Getting Away From It All

cвязность интернетов

October 4, 2014 at 10:55pm
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xkcd: Pixels

xkcd: Pixels

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#nettarot →

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Reblogged from asmilinggoddess


this is probably my favorite joke from futurama tbh

(via danikoflux)

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Reblogged from transparentoctopus

M Peterka, Prague castle archive

Some books are bigger than others.


M Peterka, Prague castle archive

Some books are bigger than others.

(via iseesigils)

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«The problem with something like twitter or tumblr is that you can pretty much just keep scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, consuming all the jokes, all the news, all the tremendous horror that happens daily in the world, and you can consume without ever really processing.


So what are activities that count as rest? Well here’s a list I came up with for myself.

- reading fiction
- having drinks with friends
- watching a movie I like
- board games
- letting my mind wander
- taking walks > 2-3 miles
- watching my partner play videogames (no, really)
- short bursts of cleaning (20/10 UFYH style)
- reading/writing poetry
- listening to music with headphones on

Then what are activities that are unproductive procrastination? I think my list would be something like

- infinite scrolling through social media
- playing a video game for longer than 20-30 minutes at a time (there’s a few exceptions, such as Earthbound or FF6 that I’ve played dozens of times so that it’s almost meditative)
- marathoning tv series
- putting on movies that I don’t care about just for noise
- binge reading webcomics»

— Beating Your Head Against the Wall, Time Management, and Terrified Procrastination | Inconsistent Universe

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«There’s a couple I know who I really admire.
They do the weirdest thing: talk.
I’ve never seen another couple do it as much as they do.
They’ll sit down together, no t.v., no project, sometimes whiskey, but just them.
And they’ll talk.
For, like, five hours.
They’ll talk about work. They’ll talk about their childhoods. They’ll talk about politics. They’ll talk about pop culture. They’ll talk about projects they’d like to do. They’ll talk about books they’ve read. They’ll talk about people they know, and what those people are doing, and what they think of that.
How often do they do this?
probably at least 3 times a week, some weeks more like six times.
It’s the weirdest, strangest, bizarrest thing I’ve ever seen.
They have short interludes of companionable silence.
But mainly they visit.
I’ve seen other couples who enjoy walks, puzzles, craft (maker) projects, hiking, biking, fishing, gaming, or cooking».

— r/simpleliving: Fun things to do at home as a couple?

August 31, 2014 at 10:54am
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«If a man find no prudent companion who walks with him, is wise, and lives soberly, let him walk alone, like a king who has left his conquered country behind,—like an elephant in the forest».

— The Dhammapada

July 18, 2014 at 12:22pm
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«Hal, who’s empty but not dumb, theorizes privately that what passes for hip cynical transcendence of sentiment is really some kind of fear of being really human, since to be really human (at least as he conceptualizes it) is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naïve and goo-prone and generally pathetic, is to be in some basic interior way forever infantile, some sort of not-quite-right-looking infant dragging itself anaclitically around the map, with big wet eyes and froggy-soft skin, huge skull, gooey drool. One of the really American things about Hal, probably, is the way he despises what it is he’s really lonely for: this hideous internal self, incontinent of sentiment and need, that pules and writhes just under the hip empty mask, anhedonia».

— Infinite Jest

July 17, 2014 at 6:48pm
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A tumbleweed is a structural part of the above-ground anatomy of any of a number of species of plants, a diaspore that, once it is mature and dry, detaches from its root or stem, and tumbles away in the wind. In most such species the tumbleweed is in effect the entire plant apart from the root system, but in other plants a hollow fruit or an inflorescence might serve the function.[1] Tumbleweed species occur most commonly in steppe and arid ecologies, where frequent wind and the open environment permit rolling without prohibitive obstruction.[2]

Apart from its propagules, the tissues of the tumbleweed structure are dead; their death is functional because it is necessary for the structure to degrade gradually and fall apart so that the propagules can escape during the tumbling, or germinate after the tumbleweed has come to rest in a wet location. In the latter case, many species of tumbleweed open mechanically, releasing their seeds as they swell when they absorb water. [3]

The tumbleweed diaspore disperses propagules, but the tumbleweed strategy is not limited to the seed plants; some species of spore-bearing Cryptogams such as Selaginella form tumbleweeds, and some fungi that resemble puffballs dry out, break free of their attachments and are similarly tumbled by the wind, dispersing spores as they go.


June 21, 2014 at 1:34am
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Трехмерное пространство некоторым специальным образом замкнуто само на себя через четвертое изменение, из-за этого в трехмерности всегда будет казаться бесконечным, хотя на самом деле это и не так: оно безгранично, но не бесконечно.

June 18, 2014 at 12:13am
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I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. That is my belief.


June 12, 2014 at 4:22pm
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As I see it, it probably really is good for the soul to be a tourist, even if it’s only once in a while. Not good for the soul in a refreshing or enlivening way, though, but rather in a grim, steely-eyed, let’s-look-honestly-at-the-facts-and-find-some-way-to-deal-with-them way. My personal experience has not been that traveling around the country is broadening or relaxing, or that radical changes in place and context have a salutary effect, but rather that intranational tourism is radically constricting, and humbling in the hardest way—hostile to my fantasy of being a real individual, of living somehow outside and above it all. (Coming up is the part that my companions find especially unhappy and repellent, a sure way to spoil the fun of vacation travel:) To be a mass tourist, for me, is to become a pure late-date American: alien, ignorant, greedy for something you cannot ever have, disappointed in a way you can never admit. It is to spoil, by way of sheer ontology, the very unspoiledness you are there to experience. It is to impose yourself on places that in all noneconomic ways would be better, realer, without you. It is, in lines and gridlock and transaction after transaction, to confront a dimension of yourself that is as inescapable as it is painful: As a tourist, you become economically significant but existentially loathsome, an insect on a dead thing.


June 11, 2014 at 10:33pm
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Степанова: Ко мне по-прежнему ездят гонцы с амазон-кома и возят книжки — а муж шипит, что я захламляю квартиру печатной продукцией. Но мне все время кажется, что иначе, когда выключат электричество, я останусь без книжек.

Сапрыкин: А ведь все понимают, что рано или поздно его выключат.


June 9, 2014 at 11:30pm
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remember to smile, because it will only get worse before it gets much worse


June 5, 2014 at 10:03pm
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The web is a weird place because it lets you experience emotions but simultaneously not. Emotions in their raison meant to be not just internal experiences (if ever) but means of communication. And you sit there intensively emoting but your emotions never fulfill themselves truly because they don’t get desired response from no one.