ex-parrot

@broken.com

PNW stream of consciousness shitposter sometimes featuring photography, motorbikes, puppers, general nerdery, and infosec / threat hunting automation (not in that particular order)

since oscilloscope graphics are doing the rounds again, here's some photos from that time a few years ago when I built a gizmo to show dril tweets (and assorted other nonsense) on my ancient Tek 466

BildBildBildBild

Very early in the pandemic, I spent 2 terrible weeks in isolation, unable to breathe or walk across the room. Waiting my temp. to spike. Worrying about my kids. Fighting against dying. In the middle of this covid revisionist, anti-vax bullshit, it was worth saying what that felt like:

Poem titled "Gnawed." The text of the poem reads:

Gnawed

Kalends of April, 2020

I can feel the rat,
dark and angry,
buried
in the furrows of my chest,
trying hard to pull apart
the fiber of my breathing.
Twisting. Writhing.
Clawing
with a feral-hearted hatred
at the bonds that sinew
soul to skin.
I cannot walk across the room without
the rasping of its teeth
along the inside of my ribs,
or speak without it screaming
in the shallows of my breath.
I can only lie beyond
the borders of my life,
checking the thermometer
a hundred times a day
as all the while
I am being
eaten
from the inside out.

	– John Wyatt Greenlee