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Reconfiguring my backups - Baty.net

2026-08-16T11:43:19.000Z

I've been sort of half-assing my Linux backups for a while now. I finally decided to fix them.

My backups were a combination of rsync to a Hetzner Storage Box and Pika backups to an external drive. Each setup did different things, and there was no documentation. Testing the backups was a random and incomplete process that was too much work so I never did it. Rsync is easy and fast, but using the --delete option means that if I accidentally delete something and the backup runs, it's gone. Basically, my backup "system" was riddled with gaps and potential problems. Rather than tweak that, I borrowed ideas from My backup strategy 2026, by Michael Harley and started over.

Like Mike, I went with Borg for backups and borgmatic for managing them.

borgmatic was new to me, so I decided to have Claude Code help with the configuration. This was a great idea, because Claude surfaced many things that could go wrong that I hadn't thought about.

The approach was to create separate install scripts that builds the borgmatic configs for me. They're idempotent, so if parts of them change, I can rerun without stepping on anything. I can read the scripts, so they're not magic, just better than what I'd have done on my own. The resulting borgmatic .yaml files are not complex, and are loaded with helpful comments.

I've only done this for my desktop Linux machine, but it's a great template for when I add the laptop and eventually the NAS.

Once everything was finished, Claude summarized our work.

Claude Code:

One timer, four config files, three shell scripts you can read. Mount guards on both drives, failure notifications, a dead-man's switch for the runs that never happen, rolling verification that never blocks the window, keys in pass and on a LUKS stick, the passphrase on paper off-site.

And, the part most setups skip, every claim tested rather than assumed. Contents verified per-directory against the live tree, not just totals. The unattended run watched end to end. The disaster path exercised with only a passphrase and an SSH key.

It's all very "belts and braces", but it's also the most complete personal backup setup I've ever had.

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Cartier-Bresson on vanishing moments - Baty.net

2026-08-16T11:24:14.000Z

Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on Earth which can make them come back again

-- Henri Cartier-Bresson

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Criticism and the Internet friend - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-08-16T00:00:00.000Z

This is an excerpt from my journal.

I have made a few friends online through my activities. Generally, I care about deep connections: to talk about life and expand on shared experiences. I usually do more of the listening, because that is who I am, though still contribute with poignant remarks and relevant commentary.

My interests are diverse, covering the full spectrum of human experiences. I can connect on matters as far apart as mechanical keyboards and dog training, physical fitness and programming, art and farming. And because of my philosophical disposition, I always am open to new ideas, plus I find connections in patterns that are not obvious to others.

One time I was having a chat with someone who shared with me their experience with psychedelics. I have never done psychedelics because I never felt the need to. Though I am not against them in principle and am always eager to give my undivided attention to any topic. What I am against is abuse and recklessness: the freedom to ruin yourself is a freedom I have no respect for. I am, if you will, opposed to “heroin-ising the LSD in your ignorance” as Nikolas Asimos correctly points out in one of his songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gW6ucfl36m4.

As we were talking, I expounded on some of my thoughts about the interconnectedness of the world. The person eventually exclaimed how “I feel I am tripping right now”. This is what you get when you let me connect the dots from the most practical consideration to the greatest abstractions. I probably never felt the need to do psychedelics because I am like Obelix: I fell in the cauldron of Kykeon as a child, so I have that perspective built into me ever since.

People need a safe space to speak their mind. They want to find somebody who understands them. Open-mindedness is a good starting point to feel the other person and relate to their lived moments. It still takes courage to open up, as it requires the emotional maturity to deal with feedback and potentially integrate it in your routines.

There is this common phrase nowadays that “I do not mean to criticise, but…”. It is a figment of political correctness and, when applied consistently, a disservice to those you care about. Criticism is not the same as shittalking or being argumentative: it is an informed opinion that is framed in the context of your contribution. You benefit from criticism as it helps you understand things from a different perspective.

Indeed, “criticism” shares the same root as “crisis” and “critic”, which means “judgement”. Judgement is prudential insight. As with matters of law, a judge is someone who knows what they are talking about. Some random fellow is no judge: they are a vociferous ignoramus at best and when there are lots of them, you have the rule of the mob, which is a form of tyranny and decadence (e.g. cancel culture).

Immature and mentally feeble is the person who cannot handle criticism. Instead of listening, they argue back before you have even completed your sentence. Instead of admitting to their shortcomings, they double down on their incoherent thoughts. And when you ask them to pay attention, they bring up their precious feelings.

Your vaunted feelings are your prison cell, friend. They confine you to a tiny space that can only feed your fears. You have gotten so used to that state of insecurity and attendant mediocrity to the point where you consider it comfortable. You are not taking any opportunity to grow and to become the most excellent version of yourself. Instead of using your feelings as a hardened carapace, learn to recognise things as they are. You do that by being attentive. This is the prerequisite to expanding your reach. As such, there are people who proceed through action and there are people who have feelings.

This is not about lacking emotion and about becoming this caricature of a man with a stiff upper lip. No. It is about understanding that we sometimes grow attached to the wrong things and that in those cases we fail to identify the corruption that gradually occurs in our midst like rot under the carpet.

The best kind of criticism involves emotional intelligence: you know what to say and when to say it. Sometimes the medicine will still be bitter. It does not matter if you dislike its taste though as it still cures you.

If your friend is never giving you feedback that would qualify as criticism, then they are not your friend. They may be your colleague, your teammate, your talking buddy. Those are all fine. But they are not friends. A friend shows love. Love makes no discounts both when it is gentle and when it is tough.

By the way, “philia” (φιλία), the Greek word for “friendship” is a specialised form of “agape” (αγάπη), which is why “philo-sophia” (philosophy) is sometimes translated as “love of wisdom”.

Coming back to the Internet friends, the medium is digital though the attitude is the same. I have not met any of the friends I have online and might never do so. Though I still treat them with care. One such friend was defending their dissertation the other day. I attended the video call, even though I have no face-to-face connection with this person or any of their family. I was among the handful of friends and relatives who were in the audience. And I did it at an hour that was inconvenient for me. My friend told me after the fact how they drew strength from our presence there and how that helped them do what they ought to.

A friend sometimes says nothing. Their deeds do the talking. You know that for as long as I can, I shall. And I will be there to inspire you to reach your highest peak. Why? Because I care about you in particular.

Inspiration from physical artefacts - James' Coffee Blog

2026-08-16T00:00:00.000Z

This evening I was on a wonderful call about websites where, at two points, I reached for books that were around me as a visual reference. One of the books was “Mini Louvre”, a gift given to me that contains images and information about various artworks in the Louvre. We ended up talking about how there should be more picture books for adults. This led me further to think about my use of Mini Louvre in the last week.

I was looking for inspiration for a blog post and I decided to flick through the Mini Louvre book. I didn’t go in with any aim in particular, rather I wanted to skim the pages and see what I could find. I do this sometimes with poetry books too. The way I decided on the poem “Repeat that, repeat” for the collaborative challenge I did with Ruben was that I opened some of my poetry books, flicked through, and chose one that was short and seemed approachable in terms of analysis. I loved the practice of flicking through the book and seeing what stood out, almost as if I was wandering aimlessly through a world of poetry – and, in the case of Mini Louvre, of imagery and art history.

This has me thinking about what a “reference” book means. I have thought for the longest time of reference books as being more text-heavy, and more technical. Dictionaries, style guides, compilations of quotations, domain-specific references, and more all fit into this. But for me, poetry anthologies have been useful for reference, and, further, inspiration. So too was Mini Louvre; my perusing didn’t lead to any particular work, but it did give me a moment with art where I noticed something that was relevant to an idea I had. In a way, I was doing research without really realising it.

Earlier this week, I was looking through an art magazine I had lying around, and a particular work of art in a photograph in an advert stood out to me. My interest in the piece took me down a rabbit hole that led to me learning about an art collection I didn’t know about, and was quite a fun adventure. I loved how flicking through a magazine led to something of an adventure.

I am wondering whether I should add a few more art books to my shelf for when I want to flick through and see different images. I find the web a bit overwhelming for this purpose, both in terms of imagery and poetry; there are so many things to look through, and it is so easy to scroll. Whereas in a book I can open the work at a random page, look at what I see, and sit with it without feeling the pressure of having to keep going as I do when I am perusing an online image gallery.

I have three books about art that aren’t textbooks: a book of Monet’s work, Mini Louvre, and a book made for the Art of Manga exhibition that the de Young Museum in San Francisco held. For the latter book, I didn’t go to the exhibition but it looked so cool that I knew I wanted to have a physical artefact I could read. The print quality is delightful, and I have greatly enjoyed looking through and reading it. The book hasn't inspired me in a specific way, but it did satisfy my curiosity, and I love that it is there on my shelf whenever I want to learn a bit more about manga design.

I have been thinking too how it would be nice to have more zines also for creative reference. I would love to make zines and think it would be helpful to see how more people do them, just as I surf the web and explore websites to see how other people are using the medium of the web. I have a few handwritten zines in my collection which I love but I am also curious if there are zines of typewriters, or zines that are all images, or zines that are collages.

I am curious: do you collect any physical artefacts – books, zines, maps, exhibition guides, or whatever is relevant to you – for future creative reference? If so, I would love to hear your stories! Feel free to email me with your thoughts.

Mini Louvre email me Art of Manga exhibition that the de Young Museum in San Francisco held

Saturday, August 15, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-08-15T12:44:27.000Z

"I'll be curled up under my bed all day because I got an unexpected and (IMHO) unnecessary Emergency Alert on my phone that one time. But not before I complain about it on social media for a few hours, first."

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510 Pyro: The Best First Developer - by Derrick Buckner

One dilution, one bottle. No drama. I’m going to explain why this belongs in a beginner’s arsenal as much as it belongs in mine.

I've always been leery of Pyro developers, but based on this article, I've ordered a bottle from Freestyle Photo

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Hierarchy in the extended family - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-08-15T00:00:00.000Z

Some distant relatives visited me recently. I had not seen one of my elder cousins in roughly two decades, though I had kept in contact with the others. Cousin remarked that I have not changed at all. I happen to do a clean shave of my facial hair these days, which makes me look younger, so that story checks out. Me being a smartass around loved ones, I noted that I actually do not age: “I just gain experience”.

Cousin told me about their children. One of them is already an adult. I was aware of it but was still mildly surprised to piece together the facts. To my mind, a 20-year-old was born in the mid-90s. I guess this is what the stable mountain life does to you: you remain fresh, but you also lose sense of the years flying by.

I commented how I am eager to meet everybody and we will make that happen soon. My longer-term ambition is to reintegrate the family, buttress it with new neighbours, and rekindle the values that we almost lost to consecutive systemic crises.

With those and other relatives, we all agree on the importance of the extended family, which is a feature of traditional Greek culture. To which I emphasised that in terms of familial ties I do not do degrees: blood is blood.

The extended family has many benefits for individuals. The babies are raised by all their cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents, so the burden is not placed exclusively on the parents like it does in the atomic family. Same principle for the elderly. And everybody has people around to talk and do social activities with. This is a natural unit of solidarity that has stood the test of time. It does not rely on the state apparatus.

What the extended family also does is establish hierarchy and, by extension, enforce conformity with rules. The elders teach and demonstrate the values, while the rest embed those lessons into their behaviour.

These structures can, of course, be unfair, though that is a matter of how they are used. Hierarchy is not inherently tyrannical. The parents have, for example, power and control of their baby child, though this is used to help the child grow in a controlled environment until it is ready to rely on its own means. Too much freedom too early will definitely be catastrophic.

This is the essence of a virtuous hierarchy: to keep checks in place for those who need them because, fundamentally, not all people at all times know how best to exercise their freedom. Why that might be depends on all sorts of factors. They may not yet have the skills. They might be going through a tough period of emotional instability, which clouds their judgement. They are the kind of person who thrives when they get as much feedback as possible, but who otherwise hesitates to take the initiative. Or they simply have not thought things through to understand the consequences of their actions.

A right or obligation is balanced against the totality of rights and obligations. There is no such thing as an absolute prescription in a vacuum. Individual freedom, then, is not the only factor to be accounted for. The longer-term wellness of the individual as well as the group is equally important. For example, I will not sit around twiddling my thumbs while a relative is doing heroin: I do not respect your freedom to ruin yourself and to make your entire family suffer forever.

There is this Western notion of “my body; my rules”, which effectively does not recognise the externalities of one’s actions. When the junkie ends up living a lifetime of psychoses, there no longer is “my body” that is affected, but the bodies of everyone else. Lots of cases follow this pattern, but I will not belabour the point.

This sense of the collective good extends to matters of honour. A member of the extend family becoming a criminal is bad news for everyone, so we all have a strong incentive to enforce the moral code. We are not waiting for the bureaucrats in the capital to take action after the fact: it is our duty to preserve what we value. This arrangement creates the appropriate incentives.

Familial hierarchy is about love. Though love, too, is misconstrued nowadays to mean “you are perfect as you are, sweetheart; do whatever you want”. This is a license for complacency, which breeds the kind of feebleness that results in moral decay. Love needs to be tough sometimes: a “no” builds character and serves you well long-term. At other times, love will come in the form of emotional support and the appropriate gentle touch. What matters is the wellness of the individual through the coherence of the collective: the good of the place and the good of the space, as I often put it in more abstract terms.

Tough love is not tantamount to cruelty. It does not even involve corporal punishment (I think corporal punishment typically reveals a failure to lead by example or to be in control of the situation—put differently, it is part of the problem). One is tough when they are firm. And one is firm as well as equitable when they themselves embody the rules they are enforcing.

Indeed, what undermines hierarchy is the elders not following their own precepts. The uncle who tells you not to smoke while lighting up a cigarette cannot show tough love: it is ineffective because of the dissonance between words and deeds. What you need is the person who does not smoke and who actually follows through with their words. That is the toughest person around.

Your relatives calling out your nonsense in a spirit of love, or helping you cope with a difficult situation in a way that is empowering, is the best thing that can happen to you. They do it because they care. As such, they are preparing you for the much harsher world that is out there; a world in which certain strangers will blithely throw you under the bus.

Cousin was an athlete and remains as fit as ever. This is one of the embodied values I have in mind. If cousin comments on your habits, for example, you have to at least listen because you know there is some knowledge there that has been put to the test for decades. Thus emerges the hierarchy that holds you accountable.

The elders in an extended family are not necessarily the oldest people around. It is those who know what they are talking about and who exhibit it as part of their life. You become a hierarch organically by showing the requisite skill and responsibility. In practice, you are there when others want your advice. This will correlate with age, though age alone does not make you more prudent.

The extended family integrates friends and neighbours more easily. An individual cannot necessarily do that. For example, I am friendly, reliable, and talkative but I am also an introvert who tends to not contact anybody (though I am actively working on changing this). The integration continues naturally because, say, my friend may find others in my family with whom to be friends with and to do interesting things together.

As such friends and neighbours become de facto relatives and are treated as equals. There is a sense of togetherness and belonging, which builds solidity at the social level. I have experienced all of this before and am eager to contribute to it at the earliest opportunity. No matter the state of technology and how sophisticated we think we are, the ancient traditions remain ever-relevant.

I was able to build a house here, with material and financial help from locals and some people online. With my extended family around I would have the potential to build an entire civilisation.

Morning; walking; music - James' Coffee Blog

2026-08-15T00:00:00.000Z

My first feelings outside this morning were of the chilly, refreshing autumn air; one for which I have been yearning for many days. I feel at home in cooler climates. In the grass, a rabbit hops slowly; other rabbits gather, too. A bird flies in front of me as I walk; many kinds of birds sing, heard by each other and the trees and me. In the song, I wonder. Do birds have their own community? Their own rhythm? A robin – or maybe a chaffinch – perches on a low branch at the bottom of the hedge. I stand still to admire its colours for a moment.

As I walk I take in deep breaths to embrace the morning air. In, out. I take in the comfort of the cold after an unseasonably warm summer. The breeze feels like home. I look around and see a faint love heart shape made by the leaves on a tree nearby; another tree is starting to turn auburn; a mint green tree catches my eye. The sun peeks through the grey clouds and starts to shine through the fields; the light is welcoming. The day is beginning.

Later, I arrive at a coffee shop, taking a seat by the window that lets me watch the world go by // the flow of people and cars and suitcases and stories is fascinating. I lift my coffee cup of the first time today and see the ways of sun shine through the window onto the drink. Sun-kissed coffee. Passing by, people are dressed up for shows and wearing festival t-shirts – the Edinburgh Fringe is in full swing. Some people walk fast, with a spring in their steps, others saunter.

With breakfast and coffee, I was ready to start my day.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

There is a long walk through the city that I have wanted to do for the longest while, up Blackford Hill. I used to walk there every weekend, revelling in the panoramic views of the city – views extending from the countryside to the sea, overlooking houses and church spires and more. It is a far walk – a few miles – and I have always convinced myself to do something else; to go to a bookshop, to go to the art gallery. But this morning, something made me think I should do the walk today.

I did the walk today, trying my best to remember the path I used to take – one that weaved throughout quiet neighbourhoods; one on which there was always a particular album to which I would listen. I wanted to follow the familiar, but also the new: to do a walk I have done, but to walk today; my memories of the walk are at least a year old.

Passing purple flowers and moments of humanity and bakeries and trees, and taking a few wrong turns here and there – there is one part of the walk where, even when I was well practiced, I was occasionally prone to reaching a dead end – I made my way up to the hill, the hill on which the last stretch is all grass, malleable grass, malleable in a way that makes me think how hard stone is; how much more grass there should be. What if our pavements were grass?

I looked up to what was the periphery of the sky when observed from the distance and was now beautiful grass, underfoot. There is one particular part of the walk, however, reaching the top, where there is a dip, and it looks like you might walk into the sky. But when you reach that point, the stone marker of the hill becomes visible. Down a bit, then up a steeper stretch, and you have made it. Reaching the top of the hill, I had to lean forward to stay balanced against the wind; a wind more intense now there was no protection from the buildings that surrounded me for most of my walk.

Atop the hill, a family speaking German take photos of themselves and the city. I think about how quiet it is up here, only the faint hum of cars and construction equipment and the occasional conversation audible. I look around at the landscape that first brought me here and made me want to keep coming back every weekend, and realise that it is just as awe-inspiring as ever: the views of Arthur’s Seat and all the rows of stone houses and the Castle and all the other buildings that make up the place we call Edinburgh are breathtaking.

I sit down on a bench and look out for miles: at the stadium and the sea and the hills and the churches and the castle, and imagine all the hopes and dreams there are around me.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Walking slowly, except for the steep points where I feel like I need to speed up such was the gradient of the decline, I admired the landscape from many angles before descending the hill, and making my way back into the city. Two miles or so later, I was back on the concrete streets, now filled with music. The Fringe was in full swing.

A pianist played on the Royal Mile, one of the many hearts of the city – cities are too big to have only one heart. His piano did not have a front cover, so we – the large crowd assembled – could see every hammer pressed. I could feel the emotion in every note as the hammers touched the strings. The music the piano made was bright, and beautiful.

“If you enjoyed this music, it’s all my own.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Shortly thereafter, in the park, a guitarist plays faintly in the distance. The sound is mostly inaudible, but a few notes carry across the multi-tiered park that is Princes Street Gardens. I had to get closer, to hear what songs were being played – to hear the lyrics and to feel the rhythm of the music. Approaching, I heard the tail end of Year 3000, sung in the artist’s own, melodious voice.

“One outfit, one guitar – that’s all you need, right.” “You can’t [inaudible] your mistakes, you’ve just got to write songs about them.” The artist’s interstitial messages between songs were full of wisdom, whether or not she realised it.

I was entranced, as I was with the pianist earlier, and another guitarist earlier in the week. The transition to the chorus was joyful – at first, a moment of anticipation, then I close my eyes and start trying to identify the strumming pattern, and then, here comes the chorus. I listen and keep listening, tapping along to the rhythm. Here comes the bridge. People around me are smiling. I am too. One person lightly sways to and fro to the music.

Her voice reminds me a little bit of Maisie Peters.

The backdrop of the guitarist was Princes Street Gardens, the National Gallery of Scotland, and Edinburgh Castle and yet, in the moments when I listened to her music, staying for several songs, all the architecture fell into the background as I held on to lyrics, watched how she played, and enjoyed the moment. The music made me lose track of the world, and yet also, as music does, made me feel more connected than ever. We grow with words, with melody.

I deleted nearly all of my notes, on purpose. - Baty.net

2026-08-14T10:29:24.000Z

My ~/org/notes folder had nearly 4,000 files in it this morning. It now has 170. I deleted the rest.

Having lost my religion around "zettelkasten" and "second brains", my notes started to look a little silly. Hundreds of nearly empty files with carefully-curated front matter are not helpful, no matter how many links between them have been created.

I mean, what use is a note for, say, "Docker", which contains a link to the Docker website and Github page with a one-sentence summary like "an open-source platform that uses operating system-level virtualization to package, deploy, and run applications inside lightweight, isolated environments called container". All that would take like 5 seconds to look up any time I need it. And backlinks? So what if I mentioned "Docker" in a half-dozen other files. It's all useless to me. I also don't need "clippings" from web pages or books if I haven't added any of my own thoughts about them. I'm only just now learning this.

It's not that I've been doing it wrong, but I'm not an academic. I'm not doing research for a book. I'm not studying for an exam. Those tasks might benefit from the whole link-everything-and-generate-a-cool-graph thing, but mine don't.

What I actually need from a note-taking system:

tips and things I've learned (e.g. "My Fedora post-install tasks")
information about people I know
projects I'm working on (e.g. "Clean and improve rear landscaping (2026)")
a log of what I've done (e.g. "Bought LED bulbs from Amazon (2700K)" or "Had dinner with Shelley and Jeff")

Anything that wasn't any of those things has been deleted. It was a lot, and I feel good about it.

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Friday, August 14, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-08-14T10:09:48.000Z

STATUS: Trying to simplify everything
TODO: Review both Mac and Linux backups
(Re)READING: "Devoted" by Dean Koontz
WATCHING: Reacher Season 4

I'm about a third through "Devoted", by Dean Koontz and I've been enjoying it. I finally decided to add it to my Hardcover list. When I did, I saw that I'd already read the book in 2020 and gave it 3 stars. It's not uncommon for people to re-read books, but I honestly have no recollection of any of "Devoted". None of it sounds remotely familiar. That's weird, right?

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About desire, authenticity, and moderation - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-08-14T00:00:00.000Z

When we ponder our place in the world, we typically couch it in terms of our evolution as individuals or a group. We map both our shortcomings and aspirations on a historical trajectory. If we emphasise our frailties, we speak of the current state as one of decline. And if we focus on our strengths, we discern a trend towards some inevitable greatness.

This is a story-telling device that can be found in ancient and modern theories alike. Like a telenovela, the characters change but the plot is the same. Hesiod speaks of a lost Golden Age of man, the Bible tells us about the Garden of Eden, Hindus have the yuga cycles, Marxists describe the early humans as innately communist, nationalists take pride in their nation’s glorious past, pop culture fans will rave about how wonderful their favourite decade was, and so on.

At all times, the core descriptive statement is that we had something special that we lost. The prescriptive conclusion that sometimes follows is that we ought to regain what was once ours. I call this the “retrospective desire”. Its counterpart is the “prospective desire”, which is essentially expressed as a form of enthusiasm for the ever-moving future: a claim that things will naturally improve and all intermediate problems will eventually be sorted out. “Eventually” is the operative term in such an outlook, as it bases its faith on an indeterminate future that cannot be predicted with accuracy yet cannot be ruled out as a possible world either.

Both perspectives are correct in their own way in terms of describing what was and anticipating what may be, yet both can distract us from the present.

The retrospective desire can make us feel powerless in the face of the prevailing conditions: how can we, as individuals or groups, cope with the challenges when even those who were in the original state of greatness, and thus superior to us, failed? This is a thought that forces us into inaction because it prefigures whatever immediate goal as futile.
At the other end, we become complacent the moment we assume that there is an inexorable transition towards our betterment, however that is defined. The resulting inaction can make us sloppy and unprepared to benefit from what we expect to happen. This same complacency may in turn render us fragile in the face of various challenges.

A friend, who is a musician, once told me that you hear the base when it is not there anymore. The idea is that we recognise what we had only after it is gone. We otherwise take it for granted and, in so doing, underestimate it.

The person driven by the retrospective desire can fall in the trap of never enjoying what they have, for the past, literal or figurative, is always better and in a sense “real”, so there is no want to grow attached to what is available. Same for the other direction, as we can keep thinking about how better off we will become as soon as this newer thing or relationship becomes current, only then to daydream about the next iteration that promises to bring even more joy, and so on in what effectively are shifting sands that we cannot build anything on.

In both cases, we escape from the present to place our hope in something untainted—albeit not incorruptible—that exists elsewhere. A distant past, an alternative reality, a future history, some other plane of existence altogether, but never in the here-and-now. What we have is inherently undesirable, disposable, shallow, or anyhow not worthwhile compared to the putative truth that lies in that notional beyond that we believe in.

I am pragmatic, working with what I have. I draw from both perspectives, as I am neither a panegyrist of some glorious past nor a cheerleader for the blissful future to come. While I can reason about the decline and rise of a culture, I frame it in such a way as to inform present considerations, in line with practical reasonableness. For example, I appreciate face-to-face interactions and strong bonds, though I also recognise the utility of text-only exchanges. One does not preclude the other. What matters is to find a sustainable balance.

When we examine phenomena in our life, such as the pandemic of loneliness all around us, we can think of them as instances of imbalance: there is too much digital exposure and manufactured happiness, for example, and too little personal connection. Taking a retrospective view to claim something like “computers have destroyed us” would ignore all the gains we have had thanks to information technology, while the prospective view that “innovation will fix this too” downplays how it is technology that created the problem in the first place.

Media do not merely enable an experience: they condition it. Media cannot be neutral, as the conditioning is disposed a certain way. If I meet someone in person, the medium is the space where we are collocated. All the information that we communicate is informed by the space. Same principle for a chat application.

The question, then, is not one of abolishing the filters and of living without media, but of finding a configuration that is effective given certain values that we have. Knowing what the values are is key to both (i) be mindful of the objective and (ii) to avoid fetishising the medium.

If we think of technology as inherently harmful, for instance, we can only wonder where the limit is. Say we abolish computers and the Internet. Why stop there? Why not also get rid of beauty products as those too effectively put a mask on people? And why not do the same for equipment like basic tools, on the grounds that “real men” only rely on their own strength to get things done? Before we know it, we end up romanticising the average animal life. Only then we have to also accept the brutality of nature, which we tend to forget in such thoughts. Again, then, balance is the goal, not ideological purity.

The aforementioned plot underpins current debates about authenticity in the wake of Artificial Intelligence. You take the average message nowadays and you know it was written or at least retouched by AI. Salaried programmers are barely writing any code themselves. They still understand what is going on, more or less, though their grasp of the technicalities is rapidly diminishing, as the bots handle the implementation details (and increasingly every other part of the job). Same for the arts. It is thus easy to conclude that technical acumen both of the engineering and artisanal kinds is being eroded and, ipso facto, people are not as adept as they think: i.e. they are faking it.

It is thus tempting to conclude that a reversal would take us to a better place where people are real. Before AI, we can argue, engineers actually knew what they were doing and artists were truly masters of their craft. Except that we can find plenty of exceptions to qualify such insights as relative. Which year exactly should we go back to? Once we look there, we will find all sorts of other problems; problems that, by the by, AI can address. A reversal would, furthermore, imply that those supposedly authentic people of yore are more valuable qua authentic than whatever benefits this new world has in store for us. This is a claim that can, at the very least, be strongly contested if, say, AI helps us find a cure for cancer: how many would give up the remedy to have authenticity?

David Schmudde weighs in on this debate in an interview with Gareth King for the Ruined by the Internet? series: https://schmud.de/posts/2026-08-10-cowboy-clothes.html. The gist of David’s commentary is that authenticity is nuanced. It is not as simple as stating that the pre-AI days were about real people, as there was artificiality of varying degrees practically everywhere, from the boutique view of country music, to how people presented themselves online in flattering ways.

Indeed, if we commit to the valorisation of authenticity, there is no principled reason to stop at AI or digital media at-large. Does a person with a nice haircut fake it at some level? Do they not wake up with their hair all over the place? Are nice clothes fraudulent because they conceal the imperfections of one’s figure? Is an athlete’s achievement inauthentic owning to the use of specialised equipment, such as shoes? And how about the diet and training regimen one needs to follow to even be an athlete: are those fake in the sense that the average person does not live that way or that the athletic cause do not necessarily contribute to some real public good?

It helps us then to acknowledge what we are thinking when we make arguments for or against a state of affairs. We are making value judgements on the basis of some frame of reference. Those can even be unknown to us, as we have taken them for granted and never thought them through. Bringing them to our attention can make us identify our most realisable wants in the here-and-now, and thus potentially sort out the problems we have and for which we currently believe that solutions only exist in the “elsewhere” I covered above.

The Greeks cultivate tragedy because they accept the indeterminacy of the world we live in. There is no pure experience to be had. Whatever we get is in a state of admixture. If we invent technology to, say, keep us warm in the winter, we have also created the conditions of dying from suffocation, of burning alive, of starting wildfires, of polluting the environment which will then be harmful to us, of killing each other with more potent weapons, and so on. The wielding of fire, which is a metaphor for know-how and, by extension, technology, is neither good nor bad, both good and bad. We cannot have the nice parts without the ugly ones.

This state of admixture is true for our life as a whole, starting from the everyday things. To love someone, for example, means that you trust them, open your heart to them, at some point be in proximity to them, and thus expose yourself to the possibility of suffering immense pain from them. But you cannot both love and also not be exposed to that kind of risk.

What matters, then, is to apply judgement. To figure out where the balance is and how to subsist in moderation. When to be welcoming and when to be cautious. What to take and what to leave.

paper - James' Coffee Blog

2026-08-14T00:00:00.000Z

to feel the boundaries of the paper loneliness hopes blankness fullness peripheries texture colour;

within its edges:
frames of beginnings.

Edgar - James' Coffee Blog

2026-08-14T00:00:00.000Z

Wearing a distinguished red scarf, the fluffy librarian sits atop a shelf of books.

Of the stacks and stacks of stories and tales resting beneath, he knows all.

Edgar is a quiet, soft fellow — content contemplating closer to the clouds.

He could recite any poem from Dickinson —
or paint a portrait of the quietest, fullest Japanese coffee shop.

Instead, he sits patiently, waiting for the moment when you reach out, asking “what should I read today?”

With a smile always on his face, and without a spoken word, you realise he has a book all ready for you, under his two big, small paws.

About Emacs themes, Solarized, and wallpapers - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-08-13T00:00:00.000Z

JTR from the blog The Art Of Not Asking Why sent me a few questions regarding Emacs themes, my opinion on the Solarized colour scheme, and even my choice of wallpaper.

JTR asks about Solarized because I consider Ethan Schoonover’s Solarized an excellent project, given what Ethan was trying to achieve. I asked JTR if I could publish my thoughts and they agreed. JTR has also written the article Back to Solarized.

Note that throughout this article I am only commenting on Ethan Schoonover’s Solarized (the original Solarized). There are many Solarized-like themes out there with lots of additions on top, including higher colour contrast, which are separate themes as far as I am concerned.

I should also point out something I always mention: themes are a personal choice and there are many factors that go into what a person wants. Keep in mind that readability is also a matter of font size, ambient light, and the screen brightness you are using.

To give a simple example, modus-operandi in a very dark room with maximum screen brightness at a fairly large font size will most probably harm you and is thus a terrible choice. But the same setup on a sunny Cyprus day in my well-light house is how you can read the screen without distractions.

Generally though, people forget to adjust their screen brightness, so always do that and rely on environmental light to not tire out your eyes.

Be mindful of the context

Have your thoughts changed about Solarized since the creation of Modus themes? Later, did they change after you created the ef-themes?

In short, no as the technological realities for my case and for the original Solarized remain the same. Ethan Schoonover wanted to have a colour scheme that would work reasonably well with terminal emulators and, by extension, Vim. Most terminal emulators let you define 16 colour values. Then applications running inside the terminal can map those to the objects they display.

Applications running inside the terminal cannot change the 16 colour values of the terminal. This means that Ethan’s Vim configuration necessarily had to have a light and a dark theme that worked with the same 16 colours. Ethan could have developed two distinct colour schemes for the terminal, which would then underpin two separate Vim themes, but I understand how this is a more complex arrangement.

My older Tempus themes project, from my pre-Emacs days, is for terminals, Vim, and friends. Same idea for its predecessor, Prot16.

I think both of those older projects are fundamentally flawed because the technological constraints they are designed to work in result in all sorts of little compromises. To give an example that many Linux users may have noticed: if you use a light theme in a terminal and do apt update && apt upgrade you will get the progress bar with a green background and a black foreground. Colour schemes cannot change that combination, so they make that text virtually unreadable (in a terminal, colour combinations should always be ACCENT + BACKGROUND, not ACCENT + BLACK/WHITE, as the accents are always designed to be visible against the background).

There cannot be one Solarized

Even though the original Solarized was designed to be a single theme, in practice it is not and cannot become as much. There is Solarized Light and Solarized Dark, sharing those same 16 colours. Solarized light has a background that is closer to yellow, while its dark counterpart’s background is closer to blue. This means that accent values which are picked to work with both eventually do not work equally well as they do not evoke the same feeling.

Without even considering the specific values of the Solarized palette, a combination of blue/cyan, magenta, and purple as foreground colours will be on the opposite side of the spectrum to the yellow background and on the same side as the blue background. This means that if we pick blue/cyan, magenta, and purple as our main colours we have a light theme (yellow) with a completely different feel than the dark theme (blue) even though they are supposed to be the “same Solarized”.

Let me outline this for you:

Foreground colours	Solarized Light background	Solarized Dark background
green, yellow, red/orange	Same side	Other side
blue/cyan, magenta, purple	Other side	Same side

So if we force the same mapping of foreground colours, then we have two themes with contrasting harmonies and necessarily distinct characters. In this context we begin to appreciate the importance of judgement: sometimes you achieve likeness through difference. For the table above, inter-theme likeness exists on the diagonals, so either have both themes with “same side” combinations or both themes with “other side” combinations.

This concerns the predominant colours. A theme that uses all accents in equal proportion will look very busy and thus run into other problems.

The designer can, of course, pick a colour that does not follow the overall pattern to produce an emphasis of some sort. Though they cannot start with emphasis as their baseline.

One set of values leads to compromises

Because Solarized Light and Solarized Dark are designed to share the same palette, individual values are picked as a matter of compromise, even though they are “equally good” on paper in terms of distance as measured by various luminance metrics. The blue used for the light theme, for example, must also be good enough with the dark theme. But “good enough” for both may not be optimal for either.

Concretely, the Solarized blue stands out more in the light version than in the dark version (because of the complementarity between yellow and blue). If the light effect is supposed to evoke sunlight on a surface, and if that is the reason green and yellow are desaturated, then the blue should not be as saturated for the light theme. It would have to be a considerably more washed out colour. Though the blue has to be fairly saturated to be readable on the Solarized Dark background and still look like a blue, hence the compromise.

Same idea for the green and yellow colours which are consistent with the light background but would require tweaks to be harmonious with the dark background.

The magenta does not fit any background: it stands out as an exaggeration. To be consistent with the light background, it has to be less saturated. To fit the dark background, it needs to have greater contribution from the blue channel of light (i.e. move closer to purple) or become more pink. But moving in either direction compromises the opposite theme…

There is no “bright green” (terminal colour 10), “bright yellow” (terminal colour 11), “bright blue” (terminal colour 12), and “bright cyan” (terminal colour 14). I believe this is because they would not fit both Solarized Light and Solarized Dark.

My themes are designed for Emacs

As noted, Ethan’s Solarized was developed with a specific technology in mind. The same is true for my case: I develop all my themes to work with Emacs. This typically means that I can rely on more than 16 colours and each theme can have its own colour values.

For example, if I choose to apply a green background colour to the “current match” in a search, its value is not the same green I would use for, say, a “DONE” keyword in Org. Whereas in a terminal with 16 colours what you normally do is invert background and foreground colour combinations, which results in things standing out more than they need to (and becomes overwhelming when you want to use many such elements).

Each of my themes relies on its own palette. If I tweak one theme’s colour values, I am only affecting that one theme. Because each theme is its own design, I can make things similar by making them different. For example, modus-operandi-tinted is a “yellow-red theme” (simplifying greatly now) but its counterpart modus-vivendi-tinted is a “blue-purple” theme. On paper, this description alone makes them very different. But in terms of character, they both communicate a similar feel, owning to considerations that follow from what I mentioned above.

Additionally, each theme has its own colour mappings. This means that I do not have to make every theme use, for example, blue for links. In Emacs, I have greater control over what each “application” does, by configuring the relevant faces. There still are constraints, as I cannot for example decide which faces are applied to what portion of text, but this is generally not a problem.

Differences between my theme projects

What’s the difference between prot16 and your ef-themes? They seem to cover similar ideas, but it doesn’t look like prot16 has been updated.

My older projects are for terminal emulators. It is why they were inspired by Solarized. Terminals only have colour schemes though, not themes. The designer cannot control how colours are mapped to objects, so they have no means of enforcing thematic consistency.

A colour scheme sets the 16 values, but otherwise has no mappings for things such as “here is an error message” or “this is a progress bar and things are going well”, or even to specify “I only want green and blue here, but never magenta”.

If a colour-coded message gets a style, it will typically be hardcoded to red, green, or yellow. And if the colour scheme wants to support users with blue-yellow colour deficiency, for example, it will have to add a yellow value where the nominal red is (terminal colour 1 and terminal colour 9). But doing so leads to weird issues because, fundamentally, we are conflating colour names with colour mappings (there may be an application that wants to use yellow text on a red background, but now that actually becomes yellow on yellow, so you get the idea).

In Emacs, a theme designer has more control. They can specify colour values and write exactly how they are used by the relevant faces. For example, we do not only define “blue” but also say “I want keywords in programming modes to be blue”.

The constraint in Emacs is which faces do packages define and how exactly they apply them to elements of the display. A theme cannot, for instance, dictate how many separate faces a programming mode will add to its text. Furthermore, a theme cannot govern how generic faces, like font-lock-variable-use-face are set by modes to do things they are not supposed to do (for example, a mode specifies that face because they like its green colour in the one theme the author is using, but the thing being styled is not a variable and that specific face does not produce an optimal result in its context).

Additionally, themes cannot determine the surrounding text. For example, the Org export dispatcher has keys wrapped in square brackets (and I sent a patch that was merged a long time ago to have decent colours there by default when no theme is used). The bracketing is something the theme cannot change, so it has to do strange things to produce readable text because in an [i] indicator it is hard to discern the i due to how the square brackets limit the perceived boundaries—and you need to apply a highlight so that the user knows which exporter they are picking. An [ i ] is somewhat easier in this regard and a variation of it without the square brackets is even more flexible as then the theme can apply all the colour and typography attributes it needs.

Another constraint with Emacs is that we do not have real padding and margins, the way those are understood in CSS. I think this is fine for the majority of cases, but can be a problem sometimes such as when we need to use a coloured background that spans a small portion of text (e.g. with the Org dispatcher or with the style of rendered keys like <home>).

The gist is that Emacs gives the theme designer more control and in a more integrated way than a terminal+TUIs arrangement. This results in a coherent experience. Terminal-centric environments cannot have that to the same level because of disparate applications trying to form one computing environment, each doing its own thing in the process. I tried inter-application consistency in the terminal, discovered its limitations, and is the single most important reason why I switched to Emacs.

Contrast and readability

My understanding is that the contrast for Solarized wasn’t good enough for you. I don’t know if you have my issue specifically (https://taonaw.com/2023/07/05/halatoion-and-accessiblity.html), but I’m curious: don’t you get halation as well? Doesn’t it bother you, especially if you switch from a dark theme to something lighter? (For example, you read something with a dark background and light text, then switch to a page that has a light background and dark text)?

We measure contrast between colours to have an imperfect approximation of what might work in the average scenario. Though readability is influenced by many more factors beyond the applicable colours. Consider the environmental light and the brightness of the monitor. In addition, check the font size and even the font family you are using. Many font families can produce a halo effect at different sizes, regardless of colour combinations.

Have an extra source of light beside the monitor’s. If you do not, the eye focuses on one spot, which is more tiresome. And always adjust the screen brightness to not be too bright or too dim relative to the environment.

As for fonts, you may benefit from a design that has more open shapes. The exact size is also a factor.

For example, I have a font called Aporetic that is derived from Iosevka. What motivated me to do my own thing is the original monospaced m of Iosevka (maybe it is changed now), which blurred into a box at small point sizes and was thus not nice to read.

The Hack font I used to use (and which I had also modified), had similar issues. The Ubuntu Mono font that Ubuntu and derivative Linux distributions rely on, can have a g with a very short descender at certain point sizes, as well as a dotted zero where the dot is off centre.

I can go on to great details but you get the idea: you have to check all the variables and find what works for you. I am confident in stating that this is never a theme-specific issue.

As for switching between applications, these days most desktop environments have a concept of a light/dark preference, which many websites also follow. For example, GNOME has a menu from where you can toggle the “Dark Style” on/off.

The specific problem you will encounter with Solarized is that practically no other application or website uses it or similar colours. So either you will have to set Solarized everywhere you can, or you will be switching from the yellowish/blueish background to white/black, with whatever context-switching friction that may have.

Thoughts on wallpapers

This is an extra one I’m curious about: what are your thoughts about wallpapers? I noticed, the few times I worked with you and on video, that usually you have a natural scene. Have you ever switched to something else (like a drawing, perhaps an artwork, or maybe even a technical scheme)?

I have used wallpapers of all sorts and find that pictures I take of landscapes or flowers are the best for me. The reason is that they avoid exaggerations. Many pictures that are used for wallpapers are designed to show something in a more pronounced way and are thus calling for your attention. That is fine when the object of attention is the art piece. But when I am doing work on the computer, I do not want other elements to be competing for attention with whatever it is I am working on.

“Avoiding exaggerations” is a principle that informs my lifestyle. It also is why I prefer to live in the mountains and to spend plenty of time outdoors. The mountains do not have the intense stimuli a city has. In a city there are bright lights everywhere, a faster pace to motions, and sharper noises all around. Whereas the mountains are subtle, even though they are full of life.

People who go on a retreat say “I went to this holy place and found peace”, when in reality what likely happened is that they reduced their exposure to exaggerated stimuli and were thus able to lower their baseline intensity for a little while.

Because we are also conditioned by our habits, we do not realise just how much we have gotten used to things in our milieu, even when those are not benign to us.

People want magical solutions when the basics will suffice. We are heavily influenced by our environment and the elements we are exposed to. A stressful place will increase our stress levels. A harmonious place will make us more harmonious. Inconsiderate food choices will disturb us long-term, a poor work-life balance will harm us, and so on.

People think they can brute force their way into calmness or focus by means of “truly believing” in their project. This is a fool’s errand. Changing the scenery and relevant lifestyle will be far more effective than whatever willpower one thinks they can muster on demand.

Questions - James' Coffee Blog

2026-08-13T00:00:00.000Z

Ever since I published “Blogs, websites, and identity”, I have been thinking about and discussing some of the questions I raised in the blog post: why do we take photos, what does it mean to write on the web. The essay feels like a starting point: a framing from which to work, a point of reference, a repository of questions.

In the essay, I wrote:

But I can’t shake my question: what does it mean to write on the web?

I am still thinking about this question. I am no closer to having a written answer but, while out on a walk earlier today, I realised that I am content sitting with the question – letting it exist in the back of my mind for a while. The question feels significant, but I don’t know where to begin.

How does writing on the web contrast with other types of writing? This may be the question I need to think about first, and I already have some openings now that I think about it: I approach writing letters and private drafts differently to pieces I write on the web, while all continue to be expressions of my voice.

The aforementioned question – “what does it mean to write on the web” – is, I think, a “big question”, an idea I learned about from Tracy’s website – a question that can guide my thinking. I have a few more “big questions” that came to mind as I started thinking about what to write today, which sum up some of the concepts that have been on my mind of late:

What does change feel like? (My ideal framing here, however, is not necessarily a question so much as an invocation for me to think more about change, apt at present as I have recently redesigned my website home page, a reflection of change.)
How do the visual and the textual relate?
Why do some things stand out more than others?
What cultural artefacts engage with or are inspired by art history (like Paris Paloma’s excellent single “Pre-Raphaelite”)?
To what extent are my interests in writing and how my design sense manifests related?
Why do some paintings stick in my mind more than others (i.e. Turner’s “Rain, Steam, and Speed”)?

I am not sure when I will write about these topics, but I am curious about all of them. If you have thoughts on these topics, or know of any materials that might be interesting, please feel free to send me an email.

Just before I wrote this blog post, I listened to part of Maisie Peters' "Questions" song, which, while not related to the content of this post, shares a title with this post. As soon as I wrote the title for this post, I knew I had to listen to the song. Her latest album, Florescence, is a no-skip album for me.

Pre-Raphaelite feels like a starting point feel free to send me an email Tracy’s website Rain, Steam, and Speed

I bought another watch so I'd stop buying new watches - Baty.net

2026-08-12T12:59:40.000Z

I had to buy a new watch so that I would stop wanting more watches. I know it's counter-intuitive, but hear me out.

I like watches. It started after I bought a nice Tag Heuer automatic to reward myself for some achievement (which I've forgotten). It's a nice watch. Expensive. It's fifteen years old and I've never wound it or replaced a battery. This was my window into automatic watches.

Then came the Apple Watch, which I wore for years, dutifully upgrading every couple of years. I grew to dislike it. It's too needy.

Then I rebelled and started buying cheap watches instead. First it was a little Casio F91W for like $20. Then I upgraded to a few different G-Shocks. It turned out that out of all of them, the G-Shock GWM5610 was the one I always wore.

My recent attempts to "Reduce & Simplify" have been somewhat successful, so I wanted to do it with my watches. I didn't have that many, but still.

I get a kick out of wearing cheap watches, so I haven't been wearing the Tag except for "nicer" things like going out to dinner. Even then it bugged me, so I decided to find something simple, decent looking, and less expensive than the Tag for wearing out.

I landed on a VAER C5 Tactical Field Solar.

I think it's great. Large, easy to read numbers (with 24-hour times, too) that glow brightly in the dark. It's solar, so never needs winding. It has a screw-down crown, so it's "ocean proof". Sapphire glass so it's at least somewhat scratch-resistent. It came with two bands. One silicon for normal wear and one nylon one for a nicer look. I dig it. It cost $349.

Anyway, I now only wear either the G-Shock or the VAER. They cover every occasion. See? I bought something so I could stop buying things. I think it'll work

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Impressions; museums - James' Coffee Blog

2026-08-12T00:00:00.000Z

On my desk there is a painting of Monet’s “Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies” ¹ that I purchased when I was on holiday last year. I wanted to bring something back that I could put in my living space, something that would both be a memory of the trip but also a work of art in itself to be enjoyed. Every time I go to my desk, the painting is there: a reminder of one of my favourite artists.

I brought back a fridge magnet from the same trip, too, which brings art to the kitchen. And when I go to museums I like to collect pin badges. I keep them with all the other mementos I collect: gallery tickets, maps, and other artefacts from a trip. I don’t look at my badges often, but I love having a little collection of things that grows only when I happen to be in a museum gift shop and see a badge I like.

This week, I have been thinking about how these artefacts are only the beginning of what I “bring back” from museums. After I visit a museum, I bring home memories of art, maps of the space I walked through, memories of specific places, of the people with whom I visited a museum, of all the moments I had before, during, and after my visit. I remember the discussions about works of art, of being intrigued by what stood out to people I know.

I bring back questions and perspectives. Why do some paintings stand out more than others? What if we had mini galleries all across the country to show artefacts that national galleries do not have space to put on display? What would an artist’s workshop in 1500s Italy be like? Why are art museums so magnetic?

I bring back the feeling of moving between rooms – of noticing that the narrow entranceway with two small doors is an opportunity to be kind to others by holding the door open, of feeling the textures change beneath my feet as I go from the stone floor of the entrance to the carpeted area of the museum, and of feeling textures of the carpet change as I move between rooms and floors and spaces. I bring back my memories of the architecture: the tall ceilings, the pillars, the walls, the rooms, how rooms connect.

These solidify with time; every visit an opportunity to reinforce a memory, while also being at the whims of the serendipity that art galleries create.

I was recently talking with a friend about the room of Rembrandt paintings in the National Gallery in London. I last visited several months ago. I don’t know how long I spent in the room; it was quite a while. I was fascinated by every painting: all of the varying expressions, all of the people, all of the stories; and, the conversations I had in the gallery with other visitors. When I was talking with my friend, I could see the arrangement of the room. I didn’t know what paintings were where, but I knew roughly how many there were. I guessed 18. There were 19. ²

I have similarly vivid memories of different rooms: of the corner of the room in The Met where Monet’s Ice Floes painting is on display, of the wall of Romantic paintings in the National Gallery of Scotland, of the part of the Courtauld Institute in London where Manet’s A Bar at the Folies-Bergère ³ is on display, and where there are so many other paintings I love.

I bring back snippets of knowledge I learn from information plaques. I don’t remember most of the details I read, but what I do read helps me understand a work in the moment, and influences the impression that I will take away. There are some details I will remember; paintings with vivid stories, paintings that use a technique I have never seen before, information plaques where the author has included a detail that sticks in my mind.

Museums leave a lingering impression on my mind, each one a home both of art and of memories.

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/437127

[↩]

https://courtauld.ac.uk/highlights/a-bar-at-the-folies-bergere/

[↩]

https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/visiting/floorplans/level-2/room-22

[↩]

1 2 3 [↩] [↩] [↩]

On content, writing, and art - Manuel Moreale RSS Feed

2026-08-11T11:20:00.000Z

Yesterday I was emailing with the always lovely Robin Harford, who has a wonderful website over at eatweeds.co.uk. We were discussing the sad state of the web, and wondering what can be done to prevent Google and the others from abusing our content. And within that discussion, he mentioned his hate for the word “content”. He’s not the only one who feel that way; I’ve seen quite a few people mentioning this issue of the use of the word “content” to describe the product of someone’s creativity.

As I said to him via email, I don’t have the same issue with the word, but that’s maybe because I’m not a native speaker and to me “content” doesn’t carry a connotation of any kind. If you say “content creator”, though, that’s a different story. He used the word “art” to describe the product of his work, and I have no issue with that. He’s a writer after all, and writing is an art form.

My 5 years of high school were spent at an art school, studying traditional goldsmithing, as well as art in general. And maybe this is how my brain is wired, but to me the word “art” usually isn’t attached to written content. I also don’t consider myself a writer. Which is funny because when I get asked to describe what I do the most succinct definition I often use is “writer of code and words” since that is what I spend my time doing in front of this screen. But reflecting on the use of these words made me wonder what even is this thing I’m doing here on this site.

This is clearly writing and, therefore, I am a writer. But in that case, we’re probably all writers. We all text and send emails and post online. Are we all writers? What makes a writer a writer? The medium? The length? The meaning? The time spent?

As I said to Robin via email, I think of what I do here as public emailing. I sometimes have thoughts appearing in this brain of mine, and I decide to share them in a way that’s public. These are attempts to communicate, to make connections, to encourage dialogue. But maybe that’s also what artists try to do with their art? As always, many questions, not as many answers.

Thank you for keeping RSS alive. You're awesome.

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You're pointing the camera the wrong way - Baty.net

2026-08-11T10:25:39.000Z

You’re Pointing Your Camera the Wrong Way (NYTimes):

“There is no simple way to banish the ennui of our age, but maybe it would help if we stopped looking at our own faces and turned instead to documenting the vanishing natural world in all its manifestations.”

– Margaret Renkl

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Tuesday, August 11, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-08-11T09:51:56.000Z

I'm definitely going to try littleFedi | A small ActivityPub server written in Go, the minute it ships.

(h/t Mark Hysted)

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Prot Asks: Oliver about minimalist life, distractions, independence, and more - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-08-11T00:00:00.000Z

In this entry in the “Prot Asks” series, I talk to Oliver about a range of topics covering minimalism, independence, art, philosophy, fitness, productivity, and more. This ended up being the longest video in the series, reaching 4 hours! The original idea was to end at around the 2 hour mark, but then Oliver wanted to ask me all sorts of questions about my life, all of which I answered in detail.