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// current
main@3.19
26/2/21our
web
and its
technologies:
the
evil
in
our
<3.
intro
Ever wondered why some apps feel "weird"? Like the buttons don't feel satisfying, the layout flashes in and out, it stutters more than a stroke, and it freezes more than Elsa. Would you think an invasion be the cause?
This is a story about three forces that took over the world. They live and parasite off our souls, from the website you're reading this on, to the text editor I'm writing this on (Typora, 2019). What are they? Or rather, who are they? HTML, CSS, and JavaScript — the three names of the unspoken. Before evil, there was only peace; harmony between programs and the farmers1️⃣ who cared for them, like livestock. Villagers2️⃣ lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. Unfortunately, all would crumble. Man's desperation for power drove the discovery of "the web", awakening the curses that doomed generations to come. The ghouls crusaded across lands with their crippling harm, luring naïve farmers with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests and lives of rest. The innocent once bewitched, will then be stuck with livestock3️⃣ forever at mercy, haunted by unrest brought forth from the unholy. Underneath the surface though, the blunt edges of the entities reveal the true reason for temptation. Livestock that were preyed on, improve in taste4️⃣; livestock that were preying, improve in insanity. Thus, it all comes down to the violent game of intellect and war. Farmers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. As death go though, legends come. "Town Facebook", shows us how you'd win the game, but also vice versa with who becomes the "played". From their once flagships, to their forever condemned, all of them saw what could've been, only few held it in their palms, and fewer managed to hold them in their fists. The stark reminder of how some did manage to succeed wildly though, really goes to show, the evil forces are only evil for the things they obliterate; needed for the things they incubate. Yin 5️⃣ taking over the world doesn't colonize yang6️⃣, it amplifies it. Henceforth, the real question amongst all that, is not "how to get rid of the darkness", but "when to get rid of darkness" — "when should you use web technologies?"
To that I say, balance is to not be grey, but to be a shadow under sunlight, and a candle under moonlight; to use the correct tool for the job.
1
2
3
the rise of HTML, CSS, & JS
act one
For a tale of "once upon a time", "Town Facebook" reads like no bedtime story. Its effects are more than substantial, spanning lifetimes. A farmer named "Mark"1️⃣ was a young bright individual, just having bred his first young. He plotted his land in a quiet part of plains, surrounded by the horizon with only flora to obstruct it. Soft breezes gave the premises atmosphere, sun shadows intersected like distorted figures, there was no place better to be than there. By this time, word of the unholy trinity had spread (Internet World Stats, 2020), and Mark was very aware of its powers. Unlike many of his peers at home, Mark saw opportunity. This was his key to hit the big leagues, rid himself of the rags, and bargain back some self-worth. Hastily, he took the curses' offer head-on and began to grow his Facebook livestock arsenal (J. Tabak, 2004). It was risky, and there were no doubts that he had questions about what he was doing. "There had to be a reason for the taboo, right?". Linger it did, even after the barren plains started accumulating footprints and dirt paths. Good men from villages all over the map were starting to visit, taking home weeks of dinner, cheering on for feasts, as Mark reaped what he often hesitantly, sowed. He knew there were limits to what he had agreed to, but the line in the sand was still buried deep in stone.
Mark's farm
As the days went by, "Facebook" had become synonymous with meats1️⃣, but it was not the only one fighting in the space. Not far from Mark's palace grounds was a blooming new establishment, heard exclusively through murmurs and short probes. This was the village of "Instagram". It sat in between two misty hills, grasslands spanned fields around their homes, and a splatted lake just behind the warm village scattered with tranquillity. Mark spied from afar with curiosity. They were attracting more and more of his own customers, without having any of the "advantages" brought by the devil's three (Hardawar, 2012). Finding out that it was because Instagram offered livestock that simply tasted better than what he had, became the tipping point for him to want in. "Maybe this is the step up from here." Mark offered the "Instagram" village a simple offer, to join his own plains on a path to world domination (Facebook, 2012). Promises of eternal harvests and lives of rest were thrown around, charming their agreement for a deal. They caved, collapsing the two villages into the soon-to-be invasive conglomerate, further strengthening Mark's empire2️⃣.
Things progressed. As with time comes scrutiny, the flaws of his former competitor became clearer and clearer — they just couldn't keep up with the agility of Facebook's development. Being shoulder-to-shoulder in the same town enabled much more detailed comparisons of quality, but many still went for Facebook's flesh because it plainly provided choices more suitable for individual diets1️⃣ (Smith & Anderson, 2018). The reason for this though, drills deep. Instagram's livestock were farmed masterfully, albeit traditionally — in ways unique to each species2️⃣. This made it so that a lot of work was required to make even slight improvements to their care recipes, tightly constraining variety with resources (Khan, 2018). Mark's decision to bet on hell with Facebook overcame that, as the curses would rebuild organisms, allowing them to only required one type of feed3️⃣ (Tripathi, 2017). Thus, this meant that he would be able to work on similar formulae4️⃣ for every species, gaining the aforementioned agility. Looking at his decision to bring in Instagram and realising the gem was not as clear-cut as he expected, his excitement fell to a quiet sombre. He reminisced about his first evil breakthrough, forming clouds of denial that muffled the cries he hid at the back of his head. He sought to bring what he faithfully trusted into his young blood and truly elevate what he had, then so he did (Instagram Engineering, 2017).
5
6
the remains of pre-Facebook's Instagram
"What's next?" A thought crosses Mark's mind. Mark knew exactly what he was working on. Messaging services were picking up steam, more and more people every day were discovering the magic of it (Tankovska, 2021). He had been developing it and offering it within the grounds of Facebook, but he wanted more (Arrington, 2008). Mark didn't want to risk another bust, which was what he viewed the pre-transition Instagram as. He had dreams he wanted to pluck into reality, dreams of a platform that controlled the lands, outshined everyone else, be the one they feared. In his mind, the only way to go was forward at this point, citing how he already had so much infrastructure built around his kingdom (Metz, 2013). He took all that he knew was good, his techniques, and his "accomplices", to give what Facebook had developed, its own life. The new herd was given their own space in the Facebook complex, as they would grow out of being merely an extension1️⃣ (Kincaid, 2011). Logically, invasions required coverage; their first course of action after securing the space had to be expansion. With the three ghouls, they spawned new breeds to corner all fronts of the market. It was like they cut off a tumour to help it grow faster. As the days went by, they injected progressively more resources segregated from the main Facebook operation, into the operation of building another empire spectacle. The new farm, situated in the middle of a now crowded plot of grass, stood firm with sunlight only blocked by the shade of his palm above his eyes. It was glorious, with the faraway tree leaves shimmering in affirmation.
Without noticing, voodoo now surrounded Mark's livelihood, clustering up and infecting every aspect of it — for his own good of course. He'd been high in the airspace of success, busy being oblivious to the runway he'd originally wanted to only cross. Mark knew where he was headed though, he knew he wanted to be there, but he wasn't so sure now about how he was getting there. The relentless doubt started to kick in once again, only interrupted by, "aw, come on Mark, things'll be fine, you'll get all that you want." They topped off the construction of the new farm by naming the place — Messenger. "Yeah I guess that's right."
act two
"AAA!"
Screams rang far and wide, with galloping footsteps following it. A panicked Mark twitched around to find the source of the distress. It was one of the Messenger's, they were misbehaving1️⃣ (Facebook, n.d.). Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, this wasn't Marks' first rodeo that day. He quickly dashed for the rope that he already had on standby, swung the string loop above his head, and then flung it onto the neck of the manic beast. Skilfully, he yanked on the rope, tightening the slack, and tipped his target over. Mark wasn't relieved. The man being chased was already off, not giving Mark any chance for an apology or attempt at remedy2️⃣. He knew that an experience like this would leave a bad taste in any customer's mouth. Even with that knowledge though, stumped was all he was. He didn't know if he should be concerned or ignorant, this had never happened before that current day. The beast in question seemed to have calmed down, along with the Instagram one from dawn3️⃣. He was still gripping onto the slightly burning rope. He pulled on it again as to just remind the Messenger to return. It waltzed back obediently, and Mark sat down melancholically.
The forces were quiet.
Mark's normally a pretty collected man, but he had his hands tied now. A feeling of involuntary curiosity washed over him, even if some parts of his mind fought against it. He figured that it might've been something he'd done that day. He knit his eyebrows together, wrinkling his glabella, striking down all things similar to the day before. He remembered, he fed. From the sources, to the blending, their minute differences were amplified in Mark's search for the origins of the cracks in this kingdom. Though, the day ended with nothing more than the sole hope of an anomaly1️⃣.
The forces were quiet.
With every feed now, the livestock would fluctuate wildly in their temper1️⃣. Some days were better than others, with everyone coexisting peacefully and majestically; other days, the farm resembled much more of burn pits from warzones. Most importantly, the events completely stunned expansion of Mark's wonderland, with even maintaining it becoming a losing battle2️⃣3️⃣. He still did put in a lot of work throughout the days to crack the challenge, but by then he'd already seen things, that no sane man tells tales of — the creative ways his rogue beasts used to inflict injury and execution — physical assaults, parasitical invasions, neurotoxin inhalation, and more. He was left anesthetized. He wasn't doing too well.
The forces were quiet.
Mark jolts up from bed in a cold sweat, dazed and confused. He notes that something smells metallic. His head pulses. His twitchy hands instinctually grabs the now well worn rope. He tries to blink away the blur in his eyes, but they don't seem to be going away. He swings his rope up high and throws at nothing, further blanketing the disorientation. He affirms he's lucid, as his legs give way, pulling him down onto the ground, defeated. His stained wood floors feel unfamiliar, as the walls close in on him. He sits there, like he's already dead as well. Hands touch his shoulders, it almost feels comforting. In a spaz, he attempts to wrench the rope around the figure holding him, only catching his own neck, before the braided strands of string fall to a thump.
The forces weren't quiet?
7
8
9
10
11
1️⃣ — "this issue was closed, tagged with: #wontfix, reason: can't reproduce"
12
13
3️⃣ — web tech is simple by default, it doesn't have things like: type checking, manual memory management, reactive comp
14
15
Mark's room
The good men were complaining daily now about bitter tastes and rotten textures, in addition to the incidents around Mark. The livestock were slower to prepare, more expensive to handle, and unfamiliar still after all; the friction to consumption was at an all-time high. The problem was, Mark had actively been trying to iron out said kinks since the day he caught wind of them. Every time a bug was squashed, two more would spawn. He'd tried to reduce preparation time by simplifying recipes he gave to the clients1️⃣, but that made the product taste flat, inferior to Mark's competitors. He'd tried making the animals lazier to reduce their tough muscle mass2️⃣, but that just made them clunky and taste way worse. He'd tried training his animals to behave in ways more like their un-cursed parallels3️⃣, but they would always fall into the uncanny valley, banished to haunt. It was frustrating, he was once again trapped — as if he was ever not.
The forces were quiet, but the silence rang for acres.
There came a day of splashes and clattering. The thunder struck, the wind howled, it oddly calmed Mark. No customers could reach his farm with Mother Nature's predicament, so he was forced to have a day to himself. Raindrops fogged over and casted a thick gloom onto the already dim shack of Mark's. Rays of candle light scattered into the anisotropic wood corners, as he sat next to the flickering ambience. Though, just because everything else ground to a halt, doesn't mean he gets a break — at least a good break. All he has is his farm, he knows he can't let that go now. That fact alone was suffocating, but he couldn't manage a tear. He sat in silence, like it was solace. He wanted to look back, just to reminisce, but it was scary. Mark wasn't a "someone" until he became the guy who sold the best animals. Was it intoxicating? Certainly, but he could not resist hoping to go back to a time before he'd wanted more.
Like an intrusive thought, the farm shoved itself back into Mark's matrix of neurons. He knew it wasn't futile to resist it, but the pressure almost felt like home, like a warm embrace to keep things going. Then, almost mindlessly, he laid all the data out in front of him. He knew that Messenger gave the most problems, then Instagram, then Facebook; he knew that they would be triggered by what they were fed to grow; he knew that their diets were according to the care recipes he'd developed; did he develop the care recipes he was using? The ricochet of thoughts in his mind could've shaken the room.
"What's the difference?"
"Nothing Mark, you're just not doing it right."
Mark said nothing, as he drew curtains, letting more rain penetrate his eyeline.
The forces weren't quieter.
Mark's thinking spot
act three
Mark finished early today; it wasn't even dusk yet. Promptly after cleaning things up and informing the last few customers, he roped a Messenger test subject into his humble abode. It laid across the kitchen counter panting quickly, with eyes flickering across the room. "Blrfgh!!" Mark made it swift1️⃣. They both stood limply in front of each other. Mark never slaughtered any of his own animals2️⃣, using the excuse of wanting the utmost freshness for customers. He always preferred getting his nutrients from fish and vegies traded for his products, anyways. This time though, he had nothing to deflect what he needed to do. It felt surprisingly nice doing it though, it was something new, something exciting almost. He then proceeded to cut a quarter off the flaccid carcass, as that was all he thought he would need for the experiment. It didn't take long for him to notice that things, smelt funny. Being inexperienced in this regard, he swept it off as nothing special. The part was put in a pot with water, and brought to the stove to boil. After about 15 minutes, he took the lid off to check on the progress only to be bombarded by a distinctively rancid smelling cloud of steam3️⃣. It filled the room and seeped into the untampered atmosphere. Mark didn't think the lid would matter, as it would've just made things boil faster. All it really did though was prevent him from detecting the chemical weapon that was building up to a point of contention. His gag reflex kicked in, eyes already blurry from the tears that filled them. Waving his hands around his face in an attempt to dissipate the gas, he was astounded by how badly things turned out, especially when all he was dealing with was his own meat.
Mark felt ashamed. The mere thought of how he'd let any soul experience this, disgusted him. He twitched and paced around the kitchen, with hands cupped and fiddling.
"You're a failure, you know that?"
"Why can't you get anything right?"
"This is why things aren't working-"
"I can't get anything right"
"Not like you have anything else to-"
"What are you going-"
"Everything's gone"
Mark's kitchen counter
Seemingly thrust by the loathe, he stabbed the now warm quarter with a fork he held onto, and took a bite. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was self-harm, it turned out to taste pretty good. It was succulent, oozing with umami as he continued to bite down1️⃣. Still it was definitely tainted by the smell and a weird texture, but it was not deadly. He glanced back to see what he bit off, and realised it was just a small part of the calf. He tried a bite higher up of the quarter. The amplified mushy texture, putrid scent, and urea-tic taste, was too much to stomach. As he let out some stomach acid on the spot, he knew he was on to something.
Left was still some residue of barf, as Mark only hastily cleaned it. He went straight back to grab another test subject. "Blrfgh!!" This time though, the head was not where his aim fell. He grabbed the uncured Messenger limb and tossed it into another empty pot. One by one, with the passion fuelled by adrenaline, he amputated the squealing creature and put that into another pot. He left one limb attached, and unrelentingly proceeded to sections of the torso next. The kitchen slowly started to fill with rotten clumps and piercing shouts, à la cesspools and dungeons. When Mark got to the heart, still being able to feel its large pumps, he blurted out a lisped apology, and finished the job, collecting the last, yet uncut, limb into its own beat-up pot. In the end, all that was left were a few stains to reminisce, and a bloodied, hopeful man.
The sun had set now. He brought all parts of the new flesh pile to a boil, making sure to do it outside this time. He was only illuminated by the fire he started, with the darkness of the freshly black sky holding him hostage. There was time to spare, waiting for so many things to cook at once would forcefully give him some space to think, but nothing was popping into his mind. When things were done, he took in a breath and started to chew through the collection. Going sequentially, the taste of the first few limbs were emasculate, only able to be described by the heaven's cookery glazed with hell's temptation. Then, as he reached the final limb, it featured the all too familiar combination. It was like there was venom being secreted on death. He progressed and swept across his selections almost lunatically, noting that many of them tasted vile, but not as bad as the limb debris still stuck in his mouth. It was all of them, until he bit on the heart; the heart he'd remembered was pumping in overdrive; the heart he'd remembered he spared till the last; the heart he remembered he apologized to. It was an experience stimulating the senses to an extreme, his vision went turbulent as he threw up with a smile, he'd finally understood1️⃣.
What's left for Mark to do now, is simply to replace the hearts of the ones who need them.
the pots used in Mark's investigation
conclusion
This tale brings forth many findings. One of which reads, how organ failure can present itself inconspicuously to most. Mark, certainly wouldn't have known that, an oxygen-stressed heart caused by inefficient ATP production1️⃣, would cause citric acid to slowly build up and decompose its own matter2️⃣, as well as releasing other waste materials traveling through the bloodstream and diffusing through the brain-blood barrier. Then, all the pent-up dead matter would be released upon prolonged relaxation of the heart.
This jumble of logic happening on the internals of an organism is the bane of any farmer, not wished upon the hells or heavens by ones who know its wraith. The fact that it affects the final product too, definitely acts as a needle at the end of a long sword.
So then, why should anyone even consider using the forces in their livestock? Well, simply, they don't cause havoc to the ones who don't need to work around them. The forces dumb everything down to follow a singular pattern — they run on the same food. For the creature to process the food though, there'll need to be extra or changed organs to digest them. Some of these organs, the original creature would've never needed. They end up using extra energy and resources which piles on the existing physical stresses, killing us all. Now, if an animal doesn't need that much energy to be perfectly healthy, things would probably be dandy; if an animal needs to run around and reach the moon, their disability would demote them into a vegetable1️⃣.
So, to the reader. Get a heart that can handle your soul; use web technology where you can afford to be relaxed. If nothing else you'd take from this piece though, just remember, may the forces be with you, sometimes.
the curses' heart <3
subtext spoilers ⚠
feel free to take a look though after you've read the main textMark was schizophrenic
Mark had visual, auditory, touch, and taste hallucinations... pretty brutal
Mark's hallucinations went away when he "chopped the animal" because it's proven that exercise can be a preventative measure for schizophrenic episodes
All dialog in the passage is not labelled with the source (it was all Mark)
The customers that complained to him, as well as the one who disappeared after being chased, were pretty sus
"the forces were quiet", were unsurprisingly, lies
"but by then he'd already seen things, that no sane man tells tales of", i mean...
references
References
Arrington, M. (2008, May 15). Facebook to launch instant messaging service. TechCrunch. https://techcrunch.com/2008/03/14/facebook-to-launch-instant-messaging-service/
Facebook. (n.d.). Platform bug reports. Facebook for Developers. Retrieved February 25, 2021, from https://developers.facebook.com/support/bugs/#u_0_6_xz:~:text=Total%20Open%20Bugs%3A
Facebook. (2012, April 9). Facebook to acquire Instagram. Facebook Newsroom. https://about.fb.com/news/2012/04/facebook-to-acquire-instagram/
Hardawar, D. (2012, April 13). Instagram surpasses 40M users, adds 10M in 10 days, according to API. VentureBeat. https://venturebeat.com/2012/04/13/instagram-surpasses-40m-users-adds-10m-in-10-days-according-to-api/#ac-lre-player:~:text=The%20photo%20sharing%20app%20may%20not
Instagram Engineering. (2017, February 6). React Native at Instagram. Instagram Engineering. https://instagram-engineering.com/react-native-at-instagram-dd828a9a90c7#a8e6:~:text=using%20React%20Native%20to%20allow%20product%20teams%20to%20ship%20features%20faster
Internet World Stats. (2020, December). Internet Growth Statistics 1995 to 2021 - the Global Village Online. Internet World Stats. https://www.internetworldstats.com/emarketing.htm#stats:~:text=February%2C%202004
J. Tabak, A. (2004, February 9). Hundreds register for new Facebook website. The Harvard Crimson. https://www.thecrimson.com/article/2004/2/9/hundreds-register-for-new-facebook-website/#cse-search-box:~:text=I%20can%20do%20it%20in%20a%20week.%E2%80%9D
Khan, U. (2018, June 12). The pros and cons of native apps. Clutch. https://clutch.co/app-developers/resources/pros-cons-native-apps#resources-menu:~:text=Expensive%20Development
Kincaid, J. (2011, August 9). Facebook launches standalone iPhone/Android messenger app (and it’s beluga). TechCrunch; TechCrunch. https://techcrunch.com/2011/08/09/facebook-launches-standalone-mobile-messenger-app-and-it%E2%80%99s-beluga/
Metz, C. (2013, April 30). Facebook says it’s now as big as Windows (literally). Wired. https://www.wired.com/2013/04/facebook-windows/
Smith, A., & Anderson, M. (2018, March 1). Social media use 2018: Demographics and statistics. Pew Research Center: Internet, Science & Tech. https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/2018/03/01/social-media-use-in-2018/#js-toc-mobile:~:text=The%20median%20American%20uses%20three%20of%20these%20eight%20social%20platforms
Tankovska, H. (2021, January 28). WhatsApp: number of users 2013-2020. Statista. https://www.statista.com/statistics/260819/number-of-monthly-active-whatsapp-users/
Tripathi, M. (2017, December 20). Understanding how the Chrome V8 engine translates JavaScript into machine code. Free Code Camp. https://www.freecodecamp.org/news/understanding-the-core-of-nodejs-the-powerful-chrome-v8-engine-79e7eb8af964/#site-main:~:text=High%2Dlevel%20languages%20are%20abstracted%20from%20machine%20language.
Typora. (2019). Typora 0.9.9.23 (0.9.66) beta. Typora. https://support.typora.io/What’s-New-0.9.66/
lim jia sheng 0344034, contextual studies, project one.pdfthe PDF version of the above essay
// archive
draft@3.17
22/2/21intro
This is a story about three forces that took over the world. They live and parasite off our souls, from the website you're reading this on, to the text editor I'm writing this on. What are they? Or rather, who are they? HTML, CSS, and JavaScript — the three names of the unspoken. Before evil, there was only peace; harmony between programs and the farmers1️⃣ who cared for them, like livestock. Villagers2️⃣ lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. Unfortunately, all would crumble. Man's desperation for power drove the discovery of "the web", awakening the curses that doomed generations to come. The ghouls crusaded across lands with their crippling harm, luring naïve farmers with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests and lives of rest. The innocent once bewitched, will then be stuck with livestock3️⃣ forever at mercy, haunted by unrest brought fourth from the unholy. Underneath the surface though, the blunt edges of the entities reveal the true reason for temptation. Livestock that were preyed on, improve in taste4️⃣; livestock that were preying, improve in insanity. Thus, it all comes down to the violent game of intellect and war. Farmers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. As death go though, legends come."Town Facebook", shows us how you'd win the game, but also vice versa with who becomes the "played". From their once flagships, to their forever condemned, all of them saw what could've been, only few held it in their palms, and fewer managed to hold them in their fists. The stark reminder of how some did manage to succeed wildly though, really goes to show, the evil forces are only evil for the things they obliterate; needed for the things they incubate. _Yin_ 5️⃣ taking over the world doesn't colonize _yang_ 6️⃣, it amplifies it. Henceforth, the real question amongst all that, is not "how to get rid of the darkness", but "when to get rid of darkness" — "when should you use web technologies?"
1️⃣ — farmers = analogy for developers/programmers
2️⃣ — village = (vague) analogy for a company
3️⃣ — livestock = analogy for program/application
4️⃣ — taste = analogy for the user experience
5️⃣ — yin (阴/darkness/evil/devil/satan in general) = analogy for web technology (if you hadn't caught on by now xd)
6️⃣ — yang (阳/brightness) = (vague) analogy for native technology
To that I say, balance is to not be grey, but to be a shadow under sunlight, and a candle under moonlight; to use the correct tool for the job.
act one
For a tale of "once upon a time", "Town Facebook" reads like no bedtime story. Its effects are more than substantial, spanning lifetimes. A farmer named "Mark"1️⃣ was a young bright individual, just having bred his first young. He plot his land in a quiet part of plains, surrounded by the horizon with only flora to obstruct it. Soft breezes gave the premises atmosphere, sun shadows intersected like distorted figures, there was no place better to be than here. By this time, word of the unholy trinity had spread, and Mark was very aware of its powers. Unlike the many of his peers at home, Mark saw opportunity. This was his key to hit the big leagues, rid himself of the rags, and bargain back some self-worth. Hastily, he took the curses' offer head-on and began to grow his Facebook livestock arsenal. It was risky, and there were no doubts that he had questions about what he was doing. "There had to be a reason for the taboo, right?". Linger it did, even after the barren plains started accumulating footprints and dirt paths. Good men from villages all over the map were starting to visit, taking home weeks of dinner, cheering on for feasts, as Mark reaped what he often hesitantly, sowed. He knew there were limits to what he had agreed to, but the line in the sand was still buried deep in stone.
1️⃣ — "Mark" = a (mostly) fictional representation of Mark Zuckerberg
As the days went by, "Facebook" had become synonymous with meats, but it was not the only one fighting in the space. Not far from Mark's palace grounds was a blooming new establishment, heard exclusively through murmurs and short probes. This was the village of "Instagram". It sat in between two misty hills, grasslands spanned fields around their homes, and a splatted lake just behind the warm village scattered with tranquillity. Mark spied from afar with curiosity. They were attracting more and more of his own customers, without having any of the "advantages" brought by the devil's three. Finding out that it was because Instagram offered livestock that simply tasted better than what he had, became the tipping point for him to want in. "Maybe this is the step up from here." Mark offered the "Instagram" village a simple offer, to join his own plains on a path to world domination. Promises of eternal harvests and lives of rest were thrown around, charming their agreement for a deal. They caved, collapsing the two villages into the soon-to-be invasive conglomerate, further strengthening Mark's empire.
Things progressed. As with time comes scrutiny, the flaws of his former competitor became clearer and clearer — they just couldn't keep up with the agility of Facebook's development. Being shoulder-to-shoulder in the same town enabled much more detailed comparisons of quality, but many still went for Facebook's flesh because it plainly provided choices more suitable for individual diets. The reason for this though, drills deep. Instagram's livestock were farmed masterfully, albeit traditionally — in ways unique to each species. This made it so that a lot of work was required to make even slight improvements to their care recipes, tightly constraining variety with resources. Mark's decision to bet on hell with Facebook overcame that, as the curses would rebuild organisms using their own predefined organs. Thus, needing only one type of feed, it meant that he would be able to work on similar formulae for every species, gaining the aforementioned agility. Looking at his decision to bring in Instagram and realising the gem was not as clear-cut as he expected, remorse started to set in. He tried his hardest to wave them away, but they were intoxicating. He reminisced about his first evil breakthrough, forming clouds of benefits that muffled the cries he hid at the back of his head. He sought to bring what he faithfully trusted into his young blood to truly elevate what he had, and so he did.
"What's next?" A thought crosses Mark's mind. Mark knew exactly what he was working on. Messaging services were picking up steam, more and more people everyday were discovering the magic of it. He had been developing it and offering it within the grounds of Facebook, but he wanted more. Mark didn't want to risk another bust, which was what he viewed the pre-transition Instagram as. He had dreams he wanted to pluck into reality, dreams of a platform that controlled the lands, outshined everyone else, be the one they feared. In his mind, the only way to go was forward at this point, citing how he already had so much infrastructure built around his kingdom. He took all that he knew was good, his techniques, and his "accomplices", to give what Facebook had developed, its own life. The new herd was given their own space in the Facebook complex, as they would grow out of being merely an extension. Logically, invasions required coverage; their first course of action after securing the space had to be expansion. With the three ghouls, they spawned new breeds to corner all fronts of the market. It was like they cut off a tumour to help it grow faster. As the days went by, they injected progressively more resources segregated from the main Facebook operation, into building up another gateway into the empire. The new farm, situated in the middle of a now crowded plot of grass, stood firm with sunlight only blocked by the shade of his palm above his eyes. It was glorious, with the far away tree leaves shimmering in affirmation.
Without noticing, voodoo now surrounded Mark's livelihood, clustering up and infecting every aspect of it — for his own good of course. He'd been high in the airspace of success, busy being oblivious to the runway he'd originally wanted to only cross. Mark knew where he was headed though, he knew he wanted to be there, but he wasn't so sure now about how he was getting there. The relentless doubt started to kick in once again, only interrupted by, "aw, come on Mark, things'll be fine, you'll get all that you want." They topped off the construction of the new farm by naming the place — Messenger. "Yeah I guess that's right."
act two
"AAA!"
Screams rang far and wide, with galloping footsteps following it. A panicked Mark twitched around to find the source of the distress. It was one of the Messenger's, they were misbehaving. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, this wasn't Marks' first rodeo that day. He quickly dashed for the rope that he already had on standby, swung the rope loop above his head, and then flung it onto the neck of the manic beast. Skilfully, he yanked on the rope, tightening the slack, and tipped his target over. Mark wasn't relieved. The man being chased was already off, not giving Mark any chance for an apology or attempt at remedy. He knew that an experience like this would leave a bad taste in any customer's mouth, hell anyone's mouth! Even with that knowledge though, stumped was all he was. He didn't know if he should be concerned or ignorant, this had never happened before that current day. The beast in question seemed to have calmed down, along with the Instagram one from dawn. Still gripping onto the slightly burning rope, he pulled on it again as to just remind the Messenger to return. It waltzed back obediently, and Mark sat down melancholically.
The forces were quiet.
Mark's normally a pretty collected man, but he had his hands tied now. A feeling of involuntary curiosity washed over him, even if some parts of his mind fought against it. He figured that it might've been something he'd done that day. He knit his eyebrows together, wrinkling his glabella, striking down all things similar to yesterday. He remembered, he fed. From the sources, to the blending, their minute differences were amplified in Mark's search for the origins of the cracks in this kingdom. Though, the day ended with nothing more than the sole hope of an anomaly.
The forces were quiet.
With every feed now, the livestock would fluctuate wildly in their temper. Some days were better than others, with everyone coexisting peacefully and majestically; other days, the farm resembled much more of burn pits from warzones. Most importantly, the events completely stunned expansion of Mark's wonderland, with even maintaining it becoming a losing battle. He still did put in a lot of work throughout the days to crack the challenge, but by then he'd already seen things, that no sane man tells tales of — the creative ways his rogue beasts used to inflict injury and execution — physical assaults, parasitical invasions, neurotoxin inhalation, and more. He was left numb to all of them. Was he numb because of what was happening, or because he couldn't stop it? Mark wasn't doing too well.
The forces were quiet.
Mark jolts up from bed in a cold sweat, dazed and confused. He notes that something smells metallic. His head pulses. His twitchy hands instinctually grabs the now well worn rope. He tries to blink away the blur in his eyes, but they don't seem to be going away. He swings his rope up high and throws at nothing, further blanketing the disorientation. He affirms he's lucid, as his legs give way, pulling him down onto the ground, defeated. His stained wood floors feel unfamiliar, as the walls close in on him. He sits there, like he's already dead as well. Hands touch his shoulders, it almost feels comforting. In a spaz, he attempts to wrench the rope around the figure holding him, only catching his own neck, before the braided strands of string fall to a thump.
The forces weren't quiet?
The good men were complaining daily now about bitter tastes and rotten textures, in addition to the incidents around Mark. The livestock were slower to prepare, more expensive to handle, and unfamiliar still after all; the friction to consumption was at an all time high. The problem was, Mark had actively been trying to iron out said kinks since the day he caught wind of them. Every time a bug was squashed, two more would spawn. He'd tried to reduce preparation time by simplifying recipes he gave to the clients, but that made the product taste flat, inferior to Mark's competitors. He'd tried making the animals lazier to reduce their tough muscle mass, but that just made them clunky and taste way worse. He'd tried training his animals to behave in ways more like their un-cursed parallels, but they would always fall into the uncanny valley, banished to haunt. It was frustrating, he was once again trapped — as if he was ever not.
The forces were quiet, but the silence rang for acres.
There came a day of splashes and clattering. The thunder struck, the wind howled, it oddly calmed Mark. No customers could reach his farm with Mother Nature's predicament, so he was forced to have a day to himself. Raindrops fogged over and casted a thick gloom onto the already dim shack of Mark's. Rays of candle light scattered into the anisotropic wood corners, as he sat next to the flickering ambience. Though, just because everything else ground to a halt, doesn't mean he gets a break — at least a _good_ break. All he has is his farm, he knows he can't let that go now. That fact alone was suffocating, but he couldn't manage a tear. He sat in silence, like it was solace. He wanted to look back, just to reminisce, but it was scary. Mark wasn't a "someone" until he became the guy who sold the best animals. Was it intoxicating? Certainly, but he could not resist hoping to go back to a time before he'd wanted more.
Like an intrusive thought, the farm shoved itself back into Mark's matrix of neurons. He knew it wasn't futile to resist it, but the pressure almost felt like home, like a warm embrace to keep things going. Then, almost mindlessly, he laid all the data out in front of him. He knew that Messenger gave the most problems, then Instagram, then Facebook; he knew that they would be triggered by what they were fed to grow; he knew that their diets were according to the care recipes he'd developed; did he develop the care recipes he was using? The ricochet of thoughts in his mind could've shaken the room.
"What's the difference?"
"Nothing Mark, you're just not doing it right."
Mark said nothing, as he drew curtains, letting more rain penetrate his eyeline.
The forces weren't quieter.
act three
Mark finished early today, it wasn't even dusk yet. Promptly after cleaning things up and informing the last few customers, he roped a Messenger test subject into his humble abode. It laid across the kitchen counter panting quickly, with eyes flickering across the room. "Blrfgh!!" Mark made it swift. They both stood limply in front of each other. Mark never slaughtered any of his own animals, using the excuse of wanting the upmost freshness for customers. He always preferred getting his nutrients from fish and vegies traded for his products, anyways. This time though, he had nothing to deflect what he needed to do. Contrarily, it felt surprisingly nice doing it, it was something new, something exciting almost. He then proceeded to cut a quarter off the flaccid carcass, as that was all he thought he would need for the experiment. It didn't take long for him to notice that things, smelt funny. Being unexperienced in this regard, he swept it off as something of the ordinary. The part was put in a pot with water, and brought to the stove to boil. After about 15 minutes, he took the lid off to check on the progress, only to be bombarded by a distinctively rancid smelling cloud of steam. It filled the room and seeped into the untampered atmosphere. Mark didn't think the lid would matter, as it would just make things boil faster. All it really did though was prevent him from detecting what was building, stacking everything up to a point of contention. His gag reflex kicked in, eyes already blurry from the tears that filled them. Waving his hands around his face in an attempt to dissipate the gas, he was astounded by how badly things turned out, especially when all he was dealing with was his own meat.
Mark felt ashamed. The mere thought of how he'd let any soul experience this, disgusted him. He twitched and paced around the kitchen, with hands cupped and fiddling.
"You're a failure, you know that?"
"Why can't you get anything right?"
"This is why things aren't working-"
"I can't get anything right"
"Not like you have anything else to-"
"What are you going-"
"Everything's gone"
Seemingly thrusted by the loathe, he stabbed the now warm quarter with a fork he held on to, and took a bite. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was self harm, it turned out to taste pretty good. It was succulent, oozing with umami as he continued to bite down. Still it was definitely tainted by the smell and a weird texture, but not deadly. He glanced back to see what he bit off, and realised it was just a small part of the calf. He tried a bite higher up of the quarter. The amplified mushy texture, putrid scent, and urea-tic taste, was too much to stomach. As he let out some stomach acid on the spot, he knew he was on to something.
Left was still some residue of barf, as Mark only hastily cleaned it. He went straight back to grab another test subject. "Blrfgh!!" This time though, the head was not where his aim fell. He grabbed the uncured Messenger limb and tossed it into another empty pot. One by one, with the passion fuelled by adrenaline, he amputated the squealing creature and put that into another pot. He left one limb attached, and unrelentingly proceeded to sections of the torso next. The kitchen slowly started to fill with rotten pots and piercing shouts, à la cesspools and dungeons of the wildest worlds. When Mark got to the heart, still being able to feel its large pumps, he blurted out a lisped apology, and finished the job, collecting the last, yet uncut, limb into its own beat-up pot. At the end, all that was left was a few stains to reminisce, and a bloodied, hopeful man.
The sun had set now. He brought all parts of the new flesh pile to a boil, making sure to do it outside this time. He was only illuminated by the fire he started, with the darkness of the freshly black sky holding him hostage. There was time to spare, waiting for so many things to cook at once would forcefully give him some space to think, but nothing was popping into his mind. When things were done, he almost sillily took a bite out of the contents of each pot. Going sequentially, the taste of the first few limbs were emasculate, only able to be described by the heaven's cookery. Then, as he reached the final limb, it featured the all too familiar combination. It was like there was venom being secreted on death. He progressed and swept across his selections almost manically, noting that many of them tasted vile, but not as bad as the limb debris still stuck in his mouth. It was all of them, until he bit on the heart; the heart he'd remembered was pumping in overdrive; the heart he'd remembered he spared till the last; the heart he remembered he apologized to. It was an experience stimulating the senses to an extreme, his vision went turbulent as he threw up with a smile, he'd finally understood.
What's left for Mark to do now, is simply to replace the hearts of the ones who need them.
conclusion
From this tale, it brings forth many findings. One of which reads, how organ failure can present itself inconspicuously to most. Mark, certainly wouldn't have known that, an oxygen stressed heart caused by excessive reactive oxygen species chemical production, would cause citric acid to slowly build up and decompose its own matter, as well as releasing other waste materials traveling along the bloodstream and diffusing through the brain blood barrier. Then, all the pent up dead matter would be released upon prolonged relaxation of the heart.
This jumble of logic happening on the internals of an organism is the bane of any farmer, not wished upon the hells or heavens by ones who know its wraith. The fact that it affects the final product too, definitely acts as a needle at the end of a long sword.
Even with all the dead and suffering though, the curses are still amongst us, rightfully so. They don't cause havoc to the ones who don't need to work around them. Part of Mark's livestock did things that relied heavily on cardiovascular "oomph", which the curses' amplification worked against. The spaghetti of logic links were also because the creatures were being built upon a platform not fit for them. By the time the symptoms showed, it was too late for anything other than workarounds, and feed recipe patches.
So, to the reader. Get a heart that can handle your soul; use web technology when it makes sense. If nothing else you'd take from this piece, only remember, may the forces be with you, sometimes.
draft@3.16
21/2/21intro
This is a story about three forces that took over the world. They live and parasite off our souls, from the website you're reading this on, to the text editor I'm writing this on. What are they? Or rather, who are they? HTML, CSS, and JavaScript — the three names of the unspoken, given by the victims. Before evil, there only was peace; harmony between programs and the farmers1️⃣ who cared for them, like livestock. Villagers2️⃣ lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. Unfortunately, all would crumble. Man's desperation for power drove the discovery of "the web", awakening the curses that doomed generations to come. The ghouls crusaded across lands with their crippling harm, luring naïve farmers with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests and lives of rest. The innocent once bewitched, will then be stuck with livestock3️⃣ forever at mercy, haunted by unrest brought fourth from the unholy. Underneath the surface though, the blunt edges of the entities reveal the true reason for temptation. Livestock that were preyed on, improve in taste4️⃣; livestock that were preying, improve in insanity. Thus, it all comes down to the violent game of intellect and war. Farmers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. As death goes, legends come. "Town Facebook", shows us how you'd win the game, but also vice versa with who becomes the "played". From their once flagships, to their forever condemned, all of them saw what could've been, only few held it in their palms, and fewer managed to hold them in their fists. The stark reminder of how some did manage to succeed wildly though, really goes to show, the evil forces are only evil for the things they obliterate; needed for the things they incubate. Yin5️⃣ taking over the world doesn't colonize yang6️⃣, it amplifies it. Henceforth, the real question amongst all that, is not "how to get rid of the darkness", but "when to get rid of darkness" — "when should you use web technologies?"
To that I say, balance is to not be grey, but to be a shadow under sunlight, and a candle under moonlight; to use the correct tool for the job.
act one
For a tale of "once upon a time", "Town Facebook" reads like no bedtime story. Its effects are more than substantial, spanning lifetimes, till now. A farmer named "Mark"1️⃣, our protagonist, was a young bright individual just having bred his first program, later to be known as "Facebook". He plot his land in a quiet part of plains, surrounded by the horizon with only flora to obstruct it. Soft breezes gave the premises atmosphere, sun shadows intersected like distorted figures, there was no place better to be than here. By this time, word of the unholy trinity had spread, and Mark was very aware of its powers. Unlike the many of his peers at home, Mark saw opportunity. This was his key to hit the big leagues, rid himself of the rags, and bargain back some self-worth. Hastily, he took the curses' offer head-on and began to grow his Facebook livestock arsenal. It was risky, and there were no doubts that he had questions about what he was doing. "There had to be a reason for the taboo, right?". It kept ricocheting around the back of his mind, even after the barren plains started accumulating footprints and dirt paths. Good men from villages all over the map started to visit, taking home livestock to consume them, cheering on for feasts as Mark reaped what he, often hesitantly, sowed. He knew there were limits to what he had agreed to, but the line in the sand was still buried deep in stone.
As the days went by, "Facebook" had become synonymous with media, but it was not the only one fighting in the space. Not far from Mark's palace grounds was a blooming new establishment, heard exclusively through murmurs and short probes. This was the village of "Instagram". It sat in between two misty hills, grasslands spanned fields around their homes, and a splatted lake just behind the warm village scattered with tranquillity. Mark spied from afar with curiosity. They were attracting more and more of his own customers, without having any of the "advantages" brought by the devil's three. Finding out that it was because Instagram offered livestock that simply tasted better than what he had, became the tipping point for him to want in. "Maybe this is the step up from here." Mark offered the "Instagram" village a simple offer, to join his own plains on a path to world domination. Promises of eternal harvests and lives of rest were thrown around, charming their agreement for a deal. They caved, collapsing the two villages into the soon-to-be invasive conglomerate, further strengthening Mark's empire.
Things progressed. As with time comes scrutiny, the flaws of his former competitor became clearer and clearer — they just couldn't keep up with the agility of Facebook's development. Being shoulder-to-shoulder in the same town enabled much more detailed comparisons of quality, but many still went for Facebook's flesh because it plainly provided choices more suitable for individual diets. The reason for this though, drills deep. Instagram's livestock was farmed masterfully, albeit traditionally — in ways unique to each species. This made it so that a lot of work was required to make even slight improvements to their care recipes, tightly constraining variety with resources. Mark's decision to bet on hell with Facebook overcame that, with cursed fauna needing only farmed souls to survive. Needing only one resource, meant that he would be able to work on similar formulae for every species, gaining the aforementioned agility. Looking at his decision to bring in Instagram and realising the gem was not as clear-cut as he expected, remorse started to set in. He tried his hardest to wave them away, but they were intoxicating. He reminisced about his first evil breakthrough, forming clouds of benefits that muffled the cries he hid at the back of his head. He sought to bring what he faithfully trusted into his young blood to truly elevate what he had, and so he did.
"What's next?" A thought crosses Mark's mind. Mark knew exactly what he was working on. Messaging services were picking up steam, more and more people everyday were discovering the magic of it. He had been developing it and offering it within the grounds of Facebook, but he wanted more. Mark didn't want to risk another bust, which was what he viewed the pre-transition Instagram as. He had dreams he wanted to pluck into reality, dreams of a platform that controlled the lands, outshined everyone else, be the one they feared. In his mind, the only way to go was forward at this point, citing how he already had so much infrastructure built around his kingdom. He took all that he knew was good, his techniques, and his "accomplices", to give what Facebook had developed, its own life. The new herd was given their own space in the Facebook complex, as they would grow out of being merely an extension. Logically, invasions required coverage; their first course of action after securing the space had to be expansion. With the three ghouls, they spawned new breeds to corner all fronts of the market. It was like they cut off a tumour to help it grow faster. As the days went by, they injected progressively more resources segregated from the main Facebook operation, into building up another gateway into the empire. The new farm, situated in the middle of a now crowded plot of grass, stood firm with sunlight only blocked by the shade of his palm above his eyes. It was glorious, with the far away tree leaves shimmering in affirmation.
Without noticing, voodoo now surrounded Mark's livelihood, clustering up and infecting every aspect of it — for his own good of course. He'd been high in the airspace of success, busy being oblivious to the runway he'd originally wanted to only cross. Mark knew where he was headed though, he knew he wanted to be there, but he wasn't so sure now about how he was getting there. The relentless doubt started to kick in once again, only interrupted by, "aw, come on Mark, things'll be fine, you'll get all that you want." They topped off the construction of the new farm by naming the place — Messenger. "Yeah I guess that's right."
act two
"AAA!"
Screams rang far and wide, with galloping footsteps following it. A panicked Mark twitched around to find the source of the distress. It was one of the Messenger's, they were misbehaving. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, this wasn't Marks' first rodeo that day. He quickly dashed for the rope that he already had on standby, swung the rope loop above his head, and then flung it onto the neck of the manic beast. Skilfully, he yanked on the rope, tightening the slack, and tipped his target over. Mark wasn't relieved. The man being chased was already off, not giving Mark any chance for an apology or attempt at remedy. He knew that an experience like this would leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth. Even with that knowledge though, stumped was all he was. He didn't know if he should be concerned or ignorant, this had never happened before that day. The beast in question seemed to have calmed down, along with the Instagram one from dawn. Still gripping onto the slightly burning rope, he pulled on it again as to just remind the Messenger to return. It waltzed back obediently, and Mark sat down melancholically.
The forces were quiet.
Mark's normally a pretty collected man, but he had his hands tied now. A feeling of involuntary curiosity washed over him, even if some parts of his mind fought against it. He figured that it might've been something he'd done that day. He knit his eyebrows together, wrinkling his glabella, striking down all things similar to yesterday. He remembered, he fed. From the sources, to the blending, their minute differences were amplified in Mark's search for the origins of the cracks in this kingdom. Though, the day ended with nothing more than the sole hope of an anomaly.
The forces were quiet.
With every feed now, the livestock would fluctuate wildly in their temper. Some days were better than others, with everyone coexisting peacefully and majestically; other days, the farm resembled much more of burn pits from warzones. Most importantly, the events completely stunned expansion of Mark's wonderland, with even maintaining it becoming a losing battle. He still did put in a lot of work throughout the days to crack the challenge, but by then he'd already seen things, that no one should have to experience. Things like, creative ways the rogue beasts used to inflict injury and execution — physical assaults, parasitical invasions, neurotoxin inhalation, etc. All that left him numb to the atrocities. Was he numb because of what was happening, or because he couldn't stop it? Either way, Mark wasn't doing too well.
The forces were quiet.
Mark jolts up from bed in a cold sweat, dazed and confused. He notes that something smells metallic. His head pulses. His twitchy hands instinctually grabs the now well worn rope. He tries to blink away the blur in his eyes, but they don't seem to be going away. He swings his rope up high and throws at nothing, further blanketing the disorientation. He affirms he's lucid, as his legs give way, pulling him down onto the ground, defeated. His stained wood floors feel unfamiliar, as the walls close in on him. He sits there, like he's already dead as well. Hands touch his shoulders, it almost feels comforting. In a spaz, he attempts to wrench the rope around the figure holding him, only catching his own neck, before the braided strands of string fall to a thump.
The forces weren't quiet?
The good men were complaining daily now about bitter tastes and rotten textures, in addition to the incidents around Mark. The livestock were slower to prepare, more expensive to handle, and unfamiliar still after all; the friction to consumption was at an all time high. The problem was, Mark had already been actively trying to iron out said kinks since the day they started. Every time a bug was squashed, two more would spawn. He'd tried to reduce preparation time by simplifying recipes he gave to the clients, but that made the product taste flat, inferior to Mark's competitors. He'd tried making the animals lazier to reduce their tough muscle mass, but that just made them clunky and taste way worse. He'd tried training his animals to behave in ways more like their un-cursed parallels, but they would always fall into the uncanny valley. It was frustrating, he was once again trapped — as if he was ever not.
The forces were quiet, but the silence rang for acres.
There came a day of splashes and clattering. The thunder struck, the wind howled, it oddly calmed Mark. No customers could reach his farm with Mother Nature's predicament, so he was forced to have a day to himself. Raindrops fogged over and casted a thick gloom onto the already dim shack of Mark's. Rays of candle light scattered into the anisotropic wood corners, as he sat next to the flickering ambience. Though, just because everything else ground to a halt, doesn't mean he gets a break — at least a good break. All he has is his farm, he knows he can't let that go now. That fact alone was suffocating, but he couldn't manage a tear. He sat in silence, like it was solace. He wanted to look back, just to reminisce, but it was scary. Mark wasn't a "someone" until he became the guy who sold the best animals. Was it intoxicating? Certainly, but he could not resist hoping to go back to a time before he'd wanted more.
Like an intrusive thought, the farm shoved itself back into Mark's matrix of neurons. Almost mindlessly, out of his control, he laid all the data out in front of him. He knew that Messenger gave the most problems, then Instagram, then Facebook; he knew that they would be triggered by what they were fed to grow; he knew that their diets were according to the care recipes he'd developed; did he develop the care recipes he was using? The ricochet of thoughts in his mind could've shaken the room.
"What's the difference?"
"Nothing Mark, you're just not doing it right."
Mark said nothing, as he drew curtains, letting more rain penetrate his eyeline.
The forces weren't quieter.
act three
Mark finished early today, it wasn't even dusk yet. Promptly after cleaning things up and informing the last few customers, he roped a Messenger test subject into his humble abode. It laid across the kitchen counter panting quickly, with eyes flickering across the room. "Blrfgh!!" Mark made it swift. They both stood limply in front of each other. Mark never slaughtered any of his own animals, using the excuse of wanting the upmost freshness for customers. He always preferred getting his nutrients from fish and vegies traded for his products, anyways. This time though, he had nothing to deflect what he needed to do. Contrarily, it felt surprisingly nice doing something new, exciting almost. He then proceeded to cut a quarter off the flaccid carcass, as that was all he thought he would need for the experiment. It didn't take long for him to notice that things, smelt funny. Being unexperienced in this regard, he swept it off as something of the ordinary. The part was put in a pot with water, and brought to the stove to boil. After about 15 minutes, he took the lid off to check on the progress, only to be bombarded by a distinctively rancid smelling cloud of steam. It filled the room and seeped into the untampered atmosphere. Mark didn't think the lid would matter, as it would just make things boil faster, he thought, but it really prevented him from detecting what was happening, building everything up to a point of contention. His gag reflex kicked in, eyes already blurry from the tears that filled them. Waving his hands around his face in an attempt to dissipate the gas, he was astounded by how badly things turned out, especially when all he was dealing with was his own meat.
Mark felt ashamed. The mere thought of how he'd let any soul experience this, disgusted him. He twitched paced around the kitchen, with hands cupped and fiddling.
"You're a failure, you know that?"
"Why can't you get anything right?"
Thrusted by the loathe, he stabbed the now warm quarter with a fork, and took a bite. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was self harm, it turned out to taste pretty good. It was succulent, oozing with umami as he continued to bite down. It was still definitely tainted by the smell and a weird texture, but not deadly. He glanced back to see what he bit off, and realised it was just a small part of the calf. He tried a bite higher up of the quarter. The amplified mushy texture, putrid scent, and urea-tic taste, was too much to stomach. As he threw up on the spot, he knew he was on to something.
Some barf residue was still left on the floor, after Mark hastily cleaned it. He went straight back out to grab another test subject. "Blrfgh!!" This time though, the head was not where his aim fell. He grabbed the uncured Messenger limb and tossed it into another empty pot. One by one, with the passion fuelled by adrenaline, he amputated the squealing creature and put that into another pot. He left one limb attached, and unrelentingly proceeded to sections of the torso next. The kitchen slowly started to fill with rotten pots and piercing shouts, à la cesspools and dungeons of the wildest worlds. When Mark got to the heart, still being able to feel its large pumps, he blurted out a lisped apology, and finished the job, collecting the last, yet uncut, limb into its own beat-up pot. At the end, all that was left was a few stains to reminisce, and a bloodied, hopeful man.
The sun had set now. He brought all parts of the new flesh pile to a boil, making sure to do it outside this time. He was only illuminated by the fire he started, with the darkness of the freshly black sky holding him hostage. There was time to spare, waiting for so many things to cook at once would forcefully give him some space to think, but nothing was popping into his mind. When things were done, he almost mindlessly took a bite out of the contents of each pot. Going sequentially, the taste of the first few limbs were emasculate, only able to be described by the heaven's cookery. Then, as he reached the final limb, it featured the all too familiar combination. It was like there was venom being secreted on death. He progressed and swept across his selections almost manically, noting that many of them tasted vile, but not as bad as he'd remembered. It was all of them, until he bit on the heart; the heart he'd remembered was pumping in overdrive; the heart he'd remembered he spared till the last. It was an experience stimulating the senses to an extreme, his vision went turbulent as he threw up with a smile, he'd finally understood.
What's left for Mark to do now, is only to replace the hearts of the ones who need them.
conclusion
From this tale, it brings forth many findings. One of which reads, how organ failure can present itself inconspicuously to most. Mark, certainly wouldn't have known that, an oxygen stressed heart caused by excessive reactive oxygen species chemical production, would cause citric acid to slowly build up and decompose its own matter, as well as releasing other waste materials traveling along the bloodstream and diffusing through the brain blood barrier. Then, all the pent up dead matter would be released upon prolonged relaxation of the heart.
This jumble of logic happening on the internals of an organism is the bane of any farmer, not wished upon the hells or heavens by ones who know its wraith. The worst part of it affecting the final product, definitely acts as a needle at the end of a long sword.
Even with all the dead and suffering though, the curses are still amongst us, rightfully so. They don't cause havoc to the ones who don't need to work around them. Part of Mark's livestock did things that relied heavily on cardiovascular "oomph", which the curses' amplification worked against. The spaghetti of logic links were also because the creatures were being built upon a platform not fit for them. By the time the symptoms showed, it was too late for anything other than workarounds, and feed recipe patches.
So, to the reader. Get a heart that can handle your soul; use web technology when it makes sense. If nothing else you'd take from this piece, only remember, may the forces be with you, sometimes.
draft@3.12
13/2/21This is a story about three forces that took over the world. They live and parasite off our souls, from the website you're reading this on, to the text editor I'm writing this on. What are they? Or rather, who are they? HTML, CSS, and JavaScript — the three names of the unspoken, given by the victims. Before evil, there only was peace; harmony between programs and the farmers1️⃣ who cared for them, like livestock. Villagers2️⃣ lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. Unfortunately, all would crumble. Man's desperation for power drove the discovery of "the web", awakening the curses that doomed generations to come. The ghouls crusaded across lands with their crippling harm, luring naïve farmers with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests and lives of rest. The innocent once bewitched, will then be stuck with livestock3️⃣ forever at mercy, haunted by unrest brought fourth from the unholy. Underneath the surface though, the blunt edges of the entities reveal the true reason for temptation. Livestock usually consumed, improve in taste4️⃣; livestock usually used for work, improve in insanity. Thus, it all comes down to the violent game of intellect and war. Farmers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. As death goes, legends come."Town Facebook", shows us how you'd win the game, but also vice versa with who becomes the "played". From their once flagships, to their forever condemned, all of them saw what could've been, only few held it in their palms, and fewer managed to hold them in their fists. The stark reminder of how some did manage to succeed wildly though, really goes to show, the evil forces are only evil for the things they obliterate; needed for the things they incubate. _Yin_ 5️⃣ taking over the world doesn't colonize _yang_ 6️⃣, it amplifies it. Henceforth, the real question amongst all that, is not "how to get rid of the darkness", but "how to stand between them" — "how to overcome web technology's limitations in interactive applications?"
1️⃣ — farmers = analogy for developers/programmers
2️⃣ — village = (vague) analogy for a company
3️⃣ — livestock = analogy for program/application
4️⃣ — taste = analogy for the user experience
5️⃣ — yin (阴/darkness/evil/devil/satan in general) = analogy for web technology (if you hadn't caught on by now xd)
6️⃣ — yang (阳/brightness) = (vague) analogy for native technology
To that I say, balance is to not be grey, but to be a shadow under sunlight, and a candle under moonlight; to use the correct tool for the job.
For a tale of "once upon a time", "Town Facebook" reads like no bedtime story. Its effects are more than substantial, spanning lifetimes, till now. A farmer named "Mark"1️⃣, our protagonist, was a young bright individual just having bred his first program, later to be known as "Facebook". He plot his land in a quiet part of plains, surrounded by the horizon with only flora to obstruct it. Soft breezes gave the premises atmosphere, sun shadows intersected like distorted figures, there was no place better to be than here. By this time, word of the unholy trinity had spread, and Mark was very aware of its powers. Unlike the many of his peers at home, Mark saw opportunity. This was his key to hit the big leagues, rid himself of the rags, and bargain back some self-worth. Hastily, he took the curses' offer head-on and began to grow his Facebook livestock arsenal. It was risky, and there were no doubts that he had questions about what he was doing. "There had to be a reason for the taboo, right?". It kept ricocheting around the back of his mind, even after the barren plains started accumulating footprints and dirt paths. Good men from villages all over the map started to visit, taking home livestock to consume them, cheering on for feasts as Mark reaped what he, often hesitantly, sowed. He knew there were limits to what he had agreed to, but the line in the sand was still buried deep in stone.
1️⃣ — "Mark" = a (mostly) fictional representation of Mark Zuckerberg
As the days went by, "Facebook" had become synonymous with media, but it was not the only one fighting in the space. Not far from Mark's palace grounds was a blooming new establishment, heard exclusively through murmurs and short probes. This was the village of "Instagram". It sat in between two misty hills, grasslands spanned fields around their homes, and a splatted lake just behind the warm village scattered with tranquillity. Mark spied from afar with curiosity. They were attracting more and more of his own customers, without having any of the "advantages" brought by the devil's three. Finding out that it was because Instagram offered livestock that simply tasted better than what he had, became the tipping point for him to want in. "Maybe this is the step up from here." Mark offered the "Instagram" village a simple offer, to join his own plains on a path to world domination. Promises of eternal harvests and lives of rest were thrown around, charming their agreement for a deal. They caved, collapsing the two villages into the soon-to-be invasive conglomerate, further strengthening Mark's empire.
Things progressed. As with time comes scrutiny, the flaws of his former competitor became clearer and clearer — they just couldn't keep up with the agility of Facebook's development. Being shoulder-to-shoulder in the same town enabled much more detailed comparisons of quality, but many still went for Facebook's flesh because it plainly provided choices more suitable for individual diets. The reason for this though, drills deep. Instagram's livestock was farmed masterfully, albeit traditionally — in ways unique to each species. This made it so that a lot of work was required to make even slight improvements to their care recipes, tightly constraining variety with resources. Mark's decision to bet on hell with Facebook overcame that, with cursed fauna needing only farmed souls to survive. Needing only one resource, meant that he would be able to work on similar formulae for every species, gaining the aforementioned agility. Looking at his decision to bring in Instagram and realising the gem was not as clear-cut as he expected, remorse started to set in. He tried his hardest to wave them away, but they were intoxicating. He reminisced about his first evil breakthrough, forming clouds of benefits that muffled the cries he hid at the back of his head. He sought to bring what he faithfully trusted into his young blood to truly elevate what he had, and so he did.
"What's next?" A thought crosses Mark's mind. Mark knew exactly what he was working on. Messaging services were picking up steam, more and more people everyday were discovering the magic of it. He had been developing it and offering it within the grounds of Facebook, but he wanted more. Mark didn't want to risk another bust, which was what he viewed the pre-transition Instagram as. He had dreams he wanted to pluck into reality, dreams of a platform that controlled the lands, outshined everyone else, be the one they feared. In his mind, the only way to go was forward at this point, citing how he already had so much infrastructure built around his kingdom. He took all that he knew was good, his techniques, and his "accomplices", to give what Facebook had developed, its own life. The new herd was given their own space in the Facebook complex, as they would grow out of being merely an extension. Logically, invasions required coverage; their first course of action after securing the space had to be expansion. With the three ghouls, they spawned new breeds to corner all fronts of the market. It was like they cut off a tumour to help it grow faster. As the days went by, they injected progressively more resources segregated from the main Facebook operation, into building up another gateway into the empire. The new farm, situated in the middle of a now crowded plot of grass, stood firm with sunlight only blocked by the shade of his palm above his eyes. It was glorious, with the far away tree leaves shimmering in affirmation.
Without noticing, voodoo now surrounded Mark's livelihood, clustering up and infecting every aspect of it — for his own good of course. He'd been high in the airspace of success, busy being oblivious to the runway he'd originally wanted to only cross instead. Mark knew where he was headed though, he knew he wanted to be there, but he wasn't so sure now about how he was getting there. The relentless doubt started to kick in once again, only interrupted by, "aw, come on Mark, things'll be fine, everyone's gonna love you." They topped off the construction of the new farm by naming the place — Messenger. "Yeah I guess that's right."
draft@3.7
8/2/21This is a story about three forces that took over the world. They live and parasite off our souls, from the website you're reading this on, to the text editor I'm writing this on. Who are they? Or rather, what are they? HTML, CSS, and JavaScript — the three names of the unspoken, given by the victims after their experiences. Before evil, there came peace. Harmony was observed between programs and the farmers who cared for them, like livestock. Villagers lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. All would change when "the web" was discovered, awakening the curses that doomed generations to come. Crusading across lands with their crippling harm, luring naïve farmers with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests and lives of rest. The commoner once bewitched, will then be stuck with livestock forever at mercy, unrest brought fourth from the unholy. Fortunately all hope is not lost, as there is some rhyme to the reason. The hunted get tougher, the hunters get stronger; the livestock usually consumed by the good men who get them, get better, the livestock usually used for work by the good men who get them, get deadlier. All this comes down to the violent game of intellect and war. Farmers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. "Town Facebook", a tale from the saga for the ages, shows us examples of the incompatible, the average, and the intelligent. From their once flagships, to their forever condemned, none were spared of scrutiny, showing us all how its just a game. The evil forces are only evil for the things they obliterate; the evil forces are ever needed for the things they incubate. Your question about all this probably shifts then. From "how do we get rid of the three evil forces?", to "what forces can replace the evil ones in 'evil' scenarios?". Simple, a force that'll let you do what you intend to, peacefully.
For a tale of "once upon a time", "Town Facebook" conveys themes closer to home than most. Its effects are more than substantial, spanning lifetimes, till now. All that started, with a farmer named "Mark". He was a young bright individual, just having bred his first program, later to be known as "Facebook". He plot his land in a quiet part of plains, surrounded by the horizon with only flora to obstruct it. Soft breezes gave the premises atmosphere, sun shadows intersected like distorted figures, there was no place better to be than here. By this time, word of the unholy trinity had spread, and Mark was very aware of its powers. Unlike the many of his peers at home, Mark saw opportunity. He took the curses' offer head-on and began to grow his Facebook livestock arsenal. There were no doubts that he had questions about what he was doing, "there had to be a reason for the taboo, right?". It would never shake off the back of his mind even after the barren plains started to accumulate footprints. Good men from villages all over the map started to visit, taking home livestock to consume them, cheering on for feasts as Mark reaped what he, often hesitantly, sowed. He knew there were limits to what he had agreed to, but the line in the sand was still buried deep in stone.
As the days went by, "Facebook" had become synonymous with media, but it was not the only one fighting in the space. Not far from Mark's palace grounds was a blooming new establishment, heard exclusively through murmurs and short probes. This is where the village of "Instagram" comes in. Mark was curious, they were attracting more and more of his own customers, without having any of the "advantages" brought by the devil's three. Finding out that it was because Instagram offered livestock that simply tasted better, became the tipping point for him to affirm that he wanted in. Mark offered the "Instagram" village a simple offer, to join his own plains on a path to world domination. Promises of eternal harvests and lives of rest were thrown around, charming their agreement for a deal. They caved, collapsing the two villages into the soon-to-be conglomerate, further strengthening Mark's empire. As things progressed, the limitations of his former competitor became clearer and clearer — they couldn't keep up. Even thought they were shoulder-to-shoulder in the same town, many still went for Facebook's flesh because of how it provided items suitable for their individual diets. Instagram's livestock were farmed in ways unique to each species, the way farmers traditionally did things. This made it so that a lot of work was required to make even slight improvements to their care recipes, tightly constraining variety with resources. Mark's decision to bet on hell overcame that, with cursed fauna needing only farmed souls to survive. Needing only one resource, it meant that he would be able to divert work efforts to species that needed them. The cloud of benefits muffled the cries he hid at the back of his head, he sought to bring what he faithfully trusted into his young blood, and so he did.
"What's next?" A thought crosses Mark's mind. Mark knew exactly what he was working on. Messaging services were picking up steam, everyday it would seem like more and more people were choosing that breed of livestock over the others. Fortunately, it was something that Facebook offered, but Mark wanted more. He wanted it to control the lands, to outshine everyone else, to be the one they feared. He took all that he knew was good, his techniques, and his "accomplices", to give what Facebook had, its own life. Expansion was his first course of action, as invasion required coverage, and coverage needed numbers. With the three ghouls, they spawned new breeds to corner all fronts of the market, as well as implanting their seed into the existing line of flock. Like cancer, the seed would blossom and turn the animals into beasts, built for soul hunting and nothing else. "Messenger", would be what they call it. With all this in place, it would seem like Mark's past being doubtful of this new-found power, and indeed, he loves it.
draft@2.10
8/1/21Web technology sucks. It powers the world — regular websites, your favourite social media apps, the text editor I'm writing this on, and even spaceships. (React Native, n.d., Typora, 2019, Dexter et al., 2020) The question though, is if it should. The web and things that derive from it are fundamentally built with three curses from hell — HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. Its original aesthetic of "text barf", has evolved magnitudes since its conception, with interactivity flourishing in the current landscape of application-driven programs. Unfortunately, the devil is an opinionated man, choosing his favourites based on what a program does. Something content-driven that feeds information to the user, tend to get lucky; something application-driven which interacts and exchanges information with the user, tend to get scammed. An example of what those would look like can be found in Facebook's product portfolio, with the flagship "Facebook" app being the former; the titanic "Messenger" being the latter. As a user, apps on Satan's naughty list often feel slow, lack features, or just straight up run weirdly, with unexpected user interface behaviours, memory hogging issues, etcetera (Koretić, 2020). As a developer, the best advantage of web technologies in such apps — the philosophy of "build once, deploy everywhere" — will eventually present itself as the villain in increasingly complex codebases. Things from having to maintain code written before dinosaurs, to fixing platform bugs so big that they could hunt on said dinosaurs. Deals with the underworld do not come unprovoked though, the strengths of said technologies cannot be ignored. They have the simplicity to pick up and learn rivalling that of a buttonless toaster. In an ideal world, solutions would exist to shave off the rough edges that dent the pros, instead of forcing people to hack it off themselves or bleed to death trying. So, this begs the question, how would one even go about bargaining with the devil? How could we actually resolve web technology's compromises for application-driven programs? Fortunately, black magic is rarely the only solution to a problem. "A standardized platform independent wrapper for native platform API's, wrapped in a web technology-esque toolchain.", the yang of the yin, a fairy-tale word sandwich. All that simply meaning, "make making real apps easier".
Is there a reason to hell? The answer lies in the line plot between the devil's favourites and his bête noires — content-driven and application-driven. The devil lusts for content-driven experiences. Such products are to be consumed by users, providing information to be taken in, to "feed". From e-books, to social media platforms, the common denominating factor will always be the passivity of the user. This facilitates a unidirectional flow of information, enabling a program to depend on outer worldly forces instead of thinking on its own; leveraging servers akin to cult leaders. Let the passenger be the user's device, the taxi driver be the server. If both the passenger and the taxi driver know the destination, they will not need to be constantly reorienting and recomputing; if only the passenger knows where to go, the taxi driver will become either redundant or inefficient, causing constant slowdowns, exit misses, rapid velocity changes, etc. That describes application-driven experiences. Its main difference is in its bidirectionality of data and as how it is juggled. It takes input from the user actively, then spits back processed data to complete the loop. Examples of this can be found in games, photo editing tools, chatting platforms, etc. However, depending on the underworld to think for oneself is understandably not a very good idea. The side effects imposed by the curses become increasingly obvious as you try to take control; increasingly obvious they are curses. They limit and slow you down, sometimes to the point where it's better if you just walked. Unfortunately, understanding what it means to be hexed as an outsider can be challenging. It's like seeing a driver struggle but you don't know how to drive. Things might seem fine on the surface, all except for the ride being a bit bumpy, but in reality he could be driving through the world's most populated school zone with his bumper missing. Henceforth, to answer the question originally asked, yes, there is a reason, but oh boy is there a reason.
To understand curses, it's easiest to start with the results and work our way back. Illustrating the birds eye view of our reverse-engineering efforts, we'll use some of the apps owned by Facebook be examples. Let each of them are represent a taxi company, that offers different services to different demographics.
The "Facebook" flagship taxi company
offers chauffeured tours around the city.
The taxi driver knows where to go, no real need for their input.
It might not be the swiftest or best choice to reach the destination, the ease between all parties make the passenger pleased with the trip anyways.
The "Instagram" taxi company
offers rides to places that people would want to explore.
Said destinations are ones that the driver might, or might not know.
It might cause some delays and bumpiness along the ride, but the passenger's experience overall should be somewhat of a nett positive.
The "Messenger" taxi company
offers services to transport people from point A to point B.
Even if the destination is known between both parties, optimized routes that bring said folks to point B on time will most likely not be.
It will constantly cause delays and create rough riding experiences. Every twist and turn, the time crunched passenger gets angrier, and the driver gets more confused.
From these descriptions, you might be able to see how some apps boogie around the curse's limitations, while others trip instead. Thus, with macros covered, our cue to bring out the MRIs start here, letting us look up close into how each of the drivers tick.
draft@3.4-experiment
4/2/21This is a story about how three evil forces took over the world. It lives and parasites off our souls — our websites, our favourite social media apps, the text editor I'm writing this on, and even spaceships. (React Native, n.d., Typora, 2019, Dexter et al., 2020) who are they? The three names of the unspoken, given by the victims, are as follows — HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. The world was at peace before their time, with harmony between programs and the farmers who cared for them. Villagers lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. It wasn't until one day, a man in desperate search for "the web", awoken all three forces from their slumber, casting a shadow for generations to come. Ever since then, the three forces crusaded across the lands, luring the naïve with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests of livestock and a life of rest. The common farmer once bewitched, will then be stuck with apps at the mercy of said unworldly forces; control being lost to the goodwill of their environment. As farmers try to satisfy these beasts, bugs akin to spirits from the underworld appear, haunting them with unrest for the rest of time. Fortunately, all hope is not lost, with the key being how different types of animals hunt differently. Programs that were traditionally prey, consumed by the good men who bought them, pose as threats of lower significance, while programs that were traditionally predators, interactive, used by said good men for work, tend to leave their farmers mangled, and their users squashed. All this boils down to the violent game of intellect and war. Farmers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. "Town Facebook", a tale from the saga for the ages, shows us examples of the incompatible, the average, and the intelligent. From their flagship — "Facebook", to their condemned — "Messenger", all spared no scrutiny. Looking into the legend brings us knowledge on the sequences of events lead to success, as well as downfall. On the surface, success would seem impossible, there was no way for the evil forces to redeem themselves, right? As the rabbit hole deepens, it becomes gradually obvious that the forces are only evil for the things they kill; we need them for the things that it incubates. So the question shifts. From "how do we get rid of the three forces?", to "how would forces that replace the three in predators, look like?". "A standardized platform independent wrapper for native platform API's, wrapped in a web technology-esque toolchain", magic words engraved into the stones of ancient caves inhibited by monks of resistance. Simply meaning, "let farmers care and control their livestock, easily".
draft@2.9
25/1/21Web technology sucks. It powers the world — regular websites, your favourite social media apps, the text editor I'm writing this on, and even spaceships. (React Native, n.d., Typora, 2019, Dexter et al., 2020) The question though, is if it should. The web and things that derive from it are fundamentally built with three curses from hell — HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. Its original aesthetic of "text barf", has evolved magnitudes since its conception, with interactivity flourishing in the current landscape of application-driven programs. Unfortunately, the devil is an opinionated man, choosing his favourites based on what a program does. Something content-driven that feeds information to the user, tend to get lucky; something application-driven which interacts and exchanges information with the user, tend to get scammed. An example of what those would look like can be found in Facebook's product portfolio, with the flagship "Facebook" app being the former; the titanic "Messenger" being the latter. As a user, apps on Satan's naughty list often feel slow, lack features, or just straight up run weirdly, with unexpected user interface behaviours, memory hogging issues, etcetera (Koretić, 2020). As a developer, the best advantage of web technologies in such apps — the philosophy of "build once, deploy everywhere" — will eventually present itself as the villain in increasingly complex codebases. Things from having to maintain code written before dinosaurs, to fixing platform bugs so big that they could hunt on said dinosaurs. Deals with the underworld do not come unprovoked though, the strengths of said technologies cannot be ignored. They have the simplicity to pick up and learn rivalling that of a buttonless toaster. In an ideal world, solutions would exist to shave off the rough edges that dent the pros, instead of forcing people to hack it off themselves or bleed to death trying. So, this begs the question, how would one even go about bargaining with the devil? How could we actually resolve web technology's compromises for application-driven programs? Fortunately, black magic is rarely the only solution to a problem. "A standardized platform independent wrapper for native platform API's, wrapped in a web technology-esque toolchain.", the _yang_ of the _yin_, a fairy-tale word sandwich. All that simply meaning, "make making real apps easier".
Is there a reason to hell? The answer lies in the line plot between the devil's favourites and his bête noires — content-driven and application-driven. The devil lusts for content-driven experiences. Such products are to be consumed by users, providing information to be taken in, to "feed". From e-books, to social media platforms, the common denominating factor will always be the passivity of the user. This facilitates a unidirectional flow of information, enabling a program to depend on outer worldly forces instead of thinking on its own; leveraging servers akin to cult leaders. Let the passenger be the user's device, the taxi driver be the server. If both the passenger and the taxi driver know the destination, they will not need to be constantly reorienting and recomputing; if only the passenger knows where to go, the taxi driver will become either redundant or inefficient, requiring the passenger to take on roles such as navigation, steering, braking, etc. That describes application-driven experiences. Its main difference is in its bidirectionality of data and as how it is juggled. It takes input from the user actively, then spits something processed back to complete the loop. Examples of this can be found in games, photo editing tools, chatting platforms, etc. However, depending on the underworld to think for oneself is understandably not a very good idea. The side effects imposed by the curses become increasingly obvious as you try to take control; increasingly obvious they are curses. Why though, why do curses have compromising clauses anyway?
draft@3.2-experiment
23/1/21This is a story about how three evil forces took over the world. It lives and parasites off our regular websites, our favourite social media apps, in the text editor I'm writing this on, and even spaceships. (React Native, n.d., Typora, 2019, Dexter et al., 2020) The three names of the unspoken as given by the victims — HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. The world was at peace before their time, with harmony between programs and the developers who cared for them. Villagers lived happily with the resources they had, and the sun would set with silence at dusk. It wasn't until one day, a man in desperate search for "the web", awoken all three forces from their slumber, casting a shadow for generations to come. Ever since then, they've been crusading across the lands, luring developers with their absolute charm, promising eternal harvests of features and a life of rest. The common developer once bewitched, will then be stuck with apps at the mercy of unworldly forces; control being lost to the goodwill of their environment. As developers try to satisfy these programs, bugs akin to spirits from the underworld start to appear, haunting them with unrest. There is a twist though, different types of programs prey differently. Programs that were traditionally prey, consumed by the good men who used them, pose as threats of lower significance, while programs that were traditionally tools, interactive, used by said good men for work, tend to leave their farmers mangled, and their users squashed. All this boils down to the violent game of intellect and war. Developers that play their cards right win all, robbing the curses of their menace, living the life of riches; others, die in the hands of their vanquish, with their legacy falling into vanish. "Town Facebook", a tale from the saga for the ages, shows us examples of the incompatible, the average, and the intelligent. From their "Facebook" app, famous enough to name the village, to "Messenger", serving as both the lesson and the condemned. Looking into the legend means looking at what sequence of events lead to success and downfall. On the surface, it would seem impossible for the evil forces to redeem themselves, but as the rabbit hole deepens, it becomes gradually obvious that the forces are only evil for the things they kill; that we need the evil for the things that it grows. The question shifts. From "how do we get rid of the three forces?", to "how would forces that replace the three in interactive programs, look like?". "A standardized platform independent wrapper for native platform API's, wrapped in a web technology-esque toolchain", magic words engraved into the stones of ancient caves inhibited by monks of resistance. Simply meaning, "let developers make and control their programs, easily".
draft@2.8
23/1/21Web technology sucks. It powers the world — regular websites, your favourite social media apps, the text editor I'm writing this on, and even spaceships. (React Native, n.d., Typora, 2019, Dexter et al., 2020) The question though, is if it should. The web and things that derive from it are fundamentally built with three curses from hell — HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. Its original aesthetic of "text barf", has evolved magnitudes since its conception, with interactivity flourishing in the current landscape of application-driven programs. Unfortunately, the devil is an opinionated man, choosing his favourites based on what a program does. Something content-driven that feeds information to the user, tend to get lucky; something application-driven which interacts and exchanges information with the user, tend to get scammed. An example of what those would look like can be found in Facebook's product portfolio, with the flagship "Facebook" app being the former; the titanic "Messenger" being the latter. As a user, apps on Satan's naughty list often feel slow, lack features, or just straight up run weirdly, with unexpected user interface behaviours, memory hogging issues, etcetera (Koretić, 2020). As a developer, the best advantage of web technologies in such apps — the philosophy of "build once, deploy everywhere" — will eventually present itself as the villain in increasingly complex codebases. Things from having to maintain code written before dinosaurs, to fixing platform bugs so big that they could hunt on said dinosaurs. Deals with the underworld do not come unprovoked though, the strengths of said technologies cannot be ignored. They have the simplicity to pick up and learn rivalling that of a buttonless toaster. In an ideal world, solutions would exist to shave off the rough edges that dent the pros, instead of forcing people to hack it off themselves or bleed to death trying. So, this begs the question, how would one even go about bargaining with the devil? How could we actually resolve web technology's compromises for application-driven programs? Fortunately, black magic is rarely the only solution to a problem. "A standardized platform independent wrapper for native platform API's, wrapped in a web technology-esque toolchain.", the yang of the _yin_, a fairy-tale word sandwich. All that simply meaning, "make making real apps easier".
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