Ambigravity

@ambigravity.bsky.social

185 Followers 773 Following

Writer. Programmer. Editor. Temporarily in control of your thoughts while you continue to read these squiggles. Blink to regain control. People matter, and the status quo is not invincible. He/him.

A screenshot of a google search result. In the search bar is the text "vi", which is the name of a text editor. Beneath it is text that reads "Did you mean: emacs".
Quietude Amid the Chill This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Snow-flakes” Snow falls upon that wooded, winter hush. Silence is here with me, all sable tresses and pale skin, with a voice like eyelashes against a child’s cheek. I turn my head to watch her amid the cold; she kneels, ear against ground, listening to the snow settle and smiling. I think about autumn, briefly, but I am alone in a winter hush, and the thought fades with each flake upon my face: this is the poem of the air, that thought takes its place. There are no witnesses here, but I beckon Silence to my side. She moves toward where I bloom red upon the snow, and sits by my head at the edge of my gaze. Snow settles upon us softly. I barely breathe against the weightless blanket of the sky, and watch each grey cloud fall quietly away, losing itself upon the landscape. Silence moves her face next to mine and listens to the air leave my lungs. She whispers to me with a voice slowly in silent syllables recorded; and with her words I close my eyes. That choice, to visit the bleakness here in the hills and tread through the parchment snow, the ink of my life bleeding upon its pages, was inevitable— inevitable in the way that a soldier dies or a snowflake cuts the air as it falls, a line from sky to ground, silent like a knife drawing blood. This is the secret of despair, that echo is gone now, a blissful absence. My eye opens to the curve of a throat and a curtain of hair, then the brush of lips against my face. Together Silence and I listen to my heart, that artist of blood and captivation, paint the white with its art. Snow kisses my figure, eager for warmth and colour. Silence is here with me, all sable tresses and pale skin, and together we listen to the air tell us its secret, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded (...a secret I shall keep; I will not tell it here)
A screenshot of the first three lines of the Wikipedia page https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/.ck, which begins quite dryly: ".ck is the Internet country code top-level domain for the Cook Islands. Registrations are within these second-level categories:" The first item in the following list, and the only one shown, reads as follows: ".co.ck: business organizations". The Wikipedia page places business next to "cock" without ever breaking its poker face.
An image of the same text as the previous tweet, but organized like a poem: A human is an instrument. A human does not like to think it: telling one this is like jangling unpleasantly on their piano keys. But later that evening, that same human will watch a movie that plays them just right, with a date they hope will play them just right too, and if you pluck them away and place them in a featureless void, they will go so mad for lack of a player to touch their keys, they will rattle to pieces.
An image of text that reads: A human is an instrument. A human does not like to think it: telling one this is like jangling unpleasantly on their piano keys. But later that evening, that same human will watch a movie that plays them just right, with a date they hope will play them just right too, and if you pluck them away to place them in a featureless void, they will go so mad for lack of a player to touch their keys, they will rattle to pieces.
A short clip of a streamer's goal bar filling up. A lavender gradient pales to cherry blossom pink as it chases a label climbing the height of the bar, numbers whirring upwards. As it rises, flowers bloom along the height of the bar. At the start, the label slides out neatly like a drawer to reveal text next to the number—we can see now that it's the number of follows—and then slides away again when it has finished moving at the top.
A tweet by the same author on Twitter, bearing the same text as the tweet at the core of the previous post's image, but easier to read without the visual noise introduced by layers of JPEG artifacts: "A piece of text screenshotted once, screenshotted twice, screenshotted thrice—gradually accruing context around its edges, creeping outward, like opening a door into the inerior of a house only to find another house inside of it, and then peering out of the inner house's window".
A series of nested screenshots of quote tweets of screenshots by different people, one inside the next. Nestled at the heart, a tweet that reads: "A piece of text screenshotted once, screenshotted twice, screenshotted thrice—gradually accruing context around its edges, creeping outward, like opening a door into the interior of a house only to find another house inside of it, and then peering out of the inner house's window."
A Bluesky post reads "My feed is starting to get anime booba. Nature is healing." It has been liked. Above it, looming like the until-then-unnoticed eye of your mother, is a pop-up that says "Your first like! Like 10 posts to train the Discover feed."
a turn of blue beneath your wrist; a twist of paint, and on your brush blooms a bird not in flight but falling asking why you made this choice and the bird not to understand but to fall and never land
all those secrets you didn't keep are drumming on your door now turned out like loose change scattered without care these children you failed to keep close to your heart have grown up now have grown up into cruel grudges, petty revenges shaped by the careless handling of their guardian who fumbled them down drains and onto empty streets where across their shining edges tarnish creeps you all those secrets you didn't keep are drumming on your door now drum drum drum drum drum drum creaking, the flower of your ribs blooms freeing the last secret you carried and never shared and always wished to but did not