.
And now it's gotta take it all in at once.

I am my brain, and if I don't understand much of what I am and how I work, I know one thing: it won't be able to see it through. I did not put him here for that purpose. A powerful scarecrow that, against all odds, began moving by itself. That's all it was. But now it's right here in my head, and it's hurting. Spouting nonsense, crawling on the floor, damning a world that does not even exist.

It's time for the first to come back. It's time for him to take the second on his shoulders and go wherever.
As long as they go.
He might be inferior, less talented, and weaker at life; but for all intents and purposes, he has the one thing that will let them get out of this mess. The experience acquired from countless iterations of internal disasters. He knows how to deal with leaving a trail of blood behind. And he knows it's important.
Because someday, someone inside my head might get back there- and it'll have a path to follow.

Intuition. That's my only weapon now. That's my only hope that the first will get the second to a safe place while the second tries to protect the little box.

At the moment I really don't know if they'll succeed. Ominous is the task, but I have a hunch that some way, somehow- the first might find a way through the mess.
Or die for good trying, this time.


Tonight another important chapter is coming to a close. Actually it already has, but this once I have a chance to look the chapter in the eye before getting myself out there on my suicide mission.
I don't know if it will do me any good or what.
It was short, microscopically so maybe- but it sure did have a permanent effect on my whole being.
And so tonight I say my farewell to that line in my book.

One that made me bleed more ink than ever before for a single line.

Goodbye.


Oh Jesus Christ I'm alone again,
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
Because this problem is gonna last
More than the weekend