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I just came across the first recorded steam engine, the Aeolipile, also known as Heron's engine. It seems like it might not have been used for anything practical at the time.

It blows my mind to imagine that such a device existed so far back. In some sense, it represents to me "what could have been". Like, in an alternative past, what would the world look like had we explored this device's capacities further at the time? Yet, we did not, and it would take another 1500 years until the idea reappeared once more.

I wonder what inventions or ideas today may prove to be similar to the Aeolipile.

- Marc

Last weekend, Marc and I visited the Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art Africa (MOCAA) to view two new expositions that have opened up during the spring. The Zeitz is an impressive towering structure, a museum housed in an old industrial silo by the harbor. Every time I visit the museum, I am reminded of the special beauty that can be found within a repurposed space, and of all that there is to learn and experience within the museum's thick concrete walls.

This final visit was particularly meaningful, not just because our time in South Africa is drawing to a close, but also because I encountered the paintings of Gerard Sekoto and the poetry of Don Mattera for the very first time. Named after one of Mattera's poems, the exhibition "A Protea is Not a Flower" puts a spotlight on South African modernism and exile brought on by apartheid in the 20th century. In fact, Sekoto and Mattera are prominent names within South African art history, and I feel grateful that I will not leave Cape Town without experiencing their work.

Seeing paintings like "Yellow Houses in Sophiatown" and reading poems like "Fallen Fruit" elicited feelings not unlike those that I have felt when seeing the films of Satyajit Ray and Wong Kar Wai for the first time. Or when I stood on a beach of black sand for the first time. Like a first taste of pistachio gelato, a first reading of Jane Eyre. Awakenings that pull at the heart.

- Andrea

Lately, I have been thinking that, while good art often uncovers what is hidden, allowing us to see lucidly across large spans of time and space, the short-form clips of our age seem to instead obscure our sight.

Take, for instance, the "tradwife" trend on TikTok and Instagram. There is perhaps no more powerful antidote to the digital mirage of seemingly young, healthy, and manicured women endlessly showing off pampered babies and sponsored cleaning products, than the short story collection I recently finished reading. In Banu Mushtaq's Heart Lamp, a young housewife cries out to her husband (and to us all): "Others are not even married at my age. But I am already an old woman [...] My back is broken. These children, the home, samsara—do I have even a minute of free time? If I bear one child per year, what will I become? Don't you want me to live long enough to be a mother to these children at least?"

- Andrea

After an early start to the day and to the month of October, we sat down with one of the essays of Albert Camus, "Helen's Exile". It proved to be especially lovely, melancholic and thought-provoking on a grey rainy day like today, and Camus' literary flair is always awe inspiring. We picked out a few of our favourite quotes, some of which can make confronting current events feel less lonely, and some of which speak to some of the other reflections posted on Comma Directory recently.

"Our Europe [...] off in the pursuit of totality is the child of disproportion."

"In her madness she extends the eternal limits, and at that very moment dark Erinyes fall upon her and tear her to pieces. Nemesis, the goddess of measure and not of revenge, keeps watch. All those who overstep the limit are pitilessly punished by her."

"In a drunken sky we light up the suns we want. But nonetheless the boundaries exist, and we know it."

"In our wildest aberrations we dream of an equilibrium we have left behind, which we naively expect to find at the end of our errors."

"We, too, have conquered, moved boundaries, mastered heaven and earth. Our reason has driven all away. Alone at last, we end up by ruling over a desert."

"Whereas the Greeks gave to will the boundaries of reason, we have come to put the will's impulse in the very centre of reason, which has, as a result, become deadly."

"Nature is still there, however. She contrasts her calm skies and her reasons with the madness of men. Until the atom too catches fire and history ends in the triumph of reason and the agony of the species."

"But the Greeks never said that the limit could not be overstepped. They said it existed and that whoever dared to exceed it was mercilessly struck down. Nothing in present history can contradict them."

"The historical spirit and the artist both want to remake the world. But the artist, through an obligation of his nature, knows his limits, which the historical spirit fails to recognise. This is why the latter's aim is tyranny whereas the former's passion is freedom."

"[Our era] wants to transfigure the world before having exhausted it, to set it to rights before having understood it."

"Whatever it may say, our era is deserting this world."

"Yet what a temptation, at certain moments, to turn one's back on this bleak, fleshless world! But this time is ours, and we cannot live hating ourselves."

"Admission of ignorance, rejection of fanaticism, the limits of the world and of man, the beloved face, and finally beauty—this is where we shall be on the side of the Greeks."

- Andrea & Marc

One of the benefits of reading widely and constantly is that the opportunities for enlightening coincidences multiply. A line from Rubem Braga's "O Motorista 8-100" suddenly echoes with the writing of Camus. I listen to a lecture on Jane Austen's personal letters and think of Banu Mushtaq's short stories. I write about an encounter with a dying bird on the sidewalk, I read Caetano W. Galindo's Lia and encounter a scene in which the protagonist, Lia, encounters a dead bird on the sidewalk. Nothing is original, but everything is. This does not discourage me. Ideas repeat, but never exactly in the same way. It testifies to the common experiences that bind living beings together, and it also speaks to individualities that are irreplaceable.

- Andrea

I have read and written less than I would have liked during the past three months. Not too unexpected, however, as it has been the part of the year in which I have traveled the most. After a month in Cape Town, I feel like I have some room for pause and reflection on the books that have accompanied me from Bath and London to the United States and now South Africa.

I realize now that my reading has been just as scattered as my physical presence: from a radio journalist's compilation of tales about the lives of Chinese women in the 80s and 90s to contemporary queer Latin American poetry and an academic analysis of the cultural impact of Ayn Rand. It has been interesting. So much so, that I do not really know where to begin.

Perhaps, I should begin at the beginning. And an important beginning for me is Jane Austen. Bidding adieu to Bath, I re-read Pride and Prejudice during my last few days in the UK. It happened spontaneously, or as spontaneous as it can be when at every corner I was reminded that it was the 250th anniversary of Austen's birth. Bath practically burst with Austen, and I eyed it all a bit skeptically. Maybe with a similar skepticism to that with which I approached Pride and Prejudice for the first time when I was in high school. However, Austen's eternally fresh and funny storytelling always manages to sweep away my reserve. With each re-reading, my appreciation only grows and I was pleased to have had the novel's company during the long hot nights of a London heatwave.

Some of my other reads this summer were less comforting, matching the anxious tone of the times, of degradation in all sense of the word. Mean Girl: Ayn Rand and the Culture of Greed by Lisa Duggan and The Good Women of China: Hidden Voices by Xinran are two non-fiction books that prompt reflection on how societies function and malfunction, and how this malfunctioning can profoundly hurt individuals, families, and communities. What ideas get to be influential and why? How do we displace harmful ideas and conventions?

The pessimism and anxiety that comes from ruminating on the world's biggest issues, some that perhaps seem unsurmountable, is one of the main themes of the other book that accompanied me on flights and train rides: A System So Magnificent It Is Blinding by Amanda Svensson. This big novel is full of quirky moving pieces, like a Murakami novel, but very Swedish and with less music. Faraway places, improbable images, coincidences that promise to be part of some big conspiracy. The three sibling protagonists try to make sense of a world that feels like it is going to pieces. In the end, I felt like this novel was an exercise in building suspense and anticipation only to purposefully disappoint in order to make a point. I appreciated the concept and the intent more than the novel itself, unfortunately. Not sure I would pick it up again, but I am glad to have read it.

In the midst of all of that, I stumbled into some poetry as well. Feeling a bit nostalgic for home, I picked up an anthology of queer Latin American poetry edited by the Argentine poet Leo Boix, as well as a newly published work by Boix. Within Hemisferio Cuir: An Anthology of Young Queer Latin American Poetry, I was pleased to discover poetry from across the region, including some countries that are less well represented on the global literary stage. These are the poems from the collection that stuck with me:

• "El agua de los sueños" de Flor Bárcenas Feria
• "Oda a Querelle de Brest" de Pablo Jofré
• "Una parra sube" de Paula Galíndez
• "Poetas enamoradas" de V. Andino Díaz
• "Cómo ser feliz siendo de Nicaragua" de Magaly Castillo
• "poema [post]umo" de Alejandra Rosa-Morales

- Andrea

Traditionally, web applications have stored user data on their own servers, and thus, the server owners bear full responsibility for and ownership of that data. They can analyze it, sell it and manipulate it how they wish (which includes destroying it). Now, what if we flipped the script and instead of web applications storing user data on their servers, they needed user permission to read data users own? The user would then have full ownership of that data, and could inspect, remove and change ownership and access as they wish. Applications would also store the data on the users' servers instead of their own.

This is the idea behind the SOLID project, in which users would own what they call data pods. In other words, users would store semantic data in a pod and grant applications access to read from that pod. That way we can move away from companies like Meta storing and keeping so much information about us. SOLID is not the only company exploring this concept. AT Protocol, developed by Bluesky, does something very similar. Users can store their tweets on Bluesky's server, or host their own PDS, or personal data server, retaining ownership of their data on the pod.

ICloud arguably can also function as a data pod. It enables apps to store data directly to the user account instead of a server, enabling the seamless synchronization that comes with having data stored on a server.

Lately, I have also explored Caldav servers, which share some characteristics with a datapod. What I like about it though is that everyone is already signed up to some sort of email provider, and with that they most likely also have a calendar, which typically uses Caldav as the backend. Caldav uses the iCalendar media-type, and it is surprisingly flexible; it supports events, to-dos and even journals. There is therefore a lot of potential for interoperable social productivity tools and note-writing tools that hasn't really been explored.

- Marc

The white "tablecloth", fluffy and wispy, has draped itself over the grey rocky peaks around which this city has carved its roads, villas, shacks, churches and mosques. The sun shines down on the thick frondy palms that peek above the white walls of Dutch-style colonial structures and Art Deco-inspired apartment blocks. Greens, reds, and whites are what I can see from the window I have borrowed.

How have I made it here? So far from home, to such a beautifully rugged place which, just like home, is bursting at the seams with life and death, cruelty and kindness, opportunity and injustice.

Effervescent have been the first three weeks I have spent on the African continent. Cape Town is everything Marc has described to me over the years, yearning to return. To the sea, the mountains, the trees, the languages, the cultures, the art. It is like being a child again. The bird is not quite a bird as I have known it. It sings songs up to now unknown to me as the day rises and the call to prayer rings from a nearby mosque.

I am grateful, but do not know what to thank beyond those who have cared for me up to now. Am I deserving, worthy of being fortunate? It is a pathetic question, isn't it? In Cape Town, like in Bogotá, the face of the mountain itself appears stained by the pervasive shadow of violence and inequity. Cities like ours demand you pay attention. You are not allowed to avert your gaze.

Earlier this summer-winter, when I was in New York City, a friend told me she wanted to stop feeling guilty for living. To live. I have wanted so much to be able to live without fear. To move freely. To learn everything I possible can. To take care of others. Have I now traded fear for guilt? And what good does guilt do?

- Andrea

While practising my Portuguese and going through an anthology of Brazilian literature a good friend gifted me many months ago, I discovered a three-page short story that dazzled me. Up until this point, I had read through the other excerpts and stories with a studious sort of interest, discovering new authors and literary styles. But encountering Machado de Assis' Um apólogo blew me away and made me think that the classics are the classics for a reason. Yes, lots of great art gets left out of "the canon," especially that of marginalized groups. I believe there are many more "classics" out there than those regularly taught in classrooms. Nonetheless, I understand why Machado is considered one of Brazil's greatest writers. It is not unmerited.

I wish I could write first lines as good as these:

"Era uma vez uma agulha que disse a um novêlo de linha: —Por que está você con êsse ar, tôda cheia de si, tôda enrolada, para fingir que vale alguma coisa neste mundo?"

To write a very good story about the rivalry between a sewing needle and a ball of thread is impressive. Machado adopts the conventions of the fable, even including a little lesson or moral at the end, but the story goes beyond the traditional fable and takes on an almost existential or absurd sense.

There have been times that as I writer I have wondered if what I am writing about is too silly or random. Machado's amazing little story about a humanized sewing kit is a necessary reminder that the skill and imagination of a writer can make any subject enthralling and thought-provoking.

Now, I really want to read Machado's Memórias Póstumas de Bras Cubas, which has been languishing in my mental "to-read" list for at least a decade.

- Andrea

During my recent trip to New York City, a friend invited me to the IFC Center to watch this year's Sundance Shorts Tour. This screening is the latest in a series of unexpected encounters with short film that have popped up throughout my travels in the past year. Wherever I go, it seems like there is some sort of short film festival or screening going on. I have also begun to cross paths with aspiring and emerging directors, and it has been fascinating to gain some insight on the current challenges and opportunities within the discipline. In a way, it is all very fitting. When I first began to wade into the world of film nearly ten years ago, my point of entry was a short film: Chris Marker's La jetée, which has haunted me ever since.

I want to reflect on this yearlong impromptu journey into short film by featuring some of my personal highlights and what has made these films so memorable.

Bright Lights (2019) by Charby Ibrahim

A short documentary film on gambling and addiction, animated in the bright flashing lights of slot machines, that communicates the despairing ease with which compulsion takes over the human brain. The white outlined figures on the black background are eery; the animation manages to convey the way in which addiction can hollow out a life. It is a film I find myself coming back to, and that I think about a lot in relation to the rise of design elements in games and social media that draw inspiration from casinos.

Bogotá Story (2023) by Esteban Pedraza

I stumbled upon this short fiction film by chance and it turned out to be one of the most meaningful encounters I had with an artwork in 2024. It brings the Bogotá of the 90s back to life with an attention to detail that is astounding. It almost felt like the visual quality of the film mirrored that of my own childhood memories: from the color palette of greens, brick oranges, and blues to a dark shadowy quality of a city often overcast. Not only am I not used to seeing my hometown depicted on film, but seeing it reconstructed with so much care was touching. This care contrasts in a powerful way with the violence that simmers just below the surface throughout most of the film, foreshadowing tragedy.

De Blinden (2023) by Michiel Robberecht (International Short Film Festival of Cyprus)

When I saw this odd fictional short in the Rialto in Limassol, I did not know what to make of it. A town full of blind inhabitants, a temporal setting that could be the past or some sort of future, a mysterious threat that may or may not exist. It was very different from all the other films screened that day at the festival. Shot in black and white, there is a compelling play of shadow and light that gives the film a mythical feeling. Ultimately, De Blinden made me think of Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal and David Bowie's last album, ★ (Blackstar), which are not uninteresting evocations.

We Were The Scenery (2025) by Christopher Radcliff (Sundance Shorts Tour at the IFC Center)

I must make a somewhat embarrassing confession now: I have never watched Apocalypse Now. It is one of those classics that I have not gotten around to watching, but that I have been wanting to. I mention it now because We Were The Scenery is a mini documentary of the Vietnamese refugees that were casted as extras in the film. Apparently, Coppola's film crew arrived at a refugee camp in the Philippines and swept everyone up to be part of the film. We Were The Scenery is the testimony of one couple, Hoa Thi Le and Hue Nguyen Che, and their difficult relationship with Apocalypse Now and the war-torn past that haunts them. Even now, I remember the feeling of sitting in the theater and realizing how messed up it was to have victims of war recreate the very same war that they were running away from. It was a strong commentary on filmmaking through the lens of another filmmaker. In a way, I am glad I got to see Hoa Thi Le and Hue Nguyen Che's version of the story first, of what it truly meant to survive the Vietnam War.

Hurikán (2024) by Jan Saska (Sundance Shorts Tour at the IFC Center)

I will close out my list with another animated short, Hurikán. Having lived through a few hurricanes, I believe this film is aptly named. The pacing of the animation is great in the way it alternates between moments of suspense and anticipation with high energy impact scenes that tear through Prague. The effect was also perhaps heightened by the fact that it followed right after We Were The Scenery and I was still a bit teary eyed when the pig headed protagonist burst into the scene. I really enjoyed how the film played with the slapstick conventions of cartoon, while still managing to transcend those conventions.

Other Short Films Watched

• Susana (2025) by Gerardo Coello Escalante and Amandine Thomas
• Grandma Nai Who Played Favorites (2025) by Chheangkea
• Les talons de ma mère (2025) by Lili Cazals
• Percebes (2024) by Laura Gonçalves and Alexandra Ramires
• La Cascada (2024) by Pablo Delgado
• Minha Mãe é Uma Vaca (2024) by Moara Passoni
• Grave (2023) by Martin Tunnicliffe-Squirrell
• Love Is Blind (2018) by Dan Hodgson
• L'homme qui plantait des arbres (1987) by Frédéric Back
• Junkopia (1981) by Chris Marker
• Whiplash (2013) by Damien Chazelle

- Andrea