#story
Special edition: Restoring #biodiversity
source: https://squirrel-news.net/news/restoring-biodiversity/
In today’s special edition, we’re looking at new approaches and solutions intended to bring back lost species #worldwide – and at some amazing recent stories of successful conservation and rewilding.
#Ensoniq #ESQ-1 #Story - #JohnnyMorgan
A mini-doc telling the story of the early days of Ensoniq and the development of their first #synthesizer, the ESQ-1
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7a0UH04K1jo
#synth #synthétiseur
Why the Past 10 Years of American #Life Have Been Uniquely #Stupid
source: https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2022/05/social-media-democracy-trust-babel/629369/
#Babel is not a #story about tribalism. It’s a story about the #fragmentation of everything.
...
The #digital #revolution has shattered that mirror, and now the public inhabits those broken pieces of glass. So the public isn’t one thing; it’s highly fragmented, and it’s basically mutually hostile. It’s mostly people yelling at each other and living in bubbles of one sort or another.
...
“Those who express sympathy for the views of opposing groups may experience backlash from their own cohort.” In other words, political #extremists don’t just shoot darts at their enemies; they spend a lot of their ammunition targeting dissenters or nuanced thinkers on their own team. In this way, #social #media makes a political #system based on #compromise grind to a halt.
#politics #society #problem #filterbubble #extremism #altRight #internet #journalism #press #future #discussion #ethics #moral #democracy
Burning Blue
Momma was most always purple, but the night she died, she was strawberry drifting into shamrock. Your true
color comes back after you’re buried.
Jaco Pastorius Story with Bob Mover
Bob talks about how he met the Jazz Bassist Jaco Pastorius. The unheard story of the member of Weather Report, one of the most successful Jazz Fusion bands from 1976-1981. Here you'll get to hear a firsthand account of Jaco's personality and attitude toward playing Bass and Jazz as well as how he was as a bandmate and a friend. Hear it only at Bob Mover Academy.
'No Way To Prevent This'
'No Way To Prevent This,' Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens is the title of a series of satirical articles from The Onion about the frequency of mass shootings in the United States and the lack of action taken in the aftermath of those shootings.
Each article is about 200 words long, detailing the location of the shooting and the number of victims but otherwise remaining essentially the same. A fictitious resident — usually of a state in which the shooting did not take place — is quoted as saying that the shooting was "a terrible tragedy", but "there's nothing anyone can do to stop them". The article ends by pointing out that the United States is the "only economically advanced nation in the world where roughly two mass shootings have occurred every month for the past eight years" and that Americans view themselves and the situation as "helpless".
In case, like me, you may also need a reminder...
It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: “And this, too, shall pass away.” How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!’
~ An Address by Abraham Lincoln Before the Wisconsin State Agricultural Society, September 30, 1859
#Be #Here #Now #awareness #gratitude #consolation #wisdom #legend #story
To see more context, visit https://medium.com/learning-for-life/this-too-shall-pass-tracing-an-ancient-jewish-folktale-6f5a1aaa0a0e
Star Trek #Discovery Kind of Forgot There Were No Replicators in the 23rd Century
watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYYgR6PoKT0
#science #problem #story #StarTrek #Replicator #food #invention #fail #future #Inconsistency #space
(One of those texts that I sometimes write)
Oh! I love little, blue flowers. Even the garden infesting all too free growing periwinkle, whose name make me think of useless men. My wife has this earthbound connection to that old farming culture, so I let her do the killing and weeding when she once in a while has rented some land in the outskirts of the city.
But I love weed and disorderliness. From the age of seven I lived next to a forest - it started right where the garden ended. I was unconsciously gloating when wood garlic and blackberry invaded the civilised efforts of my parents. Especially I loved the dangerous blackberry! Thorny mayhem that left us bloodied when we were playing. Seldom the berries were sweet, one was bitter, one was sour, and many of them had a strange, bland combination of it all, only coming together in jam. The beech trees, four time or more the height of our single family home, the uncontrollable hazelnut scrub. HAHA! I loved the frogs and ants that invaded the houses. Once my brother and I removed all the stones from my grandmother's fire pit to uncover the mysteries of ant life... a meticulous gardener and a Leninist - she almost killed us. I loved those hippie gardens of my childhood where you could get lost in the grass - were the family goat suddenly jumped out of nowhere, scared of our loud games - where you could see snails mate.
The polite garden owners call such hippie gardens, natural ground in Denmark, with a restrained neutral expression. But I know that they disapprove.
Still I have some sort of understanding - I know that civilisation is just something I enjoy and am given. I cannot earn money, tidy up things or do gardening. I am a sailor, a cave painter and a tramp.
A periwinkle.
Luckily my wife loves me... and has this earthbound connection to that old farming culture.
#story #freewrite #writing #gardening #blackberry #forest #childhood
Walking in France
In the Autobiography of Arthur Ransome (pp 125-126) I read this today and wanted very much to share it. I walked and travelled the length of France in 1983 and Ransome's words brought back memories of my time there. Ransome was there in 1907 and of course by 1983 it was a very different country and our experiences were very different, but the freedom and joy of meeting people has not, can never change unless it is taken completely away.
Ransome is a soulmate for me. I share his love of people and of stories. His autobiography keeps reminding me of the wonderful experiences I've had in my relatively limited travels. I hope you will like the fun, and the adventure of this little snippet of his story.
I was troubled at that time with violent headaches, for which I found walking the best though a painful cure. I used to set out from my studio half-blind with pain and, stumbling resolutely on, would find the pain lessening and at last gone altogether. One day with one of these headaches I set out from the Rue Campagne Première and walked out by the Lion de Belfort to the fortifications, when, though I found my headache slackening, the fine spring evening made me unwilling to turn back. I slept the night at Longjumeau, bought a toothbrush and, next day's weather being even more inviting, walked on and on, day after day, by Ètampes, Angerville, Artenay, and so to Orlèans, Blois and the country of the Loire, sleeping for the night in little roadside inns where a bush hung over the door advertised shelter and food 'for men and beasts' as in the distant past. On these roads I learned to drink wine straight from the goatskin. The roadmenders and others on their way to work, with a small handcart carrying their tools, were never in a hurry, and always wished to talk. They would stoop when they met anybody and would be much offended if he were unwilling to stop also. Then from the handcart they would lift the goatskin bloated with red wine of the country, and hold it, pinching the spout at the level of my nose. I had to open my mouth, when they would relax their grip and a powerful jet of whine would squirt to the back of my throat. The trick of this drinking is to swallow and keep on swallowing with open mouth. To close the mouth, if only for a second, is to invite disaster.
Two or three days out from Paris I sent a note to the concierge at Campagne Première, telling her to stop delivery of my milk and bread until I should return. I bought a knapsack of sorts in Orlèans, a clean shirt and a cheap six-holed whistle-pipe, as I had left my own behind. The whistle-pipe was presently useful. I caught up on the road with a party of travelling showmen, their wives, their children and three light-coloured bears. We got on very well together and slept that night, bears and all, in a barn. They sang, asked me to sing and hen I pulled out my whistle-pipe instead, proposed that we should continue our travels together. That did not last for long, for I could not dawdle at the pace that suited the bears and their owners. But I was with them long enough to enjoy methods of dealing with a by-law that forbade their staging a performance in a village. They seemed to know beforehand whether such a by-law was in force. If it was, they would call a halt some little way outside the village. They would refresh themselves, give the bears a loaf or two of bread, and take breath before action. Then they would enter the village at high speed and, immediately, begin their forbidden performance. Instantly, an indignant shirt-sleeved Frenchman, working in his garden, would shout to them to get out as quickly as possible. 'Who orders that?' 'I, the Commissaire!' 'That's a fine story. A beautiful illage like this and a little runt like you pretending to be its commissaire! You don't take us in that way. Where's your uniform?' Th commissaire would soon be screaming with rage, and the villagers delightedly listening to the bear-leader telling him things about himself that they would not have dared even to whisper. The bear-leader would flatly refuse to believe that the commissaire was anything but an imposter. Finally the commissaire would dash into his cottage, and, a moment later, spitting with rage, would continue the duel from his bedroom window, while hauling on his uniform trousers. Then he would come down. The bear-leader would appear dumbfounded at the sight of the uniform and would instantly march his troupe out of the village. The whole population of the village, delighted with what they had heard, would march out with them. And the bear-leaders, once outside the commissaire's jurisdiction, would begin their performance to a crowd of grateful spectators whose centimes rewarded the cheeking of the village cmmissaire rather than anything out of the way in the tricks of the bears.
#story #stories #biography #autobiography #ArthurRansome #Ransome #writing
The Elite #Hackers of the #FSB
Source: https://interaktiv.br.de/elite-hacker-fsb/en/index.html
For almost two decades, hackers with Snake have been forcing their way into #government networks. They are considered one of the most dangerous #hacker groups in the world. Who they work for, though, has always been a matter of pure speculation.
#hack #story #russia #news #Turla #Uroburos #Snake #intelligence #internet #security
He Spent 25 Years #Infiltrating #Nazis, the #Klan, and Biker #Gangs
source: https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/fbi-infiltrator-nazis-kkk-biker-gangs-1280830/
“The shit I saw, I’m never gonna unsee.”
#FBI #police #USA #crime #infiltration #undercover #news #story #extremism #life #kkk
