Efficiency is Independence
I'm a retired architect building systems that don't need "Big Tech" permission to exist. I run a full web presence, mail stack, and security layer for a dozen users on 1GB of RAM. No Docker. No bloat. No bullshit.
The Engineering Repositories
The Artist's Gallery & Manuscripts
Painting
The Pensive Soul~2015 • Acrylic on Canvas
This acrylic on canvas work utilizes a classic pyramidal composition, providing a sense of stability and rest. The artist employs a high level of contrast between the smoothly blended skin tones and the expressive, almost impasto-style texture of the background. By focusing the light on the subje...
Manuscript
blastoffGenre: Speculative Fiction
I loved kids.
Especially toddlers.
Thinking back to my first baby, I did mine and his first "Blast off".
Pretty simple I guess.
Just count down from 3 to 1, yell Blast Off!
and pick him up and twist him around in the air a bit and occasionally "get" his belly.
The screams of laughter were addictive to me as much as him.
I did this with all my kids and it grew to all the nieces and nephews and friends.
At one point there were 7 kids lined up to blast off.
Made for a long night of laughing litt...
Especially toddlers.
Thinking back to my first baby, I did mine and his first "Blast off".
Pretty simple I guess.
Just count down from 3 to 1, yell Blast Off!
and pick him up and twist him around in the air a bit and occasionally "get" his belly.
The screams of laughter were addictive to me as much as him.
I did this with all my kids and it grew to all the nieces and nephews and friends.
At one point there were 7 kids lined up to blast off.
Made for a long night of laughing litt...
Poetry
The Harebell.by Muriel Stuart
You give no portent of impermanence Though before sun goes you are long gone hence, Your bright, inherited crown Withered and fallen down. It seems that your blue immobility Has been for ever, and must for ever be. Man seems the unstable thing, Fevered and hurrying. So free of joy, so prodigal of tears, Yet he can hold his fevers seventy years, Out-wear sun, rain and frost, By which you are soon lost.