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. I used to find him annoying about 20 years ago when he wrote clumsy, didactic YA novels and asserted that everybody should give their books away like he did. (At the time, he was writing for one of the most-read blogs on the internet and didn’t seem to recognize that this was contributing to his success.)

So yeah, 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

Connie Caskett at the pub, part 2 in the series.

The Star of Bethnal Green was proper heaving, Friday night proper, the kind where the air smelled of spilled lager and someone’s nan’s shepherd’s pie from the kitchen. 

Connie Caskett pushed through the door with her leather jacket still on, zips done up like armour, and the lads spotted her straight away.

—There she is! Darren shouted from the corner table, waving like he was directing traffic. —The bookworm herself!

Connie gave him the finger as she walked over, but she was grinning. Her hair was black as tar, chopped sharp at the shoulders, and she’d done her eyes heavy with liner, the way she did when she wanted to look like she could head butt a demon if it looked at her funny. She dropped into the seat they’d saved, the one with the ripped vinyl that always pinched your arse.

—Pint of what? Gaz asked, already half-standing.

—Guinness, she said. —And don’t start with the jokes yet, yeah? Let me get a sip in first.

Too late. The table erupted.

—Librarian! Darren said, like he’d just invented the word.

—Connie Caskett, queen of the Dewey Decimal. Shhh! No talking!

—I’m surprised you know what that is, said Connie. 

Darren put his finger to his lips, all theatrical. The others cracked up. Little Mick leaned in, elbows on the table, his Cannibal Corpse hoodie stretched tight.

—What d’you do all day then? he asked. —Polish the books? Whisper sweet nothings to the encyclopaedias?

—Fuck off, Mick, Connie said, but she was laughing.

—I shelve, I stamp, I tell kids to stop climbing the ladders. It’s dead normal.

—Normal? Darren said. —You? Normal? You were wearing an Ingested shirt to your interview, weren’t ya?

—Was not, Connie said. —It was Cattle Decapitation. Subtle difference.

Gaz came back with the pints, slopping a bit on the table as he put hers down.

—To Connie, he said, raising his glass. —Who somehow convinced a bunch of old dears in cardigans that she won’t blast Cannibal Corpse through the quiet reading area.

They clinked. Connie took a long pull, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

—They asked if I had experience with the public, she said. —I told ‘em yeah, I’ve dealt with pissed-up blokes in pits who think moshing’s a debate technique. Reckon that counts.

—You told them that? Mick said, eyes wide. —Straight up?

—Nah, Connie said. —I said I was good with people. Which is basically the same thing.

Darren leaned back, arms folded.

—So what’s the uniform then? Cardie and sensible shoes? Little name badge says “Connie – Ask Me About Books (But Not Slayer)”?

—Jeans and boots, same as always, Connie said. —They didn’t say nothing about dress code. Reckon they were just happy someone under forty applied.

Gaz nodded, serious for half a second.

—Fair play though, Con. Proper job. Not stacking shelves at Tesco or pulling pints here. Actual career. You’re posh now.

—Piss off, Connie said. —I’m still me. Still got the patch on my jacket that says “Fuck the System”. Just… quieter about it during opening hours.

Mick raised his glass again.

—To the quietest headbanger in Bethnal Green.

They drank. Someone put “South of Heaven” on the jukebox, low enough that the barman didn’t kill it. Connie leaned back, boots up on the spare chair, watching the lads take the piss out of each other now, moving on to Darren’s latest failed date.

She felt the buzz of the Guinness settling in her chest, warm and familiar. Librarian. Her. Who’d have thought.

—You alright? Gaz asked, quiet, just to her.

She nodded.

—Yeah, she said. —Feels weird. Good weird.

He smiled, small.

—Don’t go changing on us, yeah? We need someone to scare the normals.

Connie laughed, short and sharp.

—No chance, she said. —I’m keeping the horns. Just filing ’em under “Quiet” from nine to five.

The lads roared again at something Mick said. Connie sank lower in the seat, pint in hand, letting the noise wash over her like a riff she knew by heart. Bethnal Green, same as ever. And her, somehow, still fitting right in.

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).

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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.

In today’s global economy, a resume is only as strong as the real-world experience behind it. While many look to study in China to learn the language, the most successful global leaders are those who have actually stepped into the professional landscape.

The China International Leadership Programme is designed for those who want more than just a certificate. This is a blended, high-impact programme where a core component allows you to actually work in China, applying your leadership skills in real-time through meaningful professional placements.

By combining online modules with immersive, on-the-ground experience, you won't just learn about leadership—you will practice it.

Your Professional Journey in China

The programme is strategically built around three core objectives to maximize your professional and personal ROI:

• Mandarin in Action: Develop fluency through structured learning and immediate real-world practice.
• Intercultural Competence: Move beyond being a tourist. Build genuine professional empathy through deep immersion and guided educational tours across the country.
• Professional Work Experience: The cornerstone of the programme is the opportunity to work in China. Through a hands-on China internship in rural communities, you will gain teaching and leadership experience that makes a tangible difference.

A Modern, Blended Curriculum

The programme consists of eight modules delivered in a flexible, hybrid format. You begin with online modules that establish your knowledge base, which then transition into experiential, on-the-ground components. This ensures that when you arrive to begin your work placement, you are prepared, culturally aware, and ready to lead.

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Select Your Professional Track

We offer three distinct pathways, each building on the last to offer deeper levels of immersion and professional responsibility:

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Coalescence

---

When I think of you I see it— a soft red glow in the dark of the world,

I am the wind And you, a coal...

One ember glowing hot but patient. Hidden beneath the ash.

I ache to see what light we make.

I lean close— slowly—

and feel our ignition— your heat answers mine.

Breath deepens, you brighten.

Tell me not to.

片手で船を出した。 もう片方の手は、頬の髭の剃り残しをなぞっていた。ざらりとした感触が、朝の光に溶けていく。 「初めてガムを食べたときも、こんな感じだったなあ」 隣で船をたたんでいたミルが、顔を上げた。 「ガムって、あの噛むやつ？」 「そう。初めて食べたとき、噛んだら破れて、変な感じがしたんだ」 ミルは首をかしげて、また船に戻った。彼女の宇宙服は、朝日を受けて淡く光っていた。

その日、天気は三度変わった。朝は霧、昼は雷、夕方には雪が降った。 「今日は、天気が三回も変わったんだよ」 アルトがそう報告すると、ミルは「ふうん」とだけ言って、ピアノの下に潜り込んだ。 「友達に連絡するから」と言って、スマホの画面を見つめていた。 ピアノの脚の影が、彼女の頬に落ちていた。どの星の友達に連絡しているのか、アルトはあえて訊かなかった。

「サウナ入ってくる」 「ハマってるね、それ」 「うん、黒い人が頑張って作ってくれたからね」 湯気の向こうで、ミルが頷いた。 「本当にそうだよなあ」 アルトが言った。 「本当にそうだよなあ？」 ミルも繰り返した。 ニュースの音が遠くで流れていた。二人とも、それにうなずいていた。

自分のホームページを作るのにハマっている。 「また呼吸を忘れてるわよ」 「はっ」として、アルトは慌てて呼吸を再開する。 「これ、誰に見てもらうの？」とミルに聞かれて、 「電話帳順に、姿勢が良くなった自分を送る」と答えた。 「それって、どういう意味？」 「電波。チューニングを合わせないと」 ミルはしばらく考え込んで、それから小さく笑った。 「アルトらしいね」

航海中、自販機が浮いていて、サイダーを買うことにする。 ボタンを押そうとしたら、自販機の上に鳥が乗っていて、こっちを見ている。 「風邪ひけやー」 アルトがそう言って、そっと手を差し出すと、鳥は首をかしげて、また空へ戻っていった。 ミルがその後ろ姿を見送りながら言った。 「あの鳥、私たちのこと、どう思ってるのかな」 「さあ。でも“風邪ひけやー”って言ったから、友好的なことは伝わったと思うよ」 二人はまた船に乗り込む。宇宙服のブーツが、自販機にくっついていたアスファルトの地面を軽く鳴らした。

「シソ揚げる」 そう言って、ミルはシソを揚げ始めた。 油のはねる音を聞いていたら、弟から電話がかかってきた。 「アニメみたいな髪型しないと、体重計に乗れないんだよー」 弟は今日も、言いたいことを優先して話してくる。 相変わらず思い込みが激しいなあ、と思いながら、買って帰るおみやげを考える。 しばらくして戻ってきたミルは、なぜか髪の毛が少し立っていた。

夜、宇宙船から庭に出ると、遠くにチーズケーキみたいな星が見える。 ふわふわしていて、甘くて、少しだけ焦げ目がついている。 「本に載ってた通りだ。かなり住みたい星No.1だ」 アルトが言った。 二人は並んで、チーズケーキの星を見る。その周りの、砂糖のような星々が静かに瞬いていた。

ミルが言った。 「アルト、最近、こっちの星の言葉、練習した？」 「5級くらい」 「そう。でも、なんとかなると思う」

Meu amor, se você soubesse quantos sorrisos você tirou de mim hoje…

Acordei com uma determinação voraz de não te mandar mensagem.

Normalmente é difícil pois sinto sua falta constantemente e me entrego a saudade; mas confesso que estava ou estou, com ciúmes, ciúmes de algo que ainda não aconteceu mas vai, e me apegar a esse ressentimento me fez não te mandar nada pela manhã.

Felizmente ou infelizmente, você só pediu acesso ao GPT, e eu já me derreti todo com a “obrigação” de ter que entrar em contato para te passar o código.

Prometi a mim mesmo que seria mais “difícil” durante esses dias (você não pode ficar brava comigo por isso, estranho seria eu não me incomodar), e consegui ficar sem te mandar um Te amo por incríveis 4 minutos.

A verdade é que você me conhece estranhamente bem, e derrete minhas defesas e postura com uma maestria quase magica.

Você me tirou sorrisos hoje todas as vezes que me mandou uma mensagem, que esticou um assuntinho, que me fez um sinal que pra mim só significava “rock”.

Voce me fez sorrir porque por algum motivo voce fez parecer que queria falar comigo, mesmo eu mais distante em alguns momentos, e isso deu um calorzinho no meu coração.

Eu confesso que sorri quando voce me mandou foto do seu prato, e quando achou impressionante o chat te falar para não emagrecer. Eu deixei 4 instrucoes pra ele, e no final ele me disse: “Fica tranquilo. Eu sei a responsabilidade que voce esta me dando aqui”. Eu só espero que ele saiba mesmo, porque se ele vacilar eu vou queimar todos os servidores onde ele estiver rodando.

Também fiquei meio sorridente quando você ficou com ciúmes, juro que não era a intenção inicial, mas me senti um pouco vingado fazendo você sentir um pouco do que eu sinto… sou toxico?

Sorri quando de coração, não conseguia dormir de tarde porque não conseguia parar de pensar em você, e você respondeu dizendo que estava mesmo na minha cabeça, suas bobeiras despretensiosas conseguem me alegrar com uma facilidade inexplicável.

Sorri relendo sua carta, a parte da casa me pega muito.

Eu leio esse trecho, fecho os olhos e fico saboreando, a cena, as palavras, o desejo.

Eu amo te amar, te amaria mesmo que você já não lembrasse mais meu nome; mas é tão bom te amar e me sentir amado de volta de alguma forma.

Você me fez sorrir com sua empolgação com o livro hoje, me fez lembrar o quanto eu amo o fato de você ser essa pessoa tão viva, tão alegre.

A verdade dona Manuela, é que você me fez sorrir todas as vezes que pensei em você, e lembrei do seu sorriso que é tão meu.

“Tira-me o pão, se quiseres,

tira-me o ar, mas

não me tires o teu riso”

Te amo meu amor, obrigado por me arrancar os sorrisos mais sinceros, e me presentear com os teus sorrisos mais bonitos, você é o meu mundo todinho.

Do garoto que sempre sorrirá ao ouvir seu nome,

Nathan.