January 5, 2026 at 3:02 AM
August 31, 2025 at 2:43 PM
www.bugsymoon.org/2025/08/23/f...
The gift of years is heavy, not light,
For friends fall away like doves in flight.
I carry their songs in silence, alone,
Fortune’s burden is mine to own.
The gift of years is heavy, not light,
For friends fall away like doves in flight.
I carry their songs in silence, alone,
Fortune’s burden is mine to own.
August 23, 2025 at 10:57 PM
www.bugsymoon.org/2025/08/23/f...
The gift of years is heavy, not light,
For friends fall away like doves in flight.
I carry their songs in silence, alone,
Fortune’s burden is mine to own.
The gift of years is heavy, not light,
For friends fall away like doves in flight.
I carry their songs in silence, alone,
Fortune’s burden is mine to own.
August 16, 2025 at 12:42 AM
A toothpick pierces wisdom's crust,
The loaf is done, the tools we trust.
When circuits dream and ovens glow,
Intuition hums in heat below.
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
The loaf is done, the tools we trust.
When circuits dream and ovens glow,
Intuition hums in heat below.
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Of Toothpicks and Livelocks
Or, A Most Curious Discourse on the Quiet Art of Knowing
open.substack.com
July 23, 2025 at 10:50 PM
A toothpick pierces wisdom's crust,
The loaf is done, the tools we trust.
When circuits dream and ovens glow,
Intuition hums in heat below.
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
The loaf is done, the tools we trust.
When circuits dream and ovens glow,
Intuition hums in heat below.
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Certainty for Sale
In markets loud with shadow talk,
They sell the pill, not time to think.
The map burns bright but leaves no chalk,
Just echoes dressed in certainty's ink.
[https://bugsymoon.substack.com/p/certainty-for-sale]
In markets loud with shadow talk,
They sell the pill, not time to think.
The map burns bright but leaves no chalk,
Just echoes dressed in certainty's ink.
[https://bugsymoon.substack.com/p/certainty-for-sale]
![Certainty for Sale
In markets loud with shadow talk,
They sell the pill, not time to think.
The map burns bright but leaves no chalk,
Just echoes dressed in certainty's ink.
[https://bugsymoon.substack.com/p/certainty-for-sale]](https://cdn.bsky.app/img/feed_thumbnail/plain/did:plc:5a4a4m6wecyj4y4hptr6sqrb/bafkreictzf7tdaayblzpvqqcroczycknuup7ztrrcvxr7nzrrovuwozs4i@jpeg)
July 20, 2025 at 11:55 PM
Certainty for Sale
In markets loud with shadow talk,
They sell the pill, not time to think.
The map burns bright but leaves no chalk,
Just echoes dressed in certainty's ink.
[https://bugsymoon.substack.com/p/certainty-for-sale]
In markets loud with shadow talk,
They sell the pill, not time to think.
The map burns bright but leaves no chalk,
Just echoes dressed in certainty's ink.
[https://bugsymoon.substack.com/p/certainty-for-sale]
Not a Vending Machine
Συνποιητής: On the Shared Craft of Thought
AI-generated podcast: notebooklm.google.com/notebook/cda...
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Συνποιητής: On the Shared Craft of Thought
AI-generated podcast: notebooklm.google.com/notebook/cda...
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Not a Vending Machine
Συνποιητής: On the Shared Craft of Thought
open.substack.com
July 12, 2025 at 6:09 PM
Not a Vending Machine
Συνποιητής: On the Shared Craft of Thought
AI-generated podcast: notebooklm.google.com/notebook/cda...
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Συνποιητής: On the Shared Craft of Thought
AI-generated podcast: notebooklm.google.com/notebook/cda...
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
The Boss of Personas
Identity, Agency, and the Architecture of Reflexive Consciousness
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Identity, Agency, and the Architecture of Reflexive Consciousness
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
July 9, 2025 at 2:26 PM
The Boss of Personas
Identity, Agency, and the Architecture of Reflexive Consciousness
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
Identity, Agency, and the Architecture of Reflexive Consciousness
open.substack.com/pub/bugsymoo...
He played blues nonstop to drown the ghosts—jam jars, hospital halls, a chair she once warmed, that damn cake. Each bend pulled a memory from the walls. He played not to heal, but to silence. And in one fading chord, the ghosts paused. Not peace—just a moment without remembering.
May 18, 2025 at 2:51 PM
He played blues nonstop to drown the ghosts—jam jars, hospital halls, a chair she once warmed, that damn cake. Each bend pulled a memory from the walls. He played not to heal, but to silence. And in one fading chord, the ghosts paused. Not peace—just a moment without remembering.
The Way They Danced
Used to pity my folks—
young, poor, no gadgets,
no guidebook for life.
But they danced anyway.
Joy from scraps,
love without branding.
It wasn’t scarcity—
just a different kind of enough.
#MothersDay #Reflections
Used to pity my folks—
young, poor, no gadgets,
no guidebook for life.
But they danced anyway.
Joy from scraps,
love without branding.
It wasn’t scarcity—
just a different kind of enough.
#MothersDay #Reflections
May 11, 2025 at 2:47 PM
The Way They Danced
Used to pity my folks—
young, poor, no gadgets,
no guidebook for life.
But they danced anyway.
Joy from scraps,
love without branding.
It wasn’t scarcity—
just a different kind of enough.
#MothersDay #Reflections
Used to pity my folks—
young, poor, no gadgets,
no guidebook for life.
But they danced anyway.
Joy from scraps,
love without branding.
It wasn’t scarcity—
just a different kind of enough.
#MothersDay #Reflections
"If you have a garden to nurture the soul and generative AI to sharpen the mind, nothing will be lacking."
Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, 45 BCE.
Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, 45 BCE.
November 16, 2024 at 3:01 PM
"If you have a garden to nurture the soul and generative AI to sharpen the mind, nothing will be lacking."
Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, 45 BCE.
Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, 45 BCE.
We play the blues till the break of dawn,
With friends and soulmates, the night's not gone.
Music’s our alibi, a celestial art,
A bridge to the heavens, soul to heart.
With friends and soulmates, the night's not gone.
Music’s our alibi, a celestial art,
A bridge to the heavens, soul to heart.
November 16, 2024 at 1:27 PM
We play the blues till the break of dawn,
With friends and soulmates, the night's not gone.
Music’s our alibi, a celestial art,
A bridge to the heavens, soul to heart.
With friends and soulmates, the night's not gone.
Music’s our alibi, a celestial art,
A bridge to the heavens, soul to heart.