Lengthies.

A little guide For the inquisitive mind On solving real-life trolley problems. A solution to the trolley problem is well-known: choose the lesser of two evils. Yet, this "solution" is only acceptable in a mental exercise — a hypothetical trolley problem — and *never* in real life. For starters, it's immoral, obviously. But also, the trolley problem doesn't model reality well enough: it's only in the realm of hypotheticals that there are just two pathways; in reality possibilities are *endless*. Therefore, it's safe to assume that a better solution does exist; finding it is a matter of your ingenuity. But you can't find it if you aren't even looking, and you aren't looking if you've already given up and settled for the "lesser of two evils." So, the first and most important step is to refuse to give up and start looking. Secondly, since there is usually time pressure, it's generally a good idea to play for time, as solving this could be easier than solving the whole thing. Then, the best practice is, of course, to learn as much as possible, to the point where you can easily distinguish truth from lies. Perhaps you don't see the better way because you're missing an important piece of information or believe a lie. (For again, the better way does exist; if you don't see it, then something is wrong with your perspective, not with reality. What is it that you think you know, and how do you know it?) And if you still don't see the better way, then remember another important difference between the realm of hypotheticals and real life: there are no bounded systems in reality. Seemingly unrelated things still affect each other, and changes happen all the time (by the way, this is also why playing for time is generally a good idea). So, start changing things, meddle, change the equation. Even minor changes in the right direction might shake things up enough for a new pathway to appear where there was none. If not, repeat the step. And if, despite your best efforts, you find yourself giving up and finally settling for the lesser of two evils "solution," at least recognize it as a failure and try to learn lessons from it. Because again, the better way did exist, and it's on you that you couldn't find it. P.S. There are exotic cases when throwing your soon-to-be-dead body in front of a trolley in a final attempt to stop it becomes an option. And yes, this is still preferable to choosing evil. And I'm sorry that it is so.

((Roses flower in the vale; there we hear the northern tale…)) (Once a beauty has gone rogue; turned a troll by the rot; made a mirror to mock God. What a mischief indeed, the trickster is pleased. And Kai…) And I… Someone’s cry. The icey shard is in my heart. I can hear it whispering while my mind is simmering. It’s all these irritants, especially the flowers. So annoying. But how perfect are fractals: the intricate edges of tiny snowflakes; magnifying glass reveals self-repetitive patterns… How pretty. I remember there was something else or someone; not sure about names, can’t see a face. Sometimes old titles pop-up in my mind: “Hitchhiker’s guide…”. Yes, let’s hitchhike a ride, maybe I’ll learn something. What’s this? A kiss? I feel nothing… Clouds are gathering or is it a swarm of snow-bees? Their monarch seems to be kind to me… And here’s this puzzle. I’m not looking forward to the prize, I’m only curious as to the answer: it helps to be preoccupied. I think they’re cheating: too many pieces are missing to form a legible anything, let alone the word I am… Oh, not this again! Has no one heard of asking first? I don’t like it: it’s too wet. Ah, it’s your tears… I meant… I think I know You. Now look what you’ve done: I’m crying, too.

My dear, oh so dear friend, I'm ill, oh so very ill. This pain Comes again, A screaming void, An emptier, A howling wind In a desolate field. Or is it my inner Dreamer Deprived of sleep and senses Rebels on me: Sheds away my brain cells Like autumn leaves? My ears wobble On my noddle. My head Can't stand Standing on my neck, Tries to take A flight. Meanwhile, A dark, oh so dark shadow, A shade, oh so shady shadow, On my bed she sits, Doesn't let me sleep. Her finger traces lines, Scrolling the scroll, While she whispers to me Like a priest to a corpse, Reading me… life… Of some psycho and drunk Filling me with Aversion and murk. «Listen. Listen.» The Shadow's hissing, The scroll’s unraveling, The finger's slithering - «To these thoughts and ideas, awesome project proposals. This society of patterns - she prefers "petals" (of madness) - she still exists in this forsaken place run by merciless crooks, and shameless cynics, amidst the self-fulfilling prophecies and lies, grey skies, and endless cowardice. Once upon a time when snow shined like Devil's silver and snowflakes danced in starry lights she fancied herself a hero, a proud apostate, and maybe a trickster, preferring mischief to their lies. Thought herself gracious, a voice of mercy with a duty to lit the lights, and maybe a poet with imagination that ran so wild. She called this man she hardly knew “her beloved Baby Blue". She said "Happiness, it just so happens, belongs to liars who tarnish the Golden Rule, as for the rest - it's gloom and pity at best, and maybe charity sex". She used to say "Do what you must and come what may". She used to claim that when you lose and people all around you are so stupid, obnoxious or daft that you feel that you've had quite enough, you're supposed to chin-up and smile, if only to defy, to stick it up to someone, to learn from your mistakes, to be less wrong the next time.» Hey you, missy, Who the fuck cares? Mind your own business, You dirty nightmare! Stop peeking at mine. One of these days I'll forget to be kind. What's it to me, Her stupid life? Go shove your scroll Where no sun shines. And the Shadow stares straight, Deep into my eyes, As if she knows That on the inside I'm an impostor and a beast Like all these Crooks and thieves. And the only difference is That this Child of darkness Is still fooling herself Into aspiring to believe. ... My dear, oh so dear friend, I'm ill, oh so very ill. This pain Comes again, A screaming void, An emptier In a desolate field. Or is it my inner Dreamer Deprived of sleep Rebels on me: Sheds away my senses Like autumn leaves, Pretends to be wise, Sings to me? Silent night, lonely night All is calm, all is bright. In the distance, outside, A wildcat growls, Or is it an owl? The wind begins to howl. All the wooden horses, All the wooden men Are moving in closer Completing the encirclement. Shiny white flakes Coat Their branches, the fields. And I await no one Neither friend nor enemy. Only my Shadow Won't leave me… This dark, or so dark Shadow, This Shade, or so shady Shadow, The guest so well-known So unwelcomed, Scrolling the scroll, Can’t leave me alone. «Come on now, darling» The Shadow's muttering, Leaning in closer, Almost touching. «I don't think I've seen any of the obscene so needlessly suffering. Why aren't you sleeping? Ah! Let's blame the scene: the half-born Moon! Haven't you been? Right... On these noons you’re so clean, barely human, never playing, always preaching, almost pontificating. What? Still cannot think of anyone or anything but that mere figment of your "powerful imagination"? How about a revelation: you are too old for imaginary friends with hearts of gold. What? Can no longer separate reality from dreams, my dear Alice from Underworld? Here's a well-meaning advice: do as all do, drink, buy, socialize. Talk to real people, like your nephew or niece. I can make them call you, whenever I please. Or better yet, find a bedwarmer, there’re apps for that. When will you finally see, that you're like all the rest with you scroll, your sins, and your dreams? What? Still thinking yourself a poet, but lacking talent, readers, and grammar? What? Still pining over the “sexy sexagenarian”? What's your new nickname for him? "Your future anything"? Don't you know, my little wimp, that you never can win. C'mon, it's not even funny. Remember the litany: "What is true is already so. Owning up to it doesn't make it worse. Hiding doesn't make it go away. And because it is true, it's what's there anyway. What's untrue isn't there to be lived. No matter how much you want to believe. And you can stand the truth, for you're already enduring it."» The truth is at least two-edged sword, Think long and hard on your next words! I'm still the Master of this world, Can conjure up whatever I want. Like, say, The mighty Vorpal blade From that Underworld. Choose: your arm or your neck? (The inquisitor's only staring back.) The Vorpal blade goes snicker-snack! Cutting off the bloodless hand. The Shadow drops the scroll, and As it falls It dissolves Into shiny white flakes Flying away With the wind To cover the field. ... My dear, oh so dear friend, I'm ill, oh so very ill. This pain Comes again, An emptier In desolation. Or is it my inner Dreamer Rebels on me: Sheds away my doubts Like autumn leaves, No longer dreams, Dares to be? «There she sits on her linens. In appearance how like a woman, a paragon of all creatures. Still breathing. Still pondering her questions. Still *not* giving-up. Not giving-in. Alone with me.»