The good people of the world learned too late that all power is violence, too late to save themselves and the other ones too, but not too late for revenge.

the future is you can "borrow" an ebook from the library but you have to wait because they have a limited number of "copies" to lend and they're all out

Anything that works at all, works like shit. Anything that works perfectly does so for an instant, then flies apart.

children for war, hitler, erdogan 

Erdogan says, while holding the kid:
'the turkish flag is in his pocket, if he becomes a martyr, the flag inşallah will cover him. He is ready for anything'

#nationalism at its best...

...and there are many similiar examples.


There are days I have trouble getting into my writing groove, and this is one of them. Used to be, I'd get all angsty about it, but these days I just roll with it and take a little breather when it happens. I'd rather write fifty words a day and enjoy it than force out a thousand and hate every minute of it.

A brief thought: I think we need to take a long step back from "irony" culture.

There's a pattern I see repeatedly where people immersed in "irony" seem to not comprehend that other people actually believe what they're saying, because "irony" dictates that THEY don't believe anything they're saying. It's all a joke; it's just "for the lulz", to score laughs and Internet Points.

Being earnest is a completely foreign concept, and so they assume NOBODY is earnest.

So tell me again how giving the problem to a business that needs to pay it's managers to do powerpoint presentations, make a profit and pay dividends to it's share holders is going to be cheaper and more efficient than running it as publicly owned service. When, if it goes bust, the public have to bail it out because there's no alternative left.

#WeLoveOurNHS , don't destroy it. Schools, Railways, too.


I practice six hours a day. Him, on the other hand, I've never seen sit down and practice at all. He plays when he's drunk, or when he gets up from a nap, or to impress a girl, usually with just a little doodling around. I'm devoted absolutely to the guitar, but for him it's just an easy way to make money.

When I play, a deep, rich tone, acquired by all that practice, issues from my instrument. When he plays, his guitar speaks the searing truth in a voice with no bottom. He can't help it.


Every room, every gas station, every street, every sodium vapor lamp, every dumpster, every porch, every dinner table... everything looks the same as everything else, like a maze. Only the people can I tell apart, and only just a few, just enough that I can look around and say, "I recognize these faces, I must be in the right place."

one sentence autobiography 

You had to be there to understand, and I wasn't. 🤗


It's sort of like baseball— I don't know if you were ever in little league, but, at least when I was, we were deadly serious about it on the field. I can't say I've been more serious about anything as an adult than I was about baseball as a kid. But the moment the game was over we snapped back to being children, and then we all went out for pizza. So it's just like that except, when the game is over, at least a few kids are dead... and then the rest go out for pizza.

Don’t fucking let the liberals sanitize Ursula K Le Guin’s legacy. She was an anarchist. She opposed capitalism.

Don’t fucking let them

When viewed from the height of a man, Charlemagne, King of the Franks, King of the Lombards, and Emperor of the Romans was magnificent to behold in all his splendor. But, when viewed from the height of a child, all you could see was up his nose.


"Did you need more than one shot?", he asked. She shook her head no and buried her face deeper in his chest. "See now, that's good. She didn't feel any pain. You didn't hurt her— you saved her the pain of getting older." Reluctantly, she shook her head yes and went on weeping. To himself only he added, sarcastically, "as a matter of fact, you should do me next."

Being tired is not a badge of honor. It just means you're tired.


Below miles of snow and ice and earth there's me, happily alone and cozy and warm by the fire in my little cabin. I get up each morning and throw my pantry open to see what I've got, then spend the day turning it into what I want—a chocolate cake, beef stew, beans and rice…—then I eat and sit by the fire until I doze and dream the next day's pantry full. All I do is dream. It's heaven, or close, missing only one thing.


It's dark here, a dark so dark it wears the light as an adornment, a dark so full the shadows cast light to highlight their depth. Even on the sunniest summer day at noontime, the cars, the streets, the houses, the trees... they're all just as forms arising from the swirling of smoke billowing from a coal fire, images bubbling up behind a pair of closed eyelids.


They met while he was smuggling her and her two kids over the border. She was the most ugly woman he'd ever seen, but something about her—or something about him, in that moment—made him fall in love. She didn't have a place to stay, not really, so he invited her and hers to live with him, which she did, against her better judgement. Within the year they were married. They would have seven kids together. So, either he never found her all that ugly, or he learned in time how to see her.

Show more
Writing Exchange

The social network of the future: No ads, no corporate surveillance, ethical design, and decentralization! Own your data with Mastodon!