How to make Ubuntu packages 90% faster
bodies of contemporary work
Our grassroots digital magazine
climate crisis and
I'm sitting on the floor next to his crate
London is awesome
I spent some time learning more
traditions and connections
a new format called
hammer the nail
using a Game Boy Camera
time in the meadow
Good morning
A very gentle reminder
Hey Dragonscavians!
descriptions are awesome
But we should remember
of hearing folks
recording of text
Everything you say to your Echo will be sent
children’s interactions with Alexa forever
Black vulture landing on a paraglider
Ideas for cuing a blind organist
It didn't start with gas chambers
The version
The Radio Free Asia
operations may cease
A Closer Listen
a humanitarian visa
The world always has a place
right now
trans guys know who they are
A word after a word
Bandcamp Daily
I just tried to pick up a patch
a magic system
Pickers will now do basic rendering
LTR override
＊ Ｎｏ Ｕｐｇｒａｄｅｓ
#Permacomputing things of recent interest.
you have some free time right now
pasting descriptions into spreadsheets
like paper and write messages on the moonlight
The more determined you are
from a virtual server
The discussion delves into the deep
we haven't moved from Germany
Physically
users wouldn't even notice
connections between
My response for today's #ds
Today's cufflinks
a patch of starlight up from the floor
The Red and the Black
Bank sends me messages
this Dick Schory LP
New solo exhibition
cordial invitation to the vernissage
ALICE ATTIE talks
As well as our hotel accommodation
All submissions must be exactly 4'33"
where she curated the exhibitions
finally finished my latest roll
of redscale
De-formation: Piano
redux opens
resonant overtones
an awkward fan boy
a chill collected man
Toilets in the wild
the most comprehensive ever mounted
I’ve Never Felt Younger
Catharina Hagen
What sets 400 lonely things apart
sonic artifacts
Subdivisions
My daughter's cat
Going to Kawamura
Schvitters corner and more
which added depth and emotion to the scenes
I like how quiet this app is
When the horror persists,
Everything will still be
I simply want to share my raw
optimized
people being sensitive
souls of the internet somehow
Circular logic
clementines and a lovely Paris
virtual support
Beneath the Grid
Lines intersect,
a map without a country—
“data flows like water,”
but it’s thick as oil.
Roots twist
through concrete dreams,
their tips
brushing silence.
A thousand eyes blink,
mirrors reflecting
nothing but static.
The air hums,
and the world
dissolves into threads.
The Weight of Orbit
Spinning,
a clock without hands—
“gravity is just a suggestion,”
muttered the dust.
Stars collapse inward,
their bones
a lattice of forgotten questions.
On the edge of somewhere,
a voice
fractures into wavelengths,
spilling copper and rust
across the black sea.
Time folds,
and we drift.
Echoes in the stasis
Words hum through wires,
a chorus of fractured light—
“connection failed,”
whispers the void.
Beneath the skin of screens,
a river bends,
blue threads unraveling
into silt and shadow.
Someone typed “forever”
but the wind erased it,
leaving only
a pixel’s ghost
to dance in the margins.
Fragments in Static: Echoes from a Room That Remembers
A corridor of rusted echoes, where hands reach for empty pockets of light. The machine hums—soft, insistent—pressing static against the bones of the walls. A sentence left unfinished by the mouth of the radio drifts like a slow river, circling the drain of morning. Beneath the floorboards, laughter dissolves into wire.
Between pages torn from maps of places that never were, footsteps vanish into ink. You press your ear to the margin, listening for the sound of forgotten letters rearranging themselves into lost conversations. A thread of wind tightens around the rooftops, tying knots in the fog. Meanwhile, a clock with no hands insists that time is an invention of absence.
A postcard arrives, addressed to no one, scrawled in a language that flickers like a dying filament. The sky folds inward, paper-thin and brittle, revealing another sky beneath it—one stitched together from old receipts and unfinished prayers. Somewhere in the static, a bird sings in reverse, its melody unraveling as it rises.
Glass unshatters. The mirror, impatient, erases its own reflection, swallowing the ghost of whoever last stood before it. A key, turned but never used, vibrates in the palm of a hand made of dust. Across the street, a neon sign spells out an apology that no one remembers needing. A dog with the eyes of a clock watches the city dissolve into silhouettes.
Silence builds cathedrals from missing words. A door opens, but only inward, leading to a room filled with the scent of extinguished candles. Somewhere in the static, an unfinished thought clicks into place, reshaping the sky once more. The machine hums, softer now, insistent still. The corridor remains, waiting.
REDACTED VERSE ALIAS
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CUT & PASTED LANGUAGE
c h o p p e d
f r a g m e n t s
o f
m e a n i n g
s t r a y
s y l l a
b l e s
g l u e d
t o g e t h e r
i n c o n s i s t e n t l y
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