#quotes

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"I know that many men and even women are afraid and angry when women do speak, because in this barbaric society, when women speak truly they speak subversively - they can't help it: if you're underneath, if you're kept down, you break out, you subvert. We are volcanoes. When we women offer our experience as our truth, as human truth, all the maps change. There are new mountains.

That's what I want - to hear you erupting. You young Mount St. Helenses who don't know the power in you - I want to hear you. I want to listen to you talking to each other and to us all: whether you're writing an article or a poem or a letter or teaching a class or talking with friends or reading a novel or making a speech or proposing a law or giving a judgement or singing the baby to …

One of the problems has to do with the speed of light and the difficulties involved in trying to exceed it. You can't. Nothing travels faster than the speed of light with the possible exception of bad news, which obeys its own special laws.

I'm so tired. People, I am not interested in reading *blogs* generated with claude, gemini or chatgpt. No, not even ones proofread by AI. Do it yourself. I do not wish to even accidentally click on "one-shotted" dummy projects. Don't show me your AI-generated analysis of anything. Above all, I do not wish to see images/artwork someone prompt created.

I value real content, with all its good and bad quirks, from actual human beings.

Somebody please normalize auto-tagging of AI generated content across all formats - text, images and code so I can blanket ban them from my personal computer.

This is a plead for help I never thought I'll have to make.

Mark Z. Danielewski: House of Leaves (Hardcover, 2006, Pantheon)

A young family moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover …

I'd been in the throes of looking for an apartment after a little difficulty with a landlord who woke up one morning convinced he was Charles de Gaulle. I was so stunned by this announcement that before I could think twice I'd already told him how in my humble estimation he did not at all resemble an airport though the thought of a 757 landing on him was not at all disagreeable. I was promptly evicted. I could have put up a fight but the place was a nuthouse anyway and I was glad to leave. As it turned out Chuckie de Gaulle burnt the place to the ground a week later. Told the police a 757 had crashed into it.

House of Leaves by 

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