There is nothing wrong with your linux distribution.
Do not attempt to adjust the ssh connection.
We are controlling all sockets.
If we wish to make it faster, we will increase the bandwidth volume.
If we wish to make it slower, we will drop packets down to a whisper.
We will control the x axis.
We will control the y axis.
We can scroll your text editor, make it flutter.
We can change the focus to a another buffer or use the color scheme clarity.vim.
For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear.
We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your linux distribution.
You are about to participate in a great adventure.
You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to… Compiling From Source.
Category writing
Compiling From Source
ChurchCrunch Post
I did an article over on ChurchCrunch about Balsamiq mockups. It is getting passed around like wild fire. Guess thats a good thing. My buddy sent me this screen shot, saying he saw it re-tweeted by someone with 80k twitter followers. Insane!
A visit or a comment over there would be much appreciated.
http://churchcrunch.com/how-to-save-time-designing-your-blog-or-website-using-balsamiq-mockups
-peace
(Story) Undead because you ask me
“I have thought this for some time now. And I am confident that you will not be able to enable the heart in my chest. You will not sway me. Even should you reach out your skin-less hand and manually pump its beat, it will not last. For too much time has passed.” Her words fell on seemingly deaf ears, or rather, non-existent ones. For the flesh had long ago decayed from where they once had existed. Bones that were so pitted as to hold the color of dulled mercury. And the undead being stared at the girl, hollow skulled, sockets unblinking.
A flickering lone light, with a frayed string for a switch, illuminated the small room as it hung fastened to the ceiling. Worn shoes littered the floor. Clothing draped upon old metal hangers coated in dust and rot. Garments that held nothing of value for their former wearers, yet still acted as food for the moths. There were boxes stacked about whose contents held things of the past. Years were written along the sides, ordaining them with swift black sharpie. The undead thing reached down and pulled the top from one of the boxes; revealing a small black tablet inside; the kind that school children used in combination with chalk.


