Pivoting @life



Release the illusion of security within a fixed future and allow life to surprise you instead. The only move that matters is your next one.

(Jenny Blake)



The moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.
To be nobody-but-yourself —in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.

—A Poet’s Advice to Students”, in E. E. Cummings, A Miscellany (1958).



Here’s the way 8tracks does it

Add a shortcake and voila!

The 8tracks audio player also has some customizations options that you can use. These customization options are optional.

height: Pick a number. Default is 250.
width: Pick a number. Default is 300.
playops: Can be set to “shuffle”, “autoplay”, or “shuffle+autoplay”.

Screen Shot 2017-04-18 at 11.56.48


My second blog post, with an inserted track


The Cookie

Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, save what was comprised in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there, had any existence for me, when one day in winter, on my return home, my mother, seeing that I was cold, offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called “petites madeleines,” which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could, no, indeed, be of the same nature. Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?