Felt-tip fealty
Stolen obscenities
Mistake a meme for a movement
Relace the seam with dissolvable stitches
Rebuild atop a crumbling foundation
Division as salvation
Rebrand sickness as entertainment
Zero sum inversion
Decaying recursion
Garbage in, garbage out
Beat that drum
Run back to what you knew
For four long years you’ve wanted to
I’ll choke down all that might have been
And spit out what you’re accustomed to
Lest we forget how angry I was with y’all for not pivoting into the leadership role
When, as the victor
You cling to resistor
What you resist
Is governance
Vive la résistanceI think it is time to disconnect analytics. I remain uninterested in working example traffic.
Guess it was a feature. See where leaving that f$&king control center geometry bug until you literally rewrite the control center has pushed me you little f$&kers
Broke you in under 12 hours. GG Apple Devs
If Andy Warhol selectively spliced Basquiat, Wittgenstein, and Henry Rollins together with a tinkering technical writer.
When you bought an old edition of a book because the trailer of a Netflix documentary would suggest it bridges another of your pet theories (like Sagan and the Einstellung Effect) because you wanted the original argument… and someone had the gall to sign their name inside the copy you receive.
When you realize that in order for the dog to relax you must relax and in order for you to relax the dog must relax.
I wonder if we’re headed more towards picking our default assistants like we do our default browsers (there is a term that never evolved) or even further device f$&kery and platform-adoption-as-big-data-asset
Murphy had so much color in her life.
There is something discomforting about invisible👣 when you’re alone in your journey.
I’ve found myself leaning frequently on negative proofs to gain mindfulness. Take any anxiety inducing, pending outcome. Picture the outcome that worries you. Imagine the worrisome outcome is actually your greatest desire… how hard will it be to make that shit happen. If it would be hard, why worry.
I suppose I could stick the clubs back in the trunk of the car and get back to trying to knock the cork out the middle of all those f$&king practice balls.
When you’re being pressured to finish moving in so you can move out
Micro worldview realignment process installation failed. Nobody fucking said worldview realignment was fucking easy. If the alignment is too distant, realities are unshareable. On a micro level, you end up sellling a house you love after living there for six months for the second fucking time in your life. On a macro level, you end up enlisting for the second civil war (all enlistees incur four year furlough). You fuckers won’t put aside the dopamine drips long enough to unarse your own heads.
Some Shit I Just Texted
That seems like a lot when the healthiest way to work through this would be to disassemble our undesirable triggers by mutually assisting each other in the following way: We are non-reactive towards the triggered individual until we get an accepted invitation to a calm conversation. You would think this is the tough job, it isn’t. When we are triggered, we acknowledge and accept the invitation from the asshole trying to tell us were triggered falsely, calming ourselves down in preparation for the conversation. If we were face to face, here is how it would go:
- I see you not understanding what I have said (all while blessed with the knowledge that my abstractions are fucking tough to grok)
- You see me seeing you not understanding a split moment before I ask whether you know what I mean.
- The tandem trap of piercing pressure plus unplaceable appearance forces your admission.
- I happily rephrase my abstraction in the form of an open source README, driven by both the lightning in a bottle (your interest in my idea) and the discovery that comes being forced to flesh iht something heretofore raw.
For fucks sake, it isn’t the first thing you hear that woke you up. You were fucking 💤
Nobody has asked me what happened; but, here’s my answer anyway. If you have trouble grokking my response don’t feel deflated. The language I’ve used here in crafting my answer was constrained to the discrete set of paintings I printed before I stopped wanting to paint anymore.
Also, a soft shout out to @odd for single handedly invalidating my boasts of invisibility for some time now. I oughta pencil in an asterisk:
***
𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 = ∑ 𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 - 𝑜𝑑𝑑
I’m old enough to remember when double digit scores where the norm for both sides in an NBA matchup because men mixed it up in the paint instead of tossing grenades at each other all evening.
Each day y’all don’t reach out and that I spend with her as my sole source of real human contact (she’s just now interrupting me for tapping my phone screen too hard) my faith in humanity slips a little.
Either I’ve shaken all followers from my Micro.blog account or @manton oughta consider reading my blog posts from this year like a diary and then pondering whether the social model for his platform **out-of-words**. As the author of the blog posts, I honestly would not know.
