Pinned toot
Pinned toot

Let not a person revive the past
Or on the future build her hopes;
For the past has been left behind
And the future has not been reached.
Instead with insight let her see
Each presently arising state;
Let her know that and be sure of it,
Invincibly, unshakably.
Today the effort must be made;
Tomorrow Death may come. who knows?
No bargain with Death
Can keep him and his hordes away,
But one who dwells thus ardently,
Relentlessly, by day, by night —
It is she, the Peaceful Sage has said,
Who has had a single excellent night.

~Bhaddekaratta Sutta
from the Majjhuma Nikaya (The Middle Length Discourses)

I know very little about an awful lot of things. I wish that were a more marketable skill.

Bodily functions, powerful nonchalance. 

Reflection is the same operation as inversion across the circumference of a circle of infinite radius.

[Description for the visually impaired]

A white sheet of paper. A circle has been drawn in pencil with a compass. It's center and three arbitrary points within it's circumference have been labeled O, P, Q, & R.

Three rays have been extended from center point O through the three arbitrary points, crossing the circumference, and extending to the edge of the paper.

Perpendicular lines have been drawn from the three rays intersecting at their respective points ( P,Q,&R).

Tangents to the circle have been drawn at the three intersections with the perpendicular lines. The intersection of the tangent with the original ray passing through each arbitrary point has been labeled points P',Q', & R' respectively.

The page has been titled in blue ink "The Geometry of Circle Inversion" and subtitled "Segment length OP multiplied by segment length OP' is equal to the radius squared."

Had an empty pot where a lavender didn't survive August. So hello New Friend!

Stand up, all victims of oppression
For the tyrants fear your might
Don't cling so hard to your possessions
For you have nothing, if you have no rights
Let racist ignorance be ended
For respect makes the empires fall
Freedom is merely privilege extended
Unless enjoyed by one and all

Chorus:
So come brothers and sisters
For the struggle carries on
The Internationale
Unites the world in song
So comrades come rally
For this is the time and place
The international ideal
Unites the human race

Let no one build walls to divide us
Walls of hatred nor walls of stone
Come greet the dawn and stand beside us
We'll live together or we'll die alone
In our world poisoned by exploitation
Those who have taken, now they must give
And end the vanity of nations
We've but one Earth on which to live

[chorus]

And so begins the final drama
In the streets and in the fields
We stand unbowed before their armour
We defy their guns and shields
When we fight, provoked by their aggression
Let us be inspired by like and love
For though they offer us concessions
Change will not come from above!

youtu.be/yAw0Ri4FSdM

Oh fuck, I'm at follower/following parity! Gonna treasure this moment before reality gets it's grubby hands on my pristine numbers.

Public Service Announcement
In KDE 5.10+ as configured on Kubuntu 18.04

The lock screen is run by:
/usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/libexec/kscreenlocker_greet

kscreenlocker authenticates via:
/usr/lib/x86_64-linux-gnu/libexec/kcheckpass

kcheckpass authentication is handled via pam and configured in:
/etc/pam.d/other

So if you want two factor auth for your lock screen and not just session logins, you need to implement it there.

If you can not find meaning in the landscape of here and now, you will never live anything other than the dreams you're sold.

The terrain used to be sacred.

Your house, the hill, the woods, the town. The distant tower or the mountain was the axis mundi. Over there, across the water or down the road was outside.

We've stripped away the sanctity from the land. Every place looks like every other place. Carefully antiseptically contrived and branded and marketed to be comfortably familiar non-places.

We worship abstract unrealities now. Untethered in time or tradition or ideology. adrift and amorphous and isolated and neurotic.

All the better to sell us single non-transferable use sacrements in disposable plastic packaging.

The only responsible reaction is to rebel against purity. Find meaning in ambiguity and individuality. Bind your days and seasons and hours in rituals and wards against the amnesia of capital.

HR, econ, pol 

Speaking of Stan Rogers....

He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock shoal

Just five short hours from Bermuda
In a fine October gale
There came a cry "Oh, there be breakers dead ahead!"
From the collier Nightingale

No sooner had the Captain brought her round
Came a rending crash below
Hard on her beam ends, groaning, went the Nightingale
And overside her mainmast goes

"Oh, Captain, are we all for drowning?"
Came the cry from all the crew
"The boats be smashed! How then are we all to be saved?
They are stove in through and through!"

"Oh, are ye brave and hardy collier-men
Or are ye blind and cannot see?
The Captain's gig still lies before ye whole and sound
It shall carry all o' we."

Here we go!
He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock shoal

But when the crew was all assembled
And the gig prepared for sea
'Twas seen there were but eighteen places to be manned
Nineteen mortal souls were we

But cries the Captain "Now do not delay
Nor do ye spare a thought for me
My duty is to save you all now, if I can
See ye return as quick as can be."

He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock shoal

Oh, there be flowers in Bermuda
Beauty lies on every hand
And there be laughter, ease and drink for every man
But there is no joy for me

For when we reached the wretched Nightingale
What an awful sight was plain!
The Captain, drowned, was tangled in the mizzen-chains
Smiling bravely beneath the sea

He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock shoal

He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock shoal

He was the Captain of the Nightingale
Twenty-one days from Clyde in coal
He could smell the flowers of Bermuda in the gale
When he died on the North Rock shoal

-The Flowers of Bermuda
youtu.be/YVUei-0WYC4

Pale was the wounded knight
That bore the rowan shield,
Loud and cruel were the raven's cries
Thar feasted on the field,

Saying, “Beck water, cold and clear,
Will never clean your wound.
There's none but the Maid of the Winding Mere
Can mak' thee hale and soond.”

“So course well, my brindled hounds,
And fetch me the mountain hare
Whose coat is as gray as the Wastwater
Or as white as the lily fair.”

Who said, “Green moss and heather bands
Will never staunch the flood.
There's none but the Witch of the West-mer-lands
Can save thy dear life's blood.”

“So turn, turn your stallion's head
Till his red mane flies in the wind,
And the rider o' the moon goes by
And the bright star falls behind.”

And clear was the paley moon
When his shadow passed him by;
Below the hill was the brightest star
When he heard the houlet cry,

Saying, “Why do you ride this way
And wharfore cam' you here?”
“I seek the Witch of the West-mer-lands
That dwells by the Winding mere.”

“Then fly free your good grey hawk
To gather the goldenrod,
And face your horse intae the clouds
Above yon gay green wood.”

And it's weary by the Ullswater
And the misty brake fern way
Till through the cleft o' the Kirkstane Pass
The winding water lay.

He said, “Lie down, my brindled hounds,
And rest, my good grey hawk,
And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill
For I must dismount and walk.

“But come when you hear my horn
And answer swift the call,
For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn
You may serve me best of all.”

And it's down to the water's brim
He's borne the rowan shield,
And the goldenrod he has cast in
To see what the lake might yield.

And wet rose she from the lake
And fast and fleet gaed she,
One half the form of a maiden fair
With a jet-black mare's body.

And loud, long and shrill he blew,
Till his steed was by his side;
High overhead his grey hawk flew
And swiftly he did ride,

Saying, “Course well, my brindled hounds,
And fetch me the jet-black mare!
Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk,
And bring me the maiden fair!”

She said, “Pray sheath thy silvery sword,
Lay down thy rowan shield.
For I see by the briny blood that flows
You've been wounded in the field.”

And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue,
Bound 'round with a silver chain,
She's kissed his pale lips aince and twice
And three times 'round again.

She's bound his wounds with the goldenrod,
Full fast in her arms he lay,
And he has risen, hale and soond,
With the sun high in the day.

She said, “Ride with your brindled hounds at heel
And your good grey hawk in hand.
There's nane can harm the knight who's lain
With the Witch of the West-mer-land.”

-Archie Fisher "The Witch of the West-Mer-Lands"

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hackers.town

A bunch of technomancers in the fediverse. Keep it fairly clean please. This arcology is for all who wash up upon it's digital shore.