roz

@roz.place

182 Followers 94 Following

you can never go back

A window reading: BREAKING BAD QUIZ What is the real name of the main character, Walter White...
a bowl of saag paneer
i'm posing by the sign for a company called HOLEMASTERS
posing threateningly with finger-horns by a sign which reads: BEWARE OF THE BULL
ludwig, a white cat, tucked into the bare white sheets of a stripped bed.
a black cow in a field. the sky is overcast, dim purple.
ludwig & newton the cats relaxing on an armchair.
newton the cat clinging to the top of a door he managed to jump to without considering how he would get down.
me sitting on an old tank, i'm saluting
a paragraph from Icehenge by Kim Stanley Robinson "Acute students of finance will have observed that money, abstract concept though it is, behaves as if it had mass. Economic laws imitate physical laws. Everyone's collection of money is a planetary body, in other words, exerting influence on everyone else's. Thus the more money you have the stronger its gravity is, and the easier it is to attract more. Now most of us own mere asteroids of money. But some people own stars of money, and some of those stars, like Holmes's, reach their Chadresekhar Limit and turn into black holes. Now any money that comes close enough to Holmes is sucked in. There is an event horizon, of course, where this captured money appears to slow down, like Apollo in Zeno's Paradox, ever closer by smaller degrees to Holmes's Jupiter Metals—but in actuality those 'subsidiary corporations' have flashed invisibly to the no-point of infinite mass which is Holmes's wealth."
ludwig, a white cat, sitting on a cat tree, astonished by the sight of the room adorned with pricks of green light and swirling nebula clouds coming from a projector.
My feet in hospital pyjamas. The right foot is in a temporary cast.
Removed mouths of CPR training dummies spread out on a table.
The Poem "Bitter Cold in the Villages" by Bai Juyi (772-846), translated by 黑瘋驄. It reads: Eighth year, twelfth moon, Fifth day, snow without end. Bamboo and cedars die in this cold. And so do any peasants without warm clothes. Turning around in the midst of their villages, You see ten shacks, each with eight or nine poor. And when the North Wind cuts like a sword, Cotton clothes won't keep a life from bleeding out. Huddled around weak flames of burning brambles, They fret through the nights, waiting for dawn. And so it goes, through each year's Great Cold, The people of the land have the most hardship. Now look at me as I write of them. I hide within the gates of my rustic hut. In brown fur coat and rough silk quilt, I lounge at ease in all this extra warmth. Only by fate do I escape their cold and hunger And live a life beyond the rough ridged fields. It comes to me, I should feel more shame than this. I ask myself what kind of man I am.
An excerpt of text. It reads: The impression you’re supposed to get from this piece is a shady looking man handing you a briefcase full of cash and whispering “Hey, here’s $10,000 for you if you prescribe unnecessary medication.” The implication is the doctors who do this are awful and if you were in medicine you would have no trouble resisting this temptation. In reality, pharma companies have figured out that some people have ethical qualms – “evil cannot possibly understand good” only works in movies – and adjusted their strategies accordingly.
My mug blown up in a magnifying mirror.
A jar of congealed orange oil held in my hand by the fridge.
A short poem by Dom, seen in the text editor notepad. It reads: I'm one of the men who are in love right now- Ah, but I well know that the wheel that raises me, lowers another, And it shall not stop its turning for my sake DOM
My hand holding a grilled cheese dipped in yoghurt with a bite taken out of it.
Pitta breads and fillings spread out on a chopping board (that week's theme was "deconstructed"), with a sheet of paper listing the ingredients on display. It reads: SUNDAY SAMWIDGE #3 14/01/24 Pitta, halloumi, houmous, harissa, spinach, radishes, mixed pickled peppers, olives, & garlic.
The guest miis as they appeared in Super Smash Bros 4. Included are Guests B and F, who look indistinguishable from their appearances on wii titles, and Guest C, who is now depicted with pale skin and black hair (rather than with olive skin and brown hair, as he had been previously).
The pre-loaded Mii "Guest C" from various Nintendo Wii titles.
A photograph of an e-learning quiz slide. The question reads: "Sensory abnormalities are found in more than 50% of people on the autistic spectrum" and "True" has been selected. A dialogue box reads: "INCORRECT. You did not select the correct response. Sensory abnormalities are found in more than 90% of people on the autistic spectrum."
A sandwich and salad on a plate, with a sheet of paper in my hand listing the ingredients. It reads: SUNDAY SAMWIDGE #1 31/12/23 Halloumi, cucumber, avocado mashed with jarred peppers. + Pea-shoot salad with olive oil & balsamic.
My hand holding the Bleepler, a hand-made synthesiser from LoBlast with a single button and a pitch knob.
Newton, a young tuxedo cat, sitting in my lap with a curious, wide-eyed expression.
a handsome young man doing an exaggerated thumbs up next to a vandalised sign which reads: WARNING: ANAL PAIN APPLIED
newton, a tuxedo cat with amber eyes. his head fills the frame, illuminated from behind by sunlight. he is lying on bedsheets, but does not appear relaxed as his eyes are fixed on something out to the right.
a paragraph from a psychiatrist's blog post. it reads: I didn’t realize how much of a psychiatrist’s time was spent gatekeeping Adderall. The human brain wasn’t built for accounting or software engineering. A few lucky people can do these things ten hours a day, every day, with a smile. The rest of us start fidgeting and checking our cell phone somewhere around the thirty minute mark. I work near the financial district of a big city, so every day a new Senior Regional Manipulator Of Tiny Numbers comes in and tells me that his brain must be broken because he can’t sit still and manipulate tiny numbers as much as he wants. How come this is so hard for him, when all of his colleagues can work so diligently? (it’s because his colleagues are all on Adderall already – but telling him that will just make things worse)
a screenshot of the preview display of the bluesky feed "MedSky"
a screenshot of the "social attitudes" section from the wikipedia page on the trap-bath split, a linguistic divide which separates northern and southern england. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trap%E2%80%93bath_split#Social_attitudes
a black & white photograph of the headquarters of the italian fascist party headquarters during the 1934 election. the facade features an enormous statue of mussolini's face and the word SI SI SI SI SI repeated across the wall.
Ludwig, a white cat, sat on a bed. A thin beam of light is shining on his face through a gap in the curtains and a window refractor has caught the sun at the perfect angle to cast rainbow patterns all over his body.
A portrait of the Public Universal Friend.
a screenshot of twitter's bookmarks tab - instead of showing bookmarked tweets it reads "Rate limit exceeded"