Found on Path, shared here
Found on Path, shared here
it’s coming and i don’t think i can out run it.
it’s like i was in the middle of a thought when i got sick, spent 10 days trapped in my place, and never finished the thought. like summer was everything before that day my throat burned, and now it’s fall.
i feel heavy. i feel slower. my step is just slightly shorter. more hesitant. my dreams are filling up with promise and loss. there’s so much more shadow i feel like i’m being swallowed up by it. I walk around the shadows but they nip at me. they call out for me.
my enthusiasm is quiet. sitting still in the corner debating which way to throw itself. but while this hesitation happens nothing else is possible. nothing else is really happening but for the waiting.
the crows they caw and caw and it’s not birdsong anymore.
i accidentally read things i shouldn’t on the internet and parts of me crumple up like a crash test dummy. i know.
the fucking wallowing that goes on somewhere in me i can’t reach and can’t hush just murmurs and whines and spreads itself from organ to organ like cancer.
i need to be touched. need to be lied to that there’s more.
i think about tomorrow, about next week, about next month and all i see is the same as yesterday. the same as a thousand yesterdays.
that’s what the darkest is. losing the ability to feel new and alive and it’s coming now. sure and steady with the measured pace of an executioner.
sidelong glances won’t get me out of this.
probably nothing but securing everything that can be made into a weapon as the winds of my heart stir is the best i’ll be able to do.
Paro Taktsang, “The Tiger’s Nest”, Bhutan
Damn, I love this. I want to be in a place like this and lose all sense of time.
No matter how hot it is…
Dial-Up Modem Noise Slowed Down 700%
Ever wonder what an old 56k modem sounds like slowed down 700%? Jesus, you really need to stop wondering about such weird shit, you’re scaring me. But, because curiosity killed the cat and I’m hoping it’ll do the same to you, here it is anyway. It sounds like…the aliens are coming. Kind of relaxing and ‘clench your butthole as tight as you can’ at the same time.
Sheee-it. There’s something wrong with me cuz that’s just plain cool.
“The Draughtsman-Writer”, an 18th century automaton created by Henri Maillardet. This incredible piece of mechanical engineering, though broken for many years, is able to draw four pictures and write three poems (two in French, one in English). Though forgotten and broken for many years, it is now fully restored and continues to enchant onlookers today as it did 200 years ago.
Automaton’s English poem (see image 7):
‘Unerring is my hand thought small
May I not add with truth.
I do my best to please you all
Encourage then my youth.’
Absolutely love this