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this made me cry so now i need everyone to see it

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The first simulated image of a black hole was calculated with an IBM 7040 computer using 1960 punch cards and hand-plotted by French astrophysicist Jean-Pierre Luminet in 1978.

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For a long time now I haven’t written. Months have gone by in which I haven’t lived, just endured, between the office and physiology, in an inward stagnation of thinking and feeling. Unfortunately, this isn’t even restful, since in rotting there’s fermentation.

- Fernando Pessoa

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The thing about writing advice is that most people who are in a position to give it don't really know how they do what they do.

It's like playing Hamlet: an actor can talk about the personal processes that help them to interrogate the text and get into the character's head, and they can talk about the experiences they've had that prepared them for the role, and they can talk about what they want their performance to convey and maybe even reflect on why they make certain choices. But they can't give you a ten step guide to playing Hamlet. It fundamentally doesn't work like that.

It can be frustrating. Sometimes the advice you get from authors you admire, authors whose work you relate to in an unspeakable way, is just not a good fit. It can be discouraging (why can't I see the world like they do? why can't I be up and awake and produce 2000 words before breakfast?) or it can even set you back (I mustn't use adjectives. I have to plan every page. I can't get started until I know the protagonist's grandmother's maiden name). You have to learn to see it as the individual talking to themselves, rationalising a largely automatic process in terms that can only ever correlate, never fully explain.

Only one piece of ageless advice has consistently held true for generations of good, bad and happily mediocre writers, probably since the dawn of society: steal time from your day job.

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i was so fucking sad when i was 14 and now when i fold my laundry or see a pool of moonlight on the floor of my bedroom i know that miracles exist. i see love in everything. love sees everything in me too

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Alejandro Zambra, Ways of Going Home (translated by Megan McDowell)

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April

by Mary Oliver

I wanted to speak at length about the happiness of my body and the delight of my mind for it was April, a night, a full moon and --

but something in myself or maybe from somewhere other said: not too many words, please, in the muddy shallows the

Frogs are singing.

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domestication syndrome / dhole b.

[ID: white text on a blck background in arial font. it reads:

domestication syndrome

- dhole b.

the theory of why domesticated dogs have ears folded over, cartilage losing structure and purpose

is that for years they were cradled and held and told

"you don't need to be sharp anymore, you don't need your edges"

with this being whispered into their ears, generation after generation, it’s weakened them down to their DNA.

soft.

you are a dog pretending to be wolf, begging to be wolf, with your ears cropped to be pointed up like daggers

but it's still wired into your meat to expect a soft hand under your jaw,

and you only ever expect the bite once the teeth are already piercing

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"someone who allows you to rest" is the relationship dynamic of all time

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more sketchbook weeds

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You can literally feel what makes you sicker and you can keep choosing it out of obligation and familiarity or you can slow down and ask yourself if you truly think you can survive it and if surviving is all you wanted to do

And then you start to understand what people meant when they say you can't help anyone else if you can't help yourself