Repost
Thing about being an aging hipster is how kids really have no fucking clue how easy it is.
Left
After this get gobbled up it’s a reminder of five years of time spent. Dreams unrealized, things unmade, yearning unactualized.
What’s next? What else is left? Especially when you’re no longer the target demo?
My generation have grown up. Buying houses — the ultimate user registration — having babies and starting to not get it.
What else is left?
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
I’ve been busy trying to build my own pirate canoe.
Mac OS X iTunes 10.6.3 (25) 64bit binary excerpts rendered as RGB images, woven into blankets.
The first two pieces in a new series of blankets dedicated to making visible the data structures that make up our everyday lives.
(via notational)
Checking your phone is the new grave. Keep using 90’s worldview in 2013, no wonder I’m having trouble living.
Hot Women In Tech Branch
the internet at its finest
I won’t stand for this, join my Branch fighting gross reverse discrimination, I am a man and should be allowed on every website, also why do we always have to pay for dates
We did this on Valleywag five years ago.
Back in the late 70’s NASA asked a committee chaired by Carl Sagan to throw together the original version of Tumblr onto a golden record to be stored away onto a tiny little satellite called Voyager bound for a mission to boldly go where no one has ever gone before.
For something this unique Sagan chose many pieces to reflect humanity, symbolic of our best, our most creative, most interesting. On the record are greetings in every major and minor tongue, explanations of our solar system, our home, our moon, our oceans and mountains, photographs of ourselves eating, licking, laughing, living and striving.
There are also music, notables like Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Peruvian flute music but included at the end is a song called “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground” written and performed by an American jazz singer nicknamed Blind Willie Johnson.
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Willie was born two generations after the end of slavery in an empty barren Texas town, taught himself to play guitar from his own home made cigar box guitar at the age of five then dedicated his life to spiritual music on street corners.
He got the nicknamed Blind Willie because as a child his step-mother, angry from getting caught going out with another man and beaten by his father, threw lye on Willie’s face.
But Willie kept playing his music, becoming well known for his thumb-picking and unique voice. Though being discovered on the streets by Columbia Records and recording this song at age 30 in addition to 30 other commercial recording studio records Willie remained poor throughout his life playing his music.
In old age Willie became a reverend and operated the House of Pray in the town of Beaumont, Texas. But one day his house burned to the ground. Having no where to go he stayed in the ruins of his home, slept on a wet bed during the summer heat and lived that way until contracting malarial fever, eventually dying alone in the fall. Dark was the night, cold was the ground.
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Somewhere, hard to determine where, though close to the edge of our solar system and far flung to the farthest reaches of a dark and cold space, maybe one day to be intercepted by intelligent and sentient lifeforms, a lonely satellite with a golden record on board is carrying with it the legacy of a man making a dent showing humanity at its worst. And I think at its most beautiful sadness.
