TikTok sometimes really does surface absolute gems, and I don’t just mean the infinite cat and pupper videos. Found via the algorithm, Colin Vearncombe’s acoustic version of Wonderful Life: https://youtu.be/AqXzRTT0csI
There’s something very specifically Septembery about walking to the local post office in the driving rain.
It’s weird that it even fits, who knows how many other things I can no longer see that I’ve put there before it. Sun lotion from 2010. That pair of dedicated Amazon-box-opening scissors I bought a year or two ago.
Knowingly re-entering the transition-space between ‘I’ll just set this on the banister so I remember to take it upstairs’ and acquiring a cool new invisible banister ornament.
It’s basically Orktober, right? The season arrives earlier and earlier…
What on earth is the link here? Smuggling? https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/02/15/upshot/british-irish-dialect-quiz.html
The unique zen of debugging a performance issue that I apparently introduced, finding a workaround that seemed to correct it, then only later realising the true issue pre-existed my original change and neither it nor my fix could ever actually have impacted anything at all.
A metaphor of some kind there.
I now need a word for the sense of bone-deep disappointment that I will never be able to read the continuing fictional adventures of this entirely non-fictional white-suited old man. https://assemblag.es/@hugo/113142203879640471
Uh oh, my Phrozen Sonic Mini suddenly seems to think Z0 is somewhere below the crust of the earth, and won’t let me re-level until it gets there.
The cool wind in warm sun days arrive. I have attacked some weeds in celebration.
Cannot second this recommendation from @rollleafd strongly enough if you’re a hobbyist of A Certain Vintage and want to just soak in the nostalgia of nineties-era Games Workshop before it became what it is today, direct from the brains that built it. https://warhammer.social/@rollleafd/113063302042370623
They seem to be more heavily tied to the past too, when they come. If I’m trying to find a thing, it’s in my mum’s old house. If I’m trying to explain a thing, it’s to friends I haven’t seen since school. Some deep part of the brain calcified at puberty.
There must already be a name for the very intense and exhausting dreams that come with the change in light and temperature at the turn of a season?
Cool and rainy, slowly darkening evenings. Looks like we’re already at that part of the year where I have to keep my delight at the change in seasons a secret.
Every time Congregation by Low comes up on the playlist I feel the urge to rewatch Devs.
Technically I wrote said logic, but still.
It came up so often I started to refer to it as ‘Stegometrics’.
“If you want the legs of a Stegosaurus, you have to train like a Stegosaurus” «< This is a thought that sleeping-me thought so hilarious that it recurred in every dream fragment I can remember through the night.
Still just a garage roof, Mr Gull. He squints at me with inhuman rage.
The gulls. The gulls have returned with the rain. Random bits of the house knocked on and bullied in case they’re maybe food now.