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Turtle Tales I #130
Last night, while listening high-tech minimal - the music of tomorrow and writing some Python code (not far from hello world level), I heard some people talking in the middle of the song. At first I thought that one of my forgotten Youtube tabs activated.
Very soon, voice became voices but I wasn't paying much attention since I was so focused on writing the code. Moreover, the voices had such a pleasant, almost Zen effect to Boris Brejcha - Angel in the sky and I wasn't keen on figuring out what they were saying, nor where they were coming from.
But, writing code sometimes makes you forget about the world around you and often the one inside you. I don't know, really, but can emphasize.
Eventually, I got up from my chair and headed to toilet, recalling what my noweb father used to tell me, back in my teen days when he was putting intellectual effort to save me, in the most fatherly way, from the claws of internet and introduce me to the opportunities of the 'real world'.
-Stretching legs is related to stretching capacities of one's thought, a line that he surely picked up from one of the Russian classics that he used to read whenever he had hard time competing, for the dominant role in his son's life, against the 'tech plague that was about to corrupt the mankind'. Somewhere in those battles he fought, books won, unintentionally making a winner out of internet, too.
When I came back to my cyberpunk lair, Brejcha was done and youtube decided to play something completely irrelevant to my mood. Perhaps my father was right about some things. New playlist didn't go well with the voices that were talking in the backround so I decided to put things in order. Set priorities. It was also a good time to find out the source of these mysterious voices.
First things first. I checked youtube tabs and eventually closed each and every one. Enough of the rubish that fills my reality without my permission, I thought. Its best to shut down the noise from time to time. To zoom out.
Just then, when distraction got distracted by the will of tired nodes I heard the word 'turtle' and figured out where the voices were coming from.
Discord, interactive network full of humans, who play games and hang out in chat rooms, transfering emojis while skipping important real life duties, would be my definition of it a year ago. There, I touched the bottom of hipocrisy, being a gamer myself, ever since I got that Pentium 3, in the year of new milenium, playing Warcraft 3:Reign of Chaos until my eyes dropped out. Discord, which I installed yesterday, was the source.
Sometimes, when we want to think better of ourselves or at least to force the thought of becoming better, we cast darkness on those who are just like us, thinking, if we cut ties with them inside of our rational mind, judge and sentence their colors, the intention itself will have irrational influence on our lives in a way that Monday has on nicotine addicts. By sheer wish of detaching from our trueselves we step onto the path that leads to our perceived betterself. Sometimes it works, sometimes it is a mistake to make it work. Most of the time, it doesn't work. Intention has a chance only when it is followed by true Effort.
Maybe I am just like my father. Focus.
Like a red candle on ICO's market chart I dipped in my chair below the expected trend that I imagined for the night and decided that I will practice the skill that is gradually developed but often disregarded in the favor of pleasantries whispered by the reddish little creature that stands on our shoulders. Hiding in the shadows of our heads, because it doesn't want to be recognized, it weakens our senses which we use to track the lead that can take us to the path of our purpose. It distracts and demands to be heard.
But tonight, I am not listening to him. Tonight, I am listening to the voices. They are talking about cryptocurrency, in a tone that is not entering my ears but occupying my mind as well.
The first time word 'crypto' entered my ears was in the spring of 2013. In local PC caffe owned by my friends, I was sitting with a buddy who played an online poker tournament. I remember it well because that day I gave him bad advice. In return, he gave me a good one. Too bad that even tho my ears were open, my mind was closed.
He was involved in a pot with AQo (Ace and Queen off suit) and on the turn his opponent has put him to an all in decision. Board was reading 2 5 8 Q, three different suits. Confronted with the decision for his tournament life, he turned his face to me and asked:
-Should I fold?
Should he? I took a look. There were only few hands that could beat his holdings and it is known that in this stage of the tournament aggressive players will employ various tactics to accumulate chips. His opponent could be bluffing or overvaluing his own hand. Us, humans, among other destructive habbits, have tendency to overvalue our holdings. I didn't wait long.
- Call it, you are good here, I said and shortly after, the overwhelming feeling of remorse started to creep into my stomach. Poker, as life, is a game of incomplete information. Only the deck knows what comes next. Deck knows, humans feel.
Feelings cannot betray us because feelings are not humans. And this feeling was an honest one, because when the cards turned over, the other guy showed pocket aces, leaving my friend in a limbo of despair as 25 to 1 underdog.
It was a terrible spot. For both of us. In the split of that moment his inability to decide for himself and my willingness to decide on his part were mixing into cocktail of regret and fear before the final street. The river.
In moments like these I think of Heractlitus, the dark, weeping philosopher of ancient Greece who said that you cannot step into the same river twice. The 'deck' knows how many times I have tried to prove him wrong.
The river. Queen! And two long breaths. My friend scooped the pot and eventually won the tournament. Instead blamed my 'feeling' was praised.
After tournament we took a couple of drinks and started talking. It was an ordinary chat between buddies in which one unordinary word was mentioned.
-Crypto. It is a digital currency. Costs around 50 dollars a piece. I'm planning to get 10 of these from my tournament winnings. Who knows? Maybe I will get rich!
Memory ends there. Perhaps I went to the restroom or we changed the subject when someone interrupted us. Or perhaps that was all my buddy was able to tell me about his future investment. All he knew was that he wants to get rich. Perhaps, just perhaps, that was the reason that it took me more than four years before I decided that it is time to get on this wild train called 'crypto'. And then, months to understand where do I want it to take me.
Finally, in late September of 2017, I entered the first wagon. There I met the passengers, picked from the generation that is yet to offer it's biggest sacrifice. Tirelessly, they were steaming the train to take them to the places they have never visited before. Inebriated by sweet pleasantries from the reddish little creature, they were destined to meet the sharp claws of internet.
Train is big and wagons are many. I was there. I have seen them all. Seeing them made me want to listen to these voices.
They are not promising moons and lambos nor do they care about the decimals that others use to value the sacrifice they are willing to make. Why are they so different? Why do I want to become one of them?
Tonight, I am not stopping this journey to make a question. Tonight, I am becoming a Turtle.