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    <title>Alvin-Blog</title>
    <description>Travel on into the dawn.</description>
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    <author>
      <name>Alvin</name>
      <email></email>
      <uri>alpscracker.github.io</uri>
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      <item>
        <title>Idealists</title>
        <description>&lt;p&gt;第一次熬夜推完一部国产 galgame.&lt;br /&gt;
游戏名字叫”候鸟”,故事讲的是在一座西北小县城,一次意外使得男女主熟识,他们每天相伴学习谈恋爱,男主在女主的帮助下提了一百多分,女主顺利考入浙大,男主差了两分没有考到杭州的学校,于是复读一年,与女主立下约定,最终得偿所愿.&lt;br /&gt;
故事的结构挺老套的,英雄救美开局,标准爽文剧情,每次看到与浙相关的元素时我都会绷不住.&lt;br /&gt;
但是看到男女主以小镇做题家的姿态去讨论未来,讨论远方时,恍惚中我也能看到自己的影子,曾经杭州在我的眼里也只是一座遥远的南方城市,每次高中月假开学,坐车往石家庄赶的时候,看见远方的灯火浮现,像漆黑海面上升起的磷火,我都会想未来会去到什么地方.高中生活已经很遥远了,现在看高中生谈恋爱就像看小孩,但现在做什么也没有那时的感觉了.&lt;br /&gt;
游戏的配音和动画都很不错,最大的缺点就是玩完会有后劲.&lt;/p&gt;
</description>
        <pubDate>Sun, 24 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0800</pubDate>
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      <item>
        <title>Idealists</title>
        <description>&lt;p&gt;离开电脑前, 坐到阳台上, 阳光斜着照进, 像是在清晨听到一声鸡鸣.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;这一周paper, 面试, SRTP这些事堆到一起, 还有很多很难的作业. 开始了作为科研廉价劳动力的生活.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;突然想听新裤子和GALA, Young For You里有一股彻底的自由.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;偶尔会看一下 phith0n 的 blog, 想到我以后可能会不可避免地成为一个 tech-nerd, 但不会成为 p 神这样的, 他的博客我更喜欢文学那部分.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;有几位朋友问我还想不想去一个我大一非常想去的项目. 收到消息时我愣了一下神, 上大学就像一块雪糕在太阳下渐渐融化的过程, 那些风花雪月慢慢消失, 那些远离生活却又务实的事情慢慢靠近, 糖水慢慢滴落, 露出木色的硬柄. 现在我已经不会去报名感兴趣的每个项目了.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;很长一段时间没有crazy过, 有时又会在忙完一天的事后感觉可惜, 日子还是越来越平淡了.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;身边的朋友们都好优秀.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Fira Code这个字体很漂亮.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;有次谈到理想主义, 突然想到自己以前想写一本现实主义的小说. 像不久前看的那本林奕含.&lt;/p&gt;
</description>
        <pubDate>Mon, 18 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0800</pubDate>
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        <title>年终总结</title>
        <description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;/assets/cover.jpg&quot; alt=&quot;上海&quot; /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;坐在书桌前，面前的照片墙记录着 2023 年我去过的地方。
年初在上海和苏州。一个下午，两个人在黄埔和浦东走了两万多步。穿过外滩的熙攘人群，望向中心大厦的灯光。在苏州的小破旅店中酣然入睡，一早起来去逛遍苏州城。走在烟雨弥漫的小巷中，蔓延的灯光在夜色和雾气里，灰白色的墙瓦和灰白色的外套浑浊不清。五月在川西。坐十几个小时的火车到成都，再坐几个小时的汽车，才能看见寺院的金顶在雪山前闪耀。在清晨的折多山上裹着羽绒服，等待着太阳探向雪山。七月在武汉和长沙。酒店中睡到九点钟起床，去湘江边随性逛一逛，当作考试后的放松。八月在英国。第一次来欧洲，在大桥上横越泰晤士河的时候，在西敏市的步行街漫步的时候，在大教堂里抬起头的时候，看着孩子在街边踢球的时候，我总是满足地吸一口气。九月在上海，举起相机绞尽脑汁地构图，希望把想要的都放进相框。十一月十二月，气温渐降，在杭州忙里偷闲地乱转。&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;h1 id=&quot;蔚蓝的波罗的海&quot;&gt;蔚蓝的波罗的海&lt;/h1&gt;

&lt;!--外向线:探索世界--&gt;

&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;/assets/baltic.jpg&quot; alt=&quot;Baltic Ocean&quot; style=&quot;width:200px;height:300px;float: left;margin-right: 20px;&quot; /&gt;
在北京飞伦敦的飞机上。我向下望去，当时大概已经接近丹麦海岸线。波罗的海平静如练，蓝天和大海交织在一起。如果看不到零星的岛屿和洁白的邮轮，我简直意识不到这是一片海。从高空看去，海面比西湖还要平静。耳边只有飞机引擎的轰鸣声。&lt;br /&gt;
今年去旅行的地方超过了过去四年的总和。每个稍微长一点的假期我都在路上。2023 一整年我脑海中一直充斥着对世界的一种奇怪的向往，想抓住一切可能的机会出去旅游，去了很多没去过的地方，见了许多未曾领略的事情。我无视金钱和时间的代价，只想着尽早去探索地图上的黑暗，“去没去过”几乎成了我“要不要去”的唯一原因。过了一年再回看，我突然开始佩服自己无视一切障碍去探索世界的勇气。明明只有五天假期，却还是要花两整天坐火车去看雪山；明明英语说得颠三倒四，还是要利用周末如特种兵般逛遍伦敦城；明明前一天刚考完试身心俱疲，后一天就要坐上高铁跨越一千公里。这也许是高中和疫情之后过久的压抑的释放，也许是对自己人生前十八年不算是丰富的经历的一种补偿。Anyway，站在年终来讲，在明年我应该对旅行有一个更加理性的态度，在出发前多衡量时间与金钱的限制，应该更加感谢陪我一起走过大街小巷的朋友们。但是，去过的地方仍然是我十八岁和十九岁最深刻的记忆。&lt;br /&gt;
五月的折多山上，阳光照在积雪上如此明亮；三月的苏州城，细雨飘过青瓦白墙如此柔美。清晨五点英格兰的艳阳与深夜十二点迪士尼的烟花一样绚烂。圣保罗大教堂的金色穹顶与洲际酒店的大球一样耀眼。站在黄鹤楼上看长江，站在国金中心看湘江，站在城市阳台看钱塘江，都在2023刻下了深深的印痕。&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;h1 id=&quot;跳动的命令行&quot;&gt;跳动的命令行&lt;/h1&gt;

&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;/assets/code.png&quot; alt=&quot;code&quot; style=&quot;width:400px;height:200px;float: left;margin-right: 20px;&quot; /&gt;
&lt;!--内向线:自省--&gt;
无助地坐在电脑前，翻着智云寻找神的怜悯。室友均已回家，只有我一个人在寝室里绝望地盯着电脑屏幕。AAA的竞赛课应该是我大一一年上的最好玩的一门课，不过也是学得最痛苦的一门课。我以前自学过一部分相关内容，但用起来才发现远远不够。从轮子的构成到如何造汽车都要自己学。如学长所说：“上这门课会大大提高你们的自学能力”。（这门课确实锻炼了我熟练使用Chatgpt的能力）盯着WSL的命令行，在IDA里乱翻代码，一点一点地盘问Chatgpt都是痛苦的，不过更痛苦的是认识到自己在这方面和大佬巨大的差距。离家一千多公里远，孤身一人的宿舍里，我慢慢能够能加理性地审视自己能力目前的边界。&lt;br /&gt;
人生的前十八年在一个相对顺利的环境下，很多时候我审视自己的时候并没有一个合适的参照物，在这个远离家乡的大学中反倒是有了很大的自由和更多审视自己的机会。“认识自己”是一个看起来非常没有实际意义的事情，实际上也确实如此，认识自己只能为自己的行为提供一个合理的解释，却无法改变未来。我有时会相信宿命论，仿佛自己的一切决定都是由内在外在的许多因素决定好的，看似完全属于自己的“自由意志”对此完全无能为力。但是有时候我又想稍作反抗，去努力用“自由意志”去成为一个更好的人。这一年中我确实从许多方面重新认识了自己，希望在未来与自己相处的过程中能更顺利叭。&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;h1 id=&quot;future&quot;&gt;@Future&lt;/h1&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src=&quot;/assets/3.jpg&quot; alt=&quot;bye&quot; /&gt;
还有很多没有写，我的组织，我的志愿者经历，我的学业，我的家人和朋友们，还有一些更加遥远的事情。也许2024年的年终总结我该换个形式，更加详细地谈一谈。下一年，减少一些不切实际的欲望，增加一些对自我的清晰认知，无论如何，这都是生命中独一无二的2024。&lt;br /&gt;
祝福身体健康，万事顺意。&lt;/p&gt;
</description>
        <pubDate>Sat, 23 Dec 2023 00:00:00 +0800</pubDate>
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      <item>
        <title>临江仙</title>
        <description>&lt;h3 id=&quot;苏轼&quot;&gt;苏轼&lt;/h3&gt;

&lt;p&gt;一别都门三改火，天涯踏尽红尘。依然一笑作春温。无波真古井，有节是秋筠。&lt;br /&gt;
惆怅孤帆连夜发，送行淡月微云。尊前不用翠眉颦。人生如逆旅，我亦是行人。&lt;/p&gt;
</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 21 Dec 2023 00:00:00 +0800</pubDate>
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      <item>
        <title>End Poem</title>
        <description>&lt;p&gt;I see the player you mean.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;PLAYERNAME?&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;That doesn’t matter. It thinks we are part of the game.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;What did this player dream?&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;It cannot read that thought.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;It reads our thoughts.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;And yet they play the game.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;But it would be so easy to tell them…&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;I will not tell the player how to live.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;The player is growing restless.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;I will tell the player a story.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;But not the truth.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Give it a body, again.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Yes. Player…&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Use its name.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;PLAYERNAME. Player of games.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Good.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;We are the universe. We are everything you think isn’t you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Once upon a time, there was a player.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;The player was you, PLAYERNAME.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Let’s go back.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother’s body, into the long dream.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Let’s go further back.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player’s body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by…&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks “electrons” and “protons”.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes it called them “planets” and “stars”.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;You are the player, reading words…&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Shush… Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;You. You. You are alive.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player’s eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said I love you&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you have played the game well&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said everything you need is within you&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you are stronger than you know&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you are the daylight&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you are the night&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said the light you seek is within you&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you are not alone&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;and the universe said I love you because you are love.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;You are the player.&lt;/p&gt;

&lt;p&gt;Wake up.&lt;/p&gt;
</description>
        <pubDate>Tue, 19 Dec 2023 00:00:00 +0800</pubDate>
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