Cafe Bedouin
Cafe Bedouin
Cafe Bedouin
This is my show. It’s a blog as hupomnemata. Michael Foucault defined hupomnemata as a personal notebook similar to a spiritual journal but with a different goal. He did not want “to pursue the unspeakable, nor to reveal the hidden, nor to say the unsaid [like a spiritual journal does], but on the contrary to capture the already said, to collect what one has managed to hear or read, and for a purpose that is nothing less than the shaping of the self.”
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The kitchen light was the only one on in the house, and Cole was already under it when Russ came down. Six birds on the counter, out of the plastic now, pale and sweating in the trays. Their mother had made this every year for the church...
These aren’t polished essays or tidy aphorisms. They’re scraps I’ve carried around this month—half-heard thoughts, borrowed lines, sudden recognitions—that refused to be forgotten. Zuihitsu literally means “following the brush,” and...
I. The Height of the Mark The soil-reader came to the Vask terrace on the third morning after thaw, chalk in a tin box, an assistant to carry the ladder. Odrun stood in his doorway with Sennet beside him and watched the man measure the...
You go down empty-handed or the telling is a lie. That was the first thing Weha put in me, before the breath work, before the shelves, before she ever let me past the first drop. A teller carries nothing up. Not one shell, not one fish,...
Can you find food for us?” she asked, rather vaguely and timidly. “Hunting takes time, and weapons.” “I meant, with, you know, spells.” “I can call a rabbit,” he said, poking the fire with a twisted stick of juniper. “The rabbits are...
The assay house at Marsk keeps no fire. Heat swells the brass, and a swelled beam reads long, so the arms of the great scale hang over a slate floor cold enough to ache the teeth of anyone who works there past the third bell. I was...
Ní haingil atá romham ná soilse an tslua,ná cór na naomh ag canadh os cionn na cré,ach seomra feithimh fuar is cléireach crom,is leabhar mór ar oscailt ar an mbord roimh ré.Ní fhéachann sé aníos, is ní ghlaonn sé m’ainm,ach scríobhann go...
A direct-mail man was once asked how he could live with himself, sending out all that junk. There is no junk mail, he said. There are junk people. He meant it as a defense and it isn’t one, but buried in the ugliness is the only useful...
Jensen Huang runs Nvidia by a rule most executives would find deranged: he holds no one-on-one meetings. Whatever he has to say, he says to everyone at once. If someone tells him a colleague is failing, he copies the colleague on the...
There is probably something you have been about to do for years. Not neglecting — preparing. Getting ready. Waiting until the timing is better, the savings deeper, the moment less exposed. You are not lazy about it; if anything you think...
Uncovered.ink: Judge a book by its writing Read an endless stream of free book samples. Reveal and save the ones you like.
Why the argument about how capable AI is turns out to be a reading we already have, not a gap we have yet to close. Ask ten people when machine intelligence becomes general and you get a spread of dates. Ask a hundred, and the natural...