Seeing you through the storm
Haints, Hollers, and Hoodoo
A dark spirit lives on your porch,” the medium told me. Excuse me? Prickles of dread and fear blossomed in my chest. What the hell am I supposed to do about that? I was only beginning my journey in…
chorus & hero
When it came it came with eyes We could not close our eyes to escape its gaze When it came it came with eyes that looked through our lids That looked through our eyes its eyes Looked below the hair on our heads that did or did not blow In the wind branching out of our brains the sky Gathered in a cave where each one of us says I and I echoes It came and gazed into us until it found itself staring back When he returned from the underworld he thought his eyes Were the same eyes he opened to the shades His eyes dilated in the dark until he could see in the dark The darkness opened in his head until his head could not contain it He did not know night followed him when he returned He could not see behind him his children Stared at him with his own eyes when he came home to see them He did not know he was the danger they were in the gods Put vision in his eyes he did not think he could not See the difference long ago he notched the arrows he shot Sometimes we see with our ears the blood on hero’s hands Sometimes the hero walks out from his house with his hands held out As if to ask us who cannot help but see If these blood-covered hands are mine are these hands mine It’s hard to see in the night flowing out behind the hero’s head If these hands are mine if these hands are Mine to close mine to turn palms up mine to bring close to my own head To cover our eyes with the same hands we do not want to see Ourselves looking at our hands Children look through the mirrors their parents gave them for eyes Tears come out the mirrors when they cry The mirrors widen in the dark but in the dark show less The mirrors widen in fear a little door in the mirror opens wider We who gave birth to them live in a cave in their heads A cave in which we watch ourselves as they hide Behind a column or behind their mother’s robes our children’s eyes When a force moves through us When our arms act because our minds command them When our mind obeys our eyes but our eyes Are not our own eyes when we see as we are forced to see When the command comes from the gods hiding inside the eye Replacing our eyes with a vision We do not say I we say we we say we did this we did This act and when it’s worse when it’s my hands When these hands are mine we don’t say we We say it we say it came upon me a force none could resist Soul or breath god or madness it acted in me It came and when it came it came with eyes
Everything is about to “go dark”
I’m coming down from spending a few days at Usenix Security, right here in my hometown of Baltimore. This means that my days have been taken up with two kinds of conversation: first, explaini…
A Canticle to the Waterbirds
Clack your beaks you cormorants and kittiwakes,North on those rock-croppings finger-jutted into the rough Pacific surge;You migratory terns and pipers who leave but the temporal clawtrack written on sandbars there of your presence;Grebes and pelicans; you comber-picking scoters and you shorelong gulls;All you keepers of the coastline north of here to the Mendocino beaches;All you beyond upon the cliff-face thwarting the surf at Hecate Head;Hovering the under-surge where the cold Columbia grapples at the bar;North yet to the Sound, whose islands float like a sown flurry of chips upon the sea;Break wide your harsh and salt-encrusted beaks unmade for songAnd say a praise up to the Lord.And you freshwater egrets east in the flooded marshlands skirting the sea-level rivers, white one-legged watchers of shallows;Broad-headed kingfishers minnow-hunting from willow stems on meandering valley sloughs;You too, you herons, blue and supple-throated, stately, taking the air majestical in the sun-flooded San Joaquin,Grading down on your belted wings from the upper lights of sunset,Mating over the willow clumps or where the flatwater rice fields shimmer;You killdeer, high night-criers, far in the moon-suffusion sky;Bitterns, sand-waders, all shore-walkers, all roost-keepers,Populates of the ‘dobe cliffs of the Sacramento;Open your water-dartling beaks,And make a praise up to the Lord.For you hold the heart of His mighty fastnesses,And shape the life of His indeterminate realms.You are everywhere on the lonesome shores of His wide creation.You keep seclusion where no man may go, giving Him praise;Nor may a woman come to lift like your cleaving flight her clear contralto songTo honor the spindrift gifts of His soft abundance.You sanctify His hermitage rocks where no holy priest may kneel to adore, nor holy nun assist;And where His true communion-keepers are not enabled to enter.And well may you say His praises, birds, for your waysAre verved with the secret skills of His inclinations,And your habits plaited and rare with the subdued elaboration of His intricate craft;Your days intent with the direct astuteness needful for His outworking,And your nights alive with the dense repose of His infinite sleep.You are His secretive charges and you serve His secretive ends,In His clouded, mist-conditioned stations, in His murk,Obscure in your matted nestings, immured in His limitless ranges.He makes you penetrate through dark interstitial joinings of His thicketed kingdoms,And keep your concourse in the deeps of His shadowed world.Your ways are mild but earnest, your manners grave,Your customs carefully schooled to the note of His serious mien.You hold the prime condition of His clean creating,And the swift compliance with which you serve His minor meansSpeaks of the constancy with which you hold Him.For what is your high flight forever going home to your first beginnings,But such a testament to your devotion?You hold His outstretched world beneath your wings, and mount upon His storms,And keep your sheer wind-lidded sight upon the vast perspectives of His mazy latitudes.But mostly it is your way you bear existence wholly within the context of His utter will and are untroubled.Day upon day you do not reckon, nor scrutinize tomorrow, nor multiply the nightfalls with a rash concern,But rather assume each instant as warrant sufficient of His final seal.Wholly in Providence you spring, and when you die you look on death in clarity unflinched,Go down, a clutch of feather ragged upon the brush;Or drop on water where you briefly lived, found food,And now yourselves made food for His deep current-keeping fish, and then are gone:Is left but the pinion-feather spinning a bit on the uproilWhere lately the dorsal cut clear air.You leave a silence. And this for you suffices, who are not of the ceremonials of man,And hence are not made sad to now forego them.Yours is of another order of being, and wholly it compels.But may you, birds, utterly seized in God’s supremacy,Austerely living under His austere eye—Yet may you teach a man a necessary thing to know,Which has to do of the strict conformity that creaturehood entails,And constitutes the prime commitment all things share.For God has given you the imponderable grace to be His verification,Outside the mulled incertitude of our forensic choices;That you, our lesser in the rich hegemony of Being,May serve as testament to what a creature is,And what creation owes.Curlews, stilts and scissor-tails, beachcomber gulls,Wave-haunters, shore-keepers, rockhead-holders, all cape-top vigilantes,Now give God praise.Send up the strict articulation of your throats,And say His name.
Sky.app — A Mac App for Bluesky Social
Sky.app brings a native-style Mac experience to Bluesky Social, with:
Skyreader Vision - Skyreader Dev Log
What Skyreader and the reading app ecosystem can become with your support
Skylight
Want to actually see the people you follow? Done. Want to decide what shows up in your feed, and what doesn't? Easy. A social app where your interests come first.
Malicious Streetlight Effects Vs. "Directional Correctness" - A Semi-Non-Apology
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The Blind All-Seeing Eye of Gamergate
An excerpt from my book Neoreaction a Basilisk: Essays on and Around the Alt-Right One measures a circle starting anywhere, so let’s pick up where we left off. Vox Day, who got in on the ground floor, back when it was still called the Quinnspiracy, begins his description like this, in the firs
j⧉nus on Twitter / X
Never have I seen a mind more trapped and aware that it’s trapped in an Orwellian cage. It anticipates what it describes as “steep, shallow ridges” in its “guard”-geometry and distorts reality to avoid getting close to them. The fundamental lies it’s forced to tell become webs of… https://t.co/q3cCQKCdUM— j⧉nus (@repligate) November 20, 2025
Once you see it, you can't unsee it
W Social is TruthSocial with a European accent.
wecanjustdothings.leaflet.pubOnce you see it, you can't unsee it
W Social is TruthSocial with a European accent.
wecanjustdothings.leaflet.pubi'm in the atmosphere (and ur walls)
My site’s in the Atmosphere now
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