Hungry wolves in sheep drag. (337)
Sunny today. Our high was 93F, with a heat index of 100F.
And fuck I am exhausted. I was sick all evening, and at 1:30 a.m., after an hour's sleep, I got up and wrote another 1,020 words on "Black Waters (Murder Ballad No. 14). It's a fucked up story. I mean, I think it's probably good, but being written like this, in insomnia and illness late at night and in the predawn morning, when I'm all but sleep typing, it's making for something strange. Anyway, after writing, I went back to bed about four and slept until 7:30 this morning.
Watching trailer's for Nolan's destined to be brilliant Oppenheimer, I wish I could send a message back somehow to JRO and tell him to go easy on himself, all that quoting of the Bhagavad Gita. I would say, it's not the bomb that got us, it was social media and AI. Sure, nunclear bombs figured in there somewhere, but in the end they were a bit player.
This morning I posted the following to Twitter: I hate to leave Twitter. I've been here since 2009. But the environment has grown increasingly toxic, plus...Elon Musk. I'll be on Facebook, friends only, as Caitlín Rebekah Kiernan. If I go, find me. It's not for sure I'm leaving, but probably. Definitely probably. With the followup, Why Facebook? I've been there even longer than I"ve been on Twitter, and I'm too old to go screwing around with a new social media platform.
Then on Facebook restated, I seem to have begun my extraction from Twitter (where I have been since 2009), and I know some folks are following me, so welcome new folks. I'll try to make this space more than just a mirror of my LJ, adding the sort of content I feature of Twitter. I simply cannot no longer endure the toxicity of Twitter. Lots of people are leaving for exotic new ports of call, but me, I am tool old and set in my ways to learn a novel social media platform at this late date.
It will not be an overnight thing. It will likely take a week or two before I vanish completely from Twitter.
Please visit the shop. Please buy something.
Later,
Aunt Beast
3:25 p.m.
And fuck I am exhausted. I was sick all evening, and at 1:30 a.m., after an hour's sleep, I got up and wrote another 1,020 words on "Black Waters (Murder Ballad No. 14). It's a fucked up story. I mean, I think it's probably good, but being written like this, in insomnia and illness late at night and in the predawn morning, when I'm all but sleep typing, it's making for something strange. Anyway, after writing, I went back to bed about four and slept until 7:30 this morning.
Watching trailer's for Nolan's destined to be brilliant Oppenheimer, I wish I could send a message back somehow to JRO and tell him to go easy on himself, all that quoting of the Bhagavad Gita. I would say, it's not the bomb that got us, it was social media and AI. Sure, nunclear bombs figured in there somewhere, but in the end they were a bit player.
This morning I posted the following to Twitter: I hate to leave Twitter. I've been here since 2009. But the environment has grown increasingly toxic, plus...Elon Musk. I'll be on Facebook, friends only, as Caitlín Rebekah Kiernan. If I go, find me. It's not for sure I'm leaving, but probably. Definitely probably. With the followup, Why Facebook? I've been there even longer than I"ve been on Twitter, and I'm too old to go screwing around with a new social media platform.
Then on Facebook restated, I seem to have begun my extraction from Twitter (where I have been since 2009), and I know some folks are following me, so welcome new folks. I'll try to make this space more than just a mirror of my LJ, adding the sort of content I feature of Twitter. I simply cannot no longer endure the toxicity of Twitter. Lots of people are leaving for exotic new ports of call, but me, I am tool old and set in my ways to learn a novel social media platform at this late date.
It will not be an overnight thing. It will likely take a week or two before I vanish completely from Twitter.
Please visit the shop. Please buy something.
Later,
Aunt Beast
3:25 p.m.