some of the books i’ve read this past year. more poetry, some self-help, trying to read more authors who aren’t like me (white, male, cis, american). any suggestions for the new year?

How can Andrew Colborn sue Making a Murderer for defamation over not being a public official? He was a sheriff. USSC deferred to relevant state laws and WI sheriffs are elected (deputies are appointed) so doesn’t that imply public figure automatically?

so many colours! the blues were a bit calmer than this but i wanted to show all the variations near the pinks, yellows, and oranges.

Instagram has an option to hide ads that appear too often (as well as reporting for spam or “inappropriate” content).

I wish they had one for “your [ad] is bad and you should feel bad!”

Passed two un(der)employed guys (in appearance & morning beverage choices) outside the grocery on a walk this morning. They were discussing revenue streams, digital goods, and bitcoin. 😯

summary of much of history: at one point someone looked up at the night sky and named this bright point of light. then time passed and we co-opted the name for a pink razor

Pick the more disheartening job: content-flagger for an internet site or the reviewer for the automatic content-flagger for a site.

it’s not all at once…a fine mist freezes and then thaws. then again. a bit remains, a foothold for the next round. it grows incrementally until everything is engulfed — there is no tipping point, no fulcrum, just the observation that what is now is not what once was.

not a great pic, but the scene has no traffic, no wind — just a single bird singing in the day in a mischievously-quiet city

i want to enjoy this sign more (the callback to painted signs, the original use of the building, etc.) but that ampersand and those “s”s really bug me

Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what’s going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise. “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” Annie Dillard

We sat in the park, but there was a war between us, A dead moon over us and all around us The shy and secret whisperings as of the tiny Woods animals which in the high forest gather Wind-fallen goods before the frost comes. “Many in the Darkness,” Thomas McGrath