Want to join in? Respond to our weekly writing prompts, open to everyone.
Want to join in? Respond to our weekly writing prompts, open to everyone.
from OH Ghost
from Out of Pixels
are phones there nationalized or are they paying for them? either way, this is something that I think would generate a civil insurrection in the united states. there would be places that would probably end up being molotov’d and such, if the people who had not wanted to get the shots had their mobile internet taken away.
please note, i really hope none of the above occurs, it would not be good for the united states.
also note, i really hope the summer is not as fucked up as it’s somewhat looking like it may or may not be, in certain aspects and regards.
*** here’s to a peaceful, happy and healthy summer ***
from I Am A Camera
Greetings from the brand-new version 1.17 of Minecraft! As we discussed last time, I essentially did a soft reboot of my storytelling project after the last update, keeping the theme and the persistent timeline but starting over with a new map so that I could update the entire thing to the latest version of the game that just got released, since as always it came with a bunch of cool new stuff that I just like everyone else want to be able to start using right away. So the first three entries in this storytelling project (which you can see, along with all the other entries, at my main index at write.as/jasonpettus) are still following the same timeline and storyline you'll see my talking about today, but we're getting used for the first time to a new place where I'm building everything, sometimes using the new stuff that's coming right now with v1.17.
Right as you come in the front gate, for example, you see one of the major ones, a brand-new ore to the Minecraft universe, copper, which has the distinction of being the only decorative block in the game right now to change colors and textures based on its age. Like everyone else, I wanted to start doing something right away with it, so I'm incorporating it as accents into the perimeter wall I'm building quickly around my property. One of the big goals this time is to quickly have a space that protects us all from nighttime monsters and daytime pillagers, so I'm trying to get up a border as quickly as I can, and light the interior of that space in a way so that it suppresses monsters from appearing. To further accent the pillars I'm using the similarly brand-new deepslate, which can now be found all over the very bottom 16 layers of the planet's crust where we all go mining for diamonds, an attempt by the Minecraft dev team to make those bottom layers more dangerous and interesting (in that these blocks are harder to cut through, and there's a brand-new highly dangerous monster that lurks down in that bottom level now too). And right in the middle of the main front gate you're seeing my first block of the also brand-new amethyst, but more on that a little further down the page.
Like most of these larger builds, my first housing is temporary only, so I'm taking it even one step further this time and making the very walls out of the various tools I need for my early crafting, smelting and stonecutting. I've got a horse tamed and saddled early too, because I'm in a huge area of plains with three villages a short ride away, so with a horse I can get too and fro without any other technology at all.
Here, Industrial Farm Field #1, 172 squares of wheat. There are dispensers filled with water buckets under the glass blocks way in the background of the image, which when they dump will disrupt all the mature wheat from the dirt and sweep it all into that water channel you're seeing in the foreground; the channel sweeps it all into the hopper you're seeing at the top of the second image, which then inserts the produce one piece a second into a composting machine, which churns the whole thing and outputs a piece of bonemeal, which then funnels through that second hopper into a barrel for easy pickup later. The composter finally allows there to be something useful from these industrialized, automated redstone farms that are so easy to build in Minecraft; because bonemeal is otherwise known as “magic fertilizer” in the game, because it sometimes literally acts like magic, including (I recently learned) cloning an exact copy of a flower if you feed a piece to a flower that's planted in a flowerpot. This essentially provides me with unlimited food for breeding bees, which finally makes industrial farming a reality; for I'm now using wheat not for its natural purpose, but for processing it into something that feeds an entirely different animal altogether. And that's kind of fascinating!
Like I've said in a previous update, even with the automated farming, I'm still not planning on building any slaughterhouses, because I simply don't like the subject of slaughterhouses whatsoever, so don't even want to play a cartoon version inside a videogame. So I only need enough cows and sheep and pigs and chickens around for my personal use, like leather for books, wool for banners, feathers for arrows, pigs for...um, riding around on, etc. There in the background of this image you're seeing my first sustainable tree orchard (but more on that in a moment), and I'm pretty seriously thinking about building my main mansion for the estate up there in that area too; so I think I'm just going to throw up a fence around the entire thing (including a lake that can be found back there) and make the whole thing a free-range field for all my livestock and horses (with an eventual ranch on the grounds as well).
A closer look at the orchard. If you plant a tree sapling within a block or two of a flower, you have a 5 percent chance of generating a beehive with that new tree as well; introduced in a very recent update, just one or two versions back, the ever-pleasant creatures are turning out to be one of the most useful little helpers in the entire game. Not only do they gather up honey in their hives that you can scoop out with shears (although only if you've built a fire underneath it to smoke the bees into submission), that you can then not only eat but now use for brand-new candles to finally replace torches in your home; but as they fly over the ground back to their hive after pollination, they drip their pollen along the way, accidentally helping anything it touches to grow faster at the same rate that bonemeal does too. So as long as I'm cutting down a lot of trees right now, to create a sustainable form of fuel for my various furnaces (as opposed to coal, which you dig out of the ground and has only a finite amount), I'm planting flowers everywhere and trying to coax up as many bees as I can, because one of the first enclosed buildings I'll be constructing is a greenhouse and apiary, where the bees will be trapped inside and can't just wander off to never be seen again (which almost always happens with bees in the wild).
And then like I said, one of the most anticipated details of the new 1.17 is the introduction of amethyst, which now grows in these huge walk-in geodes that can be found all over the place underground now, anywhere from Y level 70 all the way to 0. There are special amethyst blocks that can grow shards, that can only be found in these geodes, and stop working if you ever mine them; so if you carefully leave one of these in their original shape, you can theoretically keep coming back to it over and over and cutting off shards, which grow back regularly just like vines or sugarcane, making it now the only block in Minecraft as hard as stone but that can be organically grown in unlimited amounts. It's surrounded by two other brand-new decorative stones as well, so needless to say that everyone's excited about this one.
So that's it for now, and hopefully for my next Minecraft Stoned Saturday Night (patent pending), I'll have my finished greenhouse and apiary to show you. We'll see!
from fiction xyz
They elect Shiyue to peek over the cubicle wall this morning. It’s fair—Dustin did it on Monday and Merlin on Tuesday and Wednesday. The three of them share a cubicle, and today they also share a fate, a fate that depends on the mood of the one man working on this floor who has his own office.
Shiyue climbs onto her desk to see above the cubicle walls and establishes line of sight with the lobby doors. Eur, who they report to, and who himself reports to who knows who, walks in through those doors at 9 AM every morning—every morning; there are no weekends or holidays at this place. It is right now 8:59:22 AM.
Behind Shiyue Merlin leans his chair back and folds his arms waiting for Shiyue’s report. Dustin alternates on his screen between trying to finish the program Eur expects them to deliver by 5 PM and another window where he distracts himself with a Twitch stream of Starcraft 2. Each morning for the past week this one minute of anticipation has for all of them dilated into three to five subjective minutes, or more.
At the expected time Eur swings the doors open. He is spewing words at his secretary. “I want every pigeon in San Francisco rounded up and their assholes sewn shut. I want to see them bloat and fall out of the sky when their intestines weigh too much for their wings.”
The secretary, who is a veteran in Eur’s moods, responds in a casual tone that he’ll order Eur a new suit and burn this one, which has been ruined by the bird droppings. People only ever refer to the secretary as “the secretary.” Maybe once, long ago, a human lived inside the secretary, but since working for Eur that part of him evacuated and what remains is an administrative automaton.
Shiyue climbs down from her desk and faces the others, who roll their chairs in close for a huddle. “Level five. Whole-body gesticulation.”
Today they each wear their most formal attire, which for Dustin is a short-sleeve collared shirt with expanding pit stains, for Merlin is a button-down shirt and a tie he now pulls lose from his neck, and for Shiyue is a skirt suit she’s pulling gym shorts on underneath, just in case she needs to book it later today and ditch the skirt for mobility. This is not a corporate deadline, the one they’re sure to miss today. The stakes are higher than that.
“We have to reply to Enneth,” Merlin says.
Dustin takes paper from the printer tray and inserts it into his mouth whole.
“What ethnicity even is the name Enneth? We don’t know if his offers is legit—and Dustin would you please stop eating fucking copy paper? I can hear you masticating.”
“I'm not masturb—”
“Look,” Merlin says, holding out his phone. “He’s real, some VC living in South Bay. What are we going—”
“Dustin, buy a fucking dictionary.”
“—to do, plead with Eur for mercy? Let’s reply to this guy. We need someone rich behind us or we’re spent.”
The paper disappears down Dustin’s throat with an audible gulp.
“You’re disgusting, Dustin.”
Merlin rolls between Shiyue and Dustin. “Friends, focus. I want to wake up tomorrow morning. Do you?”
Shiyue peeks over the cubicle wall again. Eur’s office walls are all glass. He paces inside it, feeling his jaw. “Guys, he’s pacing.”
When Dustin reaches for another piece of paper, Merlin seizes his arm by the wrist.
The program they’ve been asked to deliver is incomplete. What Eur promised the powers that be, whoever resides at the top of the pyramid of abuse, was a panopticon: an answer to where anyone is—anyone, like “Where is Angela Merkel, Chancellor of Germany?” kind of anyone—at any time, with the answer delivered in milliseconds. What it is in reality is, Dustin says, “A pile of garbage. And the pile is on fire. A pile of flaming, burning garbage is what we’ve got. A garbage infern—”
“Cut that out. You’re not helping. Shiyue, what do you say? Let’s reply.”
There is no time to discuss. The secretary approaches, summons. He leads the three of them through the maze of gray cubicle dividers to the conference room, where Eur sits at the head of the thirty-seat oblong table staring straight ahead. He does not acknowledge them as they file in.
Once they’re seated Eur begins, “I don’t think I need to remind you how this deadline relates to your wellbeing. You understand the stick. Let me tell you about the carrot.” Eur waves in the secretary who distributes brochures for an erotic Thai resort around the table. “I’ve spoken with my superiors and pulled some strings and gotten you something of an incentive. Get the voice fingerprinting online by this afternoon, and I’ll send you all here for three months. All expenses paid, as many nights of action as you want.”
Silence follows. The team trades faces over the discomfiting implication of Eur’s phrase “nights of action,” which lingers in the air like an odor. His perverse gesture of good will suggests his ass is on the line as much as theirs.
“I’d like to address another point while I have you all here. I once worked with a man named Enneth, years ago. He’s a cuck. In this industry he’s a joke, a tail-between-his-legs, pussy-footed punchline in a good-clean-Christian-fun stand-up comedy set from the late 90s. Pathetic. Just thought you should know that. You’re all dismissed.”
Back at the cubicle Shiyue puts a finger over her lips, signals to Merlin and Dustin not to say anything. She checks under the desks, in the drawers, inside all of their mice, pries off their keyboard keycaps and checks their undersides, but does not find the planted bug—if there is only one. Eur knew about Enneth somehow, but she doubts he accessed Merlin’s onion-routed, PGP-encrypted e-mail, not even the metadata of which identifies Enneth. They cannot speak here.
They fall back into their chairs and face each other. The deliberation must be silent.
Both Shiyue and Merlin give a thumbs up. Dustin shakes his head “no” at first, but when after a series of gestures and nodding it becomes clear that Shiyue and Merlin are jumping ship whether he jumps with them or not, he accedes. They will turn coats to Enneth.
In shifts they spy on Eur’s office and wait for him to go to the bathroom. After thirty minutes, he does, and they hurry out through the cubicle maze before he returns. Any time they can buy is worth it.
On the ride to the wharf Merlin replies to Enneth’s email, tells him where to find them and to find them ASAP.
They wait there for him there, at the wharf, on a couple of stone benches. It’s gray and sad outside and the fog is rolling in. Shiyue and Merlin sit in silence and Dustin streams gameplay videos on his phone.
“You need to turn that off,” Shiyue tells him.
He turns to her with an indignant, childlike expression. “Why should I? Merlin has his phone on.”
“Merlin’s phone is a custom build. I literally see a location-services icon on your top bar right now. Are you stupid?”
“Could the two of you relax for just a few—”
“Oh, I’m stupid?” Dustin stands up so he’s free to wave his arms around and emphasize his points. “I built almost the entire panopticon. We’re here because you didn’t pull your weight.”
“Excuse me, you weeby dipfuck? I wrote the entire model by myself because you couldn’t calculate a linear regression if your virility depended on it. You wrote scripts to parse datasets. Get over yourself.”
“Yeah, I wrote the scripts, which I’ll remind you they amount to 80% of the code.”
“Jesus Christ do I need to dose you two with sedatives? Enneth replied to us. He’s coming in an hour so let’s just sit here in silence with our phones off and wait.”
Dustin sits down and turns off his phone. While he doesn’t say anything in protest the act has an aspect of pout.
Shiyue does not worry whether Enneth belongs to the same payroll chain they’re trying to escape, because it doesn’t matter in the end. There is nothing she can do for herself. If Enneth cannot help them, she will die, and the others too. She exercises the hypertrophied skill she has trained over the past year: choosing what not to think about. Judging by his rigid, almost cataleptic posture on the opposite bench, Dustin does not have this skill.
In spite of the weather tourists flood the wharf, and the street performers are undeterred by heavy mist. While waiting for Enneth they hear a magician’s comedy set three times. There is a joke about how he hopes the wives passing by will allow the husbands passing by to stop and observe the magic, to which there is no punchline: this statement is itself the joke. There are jokes about how the money he makes disappear is sort of like getting married and giving a woman access to a joint bank account, and one about Mars and Venus that’s probably referential which Shiyue doesn’t understand. She abstains from comment because if she speaks, Dustin will start speaking, and that would be worse.
A man in a hooded raincoat emerges from the crowd walking in their direction, and it seems at first like he is the awaited Enneth. He isn’t. A few more people come toward them, but they all turn left into the museum. Shiyue lies back on the spare bench space. “How long’s it been, Merlin?”
“An hour and fifteen.”
“Should we email him again?”
“No. Just wait.”
Merlin is an investigator, not an engineer. He is a sitter and waiter by trade. He drives somewhere and then parks and watches for hours or days on end. Shiyue has wondered but never asked him about the risk of blood clots.
At last one of the men coming in their direction doesn’t take the left turn. He wears a light windbreaker over a suit and tie, and does not pull back his hood when he stops in front of them. “Take these,” he says without introducing himself. He hands Merlin hotel key cards. “Walk to the hotel. No rides, no transit. It’s that red-orange building, there by the one with all-glass walls. Do not go home tonight.”
Merlin pockets the cards.
“What’s the long-term plan?” Dustin asks.
“Fuck if I know. Let’s focus on today. I’ll stop by your room tonight and we can talk in detail.”
So they walk, Shiyue and Merlin side by side and Dustin falling in behind because there is no more room on the sidewalk.
Half a mile in Dustin stops, says, “I’ll catch up with you, in a bit.”
Merlin tilts his head to the side. “What does that mean?”
“I’m going to go get some stuff to bring to the hotel. Quick trip home.”
Shiyue sighs, massages her temples with her thumb and index finger.
“You live in Hayes Valley. How are you going to get there and back in, as you say, a ‘quick trip’?”
“How about you just mind your own self and I’ll meet you there, okay?”
Before Merlin can retort Dustin is jogging off toward the subway station. Their room number is written on the key cards, all of which are in Merlin’s pocket, and neither Merlin or Shiyue intends to turn their phone on. He is leaving for good whether he realizes that or not.
The hotel room has two twin beds. They sit on the floor sharing swigs of a fifth of whiskey from the mini fridge, an expensive long-aged kind that connoisseurs whiff and sip. In the first few hours Dustin does not perform the miracle of guessing the room number and knocking at the door.
In a moment of sympathy, Shiyue says, “Why don’t we send him a message with the room number?”
“The panopticon would see the message.”
Shiyue explains that no, it wouldn’t. Their patchwork of zero-days and data-extraction jobs target operating systems, not web services. They can boot up Tails and send the message from a new account unseen as long as Dustin’s machine is uncompromised.
Merlin reluctantly consents, not pretending to understand.
When they visit Dustin’s profile they find more than a direct message button. He’s online, streaming himself playing Halo with a picture-in-picture webcam feed. Neither Shiyue nor Merlin can look away from this. He had no plans to come back to the hotel. They watch in disbelief as he plays his game and tells jokes about it with a total disregard for the reality of his situation.
A knock comes at his door, and the inevitable unfolds in seconds. Dustin has not finished getting up from his chair to investigate the knocking before he is shot in the head. His body collapses out of the webcam’s frame like a dropped puppet. It then yanks the laptop and embedded webcam by the cord of the headset he didn’t manage to take off, hurling it toward the ground right beside him. The camera auto-focuses on his limp, opened face.
Shiyue holds the laptop power button until it shuts off, and doesn’t move, just sits and stares at the now-black screen.
“He was too stupid for this kind of work,” Merlin says, and grabs another fifth of whiskey from the mini fridge.
I just watched a thing (a very chill and peaceful video) called “grounded in realness” and in it, the guy mentions something very interesting. He says (paraphrasing):
“If you feel happy, you want people to know it. If you feel sad, you want to communicate that, too. Emotions aren't insular, and are not for the self – they're to be shared.”
When the guy in the video said that, I remembered a video I saw of someone getting a tattoo in Chile (I believe it was) by a woman who had been applying tattoos via stick/needle/ink for 60+ years – a “tapping” method. The tattoo was applied outside on her property where she had chickens, pigs, etc., and when the tattoo session started, and the needle began to piece the skin of the person getting the tattoo (and obviously pain began at that same moment), the pigs started to squeal loudly, the chickens began to rustle around, it was a shared sensation amongst the other creatures that were present.
It could be why dogs are so apprehensive about entering a veterinarian's office – they know what's there. And it could be the same thing that humans call a “gut feeling”.
It makes me wonder if we, humans have a way of being extra-perceptive in this way, and we are just not “focused in” on it?
from Browserboard Blog
This week, I invested time in supporting the workflows of people who coordinate remote interviews. These people need to make a lot of whiteboards, but don't need to actually visit them; they just need to copy share links into emails and calendar invitations. So I created the Interview Dashboard:
Good whiteboards are sorely needed in the tech interviewing world. The need is so sore that many companies charge many dollars for so-so products. This new feature of Browserboard is free (for now) and I hope it will make some people's lives easier.
I'm focusing more on the API as people contact me about using it. This weekend, I added the ability to export an image out of an iframe-embedded board, and laid the groundwork to let API users customize the colors. I also stopped showing the “enter your name” modal for iframe-embedded boards.
I improved the behavior of the Text and Sticky tools. The Text tool will no longer keep spawning more text boxes as you click; instead, it'll switch you to the Select tool so you can edit. The width handle on text boxes is easier to grab, and sticky note colors can be changed using the Select tool.
I hope this doesn't come across as crass, or bitter, or self-pitying, or anything like that – it is more or less a confession of a bruised ego. Nothing more, nothing less.
I'm a normal person. Normal guy, living a normal life in St Louis, Missouri – Midwesterner (though, not in typical character (depending on who you ask)). I write (blog) a lot, and sometimes do web development projects. Life is good. No complaints.
But also, I was once someone different (both online and off).
Let's start with offline:
I was a wreck, most of the time. Always suffering with psychosis that could only be treated with a lethargy-inducing psychiatric medication, living in a cramped basement apartment (cramped with lots of STUFF), was sympathized upon (and pitied) by the caseworkers who worked with me, and was awkward as hell. But, I held it together.
“Life” was different. I blogged professionally, had “full-time” employment this way (writing about celebrities (a tabloid blog)), some weeks I would make $200 and other weeks I would make $600(!) (not bad considering I barely knew what the hell I was doing). I got a job as an even bigger blog, took over their (verified (remember, this is ego we're talking here)) Twitter account for a brief time before closing shop (both on that blog and my blog). There was a good deal of hope that I could/would hustle through this “online life” as an adequate (perhaps even substantial) writer.
Things changed. And this is a good thing. I changed IRL, and I changed from the perspective of my online persona (or presence). IRL, I rarely suffer from even mild symptoms of psychosis any longer, I do “OK”. And online, I no longer write for money, or have “readers” or “regulars”, or anything of that nature. I mean, yea, people read this blog (and that's great!), but I don't consider this blog to be “professional” in any way.
But more importantly, I'm just a guy who does OK “IRL”. And I couldn't expect anything more or less of me.
Something I would buy, but don't need, if money were no object ...
Limited Edition Sailor Pro Gear fountain pen with a Fine nib in British Racing Green – $390 retail, on sale for $312.
Beautiful pen. And Sailor Pro Gear is a favorite in the fountain pen community. I just can't see myself spending that much money on a pen. I would love to try writing with one someday though.
Day 25 of 100
so its been a while and i dont even really know why I do this thing..
but that doesn’t mean I’m getting rid of it. for one, i still need to get back into therapy, because my old one quit when he turned 80. but i just like the idea of having a professional person to talk to that doesn’t unwarrantedly talk shit, and has some training into the mechanization of the human mind. it’s comforting somewhat, and i don’t dislike it.
finding a good one is tricky, most of them are too judge-mental or too busy taking notes. Jim, the last one, didn’t take notes and I loved that about him. It was incredible because it literally just felt like a friend who occasionally asked very specific questions after a while, he was a very wonderful therapist. I asked him how he remembered stuff and he said he just listened with an open heart an open pair of ears, person to person.
I wonder how many therapists out there are like that. He said also that he didn’t judge, but always listened with curiosity and would occasionally ask things in a very particular way to aide in his understanding of things, if it wasn’t making sense to him as to why I was talking about a certain thing, much like a friend would do. Jim was neat.
I didn’t intend on writing about that, but it’s not an issue anyway. I opened the client without any idea what I wanted to write about.
Most of you who are tech folks like tech things. I don’t. I was explaining this to a friend today, I like it when computers just work, I don’t like working to make computers work, or finding out how to fix them when they are not. I did when I was younger, and thats where the money in computer work is, but it’s not fun as a job, it’s not even fun when you’re not getting paid. I’d rather smash it than fix it, so it’s not a good match to (and I’m joking, I’d rather just leave it alone and go outside if it’s being stubborn and ignore it..) It’s too, “alien.” at least most people or most physical type tasks give clear indication as to why something isn’t working,without having to learn specialized languages or error codes to understand it. Safe to say I am not a computer techno junkie anymore, and I am fully okay with that.
In my twenties I had a closet with ten computers though, at least it sounded like there were ten but there were actually four in there. and I had four monitors, it was ridiculous.... There was no need for that but I thought there was at the time. On the left was linux, then a bsd server, then a windows box fully tilted to the hilt, i had hacked the registry a great deal and made it very very stable.. i had gotten windows xp running for 439 days without having to reboot it, and it only needed to reboot because a power outage from a storm had turned it off... I was using it daily for photoshop, and firefox with about 80 tabs running.. it was ridiculously robust... had basically re-configured the kernel to the point where there were two system services running.. kernel32.dll and sys.bat or something of that nature, so the thing could turn on and access a dos shell. otherwise, there was not a damn thing running on it, and it was literally the most stable implementation of windows i’ve ever used.. it was the original unpatched release cd build as well, no service packs.. build 2600... funny as it were.
2600 are good folks btw, most people think they’re dirty hackers, they’re not. they’re much more interested in just having a nice life, and they do make a cool magazine though.
anyway this post has no point, so i’m done now...
oh and irc is not dead. it will never be dead. but if you freenode, forget about that im not following it, but the whole thing is a damn mess...
with love! over and out
oh and i ran into my neighbor today the girl with the dredlocks, we talked for a half hour or so then my friend from san francisco came over because she was in the area, and i hadnt seen her since 2008! that was super cool and we hung out for a few hours, and chatted :) it was really nice to see her again. my cat hissed, but eventually warmed up to her, which is good because she’s a friendly cat, and my friend is a nice person. :) i wanted the two to get along.
from The Monday Kickoff
Welcome to this week's edition of the Monday Kickoff, a collection of what I've found interesting, informative, and insightful on the web over the last seven days.
Let's get this Monday started with these links:
Why I Deleted my Social Media Accounts, wherein Daniel Milnor explains why he dumped most of his social media accounts and the effect that it had on him.
A Brief History of the Chinese Internet, wherein Graham Webster walks us through the development and growth of the internet in China, and how the country's government gained so much control over it.
The small web is beautiful, wherein Ben Hoyt explains why creating smaller websites offers you more freedom, more flexibility, and can be better for visitors and the environment.
Calculating Instruments, wherein Joshua Habgood-Coote muses about crowdsourcing and its long history, and how it has contributed to work’s devaluation and destabilization.
Work: A Deep History, from the Stone Age to the Age of Robots, wherein James Suzman outlines some of the myths and misconceptions around work, and reminds us of the folly of clinging to ideas about the necessity of work forged at the anvil of scarcity when we live in an era of unprecedented abundance.
Technology has turned back the clock on productivity, wherein we learn that modern technology isn't making workers more productive but instead is tempting highly skilled, highly paid people to noodle around making bad slides.
This Tenet Shows Time Travel May Be Possible, wherein we learn about a theory that posits time travel could become a reality but that it won't be easy.
The Quest to Tell Science from Pseudoscience, wherein Michael D. Gordin explains that philosopher Karl Popper's concept of falsifiability isn't enough to counter pseudoscience.
How Radio Astronomy Reveals the Universe, wherein we get a glimpse of the history of the science and learn why radio telescopes are an invaluable tool of astronomy.
And that's it for this Monday. Come back in seven days for another set of links to start off your week.
from Version Particular
¿No les pasa que a veces pierden el interés en algo?
Hace poco me ha pasado, estaba muy motivado haciendo algo que por cosas de la vida, lo vi mientras observaba algunas publicaciones en 9gag. Sin embargo, apenas quiero seguir, no le veo algún norte.
Incluso he perdido la motivación al escribir, siento que caigo en los mismos puntos y no sé como seguir, tal vez me falte explorarme más y escribir historias, cuentos.
Hace unos años estaba escribiendo una historia, tal vez se las comparta la próxima semana y publique un episodio en cada una junto con algunas de otras chorradas que se me ocurran. Se trata de una personaje muy peculiar, espero les guste y me motive a finalizarla, pues hasta el día de hoy, no lo he hecho.
El “como” nació dicha historia, fue tal como pasó una de mis últimas publicaciones, simplemente me senté en el computador y dejé que mis dedos dictaran el futuro. Cada dos semanas, hacia esta actividad sin volver a retomar lo que había escrito.
Su nombre, Neid.
from Lighthouse ArtistryRead more...
The short comic I mentioned having to script a few days ago? Well, as a visual person, I had to lay it all out first in thumbnails, and now I'm finally getting around to scripting based on those. I wish I could just go right in and draw the thing, but it's for a publication that involves editors and publishers other than myself and so approval is first required.
I actually wasn't required to script, they just need an idea of what it's about, but it's a weird essay comic that isn't quite synopsable (is that even a word?). Maybe it would be in a more skilled writer's hands, but it seems to me the best way to communicate the thing is by full script. Will probably include the thumbnails in the script as well, since the people looking at this are more typically involved in fine and contemporary art than comix.
Hope I nail this script today. Already a bit behind and have much other work to catch up on (and I really would love to write that damn newsletter).
Peper & Zout kijken naar de belangrijkste EK wedstrijd van dit moment. Zout zet het belangrijk knabbel spul op tafel.
Zout – Kijk eens Peep een speciaal EK eet plankje vol noodzakelijk mondvoer.
Peper – Goh lekker, is dat verse Spanning?
Zout – Ja uit 1990. Goed jaar voor Spanning, heel zonnig.
Peper – Stevig spul bijna niet te snijden.
Zout – Sorry, verkeerd mes. Die is voor de boter van de verdediging.
Peper – O maar waar is die dan?
Zout – Ligt daar voor het oprapen.
Peper – Ik heb een plakje Spanning, wil jij deze?
Zout – Ik neem eerst een zout korreltje één die je anders nooit eet.
Peper – Je hebt Vlees noch Vis maar gebakken lucht gekocht bij die Kater.
Zout – Leek me passend voor zo'n geweldige wedstrijd. Kijk, ik heb ook goed opgewassen worteltjes gekocht en koekjes van eigen deeg.
Peper – Maak dat die kat wijs, jij hebt geen deeg dat is die van mij.
Zout – Dat bedoel ik. Mag ik dat mes met twee kanten voor de Spanning?!
Peper – Tuurlijk Zoutje, wil je er een Smak bij met Elleboog & Schwalbe en een Aap uit de Mouw?
Zout – Niet teveel, alleen een Aapje.
Peper – Hier dan. Ik wil wel een Pass over de mijne gestrooid.
Zout – Alsjeblieft.
Peper – Pass op .. ha ha
Zout – Flauw?
Peper – Huh Jij
Zout – Dat kan toch niet.
Peper – Nou met de botte bijl is de Spanning prima te snijden.
Zout – Ik kan het niet aanzien Peep.
Peper – Wacht dan tot het stof van de overvloedig gestrooide passjes is opgetrokken.
Zout – Nu loopt het me dun door de broek
Peper – Schep dan ook niet zo op.
Zout – Luister naar mij, ik Zout kan niet anders dan opscheppen zeker met mijn eigen eetplankje vol Spanning om te snijden.
Peper – Zo heet heb ik het nog nooit gegeten.
Zout – Zelfs jij niet? Ik zal die indruk voor je uit blussen.
Peper – Graag dan ga ik er voor zitten.
Zout – Oh oh nu loop ik over van die spanning.
Peper – Wil je die hoge ziekenhuis gehaktbal nog?
Zout – Nee bedankt. Stil nou, ze gaan beginnen met opdienen van het hoofdmenu.
Hope after death gives hope through to death. Is there anyone more desperate than a lonely, isolated exhibitionist? Stop being a human doing occasionally to be a human being. Be in the moment, not solely ahead of it in your thoughts and presence.