Posts

It makes me sad

When things get complicated without reason. Complexity without purpose is the bane of my existence.
I've found it insanely easy to just live in the moment. Only to be surprised when I discover it doesn't come the same way for others.
Maybe I'm just good at tricking myself? But what if I'm not?

Git: Pull changes from the origin of a fork

$ git checkout master
$ git pull https://github.com/origin/repository master

Henry Rollins on defining success

Over at The Creative Independent.

That hesitation, that’s what holds a lot of people back. That’s why I never say, “I’m a writer,” because I don’t want to shoulder that. I just want to do some writing. “What would a writer do in this situation?” I don’t know, man. Ask one. And don’t tell me what he said, I’m busy.

Ma seisan toomemäel

...Ja kuulan kuidas raekoja kellad mängivad "Põhjamaad". Iga hetk pauside vaikust on kullane. Ja iga mu mure — kaob.

"You May Want to Marry My Husband" by Amy Krouse Rosenthal

Over at the New York Times.
I have been trying to write this for a while, but the morphine and lack of juicy cheeseburgers have drained my energy and interfered with whatever prose prowess remains.

Still, I have to stick with it, because I’m facing a deadline, in this case, a pressing one. I need to say this (and say it right) while I have a) your attention, and b) a pulse.

Solitude

The older I get, the more clearly I see how I need time to recharge batteries by myself.
I enjoy company at work. Mates at workouts. Dancing. But at the end of the day, I need some space to myself.
It may be that I haven't found someone with whom I can feel as at ease with. Maybe.
But, for now, I enjoy my batteries. In common interpretation, solitude often carries a somewhat negative hint with it — I've always found that odd.

"Run… Run, you clever boy — and remember."

It's odd, slightly weird, even. How someone can get right under your skin, just like that.
Though I do suppose it's a bit akin to the snow — not to say just, but still a reflection of what echoes inside of me.
How often in life does it happen to ever take second chances. So why am I still scared?