Changeling of the Wild Atlantic. Gaillimh. Free roaming factchecker/OSINT researcher. RU/EN/🇸🇪 Solo hiker. Struggling to learn Gaeilge. Dysgraphic so sorry for all my misspellings.
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MR NOBODY AGAINST PUTIN!!!!
Hey, mastodon, reality check request:
Imagine you’re discussing something. Your opponent makes a claim using what you suspect is a buzzword.
You challenge them to define the meaning. They reply with a screenshot of Google AI answering the prompt “define [buzzword]”
Your reaction?
I just can’t believe the level of delulu admiration some Irish lefties have for Putin’s Russia.
I was talking with a Sinn Féin guy about GLUAS in #Galway. He asks where I’m from. When I say I’m from Russia, he goes, “Oh surely, you’d build this project in six months.”
For fuck’s sake. Infrastructure projects in Ru take years, they’re built like shit, and millions are stolen along the way. Children’s Hospital? That’s literally your normal Russian infrastructure project.
I’m stumbling inside myself in the dark trying to find - to feel - for a new weapon of chance. I hope it turns out to be something useful.
Happy birthday to me.
3/3
This time of year I find myself in the same adulting dilemma as usual: that I need to invest a lot of resources in the things I’d rather never have to deal with, but it’s not up to me to decide. And it’s especially hard to scramble for momentum in this.
Do I feel old? No.
Do I feel something in the lines of the tears‑in‑the‑rain monologue? Yes, sometimes, when talking to locals.
Do I feel broken? Yes, aren’t we all?
2/3
This day I stitch myself to the reality.
To the old masts, to the screams of the seagulls, to the tender cherry blossoms that are shyly waking up on the branches.
Each year chews through me as I chew through it. I started seeing importance in small everyday victories, although I feel I’m stuck on the greater scale of things and I can’t find the momentum to break free and move forward. Maybe it’s time to accept that there is no momentum, no wave to carry yourself, that I’m on my own.
1/3
…so, you move from the mega‑city to the suburbia of a town with a population of less than 100 thousand. With all the disadvantages that living in a small city imposes on you…
And then, one night, you go out to the backyard to fetch a log for the fireplace. And there is the sky. High sky, and it’s GLARING AT YOU with all its stars.
And here you are, in your pjs, piece of firewood in hand, looking up, and there it is STARING.
I don’t want to live in a megacity ever again. Never.
