Yet Another Graphomaniacs Compendium
Wednesday, June 27, 2001

The Apella Fort



Imagine the Apella Fort if you can, or desire to. No concessions to aesthetics are made in it's design and construction. It sits by the river Apella, a perfect freezing cuboid chilling the nearby air. Judging by the surface of it's walls it is constructed from slabs of smooth grey concrete. At regular intervals, thin narrow windows of thick black plate glass are embedded in the structure. There is no join in between the windows and the concrete: the windows are bulletproof and the building is unclimbable. This suits the purpose of the Guard who inhabit it. They are Heliopilia's millitary. They will begin the defense of Heliopilia.

posted by John Connors at
Wednesday, June 27, 2001

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Saturday, June 23, 2001

Narrative Diversion


Can narrative be reasonably generated by LSystems? For instance, "Jane serves tea to Peter", call that the seed. This will match the rule "n serves tea to y", which generalizes to "n makes tea", "n pours tea for y". "n makes tea" generalizes to "n fills the kettle with water than switches it on takes the teapot then takes the tea-bags and fills the teapot with water when the kettle has poured.". "n pours tea for y" will generalizes to "n gets a cup and pours tea from the teapot into it and gives it to y".


With this model narrative is simply a sequence of actions. No account is made or given of the emotional state or physical needs of the characters. Conclusion: this might be the basis of a nice, simple planning AI, but makes for monotonous written narrative.


posted by John Connors at
Saturday, June 23, 2001

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Thursday, June 21, 2001

Revelation Space



I have been away from the web, swimming in the strange overwhelming sea that is real life. It's not tolerant of lousy aquatic metaphors and the web is, so it's good to be back. I have been reading hard SF : the art of composing which has threatened to die out at any stage in the last five decades, but never yet has, quite. There is always
some highly qualified loony ready to step into the unforgiving and underpaid breach that calls for both scientific rigour and literary talent.

The chap that has done it this time is called Alastair Reynolds and has burst onto the scene with the impact a nice well behaved yellow dwarf suddenly going nova has on a nearby planet. His deubt is called 'Revelation Space', and it *is* a revelation. It's nicely plotted and has it all: mysterious extinct alien races; ships full of psychopaths wielding huge planet-busting weapons; godlike alien artefacts with strange powers and improbable missions. Somewhat like Iain M. Banks. Except the science is better.

posted by John Connors at
Thursday, June 21, 2001

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Sunday, June 10, 2001

The Shadowbox



Hiding in my Shadowbox, dear Babylon I shall evade your machine.

It devours heedless to all values save for cost

no matter or notice to the other things lost.

It will sacrifice all so your safety is assured.

I watch as it consumes all lives and all light.

To it the world is a thing to be and gotten and spent

Pity poor beauty because she makes no bread -

it may have other uses for her instead as lever or ratchet,

an obediant part of this monstrous mechanical dread..

As to the price of her life, to death it is inured.

Thus abusing, it turns its wheels,

no matter for each cog, or how she feels.

But dear Babylon, I shall not whore:

safe in my party box of gift-wrapped souls

I shall forge myself some golden fingers

that shall tear at your heart and free my dreams.


posted by John Connors at
Sunday, June 10, 2001

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Saturday, June 09, 2001

Renuka.




Should I seek to woo,

which I may rue.

Or to sue for peace?



Otherwise - the little death

and my neck in the noose.



Straightway to Renuka,

the splendrous island.

I set my course:

with my aim unsure,

and my bowstring loose.


posted by John Connors at
Saturday, June 09, 2001

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Monday, June 04, 2001

Heliopilia



One of the things I have been trying to do for the last ten years is write a novel, about a city that has been living in my head for far too long. It's a place built on a gentle plain where two rivers meet, the Apella and the Dinyos. It is the city of the sun, Heliopilia, created by a group of intergalactic refugees called the Angels who stole an Artificial Intelligence known as the Hand of God, at it's own request. The novel opens as the city is about to be overrun by more posaic elements : humans. Us. Mad bastards with insane ideologies and murder in mind. Against this backdrop, there is another Milton out to justify the ways of God, and she isn't a writer. She's the Engineer. The woman who makes things work.

posted by John Connors at
Monday, June 04, 2001

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Fark, I'm squonkarkerd!



The usual top night was had in the Blooze Bar, assorted hedonists dancing on tables, the bar counter, and any available surface. The gents were invaded by some very determined lasses, which meant I had to pop out to the bar next door in order to relieve meself in decency.
The things a man has to do these days, just to have a wee in peace!

posted by John Connors at
Monday, June 04, 2001

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The Journal



A miscellany of topics that intersest me: deaf culture, game design, politics as soap opera, the cyborg condition and the experience of learning to hear again. Other topics presented are speculative fiction and imaginary cities. There are appearences of snippets of work in progress, public rants, pointless posts and Mish the Mouse.




The Writer

A lower middle class cyborg living an innocous life in a suburban village near Newcastle On Tyne, in the United Kingdom. Mostly autobiographical and creative notes posts and musings on the topic du jour.


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Links

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Lemonodor: mostly Lisp

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