Free lectures from Stanford University - page 3
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They just don't communicate with him....
Well, hello there!) Here we go...
))) So you claim you can redirect this stream of consciousness into a coded direction?
Hats off to you. Wearing one beforehand (I've never worn one). But for an occasion like this... - I'll pull my trousers over my head.
))) So you are saying that you can redirect this stream of consciousness in a coded way?
No-no. I haven't coded to order for a long time. Although if I have to, perhaps I will.
So you are saying that a programmer can only communicate with a non-programmer by discussing the ToR?
No, no. I haven't coded to order for a long time. Although if necessary, perhaps I will.
So you are saying that a programmer can only communicate with a non-programmer by discussing the ToR?
In one of Grun's posts, he missed the word "Mikhail" and you got confused.
Let's wager 100 roubles on a 5, no come on . Well?
Maybe I give the impression of an unclear person. Maybe.
All right, then. Whatever I look like is what I am...
But don't give me any bullshit, okay?
Maybe I give the impression of an unclear person. Maybe.
All right, then. Whatever I look like is what I am...
But don't give me any bullshit, okay?
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I got a scan at 7:30am and it clearly showed a tumour in my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me that this type of cancer was incurable and that I had no more than three to six months to live. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order (which in doctors means to prepare for death). It means trying to tell your children what you would have said in the next 10 years. It means making sure that everything is arranged safely, so that your family has as much ease as possible. It means saying goodbye.
I lived with this diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy - they stuck an endoscope down my throat, went through my stomach and intestines, stuck a needle in my pancreas and took some cells from the tumour. I was passed out, but my wife, who was there, said that when the doctors looked at the cells under the microscope, they started screaming because I turned out to have a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that could be cured by surgery. I had the operation and now I' m fine.
Death came closest to me then, and hopefully closest in the next few decades. Having lived through it, I can now say the following with more certainty than I did when death was a useful but purely fictional concept: