Novoyuuparosk Wiki - User contributions [en]

Pulse under latent semantic envelopes

2026-02-17T04:53:28Z

Dubrowski:

This is a song. The title is stylised in all lowercases:

<code>pulse under latent semantic envelopes</code>

== External repo ==
http://novoyuuparosk.org:1551/mikkeli/ncmr-songs.git

== Lyrics ==
[[Category:Lyrics]]

Pulse under latent semantic envelopes

2026-02-17T04:49:41Z

Dubrowski: Created page with "This is a song. The title is stylised in all lowercases: <code>pulse under latent semantic envelopes</code> Category:Lyrics"

This is a song. The title is stylised in all lowercases:

<code>pulse under latent semantic envelopes</code>

[[Category:Lyrics]]

Pastebin

2026-02-11T04:49:14Z

Dubrowski:

Pastebin

2026-02-10T09:40:04Z

Dubrowski: Replaced content with "Lots of fun! https://www.jcca.or.jp/kaishi/306/306_contents.html [https://wals.info/ WALS Online - Home] Round the Horne - Wikipedia https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda [https://www.office-kasahara.jp/fee_expense <br..."

Pastebin

2026-02-06T07:13:29Z

Dubrowski:

Lots of fun!

https://www.jcca.or.jp/kaishi/306/306_contents.html

[https://wals.info/ WALS Online - Home]

[[wikipedia:Round_the_Horne|Round the Horne - Wikipedia]]

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

agile-team-a@pi-Agile-TeamA:~/Desktop/yorozu_mock_set/http_provisioning $ uv run python main.py
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: ============================================================
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: HTTP Provisioning Server (Edge Server Mock)
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: ============================================================
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: Listening on <nowiki>http://0.0.0.0:5000</nowiki>
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: MQTT config: 172.29.11.5:1883
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: Endpoints:
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: GET /s2v/mqtt-server - MQTT broker config
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: GET /s2v/http-server - HTTP endpoint config
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: POST /s2v/auth - Mock vehicle auth
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: GET /health - Health check
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: ============================================================
<nowiki>*</nowiki> Serving Flask app 'main'
<nowiki>*</nowiki> Debug mode: off
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] werkzeug: WARNING: This is a development server. Do not use it in a production deployment. Use a production WSGI server instead.
<nowiki>*</nowiki> Running on all addresses (0.0.0.0)
<nowiki>*</nowiki> Running on <nowiki>http://127.0.0.1:5000</nowiki>
<nowiki>*</nowiki> Running on <nowiki>http://172.20.10.2:5000</nowiki>
2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] werkzeug: Press CTRL+C to quit
2026-02-06 16:00:59 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:00:59] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:00:59 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:00:59] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03Oô\x87û"¸²\x01x7>\x83C\x9e?\x92'Yã\x05\x91{È\x0c{rq[Ïíö. ¸\x00B#\x05&"yÄ\x0f÷\x8a\x84¾Tr\x00\x06Úú\x80M\x10Ï\x80C>\x1f3Õ³\x96\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -
2026-02-06 16:01:02 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:02] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:01:02 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:02] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03\x80\x9bÿÜ¶\x87E+\\}4\x0f\x8a\x97NDØ\x83?\x09îÉ~"\x19m.§©\x8c)Ä \x05\x0b°Ào+ ¾\x93@ey²~×'Ð8\x110\x0bTsþGãù+b#¸Ë\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -
2026-02-06 16:01:07 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:07] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:01:07 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:07] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03\x94\x8crÅkø n\x8aSðë¨Áäüª3uUA\x85«®ÃJ7E& \x16# Dc\x0eC"`\x81fI]¸\x19Î\x0c_h\x81\x99h;\x8f\x18¤S\x08\x8c&(!Mö¬\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -
2026-02-06 16:01:18 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:18] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:01:18 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:18] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03q~Íc¾6»Î)4\x16VÔq\x17\x08\x04':ï\x81Bè;\x00¯:^Xè\x9aÒ \x19¡\x86!¸\x8f\x08\x82\x9fê§K\x00t\x1dc\x8dµ(c\x8eB\x1cY×ÀC¶\x81Å¿\x16\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -
2026-02-06 16:01:48 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:48] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:01:48 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:48] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03\x1f\x81\x84f\x8f\x83U\x0eÔix;É"\x96Þø»\x84Eâª\x06j\x16/Ï¥\x86\x91î° »\x7f½¤ú\x97o\x9aÆý\x00¹L\x99Ö\x1a¼\x0d\x91§\x9e\x81nÃ\x8fHñL2ö\x06\x07\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -
2026-02-06 16:02:41 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:02:41] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:02:41 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:02:41] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x037Xÿæ¢ì\x82\x10äLEÝÉ·µÑá\x8f)4x$\x09n\x10~¡*·8\x09\x19 \x1dºOü]X d3ù ÕpD\x1d\\ngy/º>ÿßåÌ[÷ô\x9bI^\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -
2026-02-06 16:04:20 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:04:20] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')
2026-02-06 16:04:20 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:04:20] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03¦Ìfþ°:r@µH¥ÿ£\x10p_áÛT-Üÿ\x19A\x08©M\x9f\x93HN$ :0"_w>ªP®\x17c{sK¿µ%Ë\x94è\x98\x18å%1þy,\x03ÄÄ÷\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

Pastebin

2026-02-06T07:06:20Z

Dubrowski:

Lots of fun!

https://www.jcca.or.jp/kaishi/306/306_contents.html

[https://wals.info/ WALS Online - Home]

[[wikipedia:Round_the_Horne|Round the Horne - Wikipedia]]

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

agile-team-a@pi-Agile-TeamA:~/Desktop/yorozu_mock_set/http_provisioning $ uv run python main.py

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: ============================================================

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: HTTP Provisioning Server (Edge Server Mock)

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: ============================================================

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: Listening on <nowiki>http://0.0.0.0:5000</nowiki>

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: MQTT config: 172.29.11.5:1883

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: Endpoints:

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: GET /s2v/mqtt-server - MQTT broker config

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: GET /s2v/http-server - HTTP endpoint config

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: POST /s2v/auth - Mock vehicle auth

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: GET /health - Health check

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] __main__: ============================================================

<nowiki>*</nowiki> Serving Flask app 'main'

<nowiki>*</nowiki> Debug mode: off

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] werkzeug: WARNING: This is a development server. Do not use it in a production deployment. Use a production WSGI server instead.

<nowiki>*</nowiki> Running on all addresses (0.0.0.0)

<nowiki>*</nowiki> Running on <nowiki>http://127.0.0.1:5000</nowiki>

<nowiki>*</nowiki> Running on <nowiki>http://172.20.10.2:5000</nowiki>

2026-02-06 15:59:57 [INFO] werkzeug: Press CTRL+C to quit

2026-02-06 16:00:59 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:00:59] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:00:59 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:00:59] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03Oô\x87û"¸²\x01x7>\x83C\x9e?\x92'Yã\x05\x91{È\x0c{rq[Ïíö. ¸\x00B#\x05&"yÄ\x0f÷\x8a\x84¾Tr\x00\x06Úú\x80M\x10Ï\x80C>\x1f3Õ³\x96\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

2026-02-06 16:01:02 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:02] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:01:02 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:02] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03\x80\x9bÿÜ¶\x87E+\\}4\x0f\x8a\x97NDØ\x83?\x09îÉ~"\x19m.§©\x8c)Ä \x05\x0b°Ào+ ¾\x93@ey²~×'Ð8\x110\x0bTsþGãù+b#¸Ë\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

2026-02-06 16:01:07 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:07] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:01:07 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:07] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03\x94\x8crÅkø n\x8aSðë¨Áäüª3uUA\x85«®ÃJ7E& \x16# Dc\x0eC"`\x81fI]¸\x19Î\x0c_h\x81\x99h;\x8f\x18¤S\x08\x8c&(!Mö¬\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

2026-02-06 16:01:18 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:18] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:01:18 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:18] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03q~Íc¾6»Î)4\x16VÔq\x17\x08\x04':ï\x81Bè;\x00¯:^Xè\x9aÒ \x19¡\x86!¸\x8f\x08\x82\x9fê§K\x00t\x1dc\x8dµ(c\x8eB\x1cY×ÀC¶\x81Å¿\x16\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

2026-02-06 16:01:48 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:48] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:01:48 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:01:48] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03\x1f\x81\x84f\x8f\x83U\x0eÔix;É"\x96Þø»\x84Eâª\x06j\x16/Ï¥\x86\x91î° »\x7f½¤ú\x97o\x9aÆý\x00¹L\x99Ö\x1a¼\x0d\x91§\x9e\x81nÃ\x8fHñL2ö\x06\x07\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

2026-02-06 16:02:41 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:02:41] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:02:41 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:02:41] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x037Xÿæ¢ì\x82\x10äLEÝÉ·µÑá\x8f)4x$\x09n\x10~¡*·8\x09\x19 \x1dºOü]X d3ù ÕpD\x1d\\ngy/º>ÿßåÌ[÷ô\x9bI^\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

2026-02-06 16:04:20 [ERROR] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:04:20] code 400, message Bad request version ('À\x13À')

2026-02-06 16:04:20 [INFO] werkzeug: 172.29.11.1 - - [06/Feb/2026 16:04:20] "\x16\x03\x01\x01)\x01\x00\x01%\x03\x03¦Ìfþ°:r@µH¥ÿ£\x10p_áÛT-Üÿ\x19A\x08©M\x9f\x93HN$ :0"_w>ªP®\x17c{sK¿µ%Ë\x94è\x98\x18å%1þy,\x03ÄÄ÷\x000\x13\x01\x13\x02\x13\x03À+À/À,À0Ì©Ì¨À#À'À$À(À\x09À\x13À" 400 -

SES: Takinoue-Tomisato

2026-01-22T08:07:02Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

= Outline =
A small shrine and a train stop that's no longer there.

= Story =

=== The border bridge ===
Even with the functional administration and associated maintenance of roadside signs to reflect that gone for a while, the very adjacent municipality signs of Kuriyama, Yuubari and Yuni are persisting. To an extent. At least, I can still tell one from another and get the unrealistic feeling of crossing borders.

I don' think I have experienced a lot of meaningful border crossing. The very ceremonial type. Or should I say, the ceremonially artificial type? Like when I first came here there was immigration, customs, and all that. I do think that border crossing is quite ceremonial in itself, though. The artificial borders created by someone drawing a dotted or dashed or solid line on a map, and the not-so-artificial borders naturally imposing themselves wherever they are because there is a river, a ridge, a pet, a nay, a put, a nupri, or something else happens to there.

In this semi-post-modernity world that I currently live in, moving by road remains part of the common sense and people still prefer roads over not-roads, even if the roads deteriorated more or less since they were last restored to a suboptimal condition. The result of that persisting common sense that is relevant to all the talk about borders, is that 'river' archetype is the most usually encounterable border.

Within the river border archetype, the put - Ainu for 'river mux' - my description for river mouths - is not too much a rarity, but comparatively exciting for me for a very simple reason: it's more common to have a 3-or-more-way border node there.

Being

SES: Takinoue-Tomisato

2026-01-22T04:41:08Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Takinoue-Tomisato

2026-01-22T04:34:29Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Takinoue-Tomisato

2026-01-22T01:26:29Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

= Outline =
A small shrine and a train stop that's no longer there.

SES: Takinoue-Tomisato

2026-01-22T00:44:45Z

Dubrowski: Created page with "category:SES"

[[category:SES]]

Summertime ghosts and the house of the permanent frost

2025-11-25T03:20:21Z

Dubrowski:

Short (?) story featuring someone similar to but is not Niina Koivisto.

= The story =

=== SUMMERTIME GHOSTS ===
Sam Cannondale died at the age of 35.

I simultaneously accepted and refused to believe what I just saw. Reasons for accepting or doubting or denying the death was all over the place.

Sam was a nice bloke. He was decently healthy, had a family, went to his football games. He also wrote songs, one of them unproportionally famous among a certain group, which I am part of. 35 never sounded like an old age, yet it was over the 'too young to die' threshold.

And then I realise that I never knew Sam by the common standards of knowing someone. We never met in person, and we never talked even remotely (* in the telecommunications sense). If his songs were considered something different from the person, I knew his songs better than him.

For a moment - a recurring moment, mind you - I felt that I shouldn't be concerned that much at all. I was not the most concerned about people's deaths person in the world to begin with.

Yet again it was a really, really strange feeling. Somewhere inside me there was the thought that Sam's death was a more purist form of death than some other occurrences of the unfortunate event.

Summertime ghosts and the house of the permanent frost

2025-11-25T02:58:56Z

Dubrowski: Created page with "Short (?) story featuring someone similar to but is not Niina Koivisto. = The story = === SUMMERTIME GHOSTS === Sam Cannondale died at the age of 34. I couldn't believe what I just saw. The news. Delivered in the plainest form possible. Nothing but a"

Short (?) story featuring someone similar to but is not Niina Koivisto.

= The story =

=== SUMMERTIME GHOSTS ===
Sam Cannondale died at the age of 34.

I couldn't believe what I just saw. The news. Delivered in the plainest form possible. Nothing but a

Shirokaba Express Service

2025-11-07T00:42:44Z

Dubrowski:

[[Category:SES]]
This is the new project name for the light...maybe novel...maybe story, project. Once upon a time it was called the Novoyuuparosk Radio or something like that. But we have minor to major changes and tweaks all along the way. So here it is now. I wonder if this will further change in the future.

== Quick notes ==
Move to [[SES: Settings]] when this becomes too long.

'''Shirokaba Express Service?'''

Name of the band formed by Emy (Whyte), Niina (Koivisto), and Jun (Sagawa). They were far from legendary but some people do know at least the name. A lesser amount of people also listened to their releases.

The name is now kind of 'gifted' to Niina and is used as a mock pseudonym. When she does things good or bad.

Whyte and Sagawa adopted a new name of [].

'''Niina Koivisto?'''

Forester by trade and traveler by nature, or vice versa. The rare breed that can both drive and fix both a manual car and a forklift.

Enjoyer of roads. Broadcaster of the mystical Novoyuuparosk Radio, as she's equally (to what?) talented in E&E / SDRs.

Also a part-time 'roader', one who maintains the roads after the government kicked the buckets.

Her rides are a 2008 Fuso Canter, and loaded on the Canter usually a Serow 223. The Canter has an extended cabin but the second row is stuffed with electronics, rations, and the bed. It is appropriately named 'the Crater'.

'''Emy Whyte-Iwami?'''

Former band-mate of Niina... is a bit overexaggerating. The SES released but one EP which technically would have expanded over 2 EP records if it were to be made into records.

She learnt computer science, more precisely combined sensory neural network robot controls. But it doesn't matter no more because she's a full time musician now. It's not too surprising that musicians can still go full-time even with a major world war ending recently. They earn more than computer scientists.

'''Sagawa Jun?'''

The less charismatic but probably most charismatic one in the trio of SES. Enigmatic in a gender sense, but is stonewall biologically female and mentally lesbo (confirmed).

Unsurprisingly (to some), she is not and never had affiliated with Emy or Niina in a romantic or sexual sense. This might come as surprising given that she's still with Emy doing band things now, 10 years after the dissolution of SES.

== Meta section: what is this about? ==
Environmental ideas, musical ideas, philosophical ideas, I don't know.

One thing I'm pretty sure is that some solid things must be done. Ideas don't exist on their own.

Maybe your traditional short story collection. That won't be bad and is very extendable.

== Abstract / Intro ==
6 years after the Second Third World War that ended up in essentially nothing significant, life goes on for Niina Koivisto.

She travels the largely unscathed lands of Hokkaido, which due to the recession of Japan when it was still a single state, is now a very green island. Literally green. Well at least in summer.

A downside of having very, very sparse population is that you can't expect any decent enough infrastructure. But Niina is ethnically, at least partially, Finnish, so that is not a very serious problem.

'''An important setting is about 'roaders'.''' Like nothing else. The roads

== Contents (?) ==
[[SES: Kushiro]]

[[SES: Taiki]]

SES: Wakkanai

2025-11-07T00:41:50Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Section 1 ==

=== The coast or the shore, and darkness approaching ===
Last I looked at my watch, it was 16:00 just; several minutes (or maybe less than 'several'), so it's around 16:00. The skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker, because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight. But judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. Nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it must have something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the less watery land, so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I must have stopped for at least 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way. It's a relief that from where I am now until Wakkanai proper there shouldn't be any really long tunnels. One or two extremely short tunnels could have slipped my memories and ambush me up there, but these are more like extended gates rather than short tunnels.

=== The Bakkai ===
Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

Contrary to popular belief, I never thought it immoral to like place only for its name, the phonological and typological properties, and not due to the (usually mediocre) history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

=== The cheeseburger, and regret ===
And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my Crater and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment. I return to the truck with my cheeseburger and nuggets, ready to enjoy the marvels of post-modern humanity which is already not that modern literally.

There was only one female staffer in the shop. The self-service booths were all out of function. The girl looked like a high school student working part time here and would prefer anything but holding the line against thin air. I thought about chatting with her a bit or maybe even having my food inside of the building, but eventually I said nothing more than necessary to order and pay, and I took the food away.

At times like these - or more precisely, after times like these, people, I included, might tend to think that they've done something mean, improper, bad, immoral, ..., wrong. In this instance, a more 'appropriate' take might have been initiating a social conversation with the girl. Then I realise I'm just doing what I have always been doing and there is nothing inherently wrong. Not that she was craving so eagerly for any sort of social engagement, and nor was I.

And I don't blame myself for feeling that initial sense of guilty, even if I deem it irrational now. I think I have been living within a comfortably irrational mindset, so some of that way of thinking have contacted me. It's not ideal if I want to live completely logical, but it's acceptable given that I know I am not a relatively simple automaton.

Having cleared my needless thoughts, I finally start to consume the already half-cold cheeseburger. The nuggets are unexpectedly hot, I'm quite sure these have stayed in the fryer for more time than they should. Which is fine by me.

I am totally unsure why I opted for a cheeseburger rather than anything else now. It's not exactly good, and probably a chicken fillet would have been much better. Or probably not. That is yet another needless thought, and I believe I just successfully stopped it from growing into something that is usually considered 'regret'. I am not sure why I opted for the cheeseburger over all the other options (albeit not a lot, really, they've axed many of the old time favourites citing scarcity of everything as a reason.) but I don't regret it. I don't regret most of my decisions.

I am here even going the extra centimetre to try and dig from my memory one of those decisions that I fully regret. Nothing comes to mind immediately. Thus I hold my statement true: I don't regret most of my decisions. There eventually might be something if I dig deep enough, though, wouldn't rule that out too soon.

=== The metropolitan Wakkanai ===
Wakkanai is anything but a charm for those expecting activities after night falls. Sapporo still had that last bit of metropolitan madness left when I last went there. It was bad.

The lack of entertainment, psychological excitement, and physical illuminations is not as uncharming to me as to some. Surely at some point in history Wakkanai also had its trade port-type prosperity (alongside all of the bad aspects of being a prosperous trade port). That still would be a different brand of charm than that of central Sapporo, or the famed... whatever it is, one of those central areas of Tokyo which I've never been to. Supposedly always bright even at night unless electricity dies.

I did, for my sins, grow up in a very urban part of Helsinki. At an inappropriate age all things considered. There might have been a world where I enjoyed that lifestyle so much that I already killed myself when Helsinki was reduced to ashes. That is already way too unimaginable at this point. I distanced myself from it, or was distanced from it so much that I cannot even try to go into any kind of realistic detail.

Wakkanai is very quiet now. In many aspects. Where I am staying was a rather premium hotel. Now it is a place where people come and stay the night and little more than that. The room now is only half of the original room, and I wouldn't easily purchase that a premium hotel used collapsible pipe beds and apparently harshly used tatamis on the pipe beds. The building, in contrary, was sturdily built and is still holding together very impressively, while some of its contemporaries had already crumbled, partly collapsed, or already returned to an empty block of ground.

Kudos to whoever did the recycling, I'm quite sure the materials are fervorously sought after. The ancient horrors of asbestos are a somewhat obsolete topic nowadays, as those asbestos-insulated buildings are mostly dealt with (properly or not) until two decades ago. What construction and deconstruction tradies face now are walls that have everything integrated: water pipes, gas pipes, high voltage conduits, low voltage conduits, and all other cables or pipes that probably only became a de facto standard for buildings since the 1980s but have persisted ever since. These are not as lethal as the asbestos, but they do render recycling whole builidings way, way more of a hassle. Wasn't really a problem when building materials was abundantly produced and nobody really thought about recycling buildings, but now building materials are not abundant no more. Then there's the problem. But thankfully that's not my problem for today. I don't face work problems off work, never.

Then again, it really is quiet. No sounds of buildings being taken down, torn apart; no sounds of things being constructed, neither. Of course, wind blows all the time, from time to time a car passes by, and by good or rotten luck I even hear a drunkard producing drunkard noises around. I am doubtful if the guy could live to see the next sunrise but honestly that's not one of my biggest concerns.

I am tired after all the driving and sightseeing detours. I need to lie down and keep my body in that state for some consecutive hours so my legs can recover. From fatigue, mostly, but also from the injuries that simply refuses to completely check out. Or maybe at this point it's part of the fatigue already. I am not sure.

I'll just leave the radio stuff for tomorrow.

== Section 2 ==

=== The northern morning ===
Very early in the morning, I wake up. My legs are still kind of sore from yesterday's driving, but the mind feels fresh enough to convince me that I had a decent sleep. There is that vague yet assertive threshold for anyone that wakes up to judge whether they're really sober or still in a bootup sequence. To me it is mostly the dreams. If the dreams are totally gone, I'm awake.

I had only the slightest of dreams last night. Probably due to fatigue from more than yesterday. Sometimes, your body just keeps going without much trouble under high load and stress for extended periods. Then it breaks down completely or slightly better, you sleep really well without dreams and much longer than usual. The latter just happened to me. And it's better than the other option.

The morning air is cold, though arguably somewhat warmer than the latitudinal counterparts because this is an island and the climate is more oceanic and else. It's not a helpful concept when the open air is essentially way colder than the room air, and I just migrated from the latter to the former.

There is a refreshing aspect that I appreciate much in the coldness. I like a degree of cold that is not lethal but makes me a bit uncomfortable. Only the slightest bit. Or I should phrase it as the level of discomfort that just veers from the comfortable side of the comfort threshold to the opposite. This sort of really mild hypothermal pain is, in my honest opinion, one of the mild pains that keeps humans (or at least me myself) conscious of their state of living. Sometimes the pain goes beyond the definition of 'mild' and that's when it becomes a bit disturbing, annoying, devastating, you name it.

Standard is something that varies by perspective. I appreciate mildly painful colds, and others don't. Emy White is an example. It makes me wonder

And the perspective thing applies to more than human beings. The Crater, my truck, does not appreciate cold temperatures - by design, literally. Of course, there are specialised features that make sure it works in the cold. Which means that if it's not cold these features are not necessary and more dead weight than functional components.

SES: Wakkanai

2025-11-05T07:05:16Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Section 1 ==
Last I looked at my watch, it was 16:00 just; several minutes (or maybe less than 'several'), so it's around 16:00. The skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker, because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight. But judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. Nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it must have something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the less watery land, so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I must have stopped for at least 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way. It's a relief that from where I am now until Wakkanai proper there shouldn't be any really long tunnels. One or two extremely short tunnels could have slipped my memories and ambush me up there, but these are more like extended gates rather than short tunnels.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

Contrary to popular belief, I never thought it immoral to like place only for its name, the phonological and typological properties, and not due to the (usually mediocre) history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment. I return to the truck with my cheeseburger and nuggets, ready to enjoy the marvels of post-modern humanity which is already not that modern literally.

There was only one female staffer in the shop. The self-service booths were all out of function. The girl looked like a high school student working part time here and would prefer anything but holding the line against thin air. I thought about chatting with her a bit or maybe even having my food inside of the building, but eventually I said nothing more than necessary to order and pay, and I took the food away.

At times like these - or more precisely, after times like these, people, I included, might tend to think that they've done something mean, improper, bad, immoral, ..., wrong. In this instance, a more 'appropriate' take might have been initiating a social conversation with the girl. Then I realise I'm just doing what I have always been doing and there is nothing inherently wrong. Not that she was craving so eagerly for any sort of social engagement, and nor was I.

And I don't blame myself for feeling that initial sense of guilty, even if I deem it irrational now. I think I have been living within a surrounding that is comfortably irrational so some of that way of thinking have contacted me. It's not ideal if I want to live completely logical, but it's acceptable given that I know I am not an automaton.

Having cleared my needless thoughts, I finally start to consume the already half-cold cheeseburger. The nuggets are unexpectedly hot, I'm quite sure these have stayed in the fryer for more time than they should. Which is fine by me.

I am totally unsure why I opted for a cheeseburger rather than anything else now. It's not exactly good, and probably a chicken fillet would have been much better. Or probably not. That is yet another needless thought, and I believe I just successfully stopped it from growing into something that is usually considered 'regret'. I am not sure why I opted for the cheeseburger over all the other options (albeit not a lot, really, they've axed many of the old time favourites citing scarcity of everything as a reason.) but I don't regret it. I don't regret most of my decisions.

I am here even going the extra centimetre to try and dig from my memory one of those decisions that I fully regret. Nothing comes to mind immediately. Thus I hold my statement true: I don't regret most of my decisions. There eventually might be something if I dig deep enough, though, wouldn't rule that out too soon.

Wakkanai is anything but a charm for those expecting activities after night falls. Sapporo still had that last bit of metropolitan madness left when I last went there. It was bad.

The lack of entertainment, psychological excitement, and physical illuminations is not as uncharming to me as to some. Surely at some point in history Wakkanai also had its trade port-y prosperity (alongside all of the bad aspects of being a prosperous trade port). That still would be a different brand of charm than that of central Sapporo, or the famed... whatever it is, one of those cores of Tokyo which I've never been to.

I did, for my sins, grow up in a very urban part of Helsinki. At an inappropriate age all things considered. There might have been a world where I enjoyed that lifestyle so much that I already killed myself when Helsinki was reduced to ashes. That is already way too unimaginable at this point. I distanced myself from it, or was distanced from it so much that I cannot even try to go into any kind of realistic detail.

Wakkanai is very quiet now. In many aspects. Where I am staying was a rather premium hotel. Now it is a place where people come and stay the night and little more than that. The room now is only half of the original room, and I wouldn't easily purchase that a premium hotel used collapsible pipe beds and apparently harshly used tatamis on the pipe beds. The building, in contrary, was sturdily built and is still holding together very impressively, while some of its contemporaries had already crumbled, partly collapsed, or already returned to an empty block of ground.

Kudos to whoever did the recycling, I'm quite sure the materials are fervorously sought after. The ancient horrors of asbestos are a somewhat obsolete topic nowadays, as those asbestos-insulated buildings are mostly dealt with (properly or not) until two decades ago. What construction and deconstruction tradies face now are walls that have everything integrated: water pipes, gas pipes, high voltage conduits, low voltage conduits, and all other cables or pipes that probably only became a de facto standard for buildings since the 1980s but have persisted ever since. These are not as lethal as the asbestos, but they do render recycling whole builidings way, way more of a hassle. Wasn't really a problem when building materials was abundantly produced and nobody really thought about recycling buildings, but now building materials are not abundant no more. Then there's the problem. But thankfully that's not my problem for today. I don't face work problems off work, never.

Then again, it really is quiet. No sounds of buildings being taken down, torn apart; no sounds of things being constructed, neither. Of course, wind blows all the time, from time to time a car passes by, and by good or rotten luck I even hear a drunkard producing drunkard noises around. I am doubtful if the guy could live to see the next sunrise but honestly that's not one of my biggest concerns.

I am tired after all the driving and sightseeing detours. I need to lie down and keep my body in that state for some consecutive hours so my legs can recover. From fatigue, mostly, but also from the injuries that simply refuses to completely check out. Or maybe at this point it's part of the fatigue already. I am not sure.

I'll just leave the radio stuff for tomorrow.

== Section 2 ==
Very early in the morning (which by local standards, is any time before 9:00, by the way), I wake up. My legs are still kind of sore from yesterday's driving, but the mind feels fresh enough to convince me that I had a decent sleep. There is that vague yet assertive threshold for anyone that wakes up to judge whether they're really sober or still in a bootup sequence. To me it is mostly the dreams. If the dreams are totally gone, I'm awake.

I had only the slightest of dreams last night. Probably due to fatigue from more than yesterday. Sometimes, your body just keeps going without much trouble under high load and stress for extended periods. Then it breaks down completely or slightly better, you sleep really well without dreams and much longer than usual. The latter just happened to me. And it's better than the other option.

I didn't come to Wakkanai for no reason, nor did I come for a strong reason.

SES: Wakkanai

2025-11-04T23:32:05Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-11-03T06:16:49Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-30T08:45:37Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-29T08:30:53Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
Last I looked at my watch, it was 16:00 just; several minutes (or maybe less than 'several'), so it's around 16:00. The skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker, because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight. But judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. Nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it must have something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the less watery land, so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I must have stopped for at least 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way. It's a relief that from where I am now until Wakkanai proper there shouldn't be any really long tunnels. One or two extremely short tunnels could have slipped my memories and ambush me up there, but these are more like extended gates rather than short tunnels.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

Contrary to popular belief, I never thought it immoral to like place only for its name, the phonological and typological properties, and not due to the (usually mediocre) history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment. I return to the truck with my cheeseburger and nuggets, ready to enjoy the marvels of post-modern humanity which is already not that modern literally.

There was only one female staffer in the shop. The self-service booths were all out of function. The girl looked like a high school student working part time here and would prefer anything but holding the line against thin air. I thought about chatting with her a bit or maybe even having my food inside of the building, but eventually I said nothing more than necessary to order and pay, and I took the food away.

At times like these - or more precisely, after times like these, people, I included, might tend to think that they've done something mean, improper, bad, immoral, ..., wrong. In this instance, a more 'appropriate' take might have been initiating a social conversation with the girl. Then I realise I'm just doing what I have always been doing and there is nothing inherently wrong. Not that she was craving so eagerly for any sort of social engagement, and nor was I.

And I don't blame myself for feeling that initial sense of guilty, even if I deem it irrational now. I think I have been living within a surrounding that is comfortably irrational so some of that way of thinking have contacted me. It's not ideal if I want to live completely logical, but it's acceptable given that I know I am not an automaton.

Having cleared my needless thoughts, I finally start to consume the already half-cold cheeseburger. The nuggets are unexpectedly hot, I'm quite sure these have stayed in the fryer for more time than they should. Which is fine by me.

I am totally unsure why I opted for a cheeseburger rather than anything else now. It's not exactly good, and probably a chicken fillet would have been much better. Or probably not. That is yet another needless thought, and I believe I just successfully stopped it from growing into something that is usually considered 'regret'. I am not sure why I opted for the cheeseburger over all the other options (albeit not a lot, really, they've axed many of the old time favourites citing scarcity of everything as a reason.) but I don't regret it. I don't regret most of my decisions.

I am here even going the extra centimetre to try and dig from my memory one of those decisions that I fully regret. Nothing comes to mind immediately. Thus I hold my statement true: I don't regret most of my decisions. There eventually might be something if I dig deep enough, though, wouldn't rule that out too soon.

Wakkanai is anything but a charm for those expecting activities after night falls. Sapporo still had that last bit of metropolitan madness left when I last went there. It was bad.

The lack of entertainment, psychological excitement, and physical illuminations is not as uncharming to me as to some. Surely at some point in history Wakkanai also had its trade port-y prosperity (alongside all of the bad aspects of being a prosperous trade port). That still would be a different brand of charm than that of central Sapporo, or the famed... whatever it is, one of those cores of Tokyo which I've never been to.

I did, for my sins, grow up in a very urban part of Helsinki. At an inappropriate age all things considered. There might have been a world where I enjoyed that lifestyle so much that I already killed myself when Helsinki was reduced to ashes. That is already way too unimaginable at this point. I distanced myself from it, or was distanced from it so much that I cannot even try to go into any kind of realistic detail.

Wakkanai is very quiet now. In many aspects. Where I am staying was a rather premium hotel. Now it is a place where people come and stay the night and little more than that. The room now is only half of the original room, and I wouldn't easily purchase that a premium hotel used collapsible pipe beds and apparently harshly used tatamis on the pipe beds. The building, in contrary, was sturdily built and is still holding together very impressively, while some of its contemporaries had already crumbled, partly collapsed, or already returned to an empty block of ground.

Kudos to whoever did the recycling, I'm quite sure the materials are fervorously sought after. The ancient horrors of asbestos are a somewhat obsolete topic nowadays, as those asbestos-insulated buildings are mostly dealt with (properly or not) until two decades ago. What construction and deconstruction tradies face now are walls that have everything integrated: water pipes, gas pipes, high voltage conduits, low voltage conduits, and all other cables or pipes that probably only became a de facto standard for buildings since the 1980s but have persisted ever since. These are not as lethal as the asbestos, but they do render recycling whole builidings way, way more of a hassle. Wasn't really a problem when building materials was abundantly produced and nobody really thought about recycling buildings, but now building materials are not abundant no more. Then there's the problem. But thankfully that's not my problem for today. I don't face work problems off work, never.

Then again, it really is quiet. No sounds of buildings being taken down, torn apart; no sounds of things being constructed, neither. Of course, wind blows all the time, from time to time a car passes by, and by good or rotten luck I even hear a drunkard producing drunkard noises around. I am doubtful if the guy could live to see the next sunrise but honestly that's not one of my biggest concerns.

I am tired after all the driving and sightseeing detours. I need to lie down and keep my body in that state for some consecutive hours so my legs can recover. From fatigue, mostly, but also from the injuries that simply refuses to completely check out. Or maybe at this point it's part of the fatigue already. I am not sure.

I'll just leave the radio stuff for tomorrow.

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-29T06:22:56Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-27T07:08:12Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-24T07:14:47Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-23T04:40:14Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
Last I looked at my watch, it was 16:00 just; several minutes (or maybe less than 'several'), so it's around 16:00. The skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker, because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight. But judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I must have stopped for at least 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment. I return to the truck with my cheeseburger and nuggets, ready to enjoy the marvels of post-modern humanity which is already not that modern literally.

There was only one female staffer in the shop. The self-service booths were all out of function. The girl looked like a high school student working part time here and would prefer anything but holding the line against thin air. I thought about chatting with her a bit or maybe even having my food inside of the building, but eventually I said nothing more than necessary to order and pay, and I took the food away.

At times like these - or more precisely, after times like these, people, I included, might tend to think that they've done something mean, improper, bad, immoral, ..., wrong. In this instance, a more 'appropriate' take might have been initiating a social conversation with the girl. Then I realise I'm just doing what I have always been doing and there is nothing inherently wrong. Not that she was craving so eagerly for any sort of social engagement, and nor was I.

And I don't blame myself for feeling that initial sense of guilty, even if I deem it irrational now. I think I have been living within a surrounding that is comfortably irrational so some of that way of thinking have contacted me. It's not ideal if I want to live completely logical, but it's acceptable given that I know I am not an automaton.

Having cleared my needless thoughts, I finally start to consume the already half-cold cheeseburger. The nuggets are unexpectedly hot, I'm quite sure these have stayed in the fryer for more time than they should. Which is fine by me.

I am totally unsure why I opted for a cheeseburger rather than anything else now. It's not exactly good, and probably a chicken fillet would have been much better. Or probably not. That is yet another needless thought, and I believe I just successfully stopped it from growing into something that is usually considered 'regret'. I am not sure why I opted for the cheeseburger over all the other options (albeit not a lot, really, they've axed many of the old time favourites citing scarcity of everything as a reason.) but I don't regret it. I don't regret most of my decisions.

I am here even going the extra centimetre to try and dig from my memory one of those decisions that I fully regret. Nothing comes to mind immediately. Thus I hold my statement true: I don't regret most of my decisions. There eventually might be something if I dig deep enough, though, wouldn't rule that out too soon.

Wakkanai is anything but a charm for those expecting activities after night falls. Sapporo still had that last bit of metropolitan madness left when I last went there. It was bad.

The lack of entertainment, psychological excitement, and physical illuminations is not as uncharming to me as to some. Surely at some point in history Wakkanai also had its trade port-y prosperity (alongside all of the bad aspects of being a prosperous trade port). That still would be a different brand of charm than that of central Sapporo, or the famed... whatever it is, one of those cores of Tokyo which I've never been to.

I did, for my sins, grow up in a very urban part of Helsinki. At an inappropriate age all things considered. There might have been a world where I enjoyed that lifestyle so much that I already killed myself when Helsinki was reduced to ashes. That is already way too unimaginable at this point. I distanced myself from it, or was distanced from it so much that I cannot even try to go into any kind of realistic detail.

Wakkanai is very quiet now. In many aspects. Where I am staying was a rather premium hotel. Now it is a place where people come and stay the night and little more than that. The room now is only half of the original room, and I wouldn't easily purchase that a premium hotel used collapsible pipe beds and apparently harshly used tatamis on the pipe beds. The building, in contrary, was sturdily built and is still holding together very impressively, while some of its contemporaries had already crumbled, partly collapsed, or already returned to an empty block of ground.

Kudos to whoever did the recycling, I'm quite sure the materials are fervorously sought after. The ancient horrors of asbestos are a somewhat obsolete topic nowadays, as those asbestos-insulated buildings are mostly dealt with (properly or not) until two decades ago. What construction and deconstruction tradies face now are walls that have everything integrated: water pipes, gas pipes, high voltage conduits, low voltage conduits, and all other cables or pipes that probably only became a de facto standard for buildings since the 1980s but have persisted ever since. These are not as lethal as the asbestos, but they do render recycling whole builidings way, way more of a hassle. Wasn't really a problem when building materials was abundantly produced and nobody really thought about recycling buildings, but now building materials are not abundant no more. Then there's the problem. But thankfully that's not my problem for today. I don't face work problems off work, never.

Then again, it really is quiet. No sounds of buildings being taken down, torn apart; no sounds of things being constructed, neither. Of course, wind blows all the time, from time to time a car passes by, and by good or rotten luck I even hear a drunkard producing drunkard noises around. I am doubtful if the guy could live to see the next sunrise but honestly that's not one of my biggest concerns.

I am tired after all the driving and sightseeing detours. I need to lie down and keep my body in that state for some consecutive hours so my legs can recover. From fatigue, mostly, but also from the injuries that simply refuses to completely check out. Or maybe at this point it's part of the fatigue already. I am not sure.

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-22T04:47:33Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
It's around 16:00, the skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight, but judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I've stopped some 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even one step darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I believe I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment. I return to the truck with my cheeseburger and nuggets, ready to enjoy the marvels of post-modern humanity which is already not that modern literally.

There was only one female staffer in the shop. The self-service booths were all out of function. The girl looked like a high school student working part time here and would prefer anything but holding the line against thin air. I thought about chatting with her a bit or maybe even having my food inside of the building, but eventually I said nothing more than necessary to order and pay, and I took the food away.

At times like these - or more precisely, after times like these, people, I included, might tend to think that they've done something mean, improper, bad, immoral, ..., wrong. In this instance, a more 'appropriate' take might have been initiating a social conversation with the girl. Then I realise I'm just doing what I have always been doing and there is nothing inherently wrong. Not that she was craving so eagerly for any sort of social engagement, and nor was I.

And I don't blame myself for feeling that initial sense of guilty, even if I deem it irrational now. I think I have been living within a surrounding that is comfortably irrational so some of that way of thinking have contacted me. It's not ideal if I want to live completely logical, but it's acceptable given that I know I am not an automaton.

Having cleared my needless thoughts, I finally start to consume the already half-cold cheeseburger. The nuggets are unexpectedly hot, I'm quite sure these have stayed in the fryer for more time than they should. Which is fine by me.

I am totally unsure why I opted for a cheeseburger rather than anything else now. It's not exactly good, and probably a chicken fillet would have been much better. Or probably not. That is yet another needless thought, and I believe I just successfully stopped it from growing into something that is usually considered 'regret'. I am not sure why I opted for the cheeseburger over all the other options (albeit not a lot, really, they've axed many of the old time favourites citing scarcity of everything as a reason.) but I don't regret it. I don't regret most of my decisions.

I am here even going the extra centimetre to try and dig from my memory one of those decisions that I fully regret. Nothing comes to mind immediately. Thus I hold my statement true: I don't regret most of my decisions. There eventually might be something if I dig deep enough, though, wouldn't rule that out too soon.

Wakkanai is anything but a charm for those expecting activities after night falls. Sapporo still had that last bit of metropolitan madness left when I last went there. It was bad.

The lack of entertainment, psychological excitement, and physical illuminations is not as uncharming to me as to some. Surely at some point in history Wakkanai also had its trade port-y prosperity (alongside all of the bad aspects of being a prosperous trade port). That still would be a different brand of charm than that of central Sapporo, or the famed... whatever it is, one of those cores of Tokyo which I've never been to.

I did, for my sins, grow up in a very urban part of Helsinki. At an inappropriate age all things considered. There might have been a world where I enjoyed that lifestyle so much that I already killed myself when Helsinki was reduced to ashes. That is already way too unimaginable at this point. I distanced myself from it, or was distanced from it so much that I cannot even try to go into any kind of realistic detail.

Wakkanai is very quiet now. In many aspects. Where I am staying was a rather premium hotel. Now it is a place where people come and stay the night and little more than that. The building was sturdily built and is still holding together while some of its contemporaries had already crumbled, partly collapsed, or already returned to an empty block of ground. Kudos to whoever did the recycling, I'm quite sure the materials are fervorously sought after. The ancient horrors of asbestos are a somewhat obsolete topic nowadays, as those asbestos-insulated buildings are mostly dealt with (properly or not) until two decades ago. What construction and deconstruction tradies face now are walls that have everything integrated: water pipes, gas pipes, high voltage conduits, low voltage conduits, and all other cables or pipes that prorably only became a de facto standard for buildings since the 1980s

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-22T01:17:44Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-10-22T00:59:15Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
It's around 16:00, the skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight, but judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I've stopped some 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even one step darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I believe I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment. I return to the truck with my cheeseburger and nuggets, ready to enjoy the marvels of post-modern humanity which is already not that modern literally.

There was only one female staffer in the shop. The self-service booths were all out of function. The girl looked like a high school student working part time here and would prefer anything but holding the line against thin air. I thought about chatting with her a bit or maybe even having my food inside of the building, but eventually I said nothing more than necessary to order and pay, and I took the food away.

At times like these - or more precisely, after times like these, people, I included, might tend to think that they've done something mean, improper, bad, immoral, ..., wrong. In this instance, a more 'appropriate' take might have been initiating a social conversation with the girl. Then I realise I'm just doing what I have always been doing and there is nothing inherently wrong. Not that she was craving so eagerly for any sort of social engagement, and nor was I.

And I don't blame myself for feeling that initial sense of guilty, even if I deem it irrational now. I think I have been living within a surrounding that is comfortably irrational so some of that way of thinking have contacted me. It's not ideal if I want to live completely logical, but it's acceptable given that I know I am not an automaton.

Having cleared my needless thoughts, I finally start to consume the already half-cold cheeseburger. The nuggets are unexpectedly hot, I'm quite sure these have stayed in the fryer for more time than they should. Which is fine by me.

I am totally unsure why I opted for a cheeseburger rather than anything else now. It's not exactly good, and probably a chicken fillet would have been much better. Or probably not. That is yet another needless thought, and I believe I just successfully stopped it from growing into something that is usually considered 'regret'. I am not sure why I opted for the cheeseburger over all the other options (albeit not a lot, really, they've axed many of the old time favourites citing scarcity of everything as a reason.) but I don't regret it. I don't regret most of my decisions.

I am here even going the extra centimetre to try and dig from my memory one of those decisions that I fully regret. Nothing comes to mind immediately. Thus I hold my statement true: I don't regret most of my decisions. There eventually might be something if I dig deep enough, though, wouldn't rule that out too soon.

Wakkanai is anything but a charm after night falls. Sapporo still has that last bit of metropolitan madness left as far as I last went there.

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-26T05:23:58Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-25T05:06:33Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
It's around 16:00, the skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight, but judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I've stopped some 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even one step darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I believe I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment.

'Good evening.' I greet the staffer in advance, before the guy could've initiated the greeting protocol. He - maybe she - eventually does that anyways, though.

'Good evening,' she says, 'how may I help you?'

I remember many of the remaining Macs have adopted a rather radical automation and self-service workflow. It's quite rare to see a human operated shop now. There are two of the ordering tablets in the building, but the displays are dead black, obviously not operational. The menu which essentially are three big tablets is working fine.

I decide to have the classic double cheese burger and nuggets. The staffer looks slightly surprised, but nothing is said. Maybe it's just the sight of a living human that is surprising.

In the end, the staffer becomes the first to break silence (outside of functional vocal conversations i.e. ordering and confirming the double cheese and nuggets set). She says, 'It's going to take a while to unfreeze the nuggets. Not a lot of people order these now.' Taking a bag of apparently frozen nuggets from the freezer and straight into the frying apparatus.

I can't read between the lines, or maybe there is simply nothing between her lines. It's a bit rude to give no response, so I opt to keep the exchange going with some bare minimum sociability, 'Well, I'm not in a rush now, so it's fine.'

'What do you do, ma'am?' she asks, apparently looking to extend the conversation further now.

I am not one to actively establish conversations. I am not too evasive when being engaged, though. I talk to myself all the time when I am alone unless I'm too tired to do so, after all. Now this girl is probably taking her liberty to have a chat while it's not busy, I don't see why I shouldn't tag along.

In real time, I reply after a reasonable timeout that is neither too short nor too long to have her mistake me as a natural language processing robot. Or more specifically, after 1.5 seconds counting from when her 'am' syllable was terminated by an unusual (for 'am') glottal stop.

'That depends.' Not the most heartwarming answer, I know, and I try to ease the defensiveness by applying a brighter tone.

The girl is probably not prepared for an answer so unhelpful. She looks young, the most boring guess would be that she's a local student working here part-time. A less boring assumption is that she's a student from somewhere else that had run away from home and ended up working part-time here. Well, I don't think I can inspect a lot more than the presumed fact that she's a high school-ish student working part-time.

I offer some friendliness by explaining my indeterministic answer, 'you ask me what I do, and that depends on the aspect you're asking from. My occupation for my bank account is simply "company employee", and in more detail, I take care of trees.'

She doesn't seem a lot satisfied, but not the unconcerned type. I for one second doubt whether it's good to reveal more of my privacy to a total stranger but realising that I have done that for far more times than I probably should, I just dismissed that doubt. The staffer girl signs me 'wait a second', goes for the nuggets and the double cheese burger, and gets back, and says, 'what else?'

'I also fix roads and play music on a radio.' I answer.

'Wow.'

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-25T01:57:50Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
It's around 16:00, the skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight, but judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I've stopped some 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even one step darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I believe I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment.

'Good evening.' I greet the staffer in advance, before the guy could've initiated the greeting protocol. He - maybe she - eventually does that anyways, though.

'Good evening,' she says, 'how may I help you?'

I remember many of the remaining Macs have adopted a rather radical automation and self-service workflow. It's quite rare to see a human operated shop now. There are two of the ordering tablets in the building, but the displays are dead black, obviously not operational. The menu which essentially are three big tablets is working fine.

I decide to have the classic double cheese burger and nuggets. The staffer looks slightly surprised, but nothing is said. Maybe it's just the sight of a living human that is surprising.

In the end, the staffer becomes the first to break silence (outside of functional vocal conversations i.e. ordering and confirming the double cheese and nuggets set). She says, 'It's going to take a while to unfreeze the nuggets. Not a lot of people order these now.'

I can't read between the lines, or maybe there is simply nothing between her lines. So I just kept the convo going, 'Well, I'm not in a rush now, so it's fine.'

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-25T01:53:47Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
It's around 16:00, the skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight, but judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I've stopped some 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even one step darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I believe I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags, and I'm sure they were not especially fond of it.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment.

'Good evening.' I greet the staffer in advance, before the guy could've initiated the greeting protocol. He - maybe she - eventually does that anyways, though.

'Good evening,' she says, 'how may I help you?'

I remember many of the remaining Macs have adopted a rather radical automation and self-service workflow. It's quite rare to see a human operated shop now. There are two of the ordering tablets in the building, but the displays are dead black, obviously not operational. The menu which essentially are three big tablets is working fine.

I decide to have the classic double cheese burger and nuggets. The staffer looks slightly surprised, but nothing is said. Maybe it's just the sight of a living human that is surprising.

In the end, the staffer becomes the first to break silence (outside of functional vocal conversations i.e. ordering and confirming the double cheese and nuggets set). She says,

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-25T01:52:57Z

Dubrowski:

[[category:SES]]

== Note ==
Around the end of September, along the Saropet line.

== Story ==
It's around 16:00, the skies are becoming slightly darker. I'm not exactly sure if it is really darker because the cloud or the fog fuzzies the remaining sunlight, but judging from the time, it probably is getting darker.

I open the door and land my feet on the ground for a first time in several hours. It's not always good how human civilisation has retreated from sparsely populated corners like this, but it's good to be able to park wherever and whenever I want to.

There is no wind, almost. Which is curious. I think nine times out of eight these coasts are terrifyingly windy, and it has something to do with the air pressure difference and stuff. Maybe sometimes you just get the perfect balance between the sea and the land so the air stays mostly stationary.

The reeds along the coastline wave even to this slightest movement of air. I think they have been blown around for so long that their default state is not straight up no more. The reeds point towards various directions at various angles, or I should say, azimuths. The sun emits its electrons from behind the clouds and maybe also fog from an even lower place. It's about to go under the horizon. But before that eventually happens, the light does not change drastically. Especially when the light is being dispersed, diffracted, diffused by all the clouds and the fog. It's a very smooth and subtle light, with an almost mist-like texture. Well, part of the atmosphere is probably really mist. The rest is a more virtual, psychological, atmospheric kind of mist, I think.

Making stops like this will inevitably extend my trip. I have known that though numerous past experiences and now I account for these stops so I won't extend my trips beyond control. And I'm well under control now. There's less than 3 hours to go until I should arrive in Wakkanai. I don't know, though, the reason why I always feel I need to have control. I have always decided to overlook this ignorance, as thinking too deep into it will probably relieve me of any control. One thing I'm probably sure is that keeping my times managed gives me a slight satisfactory sensation.

I think I've stopped some 10 minutes now. The skies have surely become even one step darker since I last commented on them becoming slightly darker. Darkness is something I don't intuitively like. It could constitute as one reason, analytically, why I am almost paranoid on maintaining control of my trips, timewise. It is simple, if it's dark, it's hard to see things, driving gets tiring, and when tired and driving humans have a higher chance of suffering serious or fatal injury.

I believe I have a rather negative emotion towards my own death, but I can't find a precise word or simple phrase to describe that. Well, an imperfect approximate would be 'I don't want to die'. This is largely different from what I think I have in mind but is easy to utter, write, or for someone else to understand, so it is the go-to if I have to explain this mundane chain of thought to anyone else. Not that I've actually met a lot of people interested in seeking after such explanations. I think I've only said this to Emms and Sags.

But the emotion towards darkness is quite certain for me. I can say with much confidence that I hate darkness - when I'm driving. This hatred does not lend itself to other circumstances i.e. when I'm not driving. I think I enjoy darkness rather wholeheartedly, when I'm not driving.

I hate tunnels unconditionally, by the way.

Having driven for yet another hour, I believe I am finally seeing the lights of Wakkanai. Behind me now is the Bakkai. Yes, ''The'' Bakkai. There probably is nothing significant about it bar the usual local history that every human settlement is cursed to bear. It's just the nearly symmetrical written form, the sound when pronounced in Richard Keys intonation, and the perfectly transliterated Cyrillic notations on the road signs, Баккаи, that fascinate me.

I believe it's not immoral to like a name only for its phonological and typological properties, and not due to the mediocre history behind it. And what's even better, the Bakkai has now zero residents to issue me any sort of complaint about my potential disrespect to their history and culture, in adjecting with the adjective 'mediocre'.

Besides, I think I actually like the post-apocalyptic looks of the Bakkai, which had been there even before the apocalyptic - well, maybe not as apocalyptic - war came. Which could well be yet another insult to the residents if there were any. When I arrived there today it was simply too dark to see anything. Not like the Bakkai has any working illumination left.

Driving through the Bakkai in its current state should be legitimately classified as a kind of hard labour, and I do not wish to dwell on that further. The initial metropolitan lights finally enter my adjacency in the form of faintly lit hotel advertising boards. Then a fuelling station. The density and intensity of streetlamps increase gradually and stabilise at a level that is rather easy for the eye.

If I pick my standards adaptively, I am in Wakkanai now. Or maybe the moment when my cockpit reached the edge of the fuel station shed. In more practical standards, I think I'm still some tens of kilometres (and minutes, almost equally) away from where I believed I could spend the night. I stopped caring about my previous prediction of less than 3 hours, because I'm ahead of that by a good margin.

And thus, it's time for a break. Maybe not 'thus', a break doesn't depend on or require a good margin of time ahead of schedule. If a consequential construct must be present, I think I would rather nominate simply wanting to go to the northernmost Mac in 'Do as the reason for me to have a break. I don't think this works well as a reason, nor do I want to further elaborate on why I want to go to the northernmost Mac. It just happens to be the northernmost Mac and I just happen to be in close vicinity to it.

To some, there is an extra layer of significance that it's also the northernmost Mac that survived the war, but that is absolutely not anything significant especially if one takes into consideration that more Macs shut down due to a shortage of onion dip rather than the war. A persistent verbal combatant might argue that the onion dip shortage was also a direct or indirect consequence of the war, and thus that portion of closing downs should also be attributed to the war, and the significance is again proved significant. This is exactly why I have an intricate negative feeling towards statisticians, me myself included. It is this mindset that bothers me so much at times like when I want to go to the northernmost Mac for no apparent reason.

Gladly enough, I have learnt to come to terms with my problems. Gladly as well, when I arrived at the parking lot, the lights are on. Neither my inner professional orator nor the business hours are stopping me from having something at the northernmost Mac.

The not-so-jolly jester, which happens to be the northernmost instance among many of his clones, is sitting on the usual bench enjoying his final few weeks or maybe just days before getting obscured, covered, and finally buried in high quality snow. Then it could well be until next April that the happy face can be seen again. Cheers, mate.

Not another motor vehicle is in the parking lot, which probably means I will be the only customer at this moment. I get off my truck and realise how I have now entered the effective range of the chilly Okhotsk sea winds, so I grabbed my coat which solves the potential hypothermia problem.

Turns out I am the only customer at this moment.

'Good evening.' I greet the staffer in advance, before the guy could've initiated the greeting protocol. He - maybe she - eventually does that anyways, though.

'Good evening,' she says, 'how may I help you?'

I remember many of the remaining Macs have adopted a rather radical automation and self-service workflow. It's quite rare to see a human operated shop now. There are two of the ordering tablets in the building, but the displays are dead black, obviously not operational. The menu which essentially are three big tablets is working fine.

I decide to have the classic double cheese burger and nuggets. The staffer looks slightly surprised, but nothing is said. Maybe it's just the sight of a living human that is surprising.

In the end, the staffer becomes the first to break silence (outside of functional vocal conversations i.e. ordering and confirming the double cheese and nuggets set). She says,

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-23T06:32:26Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-23T06:10:05Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-23T06:09:50Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-23T06:02:36Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-23T02:38:38Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-23T01:16:28Z

Dubrowski:

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-22T06:46:56Z

Dubrowski:

Shirokaba Express Service

2025-09-22T05:53:25Z

Dubrowski:

[[Category:SES]]
This is the new project name for the light...maybe novel...maybe story, project. Once upon a time it was called the Novoyuuparosk Radio or something like that. But we have minor to major changes and tweaks all along the way. So here it is now. I wonder if this will further change in the future.

== Quick notes ==
Move to [[SES: Settings]] when this becomes too long.

'''Shirokaba Express Service?'''

Name of the band formed by Emy (Whyte), Niina (Koivisto), and Jun (Sagawa). They were far from legendary but some people do know at least the name. A lesser amount of people also listened to their releases.

The name is now kind of 'gifted' to Niina and is used as a mock pseudonym. When she does things good or bad.

Whyte and Sagawa adopted a new name of [].

'''Niina Koivisto?'''

Forester by trade and traveler by nature, or vice versa. The rare breed that can both drive and fix both a manual car and a forklift.

Enjoyer of roads. Broadcaster of the mystical Novoyuuparosk Radio, as she's equally (to what?) talented in E&E / SDRs.

Also a part-time 'roader', one who maintains the roads after the government kicked the buckets.

Her rides are a 2008 Fuso Canter, and loaded on the Canter usually a Serow 223. The Canter has an extended cabin but the second row is stuffed with electronics, rations, and the bed.

'''Emy Whyte-Iwami?'''

Former band-mate of Niina... is a bit overexaggerating. The SES released but one EP which technically would have expanded over 2 EP records if it were to be made into records.

She learnt computer science, more precisely combined sensory neural network robot controls. But it doesn't matter no more because she's a full time musician now. It's not too surprising that musicians can still go full-time even with a major world war ending recently. They earn more than computer scientists.

'''Sagawa Jun?'''

The less charismatic but probably most charismatic one in the trio of SES. Enigmatic in a gender sense, but is stonewall biologically female and mentally lesbo (confirmed).

Unsurprisingly (to some), she is not and never had affiliated with Emy or Niina in a romantic or sexual sense. This might come as surprising given that she's still with Emy doing band things now, 10 years after the dissolution of SES.

== Meta section: what is this about? ==
Environmental ideas, musical ideas, philosophical ideas, I don't know.

One thing I'm pretty sure is that some solid things must be done. Ideas don't exist on their own.

Maybe your traditional short story collection. That won't be bad and is very extendable.

== Abstract / Intro ==
6 years after the Second Third World War that ended up in essentially nothing significant, life goes on for Niina Koivisto.

She travels the largely unscathed lands of Hokkaido, which due to the recession of Japan when it was still a single state, is now a very green island. Literally green. Well at least in summer.

A downside of having very, very sparse population is that you can't expect any decent enough infrastructure. But Niina is ethnically, at least partially, Finnish, so that is not a very serious problem.

'''An important setting is about 'roaders'.''' Like nothing else. The roads

== Contents (?) ==
[[SES: Kushiro]]

[[SES: Taiki]]

Shirokaba Express Service

2025-09-22T05:52:10Z

Dubrowski:

[[Category:SES]]
This is the new project name for the light...maybe novel...maybe story, project. Once upon a time it was called the Novoyuuparosk Radio or something like that. But we have minor to major changes and tweaks all along the way. So here it is now. I wonder if this will further change in the future.

== Quick notes ==
Move to [[SES: Settings]] when this becomes too long.

'''Shirokaba Express Service?'''

Name of the band formed by Emy (Whyte), Niina (Koivisto), and Jun (Sagawa). They were far from legendary but some people do know at least the name. A lesser amount of people also listened to their releases.

The name is now kind of 'gifted' to Niina and is used as a mock pseudonym. When she does things good or bad.

Whyte and Sagawa adopted a new name of [].

'''Niina Koivisto?'''

Forester by trade and traveler by nature, or vice versa. The rare breed that can both drive and fix both a manual car and a forklift.

Enjoyer of roads. Broadcaster of the mystical Novoyuuparosk Radio, as she's equally (to what?) talented in E&E / SDRs.

Also a part-time 'roader', one who maintains the roads after the government kicked the buckets.

Her rides are a 2008 Fuso Canter, and loaded on the Canter usually a Serow 223.

'''Emy Whyte-Iwami?'''

Former band-mate of Niina... is a bit overexaggerating. The SES released but one EP which technically would have expanded over 2 EP records if it were to be made into records.

She learnt computer science, more precisely combined sensory neural network robot controls. But it doesn't matter no more because she's a full time musician now. It's not too surprising that musicians can still go full-time even with a major world war ending recently. They earn more than computer scientists.

'''Sagawa Jun?'''

The less charismatic but probably most charismatic one in the trio of SES. Enigmatic in a gender sense, but is stonewall biologically female and mentally lesbo (confirmed).

Unsurprisingly (to some), she is not and never had affiliated with Emy or Niina in a romantic or sexual sense. This might come as surprising given that she's still with Emy doing band things now, 10 years after the dissolution of SES.

== Meta section: what is this about? ==
Environmental ideas, musical ideas, philosophical ideas, I don't know.

One thing I'm pretty sure is that some solid things must be done. Ideas don't exist on their own.

Maybe your traditional short story collection. That won't be bad and is very extendable.

== Abstract / Intro ==
6 years after the Second Third World War that ended up in essentially nothing significant, life goes on for Niina Koivisto.

She travels the largely unscathed lands of Hokkaido, which due to the recession of Japan when it was still a single state, is now a very green island. Literally green. Well at least in summer.

A downside of having very, very sparse population is that you can't expect any decent enough infrastructure. But Niina is ethnically, at least partially, Finnish, so that is not a very serious problem.

'''An important setting is about 'roaders'.''' Like nothing else. The roads

== Contents (?) ==
[[SES: Kushiro]]

[[SES: Taiki]]

Shirokaba Express Service

2025-09-22T05:44:46Z

Dubrowski:

[[Category:SES]]
This is the new project name for the light...maybe novel...maybe story, project. Once upon a time it was called the Novoyuuparosk Radio or something like that. But we have minor to major changes and tweaks all along the way. So here it is now. I wonder if this will further change in the future.

== Quick notes ==
Move to [[SES: Settings]] when this becomes too long.

'''Shirokaba Express Service?'''

Name of the band formed by Emy (Whyte), Niina (Koivisto), and Jun (Sagawa). They were far from legendary but some people do know at least the name. A lesser amount of people also listened to their releases.

The name is now kind of 'gifted' to Niina and is used as a mock pseudonym. When she does things good or bad.

Whyte and Sagawa adopted a new name of [].

'''Niina Koivisto?'''

Forester by trade and traveler by nature, or vice versa. The rare breed that can both drive and fix both a manual car and a forklift.

Enjoyer of roads. Broadcaster of the mystical Novoyuuparosk Radio.

Also a part-time 'roader', one who maintains the roads after the government kicked the buckets.

Her ride is a 20

'''Emy Whyte-Iwami?'''

Former band-mate of Niina... is a bit overexaggerating. The SES released but one EP which technically would have expanded over 2 EP records if it were to be made into records.

She learnt computer science, more precisely combined sensory neural network robot controls. But it doesn't matter no more because she's a full time musician now. It's not too surprising that musicians can still go full-time even with a major world war ending recently. They earn more than computer scientists.

'''Sagawa Jun?'''

The less charismatic but probably most charismatic one in the trio of SES. Enigmatic in a gender sense, but is stonewall biologically female and mentally lesbo (confirmed).

Unsurprisingly (to some), she is not and never had affiliated with Emy or Niina in a romantic or sexual sense. This might come as surprising given that she's still with Emy doing band things now, 10 years after the dissolution of SES.

== Meta section: what is this about? ==
Environmental ideas, musical ideas, philosophical ideas, I don't know.

One thing I'm pretty sure is that some solid things must be done. Ideas don't exist on their own.

Maybe your traditional short story collection. That won't be bad and is very extendable.

== Abstract / Intro ==
6 years after the Second Third World War that ended up in essentially nothing significant, life goes on for Niina Koivisto.

She travels the largely unscathed lands of Hokkaido, which due to the recession of Japan when it was still a single state, is now a very green island. Literally green. Well at least in summer.

A downside of having very, very sparse population is that you can't expect any decent enough infrastructure. But Niina is ethnically, at least partially, Finnish, so that is not a very serious problem.

'''An important setting is about 'roaders'.''' Like nothing else. The roads

== Contents (?) ==
[[SES: Kushiro]]

[[SES: Taiki]]

Shirokaba Express Service

2025-09-22T05:44:14Z

Dubrowski:

[[Category:SES]]
This is the new project name for the light...maybe novel...maybe story, project. Once upon a time it was called the Novoyuuparosk Radio or something like that. But we have minor to major changes and tweaks all along the way. So here it is now. I wonder if this will further change in the future.

== Quick notes ==
Move to [[SES: Settings]] when this becomes too long.

'''Shirokaba Express Service?'''

Name of the band formed by Emy (Whyte), Niina (Koivisto), and Jun (Sagawa). They were far from legendary but some people do know at least the name. A lesser amount of people also listened to their releases.

The name is now kind of 'gifted' to Niina and is used as a mock pseudonym. When she does things good or bad.

Whyte and Sagawa adopted a new name of [].

'''Niina Koivisto?'''

Forester by trade and traveler by nature, or vice versa. The rare breed that can both drive and fix a manual car and a forklift.

Enjoyer of roads. Broadcaster of the mystical Novoyuuparosk Radio.

Also a part-time 'roader', one who maintains the roads after the government kicked the buckets.

Her ride is a 20

'''Emy Whyte-Iwami?'''

Former band-mate of Niina... is a bit overexaggerating. The SES released but one EP which technically would have expanded over 2 EP records if it were to be made into records.

She learnt computer science, more precisely combined sensory neural network robot controls. But it doesn't matter no more because she's a full time musician now. It's not too surprising that musicians can still go full-time even with a major world war ending recently. They earn more than computer scientists.

'''Sagawa Jun?'''

The less charismatic but probably most charismatic one in the trio of SES. Enigmatic in a gender sense, but is stonewall biologically female and mentally lesbo (confirmed).

Unsurprisingly (to some), she is not and never had affiliated with Emy or Niina in a romantic or sexual sense. This might come as surprising given that she's still with Emy doing band things now, 10 years after the dissolution of SES.

== Meta section: what is this about? ==
Environmental ideas, musical ideas, philosophical ideas, I don't know.

One thing I'm pretty sure is that some solid things must be done. Ideas don't exist on their own.

Maybe your traditional short story collection. That won't be bad and is very extendable.

== Abstract / Intro ==
6 years after the Second Third World War that ended up in essentially nothing significant, life goes on for Niina Koivisto.

She travels the largely unscathed lands of Hokkaido, which due to the recession of Japan when it was still a single state, is now a very green island. Literally green. Well at least in summer.

A downside of having very, very sparse population is that you can't expect any decent enough infrastructure. But Niina is ethnically, at least partially, Finnish, so that is not a very serious problem.

'''An important setting is about 'roaders'.''' Like nothing else. The roads

== Contents (?) ==
[[SES: Kushiro]]

[[SES: Taiki]]

Shirokaba Express Service

2025-09-22T05:44:02Z

Dubrowski:

[[Category:SES]]
This is the new project name for the light...maybe novel...maybe story, project. Once upon a time it was called the Novoyuuparosk Radio or something like that. But we have minor to major changes and tweaks all along the way. So here it is now. I wonder if this will further change in the future.

== Quick notes ==
Move to [[SES: Settings]] when this becomes too long.

'''Shirokaba Express Service?'''

Name of the band formed by Emy (Whyte), Niina (Koivisto), and Jun (Sagawa). They were far from legendary but some people do know at least the name. A lesser amount of people also listened to their releases.

The name is now kind of 'gifted' to Niina and is used as a mock pseudonym. When she does things good or bad.

Whyte and Sagawa adopted a new name of [].

'''Niina Koivisto?'''

Forester by trade and traveler by nature, or vice versa. The rare breed that can both drive and fix a manual car and a forklift.

Enjoyer of roads. Broadcaster of the mystical Novoyuuparosk Radio.

Also a part-time 'roader', one who maintains the roads after the government kicked the buckets.

Her ride is a 20

'''Emy Whyte-Iwami?'''

Former band-mate of Niina... is a bit overexaggerating. The SES released but one EP which technically would have expanded over 2 EP records if it were to be made into records.

She learned computer science, more precisely combined sensory neural network robot controls. But it doesn't matter no more because she's a full time musician now. It's not too surprising that musicians can still go full-time even with a major world war ending recently. They earn more than computer scientists.

'''Sagawa Jun?'''

The less charismatic but probably most charismatic one in the trio of SES. Enigmatic in a gender sense, but is stonewall biologically female and mentally lesbo (confirmed).

Unsurprisingly (to some), she is not and never had affiliated with Emy or Niina in a romantic or sexual sense. This might come as surprising given that she's still with Emy doing band things now, 10 years after the dissolution of SES.

== Meta section: what is this about? ==
Environmental ideas, musical ideas, philosophical ideas, I don't know.

One thing I'm pretty sure is that some solid things must be done. Ideas don't exist on their own.

Maybe your traditional short story collection. That won't be bad and is very extendable.

== Abstract / Intro ==
6 years after the Second Third World War that ended up in essentially nothing significant, life goes on for Niina Koivisto.

She travels the largely unscathed lands of Hokkaido, which due to the recession of Japan when it was still a single state, is now a very green island. Literally green. Well at least in summer.

A downside of having very, very sparse population is that you can't expect any decent enough infrastructure. But Niina is ethnically, at least partially, Finnish, so that is not a very serious problem.

'''An important setting is about 'roaders'.''' Like nothing else. The roads

== Contents (?) ==
[[SES: Kushiro]]

[[SES: Taiki]]

SES: Wakkanai

2025-09-22T05:42:38Z

Dubrowski:

Pastebin

2025-09-17T04:12:36Z

Dubrowski:

Lots of fun!

[https://wals.info/ WALS Online - Home]

[[wikipedia:Round_the_Horne|Round the Horne - Wikipedia]]

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

Pastebin

2025-09-17T02:21:40Z

Dubrowski:

Lots of fun!

[https://wals.info/ WALS Online - Home]

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

hysteria2://ebvciQqJ9cmQmpC2@uusimaa:8080/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=identity'

hysteria2://bOAgCDf4yUcxGN2G@ny.o:4132/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=1

Pastebin

2025-08-31T23:46:53Z

Dubrowski:

nuttin yet!

https://axis.readytech.com/#/seat-login

FB726D0A5021

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

hysteria2://ebvciQqJ9cmQmpC2@uusimaa:8080/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=identity'

hysteria2://bOAgCDf4yUcxGN2G@ny.o:4132/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=1

Pastebin

2025-08-29T00:45:53Z

Dubrowski:

nuttin yet!

[https://www.jeffgeerling.com/blog/2023/nvme-ssd-boot-raspberry-pi-5 NVMe SSD boot with the Raspberry Pi 5 | Jeff Geerling]

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

hysteria2://ebvciQqJ9cmQmpC2@uusimaa:8080/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=identity'

hysteria2://bOAgCDf4yUcxGN2G@ny.o:4132/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=1

Pastebin

2025-08-28T03:11:59Z

Dubrowski:

nuttin yet!

https://globalhonda.sharepoint.com/sites/jphm100367/ar/Welfare%20portal%20site/SitePages/welfit.aspx

https://biz.honda.co.jp/fim/sps/hmidpext/saml20/logininitial?RequestBinding=HTTPPost&NameIdFormat=Email&PartnerId=https://www.c-canvas.jp/s/samlsp/honda

hysteria2://ebvciQqJ9cmQmpC2@uusimaa:8080/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=identity'

hysteria2://bOAgCDf4yUcxGN2G@ny.o:4132/?obfs=salamander&obfs-password=1