STREET ART & SPRAY PAINT
I set down this account not because I expect to be believed, but because the alternative — to carry it alone — has become a weight I can no longer bear. The man I shall call the Engineer would have understood. He always said that the hardest part of any discovery was not the finding but the telling, and that the telling was harder still when the discovery concerned the nature of time itself.
Red of Titian, red of blood and throne
mercury sulfide crushed from cinnabar stone
prisoners in Almadén, digging their own grave
so that a Cardinal’s robe on canvas could be saved
toxic dust in lungs, a quarter never returned
beauty for the church, while the miners burned
Rubens mixed it thick, Shinto gates ablaze
Chinese seal paste pressed in ancient days
and now centuries later it darkens toward black
a slow photochemical rot, no turning back
I built a container runtime. Not a wrapper around runc, not a shim that delegates to someone else’s code — an actual OCI runtime that uses fork, unshare, pivot_root, and mount directly. It’s called ironbox, and it’s on crates.io.
Abyss open, fallen angel cast away
chained, pixelated daydreams display
sulfric inferno, platonic heat burning
fresh clean air now just a yearning
squashy gaming chair, a tower of London rack
river styx float the Jira corpses water black
gun revolving, each bullet, message of slack
monday a dreary hell, to Red Hat i am back
I wanted a simple way to browse classical music from the terminal. The OpenOpus API is free, doesn’t require a key, and has solid metadata on composers and works. So I built a small Rust CLI called Opus Explorer to search composers, list their works, get random suggestions, and keep a local listening log.
The void, the infimisimatly small and large nothingness.
perhaps a paradise for Mephistopheles.
I descended further and further.
No Virgil by my side,
the darkness was a pyramid, my eyes the pharoh.
In this vast silence I contemplated my life.
What had been and what never was.
a flatulation broke the silence,
followed by a squeaky “Sorry”
from a voice that was not my own…
light blue, pink colours sun waves goodbye
on a life lived, deep truths mixed with lie
rope hanging, well knotted the circle noose
feet dangling, breath fled, soul towards Zeus
field of flowers, warm smiles and butterflies
now corpse upon ground, ravens eating thy eyes
reaper shorn true, giving a cold eternal embrace
River Styx carried by Charon to thee shadowy place
I’ve been building SmartCDN built entirely on Cloudflare Workers. It is an interesting project to learn edge computing and turned into something not useful. Here’s what it does, what I learned, and the issues I ran into.
Ackchyually… that is not a Vizagapatam piece, note the deeply carved floral ebony patterns that give it away as a Ceylonese piece…
Ahh foooool, that linear grain and absence of Schreger lines give the piece an Ivory immitation pale and noncreamy to the real thing…
Οἰνοβαρές, κυνὸς ὄμματ’ ἔχων, κραδίην δ’ ἐλάφοιο….. the brown and amber mottling is too high contrast for real tortoiseshell, it must have a more fluid, chaotic blend of colors.
A post about delicable delicous desires to be done in 2026.