I have never been really good at writing. I won some rewards in my childhood. I wrote some shitty verses in my youth. None of those achievements really were significant for the universe around me. It was all like a silly child play with the symbols I barely know. Move one back and another forward, make a stanza, make another one, make them a little bit more shiny. I experienced that well-known fear of a blank page. And I experienced that recursive «oh, I can do this paragraph better» annoying thing too. But I love writing, I really do. I have dreamt about writing a book all my life long just like my grandfather had dreamt before me. That’s why I have decided to write my thoughts in English: to master my slack skills with practice that makes me happy.
We are what we do and what we think about. The oceans of information we swim in are unstable in our epoch. Their coast and bottom are changing their shapes every second with new memes rising and fighting each other to the bloody death. The key point is that those ideas are battling mostly in English. Native speakers are lucky in some way: they don’t need to do anything to be in the middle of that storm and to see every glimpse of new fancy ideas worth knowing about.
Not that I say that other languages are not good. They are wonderful, all of them. But they act in this battle as smidge waves in the far away bays. And what I am interested in as a contemporary engineer and transhumanist is this battle itself. I want to be in the vanguard of this mess crushing metaphoric skulls with my own great axe of knowledge and will.
And then again I asked myself a question: «Do I really want to battle ooze and slime in memetic swamps of my native language? Do I really want to waste my life for that dolorous purpose?»
So here I am now.
