In Summary: * Listening now to streaming music popular (I guess) with the college-age crowd on B97 – The Home for IU Women's Basketball, while waiting for pregame coverage for tonight's game to kick in. This game is the last scheduled road game in the regular season for the Hoosiers, and is the last item on my agenda for this Wednesday. After it ends I'll finish my night prayers then shove my old self into bed.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night. Details of that regimen are linked to my link tree, which is linked to my profile page here.

Starting Ash Wednesday, 2026, I've added this daily prayer as part of the Prayer Crusade Preceding the 2026 SSPX Episcopal Consecrations.

Health Metrics: * bw= 226.64 lbs. * bp= 146/86 (66)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups

Diet: * 06:15 – 1 peanut butter sandwich * 07:35 – cheese and saltine crackers * 10:15 – garden salad * 12:00 – fried chicken, cole slaw, mashed potatoes

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:00 – bank accounts activity monitored * 05:40 – read, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, and nap * 10:40 – prayerfully listening to the full Pre-1955 Mass Propers for this Ember Wednesday in Lent. February 25, 2026. * 12:00 to 13:00 – watch old game shows and eat dinner at home with Sylvia * 13:15 – listen to relaxing music and nap * 17:00 – tuned into B97 – The Home for IU Women's Basketball well ahead of tonight's basketball game, pregame show, etc.

Chess: * 13:55 – moved in all pending CC games

Luke 23 has always felt like one of those chapters that refuses to sit quietly on the page, because nothing about the crucifixion ever fits into a small, predictable box. When you enter this chapter, you are not stepping into a moment where everything falls apart; you are stepping into the moment where everything finally reveals what it truly is. You stand face-to-face with a world that prides itself on power, position, and control, and yet in the presence of Jesus, that world suddenly shows how fragile all of those illusions actually are. Luke 23 is the chapter that strips society bare. It exposes systems, exposes hearts, exposes motives, and exposes the condition of humanity when confronted with truth embodied in a person who refuses to compromise His identity. Every verse pushes you into a deeper realization that Jesus never fought for survival because He came to fight for souls, and when you understand that purpose, every action He takes begins to look like the steady unfolding of love that does not flinch even when surrounded by hatred. This chapter calls you to read slowly, not because it is complicated, but because the weight of it demands time, attention, and a willingness to let your spirit confront the cost of redemption in real human terms.

There is something profoundly unnerving about watching the innocence of Jesus placed in the hands of people who are neither innocent nor willing to see innocence when it stands before them. Pilate examines Him, Herod mocks Him, the crowds accuse Him, and through it all Jesus remains unshaken because innocence is not proven by who defends it; innocence is proven by the nature of the one who carries it. Throughout this chapter, Pilate repeats the same conclusion: he finds no fault in Jesus. He says it once, twice, and then again, almost pleading for reason to prevail, yet the crowd is already committed to their verdict. They do not want justice. They want a release valve for their own unrest, and they choose to place the weight of their dissatisfaction on the one man who never wronged them. What makes this moment unforgettable is not simply the injustice itself, but the way Jesus carries it with a calmness that does not belong to this world. He does not argue. He does not retaliate. He does not attempt to justify His value to people who have already decided not to see it. Instead, He accepts the path set before Him with a clarity that comes from knowing that the purpose of His life is not undone when others misunderstand Him.

As you read, you begin to see that the cross was not a moment that happened to Jesus; the cross was a moment Jesus walked into intentionally because love demanded it. This chapter reveals a Savior who refuses to choose comfort over calling, who refuses to abandon a mission simply because it comes with unbearable pain, and who refuses to let humanity define Him by the darkness of the moment. In these scenes, you start to understand that the strength of Jesus is not loud, aggressive, or forceful. It is steady, rooted, and unshakably anchored in identity. When the world strips Him of everything visible—His friends scatter, His position is mocked, His clothes are taken, His dignity is attacked—He still carries a kingdom inside Him that no one can take. Luke 23 exposes that hidden kingdom by revealing what remains when everything else is removed. What remains is love that goes the full distance. What remains is purpose that does not retreat. What remains is a Savior who will endure anything rather than lose you.

Then the narrative shifts toward the walk to Golgotha, and something extraordinary happens: Jesus, fatigued and weakened by the brutality He has already endured, receives help from a man pulled out of the crowd, Simon of Cyrene. This detail is small in words but massive in meaning. Jesus accepts help. He allows someone to carry what He can no longer lift, not because He is incapable, but because even in His suffering He is teaching the world that following Him was never meant to be an isolated journey of self-reliance. Simon encounters the cross not through theological understanding but through proximity. He touches it. He feels its weight. He steps into the story without preparation. And through that moment, Jesus shows us that the cross will always require more from us than we expect, but it will always transform more in us than we realize. Every believer who has ever carried a burden knows that discipleship is not proven by perfection; it is revealed by the willingness to shoulder what God places before you, even when you do not fully understand why.

When Jesus speaks to the women who are mourning along the road, His words are not self-focused. He does not ask them to rescue Him or to intervene on His behalf. Instead, He expresses compassion toward them, warning them of the days ahead, showing concern for their suffering even while He is walking toward His own. This is the part of the chapter that quietly breaks you, because it reveals a Savior who remains emotionally present even in agony. Most people retract into themselves when pain intensifies, but Jesus remains outwardly focused, still ministering, still speaking truth, still offering wisdom, still carrying the weight of humanity in His heart. His words are not a distraction from the cross; they are an extension of His identity as the one who came to heal, restore, and shepherd every soul willing to listen.

When Jesus is finally lifted onto the cross, the atmosphere changes. Time slows. Humanity’s cruelty, Rome’s violence, and spiritual darkness all collide in a single moment where love refuses to turn back. The soldiers divide His garments. The leaders sneer. The crowd watches with morbid curiosity. And over all of it, Jesus speaks a sentence that does not come from pain but from divine mercy: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” This moment is not poetic; it is revolutionary. Jesus does not forgive them after the pain subsides. He does not forgive them after He rises. He forgives them while they are actively hurting Him. That is the love that Luke 23 insists we confront. That is the love that does not wait for apologies. That is the love that does not depend on conditions. Instead, it flows even when the heart is pierced. It moves even when the body is breaking. It extends even when the world is spitting on it. This is the moment where divine love becomes undeniable because it is demonstrated where no human would ever choose to give it.

The two criminals crucified beside Jesus offer one of the most revealing contrasts in the entire chapter. One sees Jesus through the lens of bitterness. He mocks Him, demanding deliverance with no intention of surrender. The other sees Jesus through the lens of repentance. He acknowledges his guilt. He recognizes Jesus’ innocence. And in one of the most breathtaking exchanges in Scripture, he asks Jesus to remember him. Jesus responds with a promise that still echoes through every generation: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” This scene is more than mercy; it is the blueprint of grace. Grace does not require a track record. Grace is not earned through achievement. Grace is not bound to a timeline. Grace is given freely to anyone who sees Jesus rightly and asks to be gathered into His kingdom. The thief on the cross reminds us that as long as breath remains, redemption is possible. He shows us that the doorway to eternity is not complicated. It is simply open to those who will trust the one who hung between heaven and earth.

As the chapter continues, darkness covers the land for three hours, not just symbolizing the weight of sin, but revealing that creation itself cannot remain indifferent as the Creator absorbs the cost of humanity’s rebellion. The veil of the temple tears from top to bottom, signaling that what once separated humanity from the presence of God is now removed not by human hands but by divine action. Jesus’ final cry, “Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit,” shows that even in death, Jesus remains in control. His life is not taken; it is given. His spirit is not lost; it is entrusted. This moment affirms that the cross is not the collapse of God’s plan but the completion of it. The surrender of Jesus is not defeat; it is victory sealed in obedience strong enough to endure the full weight of sin without breaking the integrity of love.

What happens after Jesus releases His spirit is just as revealing as everything that preceded it, because Luke shows us the reactions of the people who were standing close enough to witness the reality of what took place. The centurion, hardened by countless executions, disciplined by years of Roman brutality, and accustomed to seeing men die in fear and agony, suddenly declares Jesus righteous. This is not a casual observation; it is a confession born from witnessing a death unlike any he had ever overseen. Something in the way Jesus yielded His life, something in the way He forgave, something in the way the sky darkened, something in the way the earth groaned, something in the way holiness permeated the air convinced him that this was no ordinary man. The crowds who came to watch return home beating their chests, a sign of grief and realization that they had participated in something far beyond their comprehension. Joseph of Arimathea steps forward, revealing that even within the council that condemned Jesus, there were hearts wrestling with the truth, waiting for a moment to align themselves with righteousness. In the tender act of burying Jesus, Joseph shows that courage does not always roar; sometimes it moves quietly in the shadows, stepping out at the precise moment when its actions can no longer remain silent. This chapter ends not with closure but with holy anticipation, the kind of anticipation that hovers between sorrow and promise, between grief and hope, between death and resurrection.

As you sit with Luke 23 long enough, you start realizing that this chapter is not meant to be rushed through like a familiar story. It is crafted to slow you down, to press gently yet firmly against the places inside you that avoid confrontation, and to draw you into the essence of the Gospel—not as a theological framework, but as a lived expression of divine compassion. Every detail serves a purpose. Every conversation reveals something deeper. Every scene unveils the character of Jesus in ways that remind you why His life and His death are not just historical events but ongoing revelations. This chapter insists that you look at Jesus’ humanity and His divinity simultaneously, refusing to let you separate the two. You see His agony and His authority. You see His suffering and His sovereignty. You see His vulnerability and His victory. Luke 23 holds these dualities together without diminishing either, because the fullness of Jesus’ identity can only be understood when both realities stand side by side—bleeding, forgiving, enduring, and triumphing in ways no earthly power could replicate.

One of the most important truths Luke 23 teaches is that love is strongest when it costs you something. Cheap love doesn’t transform anything. Performative love doesn’t redeem anything. Conditional love doesn’t heal anything. The love Jesus demonstrates in this chapter is a love that walks willingly into sacrifice without waiting for reassurance, applause, or gratitude. It is a love that sees the worst in humanity and still chooses to save it. It is a love that refuses to negotiate its terms. It is a love that does not retreat when darkness thickens. It is a love that stands firm even when misunderstood, rejected, betrayed, mocked, and crucified. This is the love believers are called to embody, and it is the very love so few take the time to contemplate deeply because contemplating it requires honesty about the condition of one’s own heart. When you realize that Jesus endured this level of suffering not because the world forced Him into it but because He chose to go through it for your sake, something inside you shifts. Your understanding of love deepens. Your understanding of sacrifice becomes clearer. Your understanding of God’s pursuit becomes undeniable.

As you continue absorbing the magnitude of Luke 23, you begin to see that Jesus was not killed because He lacked power; He was killed because He refused to abandon His purpose. At any moment He could have called down angels. At any moment He could have silenced His accusers. At any moment He could have stepped off the cross and proven His identity on His own terms. But that type of victory would not have saved anyone. Jesus’ victory comes not from avoiding the cross but from conquering through obedience. Obedience is the thread that weaves through every action He takes in this chapter, from standing silent before Pilate to forgiving those who hurt Him to surrendering His spirit into the Father’s hands. Obedience is what empowers Him to endure the unimaginable without losing His compassion. This obedience is not mechanical; it is relational. It is rooted in trust. It is grounded in intimacy with the Father. And that is why His life becomes the blueprint for every believer who discovers that following God often requires saying yes to paths the world considers unreasonable, costly, or inconvenient.

Another striking reality woven through Luke 23 is that Jesus accomplishes His greatest work at the moment when He appears most defeated. No miracles are being performed on that cross, at least not the type the crowds demanded. No storms are being calmed. No blinded eyes are being opened. No paralytics are standing up and walking. From the outside, it looks like the ministry has ended, the movement has failed, and the hope He once carried has been crushed beneath Roman nails. But heaven is not defeated. Heaven is fulfilling prophecy. Heaven is answering centuries of longing. Heaven is establishing a covenant sealed not with ink but with blood. Jesus’ death is the moment sin is confronted head-on and grace emerges victorious. The world sees humiliation; God sees redemption. The world sees weakness; God sees triumph. This paradox is the heart of the Gospel: God’s power is made perfect not in outward displays of strength but in the surrender that ushers in salvation. Until you can embrace that paradox, you will always struggle to grasp the deeper meaning of Luke 23.

This chapter also invites you to confront your own relationship with suffering, injustice, and surrender. Most people try to avoid pain at all costs, but Jesus shows that some pain carries purpose. Some suffering is not punishment but participation in a larger story. Some injustices do not silence your identity; they reveal it. Some burdens do not break you; they shape you. Luke 23 refuses to let you see suffering as something that automatically pulls you away from God. Instead, it suggests that suffering, when surrendered, becomes a doorway into a depth of intimacy with God that cannot be reached through comfort alone. Jesus does not glorify pain, but He dignifies it. He gives it meaning. He transforms it into a vessel for grace. And when you see the way He endures, you start recognizing that the question is not whether you will face suffering, but whether you will allow God to meet you in it, strengthen you through it, and transform others by the way you carry it.

As you read deeper, you also notice how Luke places extraordinary emphasis on the people surrounding Jesus—the soldiers, the religious leaders, the crowd, the women, Simon of Cyrene, the criminals, Joseph of Arimathea—to illustrate how the cross forces every observer to choose a response. The cross does not allow neutrality. It confronts every heart with a decision. Will you resist the truth, ignore it, mock it, or surrender to it? Will you remain comfortable in the crowd, or will you step forward like Joseph when the moment calls for courage? Will you choose bitterness like the unrepentant thief, or humility like the repentant one? Luke 23 is not only a chronicle of Jesus’ sacrifice; it is a mirror reflecting the choices every person must make when confronted with His identity. The chapter becomes a spiritual crossroads, challenging you to decide who Jesus is to you personally, not merely who He was historically.

And yet, woven beneath every sentence is a quiet but powerful affirmation about the nature of God’s timing. Nothing in Luke 23 happens by accident. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is delayed. Every event unfolds with precision, with intention, and with divine orchestration. The mockery, the trial, the crowd’s demands, the chosen criminal, the place of the crucifixion, the words spoken, the darkness, the torn veil, the burial—they are all pieces of a symphony composed before the foundation of the world. When you recognize this, you begin to understand that God’s timing in your own life carries the same level of intentionality, even when you cannot see the full picture yet. Luke 23 whispers to you that God is never late, never passive, never uncertain, and never improvising. He works with purpose in every detail, both in Scripture and in your story, and nothing you face is outside His awareness or His ability to redeem.

Ultimately, this chapter ends with a stone rolled into place and a body lying in a tomb, but the story is not finished; it is preparing to break open in ways no one expects. The stillness of that tomb is not the silence of defeat but the quiet before resurrection. And when you step back from Luke 23 after truly sitting with it, you realize that this chapter is much more than the darkest moment in the Gospel narrative. It is the crescendo of divine love. It is the revelation of sacrificial strength. It is the turning point of eternity. It is the moment where heaven touches earth through the suffering of a Savior who never once retreats from the mission He came to complete. Luke 23 is not meant to leave you in sorrow; it is meant to prepare you for the victory that dawns in Luke 24.

Every time you revisit this chapter, something new surfaces—some detail that deepens your understanding, some phrase that pierces your heart, some truth that steadies your spirit, some insight that pushes your faith forward. It reminds you that the Gospel is not a story you outgrow but a revelation that grows within you. It invites you to remember that Jesus did not die to create a moment; He died to create a movement that continues every time a life is transformed by His grace. Luke 23 anchors you to the reality that there is no depth of sin, no weight of shame, no distance of wandering, and no history of brokenness that the cross cannot reach. It reminds you that when Jesus stretched His arms wide, He was not simply dying—He was embracing the world.

And that is why this chapter still matters. It still speaks. It still convicts. It still heals. It still moves hearts and reshapes lives. It still whispers to every weary soul that God’s love does not retreat when the world becomes dark. It carries you through your own valleys, your own losses, your own betrayals, your own silent suffering, because when you see Jesus endure what He endured, you know beyond doubt that He understands your pain, He stands with you in your struggle, and He walks with you through every shadow until light breaks through again. Luke 23 is not a chapter you simply read; it is a chapter you experience, absorb, and return to because it shows you the cost of your freedom and the measure of God’s heart.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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Hey future me, This is two days after the break up Anshuman. Let me get this out of the way first. This is going to come In waves and that was just how life works. But overall it will get better. She is a different person and a fully formed individual, the same way that you are. And what that means is there are ways that our own internal issues will come out and hurt, not just ourselves but often people around us. But the good news is there are so many lessons to be learned from something like this.

One thing I realized was I worried about how I’ve only had three relationships and all of them have felt unhealthy. I know that it’s something where if someone says that all of their exes have been crazy then there is one common factor, and I guess that that’s what my fear is, if I am the common factor. And ultimately if I am the one that is the problem. But I think I’ve realized that the problem that I have is selecting people, and more specifically moving too fast and not filtering people out. I think because of the feeling that I am behind in life socially, and the difficulties with dating, I move too fast and before I even get to read a person I sink my teeth in and hold on, and then the loyalty to a fault becomes a problem. I will continue to hold myself into a relationship that should not have happened in the first place, and I am swept up by fantasy and hope for how things could go. But in reality that is not the case. What is correct is to take more time and get to know someone a little bit better before you decide that this is someone you want to commit in a relationship with. Something I have had to learn in this instance is how easy it is to get swept up with feelings of love and intimacy, and how really intense good feelings can mask our judgment. There was a really good TED talk on how to avoid situations like that, and the solution was to listen to your friends and family on their reads of the person. Assuming that your friends are good judges of character, they can give a much clearer perspective on potential partners, because they are not blinded by love were the same chemicals that you face. You deserve to have our relationship that is good and healthy and desirable not just when the chemicals are flooding through your brain, no matter how good that feels.

Ultimately if you are content being single, and if you are in no rush to get into a relationship, then you are able to selectively choose rather than feeling pressured to take whatever is available. If you were selling a luxury car that was super valuable, and the only people that are willing to buy it would only pay a fraction of the price, does that mean that you should sell it? Or should you wait until an appropriate buyer comes along. You are an incredible person in a lot of different ways, and you are absolutely a wonderful partner for the kind of people that you are looking for. You are kind, you are successful, you are attractive, you are intelligent, you are funny, you are considerate, you are compassionate, and the list goes on. Have a little bit of faith that things will work out. Look at how incredibly strong you have been, and how much you have changed in such a short amount of time. This is only my third break up, and even with it being so incredibly traumatic I am doing the right things. I am not trying away from uncomfortable but necessary discomfort, I am pushing myself to interact with friends and stay engaged, and I am really proud to say that I can come out of this relationship with my head held high. I set a boundary and I respected that, and even though there were plenty of things done to me that are unfair and shitty, I did not retaliate, I was not petty, I did not do anything to try to hurt or upset her or anyone involved. I am so fucking proud of you for the person that you’ve become. Sooner than you could imagine you will feel so much better. Don’t throw away the good memories, and also don’t throw away the bad memories. Understand and acknowledge your own feelings and recognize what things you’ve learned about what you want in a partner and what things you’ve learned you don’t want. There is a pain that comes to growing and you are going to pay that pain no matter what if you want that growth, and this growth is absolutely necessary. But you can handle it. You are the most incredible person I know. I love you.

Work was chill so far. The evening was more notable — did a chill run, had a long call with my partner, and tried out the local Mexican stand.

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

Artemis II (pt. III)

The lucky way out For this fortune of air Exploring the symphony- of noise In thoughts to care in time Special about In six shiny windows The Mercury of days As the messenger Rod to reunion If preterm but at speed High-altitude poem For crews to enjoy- And at most- remembering her Our ship of plans Linking our phone To the day of ideas More than mercy The victory sings Of payloads of fortune And just enough energy- to return And researched to the skies A thing about wear To spot on the payout In electrical force And everything works- just enough Staying the course Of rockets the same And this- Our day beyond In a course of will And three repeats of the tour Sincerely that star That victory eye For thoughts of made whole In stunningly deep For the Moon- and back.

#002291 – 06 de Setembro de 2025

O Zizek a colocar uma balaclava, no final da conversa com a Nadya Tolokonnikova. O gato que me veio cumprimentar a meio da minha caminhada. Os dias às vezes só precisam destes pequenos prazeres, para resgatar alguma luz. .

Indiana at Rutgers

My basketball game before bedtime tonight will find me following the Indiana University Women's Basketball Team as they travel to their final road game of the regular season. They'll be playing the Rutgers Scarlet Knights in New Brunswick, New Jersey at Jersey Mike's Arena. The game has a scheduled start time of 6:00 PM CST and fits nicely into my routine.

I'll be listening to the pregame show then the radio call of the game streaming from B97 – The Home for IU Women's Basketball.

And the adventure continues.

Cory Doctorow recently caused a stir on the nerdy corners of the internet where I hang out by writing an essay saying he uses AI to proofread his blog and, what’s more, you are a chump if you decide not to buy literally anything. I mean, that’s my interpretation, but he gives multiple examples of how every form of tech is tainted by its association with someone horrible, and his conclusion seems to be that one therefore should be indiscriminate in what one uses and purchases.

Now, I do not worship Cory Doctorow as many folks do—I think he’s a gifted nonfiction writer who, like most of these guys who run their own platform, desperately needs an editor.

But he’s a smart, insightful guy who, like most internet celebrities, is a little high on his own supply and therefore annoying, but I read him semi-regularly for his smarts and insights.

And I get where he’s coming from here—he’s repeatedly asserted that you can’t shop your way to social change, and that, furthermore, that placing all the onus on social change on individual consumers is a strategy to prevent mass movements that might actually cause real change.

So far so good. And, yes, there is, famously, no ethical consumption under capitalism, but people seem to see this and respond with “so, therefore, you shouldn’t even try,” which is how I’m reading Doctorow’s protest-too-much defense of his AI use.

I disagree with this on both a moral and political basis. We cannot, after all, perfect ourselves as human beings—we will always slip up and harm people we care about and/or do things that don’t align with our values. But I think most of us agree that we have a responsibility to keep trying, while knowing that we will never reach the goal.

And, also, while shopping (or, more accurately, refusing to shop) alone cannot bring about social change, it remains an important tool in our arsenal. For many of us our purchasing power is the most meaningful power we have. If you live in a gerrymandered “red” state, you can’t vote your way out of fascism. If you, like me, live in a “blue” state controlled by the Democratic party, you effectively get a choice in every election between people who believe we should be grateful serfs of the Epstein Class, and the collection of religious fanatics, grifters, and pedophiles that calls itself the Republican Party. Voting alone will not bring about the change I want, but I still do it. Trying to make my purchases align with my values also won’t bring about the change I want, but I’m damn sure not going to renounce the only power I have that the ruling class cares about.

Here’s what I have found about trying to reach the impossible goal of having my economic life reflect my values—every time I do it, usually by NOT buying something rather than by buying something—it makes me feel good. I’m not saying you, like me, should renounce corporate social media (though for God’s sake get off of X, what the hell are you doing on a literal Nazi site), or eating meat, or any of the things I’ve done to try to feel like somewhat less of a hypocrite. But I am suggesting that you’d be foolish to not even try to align your economic life with your ostensible values.

I don’t care if Cory Doctorow uses AI to proofread his blog. Proofreading is one of the rare tasks that AI actually excels at, which makes sense since it was trained on the purloined output of hundreds of millions of writers. And look, nobody likes a scold. The fact is that people who are trying very hard to live their values will still fall short (I have an Amazon Prime subscription and shop at Whole Foods all the freakin’ time) because we all fall short, and the fact that other people aren’t doing the same things as you doesn’t mean they’re bad people or that they’re doing nothing at all.

You’ve got a lot of tools available to make the world a better place. I urge you not to throw any of them away.

The same God who guides the stars in their courses, who directs the earth in its orbit, who feeds the burning furnace of the sun, and keeps the stars perpetually burning with their fires—the same God has promised to supply thy strength. While he is able to do all these things, think not that he shall be unable to fulfill his own promise!”

— Charles Spurgeon

#life #quotes #theology

since the sun began to shine again, I am longing for the next days and I can feel my heart has been slowly opening. all I long for is the promise of these beautiful simple days, when I can lie in an open field and fall asleep under its warmth, perhaps close to a cute tree, but exposed enough to feel the sunlight settle on my skin while the earth gathers around me like a soft blanket. I want to be able to close my eyes and surrender to it the way a child surrenders to a mother’s chest: safe enough to sleep, free enough to silent, held enough to cry, because everything is allowed there and everything is natural. And then I want to throw myself into a small river or a lake and get the water wrap itself around me in a hug, while the plants brush against my legs like gentle hands, and in there I know I will laugh again, before I rise to the surface, wrap myself in a towel, and sit at the margins to dry, feeling every pore of my skin open, as if my whole soul is finally able to breathe again. that’s all I want.

/feb26

9 February 2026

Stuck star (or possibly Third man): returned to the star image in the studio today after the last go at it didn’t work. That’s something I’ve found myself doing for the first time—returning to elements/motifs from failed paintings and re-deploying them. Used to treat references that led to inert paintings as dead weight, but it’s nice to now see that unsuccessful work really can be bent into more interesting shapes. In this case it was by paring down; this one even more than Plane. It’s a small pink star floating near the middle of a panel and sort of spiderwebbing out over a sky blue blotch of watercolor. Now that I think about it, the spiderwebbing feels related to a Lois Dodd painting (Spider Web with Clover and Grass, 2004) I've looked at a lot this week after Louis Block wrote about it in the Brooklyn Rail (it's included in the retrospective he covered). Anyway, I think I like the questions it is asking. Which seem to circle around stability, projection (I see a facade), order, and control.

Recentemente, o INSPER proibiu o uso de celulares em seus campi, e a FGV seguiu o mesmo caminho. Na realidade, não é uma proibição propriamente dita, já que são adultos — e não há lei que dite essa regra, nem federal, nem estadual — é uma forte recomendação que pode beneficiar os alunos em projetos internos das próprias universidades.

Entretanto, definir uma “política de forte recomendação do não uso” é proibir sem usar uma lei, segundo relatos de alunos ao podcast “O ASSUNTO”, do G1. (edição de 18/02/2026).

Mas essa proibição traz algum benefício real ou apenas tenta controlar o incontrolável?Essa proibição já está em vigor no INSPER há pelo menos um ano, e os professores relatam que as notas e a qualidade do ensino já tem sido melhor.

Podemos usar o exemplo de uma faculdade do Texas: uma política de incentivo ao uso direcionado apenas ao aprendizado. Quanto “melhor” for o uso — nos momentos corretos — os alunos ganham moedas (coins) para trocar por descontos em lojas no campus e outros benefícios. A diferença é que a política do incentivo não é mandatória — é voluntária.

No Brasil, uma recente pesquisa divulgada pelo G1, demonstrou que os brasileiros usam o celular, em média, por 05h e 30min por dia. (com uma média de 4h apenas usando redes sociais!). Quando olhamos mais a fundo e separamos por faixa etária, vemos a disparidade entre os jovens: 70% destes passam entre 10h e 19h por dia usando o telefone. Deste tempo, em média 9h por dia é dedicado somente para redes sociais.

Devem ser realizadas políticas de incentivo ao uso correto do celular, especialmente pelo temido efeito contágio em sala: esse efeito é literal – quando um aluno começa a jogar, os outros têm vontade de jogar também, e quando percebe-se, a sala inteira está olhando para as telas.

Quando pensamos que os alunos já são adultos quando estão nas universidades, esse pensamento deve ser feito com ressalvas — lembre-se que os alunos oriundos das escolas, geralmente são adolescentes (com 17/18 anos), que entram na faculdade, geralmente, no ano seguinte (com 18/19 anos), ou seja, raramente ocorre grande evolução em tão pouco tempo.

Porque não faz sentido restringir?

Os profissionais, especialmente aqueles do time dos cálculos (calculadoras de diferentes tipos) e da área da medicina (consultas de condutas médicas) e farmácia (consulta de interações medicamentosas) — usam o celular rotineiramente no mercado de trabalho.

Não faz sentido restringir, afinal também se faz o mesmo uso nas universidades.

Faz-se necessário desenvolver mecanismos de controle do uso dos celulares, voltados ao uso do brasileiro jovem, sem usar a “restrição mandatória”. Um exemplo já mencionado, é a política de incentivo (Universidade do Texas).

O celular não é o vilão.

O vilão é a incapacidade institucional de lidar com a complexidade dele.

Rio de Janeiro, 19 de fevereiro de 2026.

Aunque muchas personas piensan que la vida de un robot es afortunada, o por lo menos satisfactoria, este tipo de afirmaciones parten de opiniones sesgadas.

Quien así piensa no observa lo fundamental: no es lógico comparar. Quiero decir, no examina por sí misma la vida robótica, sino que la compara, sin más, con la vida humana, que en estos momentos parece un desastre.

Un robot es un robot, por útil o inútil que sea. Hemos visto robots que dan tres pasos y se caen, y otros que corren, saltan y hasta hacen muecas. En cualquiera de los casos, son robots. La identidad robótica está garantizada, al menos en este momento de la historia.

Pero el ser humano es diferente. Primero somos bebés, luego vamos pasando por las diferentes etapas, hasta trascender el en paz descanse. Somos de esta o aquella nacionalidad, ricos, pobres o no se sabe, nuestros antepasados fueron nobles, habrá que ver o facinerosos, carnívoros o veganos, sanos, enfermos o ahí vamos. En todo esto y más, es lógico que nos encontremos con un problema de identidad del tamaño de diez burros, y a la espera de que una circunstancia desencadenante nos encamine al brote de angustia existencial.

Los robots no poseen características similares. Haríamos bien en no comparar; en no proyectar en ellos nuestros fantasmas. Lo que sí es cierto -todo sea dicho-, es que tienen cara de pasarla bien en nuestro mundo.

Soy consejero legal de Markus Skhalagrinsen desde hace cincuenta años. No tengo la menor duda de su honorabilidad; sé que va con la verdad por delante.

Él está dolido. Destila rencor cuando se acuerda del asunto, pero no sabe si callar, porque las consecuencias de armar un escándalo podrían ser perjudiciales para él y su familia, y cree que hasta para nuestro Estado, que no está para muchos brincos.

Realmente, es un auténtico pionero en materia de inteligencia artificial. No me cabe duda. Quizás antes no se llamaba así, claro. Ahora bautizan las cosas de otro modo, según las modas en Silicon Valley.

En su trabajo, Markus ha tenido un éxito moderado. Ya está mayor, cumple ochenta y nueve en julio.

Escribe libros de relatos. Ninguno se escapó de recibir elogios de la crítica y su obra en conjunto fue premiada con la medalla del mérito literario, aunque no hizo el dinero que esperaba.

Su método es único. Reúne sobre el escritorio las obras de Ray Bradbury, abre una página, señala un renglón con los ojos cerrados, lo digiere, y viento: desarrolla una historia. Otras veces arranca con una paráfrasis y luego empuja lo que viene, horno, papel y tinta.

-Dígame si no soy pionero. Merezco un reconocimiento público, por lo menos -me dice.

-Sí, Markus, ya sabes, las cosas son según se miren. Se llama inteligencia artificial si lo hacen en Silicon Valley. Pero aquí, entre nosotros, no faltará un desgraciado que lo llame plagio.