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"Move in space with minimum waste and maximum joy."
Sade.
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you're lost in your world of ghosts
and I'm painfully mortal
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history is drenched in blood and breath takingly beautiful
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Young Diola boy with a traditional hairstyle, Casamance by René Burri.
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“I’m homesick all the time… I just don’t know where home is. There’s this promise of happiness out there. I know it. I even feel it sometimes. But it’s like chasing the moon - just when I think I have it, it disappears into the horizon.”
- Sarah Addison Allen, The Girl Who Chased the Moon
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[Image description: A series of posts from Jason Lefkowitz @[email protected] dated Dec 08, 2022, 04:33, reading:
It's good that our finest minds have focused on automating writing and making art, two things human beings do simply because it brings them joy. Meanwhile tens of thousands of people risk their lives every day breaking down ships, a task that nobody is in a particular hurry to automate because those lives are considered cheap https://www.dw.com/en/shipbreaking-recycling-a-ship-is-always-dangerous/a-18155491 (Headline: 'Recycling a ship is always dangerous.' on Deutsche Welle) A world where computers write and make art while human beings break their backs cleaning up toxic messes is the exact opposite of the world I thought I was signing up for when I got into programming
/end image description]
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"Warmth, perfume, rugs, soft lights, books. They do not appease me. I am aware of time passing, of all the world contains that I have not seen, of all the interesting people I have not met."
– Anais Nin, A Cafe in Space: The Anais Nin Literary Journal, Volume 3
"I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited."
– Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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"I don't do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision."
– Allen Ginsberg, "The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice: First Journals and Poems, 1937-1952"
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