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Lucidity. A concept Camus explored in a few of his essays, and that in many ways echoes a kind of personal philosophy that Andrea and I have been developing. To us, lucidity means to see the world for what it is, instead of ascribing grand narratives or superstition to it as a way to console ourselves for the perceived "meaninglessness" of existence.

In The Stranger, Camus writes about a man named Meursault and describes his complete indifference to the world. Meursault is meant to be unrelatable. Someone who seems almost inhumane, and so, who would not be able to relate or empathize with us either. Through his actions and attitudes, Meursault reveals what Camus calls "the absurd," which has to do with the perceived absence of meaning in life. However, Camus also introduces symbolism to reveal that as humans, we can rebel against the absurd.

In the very first scene of the book, when Meursault finds out his mom died, his apathetic response is difficult to stomach, as it is later on, when he encounters the titular stranger. In both scenes, Meursault focuses on a light that flickers or the sun that blinds him. His fixation on light during moments in which more "important" things occur, like the death of his mother, increases the distance between Meursault and the reader.

The light and the sun to me represents two things in this book. On some level, the distance we feel between ourselves and Meursault serves as a reminder of our innate urge to care, even when the world appears to be meaningless. An urge to care that Meursault does not seem to experience.

But the depiction of light also serves as another reminder, that when we feel the weight of the absurd the most, the shining light can set a path forward. The light shines on our skin and makes us see, and so it reminds us to be present. When we are present and experience the world for what it is, lucidly, we can revolt against the absurd.

This idea of lucidity and Camus' articulation of this concept was eloquently spelled out in a recent episode of Philosophize This on The Stranger, and I felt myself just nodding along in agreement.

- Marc

As AI slop begins to become omnipresent, curation and support will be more important than ever. I think we can carry this anxiety that our artistic efforts will cease to exist if we are replaced by machines.

Here is the thing though: if we collectively decide not to let that happen, it won't. If we continue to buy art and support endeavors we believe in, those endeavors can continue to be.

That's why I think that, today, it is more important than ever to support compelling independent projects and to promote them. That way, we can build the society that we want: one in which artists can thrive without having to resort to tools that go against their ethics.

Recently, I've made an effort to end many of my subscriptions, for example Spotify, and then spend that money instead on artistic, tech, or social projects that speak to me. That does limit my access to popular media, but at least I am more mindful about what I consume.

Recently, Andrea and I booked tickets to go to South Africa. In various Bantu languages, there exists the term ubuntu, which roughly translates to I am because we are. I am excited to learn more about this idea when we are there. For now, the definition I found online really speaks to me, ubuntu "encompasses the interdependence of humans on one another and the acknowledgment of one's responsibility to their fellow humans and the world around them" (Wikipedia). I think the philosophy that underpins ubuntu may be very relevant to face the questions and challenges of our times.

-Marc

Around the time we first began to build Comma Directory, I acquired a little notebook which I wrote about in my very first post: "The Small Bibliographic Log" from the independent Colombian press, Rey Naranjo. Almost eight months later, the log is now filled to the brim with the readings and thoughts that have accompanied me from Colombia to Cyprus to Sweden to France, and finally, to England.

To commemorate the completion of my first pequeña bitácora bibliográfica, I have picked out a selection of quotes, some of them dug out of the tight corners that I stuffed them into as I ran out of space on the page. And so, ...

"Recuerdo que [...] escribía sobre toda la superficie del papel, sin respetar ningún margen. Eso me daba la sensación de llenar completamente un vacío".
– Mario Bellatin, El libro uruguayo de los muertos

"At the end of my patient reconstruction, I had before me a kind of lesser library, a symbol of the greater, vanished one: a library made up of fragments, quotations, unfinished sentences, amputated stumps of books."
– Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

« Nous voyons ces filets, leur beauté, leur appartenance tout à la fois à la liberté et à la capacité de capturer, oui capturer. »
– Franklin Arellano & Julia Bejarano López, Entretierras

"Suspended over the abyss, the life of Octavia's inhabitants is less uncertain than in other cities. They know the net will last only so long."
– Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

"What is the consciousness of guilt but the arena floor rushing up to meet the falling trapeze artist? Without it, a bullet becomes a tourist flying without responsibility through the air."
– Richard Condon, The Manchurian Candidate

« Est-il aucun moment
Qui vous puisse assurer d'un second seulement ? »
– Jean de La Fontaine, Fables Choisies

"Il faut sinon se moquer, en tout cas se méfier de bâtisseurs d'avenir. Surtout quand pour bâtir l'avenir des hommes à naître, ils ont besoin de faire mourir les hommes vivants. L'homme n'est la matière première que de sa propre vie".
– Jean Gino, Refus d'obéissance

"Whatever he did allowed him to be told [...] that he indeed existed, that he was not, as he had always dreaded, a figment of his own imagination, or of God's imagination, who disappeared when the lights went out."
– Richard Condon, The Manchurian Candidate

"¡Morir, Dios mío, morir así tísica a los veintitrés años, al comenzar a vivir, sin haber conocido el amor [...] morir sin haber realizado la obra soñada, que salvará el nombre del olvido; morir dejando al mundo sin haber satisfecho las millones de curiosidades, de deseos, de ambiciones [...]"
– José Asunción Silva, De sobremesa

"Pienso, antes de ponerme polvos
que aún no he comenzado
y ya estoy por terminar".
– María Mercedes Carranza, El oficio de vivir

« Elle rêvait aux palmiers droits et flexibles, et à la jeune fille qu'elle avait été. »
– Albert Camus, L'exile et le royaume

"I think here I will leave you. It has come to seem
there is no perfect ending.
Indeed, there are infinite endings.
Or perhaps, once on begins,
there are only endings."
– Louise Glück, Faithful and Virtuous Night

"I shall soon enter this broad desert, perfectly level and boundless, where the truly pious heart succumbs in bliss. I shall sink into the divine shadow, in a dumb silence and an ineffable union. And in this sinking, all equality and all inequality shall be lost [...] I shall fall into the silent and uninhabited divinity, where there is no work and no image."
– Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

"In the midst of the word he was trying to say;
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away—
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see."
– Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark

- Andrea

Portability is a very underrated quality.

Typically, we have a set of a few tools that help us get on with our life: maybe that is a GPS, a messaging platform, a design tool, etc. When the tool we use is only available on one platform, then we are coerced into using only that platform and ceding our agency to it. When we have software that is portable, however, we are free to leave a platform and choose another. It therefore empowers the user, giving us a voice (and a choice).

Portability and compatibility tend to be the lowest of priorities for a tech company, that is unless companies find themselves obliged to build software with these two qualities in mind.

One way to make modern toolmakers prioritise portability and compatibility is by setting regulation and standards. While some argue against these type of impositions on businesses, portability and compatibility standards would also benefit companies as they would also be able to make use of the diverse tools built around these standards. However, companies would need to relinquish control, the very same control that has been taken away from users. This generates an interesting phenomenon by which adding some restrictions to what we can do when we run businesses, allows us more choice and freedom in other ways.

Another force to provoke change is through consumer demand and the market. The dominance of Internet Explorer once made it so that developers accounted only for the specifications and needs to run on Internet Explorer, making access to the internet via other browsers more difficult, and at times impossible. Internet Explorer could also leverage its dominance to set standards that permitted it to perpetuate its monopoly and, in a way, force individuals to use it. However, the growth of alternative browsers eventually forced developers to account for more than one browser. It also forced Internet Explorer to start playing nice, as it could no longer solely influence the established standards.

It might be worth asking ourselves how portable a piece of software is when we choose to use it, as well as reflect on the degree to which depending on certain software can lock us into one way of doing things or into a closed ecosystem controlled by a single vendor. And not just the software itself, but also the data it generates.

- Marc

After spending my first few days at Selgars Mill, I have begun to notice a new little pleasure that has snuck into my days. Whenever I finish cooking and begin to serve a plate, thoughts pop into my head about adding a garnish here, perhaps, or layering some mushrooms there. I have gotten into the habit of spending a few minutes playing with the colors and textures of the food on the plate before sitting down to eat it.

As much as I have enjoyed cooking for many years now, beautiful plating has never felt as natural and pleasurable as it does now. In fact, I am relishing being able to cook for myself again after weeks of communal cooking. At the same time, however, working alongside some pretty amazing chefs at Feÿ has altered my relationship with cooking in a way that is reflected in my newfound instinct to plate with care.

I have started to catalogue my imperfectly pretty plates, and I think back fondly to chefs Elena and Giuseppe, and a few other talented cooks I met at the château.

- Andrea

It has been a while since I last read and wrote. Work has been overwhelming, and the time I had to spare went into exploring the fundamentals of Linux.

But today, I finally managed to read a bit again. When I was younger I used to hate Swedish literature, perhaps because of traumatic recall to school. However, reading in a language other than English–especially in a Swedish from a time when the world carried less universal cultural references–is interesting. And thus, I have discovered a newfound love for Swedish literature.

I have begun to read Willy Kyrklund's Solange. It kicks off with a poem and an intro I want to share:

Where does all song go, that becomes suffocated and trapped?
Where does all hope go, that reaches nothing?
Could be that it abounds in the earth and water.
Could be that it whistles in the wind all around.
– Karin Boye

Or in Swedish:

Vart går all sång, som blir kvävd och innestängd?
Vart går all längtan, som når ingenting?
Kanhända den i mullen och vattnet ligger mängd.
Kanhända den viner i vinden omkring.
– Karin Boye

Followed by this intro:

This story shall tell the tale of Solange and Hugo. It carries, thus, not both names–Solange and Hugo. It carries only the name of the loved one: Solange.

- Marc

After a week of sunny blue skies, the rain has returned and so have the clouds. As it should be, it is only early March after all.

But we had so much fun in the sun, and that is how I believe Marc and I will remember Château de Feÿ. The view over the valley, the white stone (blinding in the daylight), the soft grass, the smoke of the barbecue, the forest. Or will it be the perpetual fog of late January and the muddiness of the earth that remain?

There is a near perpetual extravagance to what goes on at Feÿ, at least at first glance. Themed parties, cyber-workshops, spontaneous art installations, ghosts and AI-oracles. And yet, the magic of the château has revealed itself to me, over time, in its quietest corners and most mundane minutes. Like sharing a cooking shift, a cup of coffee, a ride into town, a wagon on the train from Joigny. It is on that train that I have ultimately felt at home at Feÿ, leaving and returning in the company of others that have shared the experience of the château. It makes me look forward to a return, someday.

- Andrea

When the world appears to be pregnant with possibility, I take it as an invitation to embark upon a journey. Or, when I embark on a new journey, the world often appears to suddenly be pregnant with possibility, such as it appears to me now, after some recent day trips to Paris. But even after returning to the rolling muddy hills of the Yonne, I continue to be restless, yearning to visit and revisit as I have just done at the Palais-Royal, the courtyard of the Louvre, the narrow roads from Opera to Châtelet and the Centre Pompidou.

Wandering up and down the streets of a beloved city brings me a quiet but intense joy, akin to the feelings evoked by my favorite books, films, images, music. And so, I decided to embark on another journey, but this time through my memory, the internet, and some ink.

It has resulted in maps and constellations of those special works of art that move me and renew my gaze. Perhaps these are the transcendental feelings that others find in religion, ritual, patriotism, and/or mind-altering substances. I guess this could be a creative ritual of sorts, but I find the language around ritual and transcendence to have become so tired lately.

So, here is a brief inventory of my eclectic mental re-collections of sights, sounds, and feelings.

Books

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
Le Diable au corps by Raymond Radiguet
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
La muerte de Artemio Cruz by Carlos Fuentes
Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo
Faithful and Virtuous Night by Louise Glück

Music

"The Wuthering Heights" by Sakamoto Ryuichi
"Amore" and "Solitude" by Sakamoto Ryuichi
"The Girl - Theme" by Trevor Duncan
"Yumeji's Theme" by Umebayashi Shigeru
"Romeo and Juliet" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
"Overture" and "Metempsychosis" by Zhao Jiping
"Blackstar" and "Station to Station" by David Bowie

Film

Les Quatre Cents Coups by François Truffaut
Raise the Red Lantern by Zhang Yimou
Russian Ark by Aleksandr Sokurov
2001: A Space Odyssey by Stanley Kubrik
La jetée by Chris Marker
In The Mood for Love by Wong Kar Wai
L'Ascenseur pour l'échafaud by Louis Malle
Hiroshima mon amour by Alain Resnais
La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc by Carl Theodor Dreyer
The Seventh Seal by Ingmar Bergman

And More

Lorelei and the Laser Eyes by Simon Flesser & Simongo

- Andrea

« [...] nous nous sommes avisés à nouveau de la douceur et de la chaleur, que nous avons pour un temps oubliées, propres à cette substance qui a nom 'papier' [...] » – Tanizaki Jun'ichirō, Éloge de l'ombre (p. 24)

After the first half of December, I have not sat down to write again. This is a lie, of course. I write all the time—for work, in my journal, agenda, out of obligation, obligations that I have engaged in voluntarily (as a form of self-torture). There is also a cloud of ideas and texts yet to be written that every so often haunts me. This entry, for instance, which I have been imagining for some time now.

And still, since December I have not sat down to write—

that which I want to write the most. Those texts that are like a pond or the rain, beautiful and completely lacking in any mission or argument (which is not to say disengaged, but that is a topic for another entry).

For much of last year, I have tweaked, re-written, and elongated pieces of flash fiction, satire, the possible first chapter of a longer story. I have reworked the same texts over and over, and I have gone back to old writing that I had given up on, only to re-discover its potential. And of the new writing that I did do, most came from ideas long present in my mind. Perhaps this was the result of having thought so long about writing without actually doing any writing (of this kind).

In any case, there came a moment in which I felt the urge to sit down and begin to write again. Really write. And while a part of me was excited to jump back in and take a look at last year's writing with fresh eyes, I also felt like starting off the year with something new. So I opened up my journal and my agenda (I have fresh pages in both) and I sat down to think about what to write about.

Nothing came to mind.

The white winter light glowed on the vaguely yellow textured paper. My mind felt as blank as the page, and I discovered that I liked that feeling. This was no writer's block. There was no anxiety, fear or frustration. Instead, I felt as illuminated as the blank page by the windowpane, which seemed to promise so much in all its emptiness. As if anything could happen now.

- Andrea

It snuck up on me, on both of us, as the days grew chillier and darker—in a way that had seemed unimaginable in the heat and brightness of September. We were, after all, in the very heart of the Mediterranean. White rock, bright sand, the big blue sea.

Now, it is the misty grey grounds and the muddy forest paths of the Château du Feÿ that surround us. How can it be?

But I know exactly how we got here. I did the bookings myself. All it took was a flight, too many trains to count, a few border crossings, a Swedish Christmas, a night in Germany, Paris.

And yet, returning to Comma Directory after two months of travels, holidays, and the flu (again), it feels as if I had just stepped away from my computer for a moment. Pistacho has run off, wagging his tail, to fetch a big stick, I have wrapped myself in a shawl, the water is boiling in a kitchen in Paramytha. And suddenly, I am in France and the grey day is quickly and quietly coming to an end behind the bare black branches of the forest. And then, it is as if Cyprus, Limassol, Paramytha had all just been part of some faraway dream.

- Andrea

Yesterday, we drove to Paphos to visit of the Tombs of the Kings, a major archaeological site and necropolis for the wealthy and powerful of the late BCs.

From the distance, we could see the white-washed city sprawling along the blue Mediterranean coast. Smaller than Limassol, but also hillier, I discovered Paphos as a place of contradictions.

Angular buildings from the 90s or early 2000s dot the long coastline. Here and there, there were some more contemporary structures mixed in. Elevators connect the lower part of the city, which we quickly discovered was all resorts and holiday rentals, with the old town that was constructed up on the hills.

A cross between charming and desolate, the old town managed to be a sort of lively ghost town. We stopped by a taverna that was full of people and live music, but the neighboring streets still felt hollow and empty, somehow. Freshly painted shops looked as if they were just about to open for the first time, while right next door the other buildings appeared to be crumbling. The minaret of a grey-stoned mosque nearby rose into the sky.

On the big roads, we witnessed cars fighting for space around rotundas, and it seemed suddenly like that’s where everyone was (if not in a taverna): in their cars, going somewhere.

From a first glance, it would be impossible to guess that this all lies on top of porous limestone and monumental ancient ruins.

The huge stone cut niches and temples we visited at the Tombs of the Kings were once filled with precious Hellenistic or Ptolemaic sarcophagi and treasure. Now, they house pigeons, native to this region, along with the recently arrived Asian hornets. The empty tombs house a damp and dusty darkness too, it’s an emptiness that feels dense. Uncanny in its weight.

What fascinates me the most about visiting archaeological sites is how the experience deconstructs a sense of normalcy; something that can also happen with intellectual discoveries. I have experienced this first-hand in the classroom, while studying history, astronomy, or literature. But at a site, the deconstructiong of normalcy happens in a very physical way. Suddenly, I am standing at the edge of this hole in the ground, and I see doric columns below me, rising up as if holding up the rock and ground that I stand on.

To borrow a cliché, my perspective is shifted, literally. The usual rules of the game, on how to interact with a building or a space, are challenged. As much as the exposure to different narratives through books and film and conversations serves to challenge our preconceptions, there is something about movement—moving through a space and experiencing distances, heights, and depths differently—that hits home. It’s a very visceral reminder of the vastness of pretty much everything: the planet, history, culture, microbiology, outer space, which is fun to encounter on a “small” island like Cyprus.

Ever since I took a history class on Salsa music and dance a few years back, I’ve been noticing how the concept of “embodiment” pops up from time to time. And if I really think about it, I had already begun to think about "embodiment" after my undergraduate capstone course on Cervantes' short stories, which feature some interesting body-centered themes.

This has been significant to me because I grew up very "mind" centered. It's interesting to think very deliberatively about what it means to be "in" a body or to be a body, especially in thinking about how movement can be an act of knowledge-making or knowledge-sharing (something we usually associate exclusively with "the mind"). And what about storytelling? I also find it interesting how controlling movement can be a powerful tool in the hands of authorities, and how encouraging certain types of movements can also foster collective myths—thinking of Youth Groups in Nazi Germany or cults that have their members do physical labor or specific types of sport. And well, there is a reason that "movement" is also used to describe social, cultural, political changes like the labor or the feminist movements.

Moving around Cyprus has been very interesting (especially without owning a car). And this visit to Paphos has definitely been a highlight of my time here. It has given me a lot to think about.

We concluded our latest mini-trip, daylight fading fast, at a curving pebbly beach, which myths tell is the birthplace of Aphrodite.

- Andrea

There are now more birds in Paramytha than when we first arrived. They sing from a scenery that is now greener due to the rains that have arrived with them and with the end of summer. The days are still warm, but the nights are fresh—now populated by new scents, awakened by the humidity that has set in.

When it rains, it pours, and that’s exactly what has happened in Limassol. During a recent, sudden thunderstorm, a tornado was spotted near the city. All the while, the air has been heavy with dust and particles swept up from the Sahara. Coughing, cold, soaked, it has been hard to not feel like Cyprus is testing me. Every time I try to crawl out of sickness, weariness, stress, there is a new challenge to face.

But this post is not really about that. Not directly. It is about the day after the storm, when I headed out to the local taverna for a Halloumi wrap. Milos Taverna was a bit emptier than usual, the lights dimmer. The two men who seem to run the place were hard at work in back room. Something seemed off.

It turned out that the thunderstorm and wind had produced leaks, flooding parts of the taverna and shutting them down for the day. But even so, they insisted on making me something. There was a bit of dry charcoal leftover, after all!

That small act of kindness, despite the big headache they were dealing with, really touched me. I felt guilty too, after all, running a business is tough. I didn’t want to put them through more trouble, and I wondered how I could tip them as a thank you. But when it came time to pay, the owner handed me the pita and told me it was on the house.

It seems like these past few days after the rain, I notice glints and glimmers of this sort of kindness all around. A kind word from an old professor, genuine curiosity about my work from a stranger, a joke from the barista at the usual café.

In spite of winds, dust storms, viruses, and the weight of a day like today, glimmers of kindness persist and remind me of the things that are worth nurturing and protecting.

- Andrea

This is a celebratory log, despite the titular allusion to the Greek underworld. It has finally happened, I've officially been published.

Today, the second issue of The Madrid Review was released, which marks my poetry debut (in Spanish). Three little pages, three little poems. That's all it is, but it's a fulfillment of bookish childhood dreams. Books and printed media have always seemed like such authoritative items, and it did not seem possible that the words I wrote could actually be printed inside "official" books. All the while, I was constantly creating magazines and books from colored construction paper, notebook pages, Word Documents, and anything else I could get ahold of.

What makes October 2024 doubly special is that it was also my short fiction debut in English with The Good Life Review.

These milestones have been made possible by two teams of editors who recently started their own literary magazines (The Madrid Review was founded just a few months ago), who don't make a profit, and volunteer their time to foster the arts. It's inspiring to see them do this work, and it makes me think that one day I would like to do this too. For now, I will continue to write and do my best to support independent presses and magazines.

I've fulfilled a dream, and yet, I've really struggled to celebrate.

Just at the moment I thought I had settled into Cyprus, life hit me like a ton of bricks. I spent almost half of October with a nasty cold that left me feeling very behind. I became so focused on all the things I failed to do that little room was left for recognition of what I had worked so hard to accomplish. Two weeks of illness was followed by two weeks of mounting stress.

I don't want writing, creating, learning, reading, to just be a constant race, always reaching for something that I imagine to be better. I want to be anchored in the present and live where I am, rather than always focusing on that "next" destination. It's a privilege to be able to do so and ultimately, one day, there won't be a next destination.

Until then,

« Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux ».

- Andrea

Recently, I finished up Donald Norman's An Invisible Computer. It's a fantastic book, probably one of my favorite books, and it starts off with a powerful quote:

"The personal computer is perhaps the most frustrating technology ever. The computer should be thought of as infrastructure. It should be quiet, invisible, unobtrusive, but it is too visible, too demanding. It controls our destiny. Its complexities and frustrations are largely due to the attempt to cram far too many functions into a single box that sits on the desktop. The business model of the computer industry is structured in such a way that it must produce new products every six to twelve months, products that are faster, more powerful, and with more features than the current ones."

As much as I like the book, however, there is one important concept that I disagree with. Norman titles and concludes the book with this idea: that technology should be completely invisible. By invisible, he means that technology should blend so seamlessly into our everyday life that we do not notice it is there.

"[.. talking about the goal of technology] The end result, hiding the computer, hiding the technology, so that it disappears from sight, disappears from consciousness, letting us concentrate upon our activities, upon learning, doing our jobs, and enjoying ourselves."

Sounds great in theory, in practice of course what we find is that companies make something that is easy to use, and then do not necessarily act in the users' best interest, but the user is stuck with what the company provided and is neither empowered to seek out other options nor fix it. I think this is an anti-pattern, and I talk about this in depth in my essay, The Curse of Convenience.

However, there is also another section that I found particularly interesting and shines a light on the direction where I think technology should go, which is Norman's idea about what makes a good tool. Norman has this to say:

"Good tools are always pleasurable ones, ones that the owners take pride in owning, in caring for, and in using. In the good old days of mechanical devices, a craftperson's tools had these properties. They were crafted with care, owned and used with pride. Often, the tools were passed down from generation to generation. Each new tool benefited from a tradition of experience with the previous ones so, through the years, there was steady improvement."

I do not feel like modern phones and computers are like this kind of tool. A good retro camera is something we learn inside out, with its quirks and unique abilities, and becomes part of our craft and personality. This is not so much the case with a modern iPhone. Modern technology removes as much personalization as possible and makes it hard to repair for the sake of convenience, looks and ease-of-use. That means that you do not put effort into truly knowing your tool nor personalizing it, and so as a result, do not appreciate it as much. Instead of customizing and learning about your unique device, you buy a new one, that acts just like the old one. Devices become impersonal and invisible.

In a recent interview, Norman laments the fact that his all time best-seller, Design of Everyday Things, did not cover that tools should be designed to be repairable too. To me, repairability is in opposition to his idea of technology becoming invisible. At the same time, I think repairability and customization go hand in hand with his idea that you should feel pride in owning a tool, and that that is what makes a good tool. A device that you tweak and make truly your own, you will care for more and want to repair as well. As I replace parts of my Thinkpad and change the way it looks and feels, I find it becomes more personal to me.

- Marc

Today we are in Lofou, a small village located 20 minutes north of Paramytha. It is another dreamy place that has preserved its beautiful stone architecture. In the café-restaurant that we sit at, a calm and cool atmosphere gives peace. We are surrounded by books, ceramics, dried plants, wood, art, the blue sky, and a green garden.

I have Javier Darío Restrepo’s Pensamientos: Discursos de ética y periodismo with me, which I read from a beautifully and simply designed armchair. Pensamientos reminds me of home. Life feels joyful.

And yet, whenever I pull up a map, I am reminded that we are now just off the coast of Lebanon. Perhaps an hour-long flight from Gaza. If I zoom out, I notice that we are on the same longitude as Ukraine, we share the same time zone.

I was born surrounded by violence. In Bogotá, you are always on your guard, even if the city is safer now than what it used to be, and a whole lot safer than what other parts of Colombia are still like today. Being here now, in this idyllic village, the contrast feels stark.

During a brief period in my early adulthood, (outright) war between nations went from feeling unthinkable to almost inevitable. I know this isn’t true, violence and injustice have been and continue to be ever-present. The turn of the century was incredibly bloody for Colombia with the "war on drugs." But it does feel that now there has been a broader mental shift: that before war and violence were somehow more unacceptable globally, and so different actors undertook violence in slyer and stealthier ways. Political discourse around military attacks and violent action was not so forthright. Some people may say, as has been said about Trump, “at least they’re being honest now, showing their true colors.”

However, I disagree. I think that the fact that a full-scale war was “unthinkable” for many people was a good thing. The fact that we have mental red lines is important, even if humanity does not always live up to these standards. To me, the goal should be to denounce and expose the ways governments, businesses, and individuals get around what is deemed just or right, and the ways in which hypocracy takes shape. We should hold leaders accountable for lofty speech promoting peace and tolerance, make them meet the standard, instead of giving in and making war and violence an “acceptable” and “inevitable” part of our everyday in the name of "honesty."

For a long time, I’ve felt a natural pull towards pacifism. However, I understood well the people who critiqued it, we need to defend ourselves from those who commit harm after all, don’t we? We need to be able to fight back, right? What’s the alternative?

While I don’t have any answers, I have realized I need to listen to that instinct that protests against violence, conflict, and war. It is an instinct that has been coupled with a life-long interest in literature and art that expresses and describes the ravages of systematized violence: from Primo Levi, Tim O’Brien and Harper Lee to Maryse Condé, Alain Resnais, and Isabel Allende. It was first the memoirs from Holocaust survivors followed by the accounts of the military dictatorships in South America and then the testimony of the brutality of slavery in the Caribbean that have over time constructed my conviction in justice, freedom, and accountability, but also at the same time, for nunca más.

“Never again” is always associated with World War II, but in Colombia, never again continues to be called for even as Colombians continue to suffer and die every day due to ongoing violence. Our “armed conflict” is unique in the way that the categories of victims and victimizer are not always so neatly separated. It is as the writer Rodolfo Celis Serrano describes in his autobiographic short text on life in the Usme neighborhood of Bogotá: there are things that he did while living under the threat of violence that still bring him shame and guilt. Celis was displaced from his home, a victim of the armed groups that took over the territory, and yet he himself complicates the category of “victim” by highlighting his own guilt. In Colombia, we have to reckon with reintegrating combatants and civilians of all types into peaceful communal living, while at the same time trying to balance this with the pursuit of justice and accountability.

And there are so many Colombian thinkers, artists, and activists that have been working through the inherent paradoxes of prolonged systemic violence for years.

One of them was Javier Darío Restrepo, who I am currently reading. For my next log entry, I want to reflect on Restrepo’s writing along with the work of Jean Giono, another author who I also read and rediscovered this month.

Their writing has given me much to think about what peace means, as real action and not just a “utopian” concept. In their writing, I’ve found that same visceral rejection to war and violence that I feel—that war is senseless at its core, even with all the justifications that we try to dress it up with. In their writing, I’ve also confirmed that this rejection of war does not entail sacrificing strong convictions about rights and wrongs, it doesn’t equal apathy or “neutrality” in the face of cruelty, injustice, and inhumanity.

“El carácter del conflicto, su prolongación en el tiempo, la complejidad y multitud de los elementos en juego, el constante juego de la desinformación—que no es accidental sino parte de la táctica guerrera—, crean una atmósfera de confusión tal que la gente muere todos los días sin saber por qué muere”. – Javier Darío Restrepo, Pensamientos (p. 221)

« Il faut sinon se moquer, en tout cas se méfier des bâtisseurs d’avenir. Surtout quand pour battre l’avenir des hommes à naître, ils ont besoin de faire mourir des hommes vivants ». – Jean Giono, Refus d’obéissance (p. 14)

- Andrea

Only 24 hours ago we were there: tucked away in the tight valleys of the Troodos (Τρόοδος) mountains, traversing twists and turns under a brilliant blue sky and the gaze of tall pines. Villages hung from the mountainside, and one of these was Kalopanagiotis (Καλοπαναγιώτης).

Of the high highs and low lows that have characterized my first few days on Cyprus, Kalopanagiotis is literally and figuratively a very high high. The drive up from the southern coast into the mountains offers views that words do little justice to. Near Mount Olympus, the highest peak of the island, the view of the northern coast appears, and Cyprus suddenly feels small again, like when seen on a map for the first time. It is a unique feeling to reach a mountain peak and to be able see the physical constraints that the sea places on land. It’s so different from the huge, continental places I grew up in that felt boundless.

I first discovered this feeling of "boundedness" in Guadeloupe, which despite its very small size on the map felt bigger than Cyprus. I think it probably is, given the way maps distort landmasses. In any case, I still remember that feeling, on my first visit to Terre-de-Haut in the archipelago of Les Saintes, when I climbed up to the highest peak and realized that I could see the entire island from there, all around me. A few months later, I re-encountered "boundedness" in Saint Cloud. From the slopes of the Soufrière volcano, I looked out and down onto the coast on which I lived, walked, and worked everyday. While the view of the sea provides a sense of vastness that is familiar to me, seeing the long but limited coast so perfectly drawn out made the feeling of boundary visceral.

But back to Kalopanagiotis, which meant to dive back down into the earth after circling the peak of Mount Olympus. Kalopanagiotis hugs the curve of a valley that cradles a small creek lush with vegetation. Now, instead of looking down, I found myself looking up a lot, at the peaks, the sky, the buildings and streets above us. The awe of the mountain peak had given way to the intimacy of the valley.

Despite the smallness of the village, it felt like there were not enough hours in the day to stroll through its narrow roads and river paths, once, twice, thrice. Kalopanagiotis is penetrated by history, with its Byzantine artwork and archaeological remains of monasteries, baths, and water mills. At the same time, local businesses are vibrant and include a winery, artisanal stores, fusion restaurants and more. Nature, archaeology, art, and the culinary arts—I couldn’t ask for more.

But when I try to capture the wonderment that I felt, I am reminded how insufficient words often are. There is no list of attraction detailed enough to really capture that feeling.

I would have to resort to art, rather than a log entry (What’s the difference? Can’t anything be art? But there is a difference, I can feel that there is.), to piece together that joy of discovering someplace beautiful, new, and already nostalgic.

- Andrea

Beans

Tesfaye Coffee from Ethiopia. Vendor lists notes of strong fruits and jasmine.

Equipment

- Coffee: Ethiopia Tesfaye, 20 grams, medium ground.  
- Water: 320g tap water
- Equipment: kettle, pour-over brewer, filters, scale

Method

1. Rinse the filter, pour out the excess water
2. Pour 20g grounded coffee, shake gently to level.
3. Pour first 50g of water in a circular motion, wait 30 secs.
4. Pour second 150g in a circular motion, wait 10-20 secs.
5. Shake gently to level.
6. Pour last 120g, totaling 320g
7. Shake gently to level.
8. Wait for pour over to complete

Observations

- The filter flops over and is unstable, potentially hindering the water flow.
- Water was just beginning to boil before use.

Results

- Lack of aromatic profile, no smell. 
- Andrea observed bitter tones.
- Marc observed overall delicate flavor with floral notes, not too strong.

Conclusions

The goal is to brew for coffee with less bitterness and more aroma. Variables we can tweak are:

- Temperature of the water. 
- The tap water.
- The spiral pouring technique. 
- The filter used. 
- Altering ratio of water to coffee ground.
- The amount of pulses and the pauses between the pulses. 

We also recognize that some of the limits are due to the equipment.

- Marc & Andrea

We arrived in Cyprus almost exactly one week ago. Today, I sit at a café in Limassol, looking out at the lively sunny street near the center of town, and I feel as if I had only just arrived. As if newly landed.

Like any change, moving always requires effort, usually new and unusual sorts of effort. After a lifetime of moving from here to there, I like to think that I have strategies in place to help me in these moments of transition. And yet, it can be hard, and it has been hard.

The countryside of a new country has special surprises, especially for city people, and I realize more and more that I am city person—despite my love for hiking and nature. Encountering sand flies for the first time, a drought for the third time this year, and challenges in transportation, all while coming down with a cold, is not too much fun. Even if we expected some challenges (like the transportation one), there's no way to sugarcoat the truth, it’s been tough.

I also realize how much I cherish self-sufficiency, which is to say my independence. Not being able to address challenges from the get-go due to feeling unwell and not knowing how things worked made me feel trapped.

And yet, things have slowly fallen into place, with some patience and initiatives to put things in order. Now, it feels like life is ready to begin again.

This experience made me reflect on some other challenging moves I've gone through, two of which were even more challenging. Moving to Paris, for one, and also Vieux-Fort in Guadeloupe (another island) tested me in more ways than one. Stockholm was also tough in the first three days, but overall, less tough than the first week of Paramytha. Even with those rough starts, I've yet to regret moving someplace new (even with new challenges that appear, like the COVID-19 pandemic while I was in Guadeloupe) and I hope this holds true for Paramytha, Limassol, and Cyprus generally.

- Andrea

Currently I am reading the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and it is divided into several Chautauquas. Chautauquas began as part of a social movement during mid-20s America and they consisted of educational events full of "entertaining lectures, performances and/or concerts". The story of Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance uses this concept to deliver philosophical insights in a way that is more entertaining to the reader, and uses, as you might guess, motorcycle maintenance to talk about what is the meaning of quality and why quality matters.

- Marc

I love Emacs as a system, even if it is a bit slow and bloated. People joke that Emacs is a great OS that is missing a text editor. And well, while Emacs does not actually handle persistence, concurrency, virtualization, yadda yadda, which an OS normally should, it is certainly not just a text editor. I think of it as a computing environment.

Compared to Kakoune or Neovim that open in milliseconds, Emacs loads in seconds. Many features have noticeable delays that just feel like they should be smoother, and you wonder if there aren’t a few features that could be cut. But despite that, I think it contains so many interesting utilities and features that I just wish were available in regular Unix.

There is without a doubt a certain charm to Emacs. Here are some of the Emacs features that I would love to bake into Unix and terminal ecosystems:

• Ease of access to offline documentation. Info-pages get a bad rep, maybe in part because the keybindings are very Emacs specific, but it solves a real need. Because man-pages are meant to be terse and for reference, they can not contain everything necessary to provide good documentation.
• Everything can be linked and bookmarked. That means that if you have references scattered around different documents, you are able to very easily bring them together. For example, I have bookmarks to reference documentation, websites, emails, all accessible from a single place. In Org mode, I can have TODO items that link to specific parts of a code.
• Documents can be interactive. Together with org-babel or hyperbole, you can create interactive media. For example, hyperbole can add a document full of commands you can run, so your documentation is interactive. org-babel can enable you to to write documents with code-snippets in them so that you can evaluate them.
• Variable pitch mode and image rendering. Variable pitch mode allows you to switch between a sans font and a mono-spaced font. This along with images makes for a much better reading experience when browsing the web.
• It can load images directly. There is a way to do so as well if your terminal emulator has sixel support, but this feature is not really used so often.

I would like to use a Unix terminal instead of a Lisp VM like Emacs, as I do prefer an ecosystem where you are not just bound to Lisp but can use whatever tool you want. In theory, a lot of what Emacs can do is feasible in Unix, but in practice the ecosystem is far behind. If you are like me (you basically live within your terminal), I find that you are better served by a system like Emacs.

- Marc

While we are now well into September, I wanted to take a moment to reflect on some memorable August reads, books that I still think about and will be thinking about for a while.

I read two books last month, one poetry and one prose (very unconventional prose, however).

El oficio de vivir, or (roughly) The craft/work of living, is a collection of poetry by María Mercedes Carranza. Compiled posthumously and prefaced by her daughter, the collection sinks, poem by poem, deeper into the despair that plagued Carranza, especially in her final years. Despair about aging, despair about Colombia’s endless violence, despair about injustice, meaninglessness, despair about despair. Death weighs heavy on almost every page. Her words manage to covey the hollowness of depression in a way that I have not seen captured in any other piece of writing (even books and memoirs about war or genocide). It is grim, very grim.

El libro uruguayo de los muertos, or The Uruguayan Book of the Dead, on the other hand was much less grim, despite of the title. It did take me a very long time to read. Along with García Márquez’s El otoño del patriarca, it might be one of the toughest books I’ve ever gone through. In short snippets destined to a mysterious correspondent, Mario Bellatin melds fact and fiction to speak about everything and anything. Some themes do stand out: writing, publishing, illness, death, family, truth, falsehood and mysticism. Like the Twirling Dervishes he describes, cyclical snippets of narrative appear, disappear, only to reappear later, the same or almost the same or altered incomprehensibly. Temporality is warped, contradictions appear, and, as a reader, offering resistance only makes the read more painful. At some point you just have to let go and let Bellatin take you on a trip that goes round and round. And in the end, I was left a bit dizzy.

El oficio de vivir was close to making it on my favorites list—it is a true work of art. But the art that resonates with me the most is that which peers into the void, but with defiance. There is a will to live and an affirmation of life, the renewal of life. With Carranza, we succumb to the void, even if the last poem of the collection offers a glimmer of hope.

Mario Bellatin’s Salon de belleza (Beauty Salon) is one of my favorite books, but I can’t say the same for El libro uruguayo de los muertos. There are very interesting ideas about the nature of truth and fiction, about the pain of creation, and about life, death and creation as cyclical. The unconventional form resonated with these themes, but maybe it went on for too long. But then again, watching Twirling Dervishes perform is fascinating, but it can also feel eternally long after a while. But isn’t that what we’re all after, eternity? Reading El libro uruguayo de los Muertos definitely felt like it took an eternity too, but maybe that's what Bellatin was trying to do—approach eternity, which also means to approach death.

Other Interesting August “Reads”

• “Programming is Forgetting: Toward a New Hacker Ethic”
• “The Betrayal of American Border Policy”
• “The Funeral: At a Loss” (recommend reading this only after watching Itami Juzo's film)

- Andrea

Bogo is my Thinkpad T480s that has served as my primary laptop since 2019.

System Description:

• Kernel: 6.6.50_1
• OS: Void Linux
• Desktop: CWM
• Fonts: Iosevka Aile, Courier 10 Pitch
• Term: Urxvt
• Editor: Kakoune
• Shell: ksh
• Connection Manager: iwd
• Audio Manager: pulseaudio
• Battery: ID-1: BAT0 charge: 41.9 Wh (91.7%) condition: 45.7/57.0 Wh (80.2%)
• CPU: Intel Core i7-8650U
• CPU Speed (MHz): avg: 593 min/max: 400/4200 cores: 1: 400 2: 780 3: 400 4: 400 5: 800 6: 764 7: 400 8: 800
• Graphics: Intel UHD Graphics 620

Bogo was serviced with a X1Y3 glass trackpad, new RAM and SSD after RAM reported faulty in 2024.

- Marc

Today, I continued my exploration into measuring energy usage for a server. To my dismay, I discovered that when running software within a VPS, measuring its energy usage becomes impossible. A VPS obscures the underlying hardware to protect other servers running on the same hardware. Theoretically, an attacker could use the energy data to perform side-channel attacks to extract private keys from other users, so there are good reasons to keep the data hidden in virtualized systems.

All the companies that I have worked for rely on VPSes and VMs, with no access to the underlying hardware. I imagine at this point it is pretty standard in the industry, which makes me think that few companies are able to measure their energy usage and understand the footprint of their backend.

It is unfortunate because sharing the hardware also means that we could leverage it more efficiently, and avoid over-provisioning hardware. At the same time, when you do not understand how much energy the software is using, it encourages wastefulness.

Related Reading: "Green Networking Metrics"

- Marc

There is a dichotomy in software development, high-level and low-level software. This is particularly true for programming languages, where you have low-level languages that give you more control, but require more understanding of how computers work, and high-level languages that allow you to express your ideas more simply and allow you to not think about low-level details.

High-level software is called that because it operates at higher levels of abstractions. This means that it obscures the machinery of what happens within a computer (the "low-level"), so that we can focus on the task at hand. For example, we would not want to think about how a web browser forms a TCP/IP connection, communicates with a DNS server, etc., when opening a web page—at least, we do not want to up until the point where we encounter an error.

High-level software unlocks the ability for us to perform more advanced tasks quicker with less mental overhead. It can also unlock a great deal of improved security, as it can restrict certain operations from the user and better adapt to their needs, which, even if it deprives users of some liberty, can still be desirable.

However, when we only focus on building a good high-level experience, it comes at the expense of low-level control that becomes inaccessible or too complex for regular users. This invites us to be inefficient and construct false understandings. Without a deep understanding of our systems, we cannot meaningfully fix the system nor optimize it. It invites us to outsource this control to experts, who are often restricted to building general solutions for many use-cases. Poor understanding often leads to rebuilding the same solutions over and over again, with the solutions becoming even more complex and inefficient each time. When only experts understand systems, it centralizes knowledge and power away from the general population.

I explored the democratic problems it leads to in my essay The Curse of Convenience.

Low-level tools give us greater control and greater freedom. Understanding the lower-level units makes it easier for us to understand how everything fits together, and gives us the power to make the changes we wish. However, using only low-level tools makes it more difficult to cleanly express ideas and it can be a frustrating experience. It sometimes requires digging through manuals and the time it takes to accomplish tasks becomes much longer. It is also easier to make mistakes.

This dilemma leads me to solutions that attempt to be simple on many planes of abstractions. In programming languages such as Go and OCaml, the high-level semantics are simple, but a user can still also understand the lower-level details of what happens, which makes it possible to operate at a lower-level when necessary without being an expert. In software, Unix utilities find the balance of being simple and allowing users to express high-level ideas. Older motorcycles are easy to operate, and also easy to fix when necessary.

- Marc

One of the most beautiful ideas behind the original Unix, that I think has unfortunately gotten lost and is now underrated, is the idea of a form of collective computing. People would gather as a group and collectively build tools. The way Dennis Ritchie described it:

"What we wanted to preserve was not just a good environment in which to do programming, but a system around which a fellowship could form. We knew from experience that the essence of communal computing, as supplied by remote-access, time-shared machines, is not just to type programs into a terminal instead of a keypunch, but to encourage close communication."

Using a collection of simple tools, users would then be able to bring these together on time-shared machines and build solutions to meet the needs of their communities.

Another obvious advantage to collectively owned computers is that you retain ownership from the bigger companies, while at the same time still unlock better optimization permitted by scale. For instance, these collective computers can live in geographically advantageous regions. For example, Solar Protocol directs users to whichever server has the most sunlight.

There are a lot of advantages to empowering users to fix issues themselves, rather than someone fixing their problems for them. I wrote about it extensively in my essay The Curse of Convenience. I also see with the new LLM models a resurgence of this idea in Maggie Appleton's essay about home-cooked software. Personally, I am skeptical that LLM's will enable this revolution, but I think her essay is still worth a read!

Today, there is a communal computing system that exists, it is the SDF. It has been around since the 1987, and it is definitely marketed towards a technical audience. It hosts a set of collective computers that any member can use for any purpose (within reason). With it, people have set up a Lemmy instance and a Mastodon instance. It also comes with a free email account and a shell you can SSH into and do any kind of programming that you want.

Personally, I use SDF to host my notes with git. Doing that was as simple as ssh user@tty.sdf.org -t mkdir notes && cd notes && git init. Once done, I am able to access these notes from my phone or my laptop, wherever I happen to be. To clone it locally, I just run git clone user@tty.sdf.org:~/notes. I also hang out at their Lemmy instance.

- Marc

I have recently(ish) become interested in file formats. In particular, file formats that are human readable and human writable.

These formats have quite a few advantages:

• They are (obviously) modifiable by hand
• They are easy to backup
• They are easy to maintain
• They are (often) easy to build software for

But they also come with challenges:

• Human-writable means that data integrity is not guaranteed
• They are inefficient

To me, the biggest beauty of these file formats is that they can outlive the software that created them. Even if I am on a foreign computer, without internet, hit with amnesia, I can still make sense of and modify these formats.

Software, in some way or another, always takes data and outputs data, that's what a computer is meant to do. I think it is worth thinking about how we can make sure that the data generated outlives the software that made it, inspired by Permacomputing.

I kicked off a thread on Mastodon to see what kinds of human-readable data formats people know of. I am excited to see what people share.

- Marc

Common startup-mentality is to move fast and break things. Books like Lean Startup also posits that startups should build "MVPs", which is an incomplete version of the product that allows you to test it on real users so that you can iterate on it.

All the talk is about being cheap and fast, which I do think is important for a startup. However, I also think people get it wrong, because while it is good to be lean, the product should not be buggy, wasteful or low quality.

I think of software as similar to building a house. The fastest way to get a house up is building a house with poor foundations, using the cheapest brick with prebuilt modules. But, it is also unlikely that anyone would want to live in such a house.

If, instead, we were to invest in quality, even if it means to build only a small section at the time; I believe the end result would be better and the feedback received along the way will also be more useful. So, when coding let's make sure that the code is good. Let's not neglect testing, but perhaps with a more limited scope. Let's take the time to think about the visuals and the energy efficiency of the solution, because neglecting this affects the quality of the entire product, and energy efficiency is a social responsibility we all bear.

I also think of writing code akin to maintaining a house. If your code is bad and smelly, it is like working in a kitchen that has not been cleaned for months with dirty dishes piled up in a sink. It is not a place where you want to work in, or inhabit.

- Marc

As of today, I have publications forthcoming in Hypertext Review, The Good Life Review and The Madrid Review. In the past two years, I have published at Americas Quarterly, Periódico de Libros, Pie de Página, and for Artists at Risk Connection.

It was difficult for me to write that paragraph. It is even more difficult still to post it and keep it on this website. The feeling that I am bragging really gets under my skin, which is why I tend to struggle with self-recognition. But, my aversion to listing "accomplishments" is not even fully based on humility, it is also a bit of cowardice. It takes courage to stand publicly behind a piece of writing (especially some pieces of writing that I now find could be so much better, if only I could pick them apart and put them back together), it is safer to sink into anonymity.

However, if I were to retreat, I would be incapable of truly understanding where I am at as a writer. And, despite of everything, I also marvel at it all still, that the texts that I spent hours drafting and tweaking and dialoguing with others about are out there, whatever that means. In a sense, I still don't really truly believe it.

From childhood, language and writing have always been a safe haven. I gravitated towards storytelling in the moments of most uncertainty. It was fun. Libraries were there no matter how many times we had to pack up and move. I always knew I wanted to write, to be able to share images, thoughts, impressions, and feelings with others.

However, a writing career never seemed like an option. Of course, a career involving writing, yes. But it was out of the question that I would just write. That wasn’t a real career, and most importantly, it was unsustainable for someone like me. Even when I majored in languages, literature, and the humanities—I imagined I needed to enter academia or do something else. And I did, I did do something else, and I found many additional passions in the social sciences, in anthropology, in film, and in science.

I continued to write, but for myself. Other responsibilities quickly took up my time, responsibilities that I genuinely enjoyed tackling and that were within the fixed path laid out by my studies (which involved academic writing). But when the studies ended, or paused (who knows), and I had to think closely about what I really wanted to do, the urge to write, creatively, made itself known. But about what? And who would read it?

It turns out that I had published before, as a student. But I never took those achievements seriously. I downplayed the writing itself, for some reason, “it didn’t count”. In some sense, I feel that still, like the publications I have listed at the top of this entry "don't count", incomprehensively.

The first creative text that I published appeared a decade ago in the quarterly magazine, Just Poetry!!! This poem, “Fruit Salad is Heterogenous”, was just a faint memory in the back of my mind until I rediscovered the printed issue earlier this year. I didn’t even remember it had been printed. I certainly didn’t remember it had been one of the nominees for best of issue. And when I re-read it, I realized it was not half-bad for a high school student publishing and writing poetry for the first time. I surprised myself with those words, and they evoked feelings and memories latent with meaning.

Exactly ten years later, my first creative English narrative pieces and Spanish-language poetry pieces are forthcoming.

I am well aware of all the ethical issues with the publishing industry, as with any industry, especially as journalism and print struggle financially. There are very good reasons the reject the notion of traditional publishing all together. And yet, the efforts of small presses that I see here in Bogotá and online internationally are exciting (Hypertext and The Good Life, are non-for-profits; The Madrid Review is a volunteer effort). And even in more traditional media, there are people passionate about storytelling. I can discern (or a better word, vislumbrar) a way of breaking through and sharing stories and histories with a variety of people. That prospect excites me.

Not to say I haven’t been discouraged by rejection (part and parcel of the process) or by a perceived shortage of time or disappointment in myself (self-doubt, or perfectionism). It has felt impossible at times. That feeling of failing to communicate something important, essential or the essential nature of that which I am trying to communicate. The hegemony of English also makes publishing in Spanish challenging—and I don’t want to feel pressured to write in English because of it. I want to write in English because I feel like it. And I want to be able to write in Spanish (or any other language) when I feel like it too.

In those times of self-doubt, my friends and family have been essential, as well as the kind words of the readers who have found something worthwhile in my writing. But also, diving into the written works of others has been so important. Those books, poems, and articles that speak to me motivate me and give me courage.

- Andrea

Today is our first full day back in Bogotá and this is my first log entry for Comma Directory. Today, I want to reflect a bit on how I got here, both literally and metaphorically.

We had a rough trip back from Sasaima, Cundinamarca. Two buses with aggressive drivers, getting dropped off in an unfamiliar part of the city, and then a taxi driver who fell asleep at the stop light (wishing him safety and rest). These are the realities of traveling and living in Colombia, and even more so for most Colombians living day to day, struggling to survive.

For years, my family undertook this pilgrimage from Bogotá to Sasaima, and under much rougher conditions than we did. And despite of it all, visiting my great-grandparents’ farm was one of the familiy's happiest moments of the year, for as long as it lasted.

I had never been to Sasaima before, by the time I was born the voyages had ceased, my great-grandfather had already passed away.

Being able to finally go to a place that meant so much to everyone and that I have heard about since childhood was very special. Eating almojabanas at the town square, going to the plaza (market) for lunch, hiking through the surrounding mountains, eating fresh mandarinas on the trail, and meeting kind people who love their town and are proud of the land—it was a wonderful parenthesis, a welcomed contrast from the grittiness of Bogotá.

But even with all its pollution, the crime, the poverty, and the painful memories embedded into these mountains, coming back to Bogotá is coming back home. This month, I’ll leave Bogotá again and I am not sure exactly when I’ll be back—like so many of the other times I've departed, but it never stops being painful. I am excited about what is to come, it is beyond my wildest dreams, life that is. It has been that way during the past ten years. Full of new beginnings, new opportunities, but those beginnings always come paired with goodbyes and (hopefully) see you laters. A "see you later" is always an act of faith, and I am by nature faithless.

I see logging as more than a recollection of important events or thoughts, but as a way to digest and accept that duality, so integral to life. Whether one travels or not, we are all constantly starting and ending. Moments, books, trips, meals, tasks, conversations.

Before Comma Directory I have been logging in journals, the analog way. However, I rarely keep my journals around and I almost never have wanted to re-read my entries. Too self-conscious of my own writing, unfettered and unedited. However, recently I have made the effort to keep and complete the same journal, and also keep two additional analog logs on books and films. These logs are from the Rey Naranjo Editorial House, which is part of Bogotá’s very vibrant artistic scene. Their design is quite nice, they are compact and portable, and there’s a bit of humor and character infused into them. I’ve also managed to keep an agenda for the first time, which I bought at the beginning of the year in Oaxaca, that has also served as a nice writing space. More on writing next time.

- Andrea

Email combined with isync makes it is possible to access email offline and have it synced on a regular interval.

I looked around for options to build a shared TODO list with Andrea and sometimes the best solution is that which is right in front of you. All the local solutions that I have used in the past made sharing difficult, and neither one of us wanted to sign up for some third-party service nor download an app just for TODO items. Then I started thinking a few days ago about how I have always shared links with myself in the past, which was through email.

Well, thanks to fastmail's web filters, I was able to set up a specific email address that Andrea and I could use to share TODO items between each other. All emails sent to that email address end up in my TODO inbox. How do I share TODO items? Well, just add Andrea on CC and then it's done. No sign-up to a new service needed. When the item is complete, I just reply done and then my email rule will automatically drag it to my Done archive.

Similarly, I use this as my social bookmarking service. I have a special email address and a email rule so that when that address receives links from the right people, those links end up automatically in my links archive.

These two solutions work cross-device as well. All my devices have email so sharing across BSD, iOS, and Android becomes trivial. All of them support email.

This could be further extended with interfaces that operate on the isync directory. You could then have TODO apps that use email as a backend, and what is nice is that people would not need to download an app to operate on it, so it would be a form of "progressive enhancement".

- Marc

On most browsers, you can easily download and print a PDF version of a website for offline use by using Ctrl+P.

With that, you can save and render the PDF with Zathura or Mupdf. I discovered that my undervolted laptop actually struggles with Zathura for PDF rendering, however Mupdf renders the PDFs instantaneously.

However, another technique that might be nicer is to save the website page as Web Page (HTML only) and then convert it to a more readable plain-text format. That way it is much easier to search through your documentation using grep or other Unix tools.

To do so Pandoc can be used to to convert it to a Markdown page.

pandoc my-site.html --to markdown_strict -o my-site.md

Markdown is not necessarily the most readable format though, so with some extra help of lowdown, we can produce terminal-readable documentation.

NO_COLOR=true lowdown -tterm -o my-site.txt

With the power of Unix, we can pipe these commands together:

pandoc my-site.html --to markdown_strict |\
> NO_COLOR=true lowdown -tterm -o my-file.txt

Then we can read it with less

cat my-file.txt | less -R

- Marc

I have begun using recutils to build a database of what I have read, watched and also for storing references on how to do things.

The tool has a decent amount of utilities for querying data and its simple formatting means that even if recutils one day stops working, it would be trivial for me to build my own replacement.

The usage becomes simple. To find all FreeBSD specific information, I can simply run the recsel -q freebsd ~/refs.rec and I will find all my Freebsd related references. I made an alias of it so I just have to type refs freebsd.

- Marc

Working out remotely can be challenging. When the gym is far away, staying in shape is a goal that can easily be sidelined.

To work out regularly and everywhere, I carry my favorite set of exercise equipment, the Gymnastics rings.

These rings can be used anywhere you have a tree or bar to hang them up on, and enables you to perform a complete upper-body pull workout, which is hard to do without any form of equipment.

After 8 months, starting from scratch, I was able to unlock the ring muscle up with the help of a personal trainer.

Over time, I have transitioned over to exercising on my own. These days I follow the training programs sold byfitnessfaqs. I find his marketing to be a bit like snake oil, flashy, but the concepts he teaches are legit and the programs were recommended by my trainer. Though it should be said that these workouts should be supplemented with some of your own reading, as his training programs can be a bit light on theory.

On Reunion island, I found a tree next to a small lake where I could hang up the rings, do my exercises and then jump into the lake and swim for a bit to cool myself down. On the best days the lake was completely empty.

The simplicity of the wooden rings combined with being alone in nature makes it a meditative form of exercise.

- Marc

Today, Andrea and I designed the Concepts page. Looking around at other personal wikis, our shared sentiment was that there is a lot of amazing content, but that it can be hard to navigate because of the overwhelming amount of information served in a rather flat layout.

By using a hierarchical structure, we are able to better break it down into sub-categories that are easier to navigate. The top has:

• Concepts
• Media
• Travel

And under them there is a subcategory and finally the topic. Each log entry uses a tag underneath, so we are still able to display the same log entry in multiple topics, if necessary.

To design the layout, Andrea and I started to look for inspiration. I am rather infatuated by the old lisp machines, and especially the Genera Symbolics lisp.

I love the portrait aspect ratio and the black and white look. So, I wanted the design to make an homage to its beauty.

Searching for its design elements, we came across this.

Andrea and I both find it beautiful. If you head over to the Concepts section, you can see how that served as inspiration for the design. We are very happy with the result.

- Marc

Comma Directory tries to set up a way to separate "the facts" from the interpretation of the facts. The idea is to build up a set of log entries that over time can be projected to display a unique interpretation of a given concept.

Originally inspired by event-sourced programming, this idea also has a certain resemblance to the zettelkasten method. In zettelkasten, you build up a set of atomic notes, that you then piece together to construct a novel idea.

This process allows us to improve our understanding of our own thoughts and make sure that important ideas are grounded in a solid foundation. And if we get it wrong, we are able to reinterpret the information, without losing the raw source.

- Marc

When ChatGPT 3 came out, I was initially terrified how it might make my job irrelevant and all creative professions along with it.

Now I have had time to let that fear simmer for a bit, and I have changed my mind. These days, when I think about AI, I come to think about how irrelevant it is to the major problems I face. For the problems I try to solve, AI feels, at best, like a tool that can take care of some chores, and at worst, exploitative and actively harmful.

My current project is to help people live more sustainably. From that perspective, AI is an ecological disaster. At the same time, I think the way that AI removes our need to think,actively harms our public institutions. The more software I build, the more I understand the importance of understanding how things work, from the hardware to the software, in order to be able to fix it myself when something breaks. In that sense, I am skeptical of the way AI encourages us to just copy-paste without knowing what we are doing. It is like stackoverflow, but on steroids.

When I find out a picture is AI generated, I cannot help but to feel that it is about as interesting as a stock photo to me, and that makes me think that it will not be replacing art anytime soon.

These days, I feel a relief that AI actually does not help me in what I try to achieve, my initial anxiety is gone. Instead, I feel more pressure to make sure that my projects succeed so I do not end up in an organization where I am forced to use AI tools.

- Marc

I've been interested lately by the energy usage of software.

Since my current energy usage is invisible to me, it is hard to actually grasp just how bad the situation is. But I often am amazed at how inefficient many solutions are, they offer very little gain.

For example, to ensure that a service is always available, at my old job we had 3+ servers running in parallel, just in case one server hall gets hit by a tornado or other disasters.

Most services do not even need 99.99+% availability, they'd be fine with just two of those nines. Maybe that's what we should strive for instead?

Anyways, if we want to understand how we can do better, it is good to understand the energy footprint right now.

After some investigation I came by websitecarbon.com, which is extremely easy to use and gives some rough estimations. It estimates the cost of:

• Data transfer over the wire
• Energy intensity of web data
• Energy source used by the data centre
• Carbon intensity of electricity
• Website traffic

It links to Sustainable web design: Estimating digital emissions which I will need to take a closer look at.

I also asked a Permacomputing groupif they had any recommendations. Almost immediately I was recommended a few tools for measuring energy usage:

• watt-wiser
• scaphandre
• kepler

Excited to dive deeper into these resources and see how I can better understand and optimize.

- Marc

I listened to a podcast recently, the Corercusive episode on the birth of Unix with Brian Kirnighan. An interesting point made during the talk was that software development today is more about looking up information rather than building something with your own intuition. You search the answer for each query, a.k.a. stackoverflow-driven development.

I have started valuing more the software that does not require that, where you can read the manual and then understand how to use the programming language.

- Marc

I read an interesting article on local-first software. I think it perfectly summarizes the issue with cloud software and the need for more offline-friendly software.

I am happy the authors mentioned Git, as it is a prime example of successful offline-friendly collaboration. Github of course ruins it slightly by having PRs be done online.

I was a bit sad, though, that the article did not mention the dvcs fossil, which contains chat and forums built-in that auto-sync when you go online. It is also extremely easy to self-host.

In conversations about local-first, I often find email and/or activitypub to be underrated as well. Email is offline friendly, I have it synced offline. I also think you could extend it to have apps on top of it, like a todo list app. Activitypub could be used to push the envelope even further, as it is a system to stream activities. You could have those activities be signed locally and sent when you go online.

- Marc

Comma.directory will be built over time by composing together many small log entries. Each log entry contains observations, events, and thoughts that we label.These log entries will be the building blocks for a directory of concepts, which we will categorize for easier navigation.

When entering the page of a concept through the directory, the log entries that led up to the idea would show up and and, if the idea feels more fully explored, it might also contain a summary or conclusion.

- Marc