Did you know that the horizon in a dark hour is still the same as in a brighter hour Happy new year.
Day 2473, the same.
aphorism, Daily picture, PoetryMonth: December 2022
Day 2472, hard to see.
aphorism, Daily picture, Poetry
Without some scars on your soul the outside that defines you is hard to see
Day 2471, realize.
Daily picture, Poetry
You might be wondering why I locked myself up well maybe you should come closer to realize
Day 2470, outside.
Daily picture, Poetry
On this grey day I took outside my colorful jacket and enjoyed the difference
Day 2469,
Daily picture, Poetry
I don't know about you but I can see beauty in almost everything and that's a problem
Day 2468, old paint.
Poetry
This is what’s left of the painting after it was burned and I cleaned it. What is left sits too deep in the wood fibers; I can’t remove it without damaging the wood too much. Underneath, you can see a picture of this altarpiece from before and just after the fire.
Day 2467, naturally bored.
Daily picture
I saw this scene when I walked into the pet store the day before yesterday to buy a present for my two birds. I guess they do this in nature too, lying there both bored, sleepy and peaceful at the same time. You would almost think we have shared ancestors…
Day 2466, puzzle.
Daily picture
The days are getting longer again, so we can finish our greenhouse pretty soon. The materials we use are all old, found, and forgotten, but that’s what we like about it. Just like in life, I didn’t make a plan and just started building and solving problems as they come along.
Day 2465, wanderer.
Daily picture
Friedrich Nietzsche
Human, all too human II
The wanderer and his shadow
297 Do not wish to see prematurely. -As long as we are experiencing something, we must give ourselves over to the experience and close our eyes, and thus, while still in it, not make ourselves already the observer of it. That would, of course, disturb our good digestion of the experience; instead of a bit of wisdom, we would take away a bit of indigestion.
Day 2464, cement.
Daily picture, Poetry
Don't stack all your experiences on top of each other if you use it as a defensive wall it will crumble if you lean against it put some effort into it like cement
Day 2463, certainty.
Daily picture, Poetry
The advantage of hanging by a thread I would say the view of where you are going
Day 2462, dormant.
Daily picture, Poetry
Bundled together the road markings lie dormant waiting to be placed when winter is in sight dormant go we through life our thoughts bundled together though winter is still here we rather feel our way through the next corner around that ravine
Day 2461, understand.
Daily picture
Intel Core i7-920 @4Ghz
ASUS P6T Deluxe V2 DDR3 Socket 1366 Intel X58 Motherboard
OCZ Vertex Series SATAII 2.5″ SSD 30GB (2 stk in raid)
Sapphire Radeon HD 4870X2 2GB GDDR5
Noctua NH-U12P SE1366 CPU cooler
Tagan TG900-BZ900W, Pipe Rock, Modular
Ram unknown, 3x4GB DDR3
For everything in life, some people understand what it means what you say or, in this case, what I have written above here, and others don’t. It’s not a judgment call, just a call to realize that there is much we don’t understand what is clear to others. For the people that understand, this computer was pretty cool in 2009, and I could run Crisis in all its glory…just.
Day 2460, itch.
Daily picture, Poetry
I still have a place for you where we were connected as a reminder maybe or maybe what's left is hard to reach to cut out
Day 2459, I don’t know if I make it to the end.
Daily picture
Let’s say that you start working when you are eighteen and stop working when you are seventy; then, you have fifty-two years of work ahead or past you, or you are somewhere in between. Fifty-two years times fifty-two weeks is two thousand seven hundred and four weeks of work in an average lifetime. Where I live, we all have roughly five weeks of vacation, so in fifty-two years, that is two-hundred sixty weeks of vacation. If you take that of two thousand seven hundred and four weeks, you end up with two thousand four hundred forty-four weeks of work. Two thousand four hundred forty-four weeks of work times seven days is seventeen thousand one hundred and eight days. Divide seventeen thousand one hundred and eight by seven and multiply that by five; you then have twelve thousand two hundred and twenty days of actual work, without the two days weekend. Well, work… we are also sometimes sick, and though I couldn’t find good statistics for a worldwide average number, I will use five days each year, so that is two-hundred sixty days in fifty-two years of working. So twelve thousand two hundred and twenty days minus two-hundred sixty is eleven thousand nine hundred and sixty days of work. We don’t work twenty-four hours in a day but eight (to make it easy, for many years, I have worked seven and a half hours a day). So eleven thousand nine hundred and sixty days times eight hours is ninety-five thousand six hundred and eighty hours or five million seven hundred forty thousand and eight hundred minutes as in three hundred forty-four million four hundred and forty-eight thousand seconds. During that time, my heart has beaten four hundred thirty million and five hundred sixty thousand times, and my body made three trillion nine hundred eighty-six billion six hundred sixty-six million six hundred sixty-six thousand six hundred sixty-six and six hundred sixty-seven thousandths red blood cells, and not to mention the fifteen billion nine hundred forty-six million six hundred sixty-six thousand six hundred sixty-six and sixty-six thousand six hundred sixty-seven hundred-thousandths epidermal skin cells.
Day 2458, yes.
Daily picture
Friedrich Nietzsche
The Gay Science
Book one
45 Epicurus. Yes, I am proud to experience Epicurus’ character in a way unlike perhaps anyone else and to enjoy, in everything I hear and read of him, the happiness of the afternoon of antiquity: I see his eye gaze at a wide whitish sea, across shoreline rocks bathed in the sun, as large and small creatures play in its light, secure and calm like the light and his eye itself. Only someone who is continually suffering could invent such happiness – the happiness of an eye before which the sea of existence has grown still and which now cannot get enough of seeing the surface and this colourful, tender, quivering skin of the sea: never before has voluptuousness been so modest.
Nochrisis 