Not many people remember Google these days. Most need to look it up. A sad irony for a company whose name was once a verb for that very act. Now it is a historical foot note. An academic short hand for dominance killed by ecological shifts. At its peak, Google's algorithms defined human knowledge in … Continue reading Remember Google?
I left Italy when I was sixteen. It was just after the war. There was nothing to eat. Everything was damaged, broken. Our ship stopped in Ceylon. A place call Gorl. There was this fellow loading pineapples onto the ship. It was the first time I saw one. I asked him what it was. He … Continue reading Migrant’s Pineapples
I measure distance with travel time. Not by fixed the impersonality of metres and kilometres. So my perception of distance is fluid. Stretching and shrinking based on where I am, where I am going, how I’m going, when I travel, the parking or available transport, . So my idea of the “distance” from Colombo Fort … Continue reading Time: a true measure of space
Drawing the human figure is not a talent. It is a hand-eye coordination skill. Systematic instruction and lots of focused practice will get any student drawing representations of the human form. Even a talentless shit like Cerno managed it. The proof is in the Flickr gallery at end of this post. Using skill to create … Continue reading Before skill becomes a talent
Three kids meant a small family in my parents’ generation. That vast cast of aunts and uncles is unthinkable now. In my generation, that crowd of siblings is replaced by cousins. Looking back, not being siblings made friendships easier. Our relationships escaped the inevitable frictions between siblings. In its place a sense of kinship through … Continue reading Have you spoken to your cousins lately?
This is a picture of a decaying blog. Creative statistical massage will get you the same conclusion via different paths. I used to consider it a miracle if I made two posts a month. Now one a month is a challenge. Yet the bigger miracle is that I still get traffic. Most of those who … Continue reading Picture of Blog Decay
“You dress like a P.O.W” (Prisoner of War) sighs my father. A sweeping generalisation of course. But he’s right. The accurate version is "you wear the tatters of a German P.O.W after a decade of Soviet hospitality in Siberia". Yet this parental grumble marks an interesting experience. Which has taught me about the unspoken social … Continue reading Surrendering my fashion choices – P.O.W Style