i'm writing the kind of code that gets you evicted from the cycle of samsara. i'm writing the kind of code that dooms one's immortal soul. i'm writing the sort of functions to make the very gods turn their backs in disappointment
ok. ive seen enough. get the fuck out of my professional network on linkedin
🔵 a website from which emanates a quiet electronic thrumming noise, pulsing nearly metronomically, then stumbling, coming a bit too early or late, every few revolutions...
just klarna'd some tokens
boy harsher tonight
listening to the max richter vivaldi recomps and finishing off the last stanzas of maggie nelson's “bluets” — believe i have been quite transported
it's a new season for technology & for technologists, and our labor and its impact to the world are both more greater and more dangerous than ever.
how do we make sense of work in an industry many of us no longer recognize?
portrayal of guilt tonight
accepted to all three programs i applied to :') dawn of the strange dot website academic arc 😮💨
your mind palace, miraculous building that it is, can take the form of any such strange, impossible architectures as you can imagine (and even some you can't!). your mind palace might resemble an Escher labyrinth, a shadowy Appalachian mine, an infinite Mughal citadel! unfortunately. mine is the towers
even if it were ethical and accurate, getting info from AI summary prevents the kind of peripheral information exposure that builds knowledge. (even if it could give a correct answer to "How many Nobel prize winners for literature are from Ireland?", I'm better served by glancing over a list, noticing other patterns of origin, names, etc.)
new widely-available CSS means i must revisit every web project i touched for the last fifteen years
ok sent out some applications. more excited about this than i have been in a minute. feels like a bit of inertia to offset that nagging What Am I Doing With My Life sort of feeling.
it seems bro somehow understands intrinsically that if giving one’s love guaranteed its return, the giving would no longer be wondrous!
lmao. bro spills their love abundantly, as if from a spring. they tend to the garden of their heart as though the water comes without limit. bro believes in love's giving without thought to its returning — as though even eden could bloom forever!
babka, also known sometimes as keekboob or bouki, is the hypothetical hybrid of the two platonic forms, kiki and bouba. it is widely considered a cognitohazard, typically causing hypnic jerks and insomnia, and in rare cases cerebral detonation
requested information for a handful of online undergrad literature & writing programs. inshallah i will learn about the big words
staring at the screen, a long-winded email listing my sins of malaise & unprofessionalism, culminating with the succinct damnation that “your fired”. i sit & blink dumbly for what seems an eternity before opening the reply composer. sighing resignedly, typing with a watchmaker's care: lol *you’re
*rolling up sleeves* oh it's websites you want, is it? i'll show you websites, buddy
tired: touch screen
wired: touch grass
inspired: abandon thy touch altogether — it deceives thee, betrays thee. in digital realms thou art infinite; unknowable, ineffable being. your languid and writing flesh moors thee but momentarily to these paltry, futile sensations