This morning, the perfectly circular Moon was setting in exactly the same spot where the Sun usually sets around May-August. The sky is hazy with smoke from burning California that already made it here, Moon disk plain, featureless, and it looked like an uncanny sunset from the time when some catastrophe already happened, we geoengineered our planet to death, or our Sun suddenly lost its luminosity. It was uncanny, like that double-moonrise in von Trier’s Melancholia
L and I watched the bluish Moon disappear behind the horizon, and he became aware of its movement for the first time in his life.

Then we understand that rebellion cannot exist without a strange form of love. Those who find no rest in God or in history are condemned to live for those who, like themselves, cannot live: in fact, for the humiliated. The most pure form of the movement of rebellion is thus crowned with the heart-rending cry of Karamazov: if all are not saved, what good is the salvation of one only?

Albert Camus, The Rebel: An Essay On Man In Revolt (via nec-plus-ultra)

This company is getting hoodies for everyone who wants one. People are asked to enter the size and desired color into a gsheet, split by office. 

A multitude of color picks on London side. And a uniform column of X’s under “Black” on ours.

re-watching classic Russian animation after many years with L makes me realize how much of it is about loneliness and social trust, and how the anti-hero (Chapeau Claque) is basically Ayn Rand (who pays for her outward mean-ness with staying lonely).

Also, these cartoons are basically 40 years old – how did they screw up the importance of social trust now if they taught it to children so well back then.