so my job is def getting its money worth out of me lol
Mike Driver
Acquired Stardust
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I'd rather be in outer space šø
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
Game of Thrones Daily
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Cosimo Galluzzi

⣠Chile in a Photography ā£
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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Peter Solarz

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@digitalspectres
so my job is def getting its money worth out of me lol
Digital Arsonist
I haven't been posting in a while because I got a job (Yay!). I work in Intel for the state fire service. My job is to be a digital arsonist. I help create simulations to predict how fire might spread. I use software, satellite imagery, remote weather stations, wind models, topography, fuel models, and the āØMonte Carlo methodāØ, which basically means I run thousands of slightly different versions of the same fire until we get a probable future. Itās stochastic prophecy and controlled chaos.
The cameras are mounted on mountaintops and ridgelines. They pan across valleys, forests, deserts, oceans, and cliffs. Itās all incredibly beautiful. I monitor remote beauty for signs of disaster, and š„fire seasonš„ has really taken off. Could watching nature make up for my lack of 'touching grass?'
It crazy because the more I learn about my job the more I feel like I was perfect for it. My anxiety and ADHD (diagnosed) feel more like assets than obstacles here. Constant monitoring, rapid problem-solving, pattern recognition, intuition trained by tensionāI have less anxiety in other areas of my life now because I get to channel it into something that needs it.
Now that I am more settled in my role, I feel like I have time to come back to writing. It will likely not be very often but it's nice to put words to my thoughts sometimes.
Working in the Shadows (10th House Scorpio and the Curse of Being Perceived)
Scorpio dominates my tenth house. Sun, Moon, Mercury, Pluto, all tangled in her web. Of course I struggle with everything. This placement demands secrecy, especially where career and ambition live. For me, it's not just preference. It's survival. Whenever I reveal things prematurely, the energy corrupts like a failed file transfer. Doors that were open suddenly 404.
There's a job I want. A state position, so naturally the process moves at bureaucratic speeds. Things are progressing, but I haven't told a soul. Last time I shared an opportunity like this, the momentum evaporated. Like exposing a developing photo to light too soon. Some things only develop in darkness.
Maybe that's the lesson of this placement. My ambitions are shadow processes. They run best when shielded from the public API, when they can compile without outside interrupts. It's not superstition. It's debugging lived experience.
From the outside, my life looks static. A blank terminal screen. But beneath the surface, endless processes run:
ambition.exeĀ iterating silently
self_reinvention.dllĀ loading in the background
career_path_finder.pyĀ recalculating routes
No visible progress yet. Just the hum of processors working.
This time, my silence isn't fear. It's protocol. Some code only runs clean when it's not being observed; don't ask me why, I just accept it. Similarily some data trains best without live monitoring.
So I wait. Let the algorithms run. This scorpio learned the most powerful transformations happen where no one's watching.
Etiquette with Istvan Banyai
Digital Stockholm Syndrome: Love, Loss, and No Lossless Audio
I took embarrassingly too long to cancel my Spotify subscription, but I finally did it today. I even tried talking to customer support about it, only to be blown off. And still, I hesitated over the ācancel subscriptionā button. It wasnāt that I was unsure; it was that I was saying goodbye to something that had been a part of my life for over a decade. Spotify was my constant companion, my soundtrack, my escape. It was the thing I turned to when I needed to feel somethingāor when I needed to feel nothing at all. But sometimes, the things we love the most can turn toxic. When I saw that Spotify was platforming podcasts that taught men how to traffic women, I knew it was over. How could I stay with something that betrayed everything I stood for? Leaving wasnāt easy, though. Spotify was more a relationship than a service at this point. A messy, complicated, all-consuming relationship. Walking away meant confronting the good, the bad, and the ugly.
In the beginning, Spotify was perfect. It knew me better than I knew myself. It introduced me to new artists, crafted playlists that felt like they were made just for me, and became the backdrop to every moment of my life. Studying, cleaning, showering, riding a bike, running, commutingāit was everywhere. It was love at first listen. I was a shill for Spotify, defending it to anyone who dared criticize it. (Iām still not going to Apple Music, though.) Iād rave about the algorithm, how it justĀ gotĀ me, as if an algorithm could ever truly understand the chaotic mess of a human being.
But then, things started to change. The playlists became repetitive. The recommendations felt stale. The algorithm, once a friend, began to feel like a manipulator, pushing me toward content I didnāt wantāpodcasts I never asked for. Then came the price hikes, the constant upselling, laying off employees despite record profits, and the freaking limit on audiobook listening. But the final straw was the podcasts themselves. Endless, invasive, and eventually, horrifying. Andrew Tateās podcasts giving human trafficking advice under the guise of business advice? Really? It was like watching someone you love slowly reveal their true colors. And those colors were ugly.
As a survivor of domestic abuse, I couldnāt ignore it anymore. Spotify wasnāt just disappointing me; it was actively harming people. It felt like staying with a partner who kept crossing lines, hoping theyād change, until one day, you realize they never will. And yet, I hesitated. Why? Nostalgia, maybe. Convenience, definitely. The thought of starting over with a new app felt daunting. A decade of playlists, memories, and carefully curated musicāgone. But staying felt worse.
So, I left. I havenāt fully committed to a new app yet. Iām still weighing my options, asking friends for recommendations, and trying to figure out whatās out there. But even the act of canceling felt like a step toward something healthier. And yet, I canāt help but feel a pang of loss. Not just for the playlists or the algorithm, but for the version of me that believed Spotify was something it wasnāt.
Leaving Spotify made me realize how deeply emotionally entangled my life is with technology. We form attachments to apps, algorithms, and platforms, often ignoring their flaws because they make our lives easier. But at what cost? Sometimes, the hardest thingāand the right thingācancel your subscription.
Love shouldnāt hurt, whether itās with a person or an app. Spotify was my first streaming love, but it won't be my last. While the thought of starting over is daunting, itās also liberating. After all, if Spotify canāt even offer lossless audio, maybe itās time to find something that doesnāt just play musicābut actually cares about the people who make it and the people who listen to it. Here is a petition to remove Andrew Tate's sex trafficking courses from Spotify.
Demand Spotify Remove Andrew Tateās Harmful Courses on How to Traffic Women
I Am the Architect of My Digital Ruins
Lately, Iāve been obsessively tweaking the theme settings on my Tumblr. Fonts, colors, layoutsātiny details that feel essential to the way I present myself online. But hereās the thing: no one even looks at the actual blog sites, I sure don't. So why do I care so much about something so⦠invisible?
Maybe these adjustments are more than just aesthetic choices, like a form of self-expression, though Iām not sure what theyāre expressing. Itās not about trying to set a domain on the internet that feels likeĀ meāI'm just enjoying the act of tweaking itself. The satisfaction of aligning pixels just right, even if it doesnāt matter (tbh, I donāt even really care). Itās def not about being seen; itās more about the quiet, almost mechanical need to get itĀ right.
This obsession with the digital surface makes me wonder: how much of our lives are spent building things that no one will ever see? I feel like I just said that in Carrie Bradshaw's voice ha. We pour ourselves into projects, relationships, and identities, crafting them with care, only to realize they might crumble into obscurity. We are the architects of our own ruinsādigital, emotional, existential. But maybe thatās not the point. Maybe the point is that there is no point.
The Colosseum, for instance, wasnāt always a ruin. It was once alive, its existence dedicated to entertaining crowds through violence and deathāa pointless spectacle, a grim reminder of how we fill our spaces with things that donāt really matter.Ā (Fun fact: it is a huge reason lions in the area went extinct. So, you know, not exactly a noble legacy.) Now it stands as a reminder of what once wasāa beautiful, hollow shell. In the same way, these digital spaces I create are my own little Colosseums. They might not be seen by many, and they might eventually fade into the background of the internetās endless noise. But theyāre still a reflection of⦠something. Not necessarily something meaningful, just something.
In the end, these small thingsāthe font choices, the color palettes, the layoutsādonāt have to be seen to be valuable. Theyāre a testament to the act of creation itself. Maybe these digital ruins weāre building are part of something bigger than we realize. Or maybe theyāre just ruins. Even if they crumble, even if theyāre forgotten, they still exist. Theyāre proof that we were here, that we triedānot because we cared, but because we couldnāt help it.
And maybe thatās how we got here: a series of random, senseless acts of creation, like evolution blindly pushing forward, like a species branching off only to fade into extinctionāeach one leaving behind traces of what they were, just as we build ruins that no one will remember. Not because it matters, but because creation is what we doāeven when itās pointless.
me and my github lately
The 1% Life: Power, Responsibility, and Perpetual Low Battery
Itās been raining for days, so my boyfriend has been home more than usual. This morning, weāre scrolling in bed, swapping funny or interesting posts. At some point, he looks over and says,
āHow are you still on your phone? Last time you showed me something, you were at 5%.ā
He always teases me about my phone living on the edge of oblivion, existing in a state of near-death at all times. So, ⨠I coyly smile, āØ
āWith great power comes great responsibility,āĀ I tell him.Ā āThatās why your phone is always charged.ā
Anyway, since heās home again today, itās looking like a lazy day. Civ 7 just came out, so weāll probably play for a while, and I want to binge-watchĀ Empresses in the Palace. He goes back to work Saturday through Monday, rain or not, so hopefully, I can use that time to resetāget some real writing done. Iāve actually been writing pretty consistently online and, in my journal, only skipping a day or two, but I want to make it aĀ dailyĀ habit, even if itās just a scribble.
At this point, Iām not even going to fight it. Tomorrowās Valentineās Day, so realistically, I wonāt get much done then either. Instead of treating this like a system failure, Iām just calling it what it is:Ā scheduled maintenance. Some processes need to be suspended, some background tasks put on hold, but itās not a crashāitās a necessary patch. A temporary s h i f t in priorities before normal operations resume.
Chaos Theory and the Art of Falling Apart
Sometimes, I feel like Iām a glitch in my own systemāa d i s j o i n t e d algorithm trying to process too many inputs at once. Every project, every idea, every new thing I want to learn screams for attention, and Iām pulled in so many directions that Iām not sure which way is forward. Itās like living in a state of perpetualĀ c h a o s, where the noise of everything I āwantā to do drowns out the signal of what IĀ shouldĀ be doing.
I spread myself thin, scattering tiny pieces of progress everywhere. A line of code here, a paragraph there, a half-formed thought scribbled in the margins of my mind. Itās messy. Itās inefficient. And yet, itās the only way I know how to m o v e .
My computer is a patchwork of operating systemsāLinux for gaming and coding, Windows for the rest, each groaning under the weight of too many programs running simultaneously.Ā My brain feels the same way: compartmentalized and f r a g m e n t e d, with different browsers open for different projects, each one bloated with a million tabs. Every time I try to focus, another alert pings, another idea flashes, and Iām yanked into a new rabbit hole before I can even bookmark where I left off.
Itās paralyzing, but itās also exhilarating. I thrive on hyper-focus. When I let myself fall into the flow of one thingāwhether itās coding, writing, or chasing a random thoughtāI can move mountains in an afternoon. Itās not linear nor orderly, but itās mine.
Iāve learned to stop fighting the chaos. Instead, Iāve started toĀ w o r kĀ with it. I sacrifice long-term goals for short-term o b s e s s i o n s , because the little wins keep me going. I surround myself with projects that could lead somewhere bigger, even if Iām only dipping into them for a moment. Itās not about neat, organized progress. Itās about finding the rhythm in the mess.
Maybe thatās the beauty of it? Even when it feels like Iām falling apart, Iām still creating. Iām still moving. The road is disjointed, g l i t c h y , and full of detours, but itās still leading me somewhere.
Chaos isnāt the enemy. Itās the fuel for the hyper-focus that burns bright and fast, the spark that turns tiny progress into something bigger. To the art of falling apart, and the strange, f r a g m e n t e d beauty of putting yourself back together, one pixel at a time.
If any girlies are up for collaborating on some Github projects, hmu. Iām thinking of using some standard datasets to run basic models, just to balance out my chaotic school projects with something a little cleaner and more aesthetic! Would be cool to do fashion or artsy type of analysis (not generating art though). Thanks! Should probably specify that I am most comfortable with Python, and a little with MATLAB, but I am open to learning Rust too.
G L I T C H OVERRIDE: Redirecting Energy to Core Systems
Booting up. Recalibrating. Restoring default settings.
Two days of unexpected interferenceāa g l i t c h in the system. My carefully coded routines f r a g m e n t e d, c o r r u p t e d by the presence of another user in the shared space. The quiet mornings, the slow and deliberate pacing of my day, the indulgent mix of hyper-focus and mindless scrollingāall s u s p e n d e d . My boyfriend works hard and deserves to rest when he can, and since he pays for this space, he has every right to exist in it as freely as I do. But when heās home, the balance shifts. Now that heās back at work, I initiate the override.
My mornings are predictable in the way I like. With my cats ! ⨠Jupiter, who was abandoned too early, purrs loudly against my face before settling in to knead and suckle on the blanket. Juniper sits on my chest, radiating silent judgment over the tiny, glitched void in an otherwise full food bowlāanomalous data in her perfectly calibrated system, flagged for immediate correction. Thatās my signal to get up, feed them, make breakfast (for my boyfriend and the cats), make coffee (for my boyfriend and myself), and help him get out the door.
Once the apartment is mine again, I move through the day on my own terms. Small wins stack upāwriting, reading, patching away at my backlogāwithout another personās presence pulling me into a different rhythm. I let my attention drift when it wants to, doomscroll just enough to satisfy some part of my b r a i n before snapping back into something 'productive.'
Interruptions donāt just pause routines; they rearrange them. Thereās more to clean, new tasks that werenāt on my list, and a lingering sense that everything is slightly out of place. The s p a c e , like me, needs to be resetāmaybe saged .
So, I adjust. Shift things back into alignment. Redirect energy to the core systems: writing, creating, existing in the quiet. This isnāt just passive recoveryāitās an o v e r r i d e . A manual rewrite of the code until the rhythm syncs back to my pulse.
THE SYSTEM STABILIZES.
SYSTEM ERROR : digital girl interrupted
When my boyfriend stays home, the apartment vibes shift. My c a r e f u l l y calibrated bed-rotting, lazy girl, stay-at-home-girlfriend routine d i s s o l v e s into something unrecognizable. Doom-scrolling feels less indulgent, catching up on trash current events loses its appeal. Work doesnāt happen, but neither does full relaxation.
The space feels messier, like entropy speeds up in his presence. It's like we generate more c h a o s togetherāor maybe I clean less when heās around. Either way, the balance tilts.
Yesterday, the rain kept him home. One of his jobs is outside, and they canāt work in the rain. Today, the f o r e c a s t is uncertaināthereās a chance heāll be back. The glitch lingers, the gynoid m a l f u n c t i o n s .Ā
I woke up at 4:30 am today
One of my New Yearās resolutions was to journal more, and Iāve actually been keeping up with itāwriting in my physical journal almost every day since the start of the year. I can already see a huge difference in my writing. I mean, Iāve been journaling for a l o n g time, but somewhere along the way, my writing became⦠s t e r i l e. Blame my STEM degrees, my lab work, and the research (some even published š§ ). It was so apparent in my personal journalingālike I was just collecting data on my life instead of actually e x p e r i e n c i n g it. Even some of the most amazing events of my life were recorded in a strangely detached, c l i n i c a l tone even though they were absolutely BONKERS.
So, I made a list of 60 random writing prompts I found online, and now Iām about halfway through. My writing voice feels stronger, though I can still hear the academic tone creeping in. But honestly? I paid a lot of money and put in a lot of effort for that voice, so I might as well keep it sharp.
I didnāt put much thought into the writing prompts I choseāpretty sure I just pulled random lists from Reddit and Google and copy-pasted them into a āTo-Doā list. So, naturally, some of them completely miss the mark. Iām looking forward to finishing this batch so I can create something more i n t e n t i o n a l. The introspective prompts have been the most impactful so far, but I might branch out into themed listsāmaybe something more structured, maybe something entirely self-indulgent š.
Staying on the theme of compartmentalization from my previous post (posts?), my physical journal probably wonāt touch on the existentialism of our amphibious livesāexisting both physically and digitally, moving between the two like itās nothing. It reminds me of that Kurt Vonnegut story Unready to Wear, where people learn to leave their bodies behind and exist as pure consciousness, just floating around. Thereās a line about how all of them could fit on the head of a pin, which feels strangely relevant to this blog but not so much when I just want to t o u c h grass.
Iām still searching for online spaces to inhabit and questioning what it even means to exist in them. Iāll report back once Iāve shaped my thoughts into something coherent, though I should probably stop spamming the journaling/blogging/diary hashtags. I want to post more in music communities, unfortunetly I have a habit of doing too much, and I should probably chill before I overdo it there too. š
Laying Down Digital Bricks
For a long time, Iāve avoided putting too much of myself out there. Not out of fear, exactlyābut because it felt cringey. I never wanted to be scattered across the internet, too exposed in ways I couldnāt control, or too curated in ways that felt artificial. But lately, Iāve been thinking about how I existānot just in the physical world, but in the online spaces I occupy. How we shape different versions of ourselves, depending on where we are. Itās not l i n e a r like a Russian nesting doll, where each layer fits neatly inside the next. Itās more like a webāa neural network of identities, each one connected in ways that arenāt always obvious.
So today, instead of just thinking about it, Iām going to do something about it. I want to be as intentional about my digital spaces as I am about my physical ones. Tumblr can be one horcrux, but what about the rest? Maybe itās time to polish up my GitHub, explore long-form platforms for writing, or find new Discord spaces that align with my interests. Not in a ānetworkingā way, but in a āletās see what happens when I lay down each digital brick and see what it buildsā kind of way.
Because as I figure out where I fit in these spaces, I have to wonderāam I also figuring out my own shape? Identity isnāt something fixed; itās something we map out over time. Each space I explore, each connection I make, adds another point to the map. And maybe, by mapping small sections at a time, Iāll start to understand the structure Iāve been building all along.
Itās like running a mapping algorithm: you start with a few scattered data points, and over time, the connections between them begin to form a clearer s h a p e. The yellow brick road wasnāt built all at onceāit was laid brick by brick, each one creating the path before the destination was even known(or was it? idk, I didn't read the book š). Maybe thatās what Iām doing here: tracing the roads that will take me somewhere worth buildingālaying down the foundations before I even know what theyāll become
I met with my new t h e r a p i s t for the first time today - she mentioned BPD a few times. Am I cooked?
I have writing to finish š
I am hermit-maxxing.
ā Youāre a radar. Built to scan the deeps of o u t e r s p a c e ā