Unfinished Thoughts of the Underbrush

I read in a book once that:

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyse a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."

Divided among the pages of this site, you will find areas of exploration that have inspired me.

In the future, I hope to have sections of this site categorized by area of exploration. Some areas that come to mind now are design, code, and thoughts on humanity.

I’ve often felt torn between different interests, creative ones, to impactful ventures that could transform the shape of poverty’s existence.

I think that the human mind is infinite in its imagination, and as far as we know, boundless in its sense of long-term memory. I think that if an area interests you, you should pursue it. Fuck opportunity costs! The most interesting events are often happening at the intersections of diverse fields. There are no interests not worth pursuing.

I have lived a life in pursuit of experience. Someone once told me, that of all the stories we hold in us, it’d be a shame to die without passing these lessons/stories on in some way. I think it’s time I start sharing my mistakes and what I have learned.

Humans are wonderful, boundless in creativity, resilience, and strength.

Mankind is weird, fetishistic, a motley interaction of shame, anger, and pain.

George Carlin once said, that a person is smart, but get that person in a crowd, and they begin to adopt the hive-ish mindset of the worst and most passionate parts of that sect.

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I’m still learning to plan invasions, but can confidently say, my varied set of experiences (and thus, current trajectory) are leading me to a path where the aforementioned quote will be fulfilled.

It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.

With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.