Icon ASCII : A Love Letter


Icon My Neural Network isn't working! What should I do?


Icon Phase-Functioned Neural Networks for Character Control


Icon 17 Line Markov Chain


Icon 14 Character Random Number Generator


Icon Simple Two Joint IK


Icon Generating Icons with Pixel Sorting


Icon Neural Network Ambient Occlusion


Icon Three Short Stories about the East Coast Main Line


Icon The New Alphabet


Icon "The Color Munifni Exists"


Icon A Deep Learning Framework For Character Motion Synthesis and Editing


Icon The Halting Problem and The Moral Arbitrator


Icon The Witness


Icon Four Seasons Crisp Omelette


Icon At the Bottom of the Elevator


Icon Tracing Functions in Python


Icon Still Things and Moving Things


Icon water.cpp


Icon Making Poetry in Piet


Icon Learning Motion Manifolds with Convolutional Autoencoders


Icon Learning an Inverse Rig Mapping for Character Animation


Icon Infinity Doesn't Exist


Icon Polyconf


Icon Raleigh


Icon The Skagerrak


Icon Printing a Stack Trace with MinGW


Icon The Border Pines


Icon You could have invented Parser Combinators


Icon Ready for the Fight


Icon Earthbound


Icon Turing Drawings


Icon Lost Child Announcement


Icon Shelter


Icon Data Science, how hard can it be?


Icon Denki Furo


Icon In Defence of the Unitype


Icon Maya Velocity Node


Icon Sandy Denny


Icon What type of Machine is the C Preprocessor?


Icon Which AI is more human?


Icon Gone Home


Icon Thoughts on Japan


Icon Can Computers Think?


Icon Counting Sheep & Infinity


Icon How Nature Builds Computers


Icon Painkillers


Icon Correct Box Sphere Intersection


Icon Avoiding Shader Conditionals


Icon Writing Portable OpenGL


Icon The Only Cable Car in Ireland


Icon Is the C Preprocessor Turing Complete?


Icon The aesthetics of code


Icon Issues with SDL on iOS and Android


Icon How I learned to stop worrying and love statistics


Icon PyMark


Icon AutoC Tools


Icon Scripting xNormal with Python


Icon Six Myths About Ray Tracing


Icon The Web Giants Will Fall


Icon PyAutoC


Icon The Pirate Song


Icon Dear Esther


Icon Unsharp Anti Aliasing


Icon The First Boy


Icon Parallel programming isn't hard, optimisation is.


Icon Skyrim


Icon Recognizing a language is solving a problem


Icon Could an animal learn to program?




Icon Pure Depth SSAO


Icon Synchronized in Python


Icon 3d Printing


Icon Real Time Graphics is Virtual Reality


Icon Painting Style Renderer


Icon A very hard problem


Icon Indie Development vs Modding


Icon Corange


Icon 3ds Max PLY Exporter


Icon A Case for the Technical Artist


Icon Enums


Icon Scorpions have won evolution


Icon Dirt and Ashes


Icon Lazy Python


Icon Subdivision Modelling


Icon The Owl


Icon Mouse Traps


Icon Updated Art Reel


Icon Tech Reel


Icon Graphics Aren't the Enemy


Icon On Being A Games Artist


Icon The Bluebird


Icon Everything2


Icon Duck Engine


Icon Boarding Preview


Icon Sailing Preview


Icon Exodus Village Flyover


Icon Art Reel




Icon One Cat Just Leads To Another


Created on May 15, 2015, 11:15 a.m.

A boy at university called William got me into cycling - although really it could have been anything. If he'd joined the chess society I would have signed up. But thankfully it was cycling he was into and after a short, fumbled conversation he thought I was into it too. He said he'd sort me out with a bike, and he found an old Raleigh in a dusty bike shop squeezed between a supermarket and a bathroom store. The bike had a blue frame with handle bars wrapped in tan-coloured leather and gears on the end. I fell in love with it immediately. It was the first thing I owned that I had truly valued since I'd moved away from home. I couldn't wait to get out into the countryside on it.

I began to cycle to university every morning with William. I wasn't a very confident girl but I felt safe behind him. I watched as he darted between the old buildings, ran over the cobbled streets, and I tried to emulate as best as I could. My favourite part of the ride was a long hill just outside of the university quarter. We'd bomb down that hill at insane speeds, and I'd lift my feet off the pedals, pretending I was flying, just like a child. The wind roared in my ears and I watched William, his shirt fluttering in front.

Perhaps it was the childishness of it all, but I started playing a little game every morning as we descended the hill. I would whisper things to myself - about the university, friends, William. The wind was so loud I knew the secrets couldn't be heard by the rest world. And then the gradient would even out and the wind would calm, and I would fall silent as we rolled into the university quarter.

Each morning I played the game, while the long summer slowly became autumn, and the brown leaves started to accumulate on the road. It felt so good to be spilling all of these thoughts into the morning air, feeling them whipped away and shredded; dispersed in the atmosphere like flocks of birds. And each morning I would look at William longingly as we rode together and he gazed steadily ahead, his feet fixed on the pedals. I wondered what he was hearing - what he was seeing.

One morning I arrived outside the halls but there was another girl next to William, perched on her bike. She was a tall girl, with short blonde hair, and she was wearing a brown vintage jacket. I recognized her vaguely as one of William's friends - a French girl called Florence. I'd seen her in one of the student plays William had acted in.

She looked at me with vague disinterest and we shuffled out onto the road and rolled down the hill. Florence pulled alongside William and I remained behind. I concentrated on the wet autumn leaves that lined the road, almost certain I would fall and injury myself badly if I ran over some of them and my bike tyres slipped.

More of William's friends began to join us on the ride. Like Florence, they were mainly actors - exuberating confidence and stories, jostling for their position in the peloton that had evolved around him. Eventually it became too much for me. I began to take the bus instead, and told William I was nervous about the wet leaves. He said he understood.

I sat quietly on that little shuttle bus as it rumbled into town. I had a little corner where I could sit in peace, read my book, and watch people as they got on the bus. The glass gently shook and rattled with the engine - tenderly bumping me awake.

One morning William got on the bus. He walked over to my corner sheepishly and sat down next to me. He asked if I was coming on the long ride in the countryside with everyone on Wednesday. I'd heard nothing about it - it must have been organised by Florence and her friends.

"Unfortunately I've got to study," I replied.

"That's a shame. The weather forecast is great. Everyone is going to be there."

The bus bumped into town and I looked out of the window. It went slowly down the hill. It felt like the world was coming to a standstill. I was going to be left on this bus when it stopped; a statue for future alien civilisations to find. I thought some more about the ride - if everyone was going to be away on Wednesday it would mean I would have the hill to myself. Not even William would be there. I wanted to go down one more time - fast.

It was a cold, bright morning that Wednesday. The trees had almost been entirely stripped of leaves by the winter, and on the ground they had decayed in the rain. The road was solid and damp. I waited at the top of the hill, watching the branches shake in the breeze, and looking over what was visible of the university quarter below. I pushed off, starting to roll forward, when I heard a shout from behind me. I looked around to see William rocketing toward me with a big grin on his face. He was alone, and he waved at me as he rushed by, signalling for me to join him down the hill.

I pedalled hard, just catching him as the gradient steepened. We both shot down the hill. Air tore at my limbs. I was silent with excitement and joy. I wanted to fill myself with what was happening, and everything in the world at that moment, from the grass by the roadside to the birds in the sky. It was in that quiet that I thought I heard the faint whispering of a boy's voice on the wind.

github twitter rss