Emmanuel Quartey

Curious about cities, patterns, media, and marginalia.

A poem about endings, found on Hacker News

Sometimes I think
we could have gone on.
All of us. Trying. Forever.

But they didn’t fill
the desert with pyramids.
They just built some. Some.

They’re not still out there,
building them now. Everyone,
everywhere, gets up, and goes home.

Yet we must not
diabolize time. Right?
We must not curse the passage of time.

Jennifer Michael Hecht, “On the Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love”

Artisanal Toast

He had the solemn intensity of a Ping-Pong player who keeps his game very close to the table: knees slightly bent, wrist flicking the butter knife back and forth, eyes suggesting a kind of flow state.

It’s easy to snicker, but there’s a lot more to this story.

A confession: I’m not above rolling my eyes at the words “artisanal toast” … but honestly? I’m kind of into it.

I like that we’re capable of celebrating the most mundane things about the world.

I like that we can take literally any practice and elevate it into a craft.

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