Welcome to my Blog
I make no guarantees as to the veracity of anything you're about to consume. This is just me thinking out loud. As a respected colleague once told me, I wear my brain on my sleeve.
Some things to know about me:
- My family is the best part of my life, but I don't talk about them here, because that just feels wrong. I also don't do Facebook/Meta/Twitter/X for the same reason.
- I'd like to talk to you, assuming we know each other, more than I do. This is because I suffer from migraines on the regular, however I'm hopeful that this will improve.
- Retro computing, and modern computing, is something I will geek out about with wild abandon, so do mention the subject.
Tonight's one of my favorite family Christmas traditions; the Wrapping Party. The wife and I have a nice meal and wrap presents while the kids watch movies with a projector.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
The internet stores information needed by researchers and students amongst a visual noise field of advertising. Am I the only one realizing we are breeding the ability to ignore advertising as a survival trait?
Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass—
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen; then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.
This poem was written by Stephen Dobyns and published in Cemetary Nights in 1987.
For me, it captures what folk who aren't managing themselves feel like.
Never forget; for all the superiority, posturing, lecturing, vitriol, hatred, fearmongering, the Left celebrated the cowardly murder of man for simply speaking his beliefs.
This is who they are; who they have always been. And if this is how they respond to people for speaking out, then we must all speak out.
Charlie Kirk was a brave man who held to his beliefs and died for them, speaking effectively, with love and conviction, and he was killed for it. It falls to us to continue his work.