Commemorative plaque

Change happens at a glacial pace. But speed has nothing to do with hope. And hope is an unfamiliar feeling to me.

A little under 12 months ago I took a wildcard chance, and I now have to opportunity to relive the past 25 years all over again… and do everything wrong, since I got it right the first time around. As I’ve said once before, if I want to fix my life, I need to ruin it first.

To me dreams are just goals I haven’t worked on achieving yet, or I have accepted as unattainable. So now that I have achieved everything I intended to, the list is empty. Maybe that part of me that never believed in dreams has, finally, died. It’s time to renegotiate my future and prepare a new list, one that may be a little more ephemeral than the previous.

Jump headfirst into the deepest waters. In the beginning it’s hard to stay afloat but then I learn to calm down; to tame the panic; to swim – until I eventually reach the other shore. Then the water is no longer scary to me.

For the 26th time.

What Did I Accomplish Today?

【墨田区】只今、リニューアル工事中。東京ソラマチ2階フードマルシェの現状は…。

http://web.brid.gy/r/https://sumida.goguynet.jp/2026/06/12/foodmarche20260611/

Duran Duran - Paper Gods

I share it again with love:

https://gnulinux.studio/app/#/playlist/G8u06fUHtV6PtfJEkCRDQa/show

User: pubglug
Pass: musicisawesome

It's legit solid top to bottom.

I had vinyl of Rio as a kid ... this album tho, it is so consistent and rhythmic.

#music #postpunk #newwave #renewal #music #duranduran #navidrome #jam #sysadmin #selfhosted #selfhost

@bobdobberson 👀 lol

The First Green Thorn

I returned
expecting only stone.

The same arch.
The same hollow.
The same bouquet
browned at the edges
like a prayer
left too long
in the weather.

I had learned
the discipline of kneeling.

I had learned
how to make peace
with the wrong place.

There is a strange holiness
in returning
to what cannot answer.

There is a strange faith
in speaking
to silence
until silence becomes
less empty.

But this morning,
at the foot of the cenotaph,
where the rain had gathered
in the crack
between two stones,

something had risen.

Not a flower.

Not yet.

Only a thorned green stem,
small enough
to be missed
by anyone
who came looking
for a miracle.

It leaned toward the light
with the awkward courage
of a thing
that had not been told
it was impossible.

I almost wept
from fear.

Grief I knew.
Absence I knew.
The old wound
had become a room
I could enter
without striking a match.

But life—
life arriving
without permission,
life answering
when I had stopped
asking,
life wearing thorns
before blossoms—

this was a more terrible mercy.

For if something grows here,
then I must change.

If the stone has cracked,
then I cannot spend forever
calling it final.

If roots have found me,
if green has entered
the vocabulary of my mourning,
then perhaps I have been wrong
about the dead.

Perhaps not all that is buried
is finished.

Perhaps not all that is empty
is abandoned.

Perhaps the former self
does not return
as the boy who believed,
but as the wound
that has learned
to shelter a seed.

I touched the stem
and blood rose
from my finger.

So this, too,
is resurrection:

not the absence of pain,
but pain made porous
to light.

Not the grave undone
all at once,
but a thorn
breaking through stone,

a small green alphabet
beginning again

where the epitaph
ran out of words.

The Cenotaph Triad

The Cenotaph

The Roots Beneath the Stone

The First Green Thorn