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
c. 1638 • Oil on Canvas
This is a landscape painting by the Dutch master Rembrandt. The painting's main subject is a sturdy stone bridge crossing a body of water in a rural setting. It is not a detailed, realistic depiction but rather an emotional landscape. The palette is dominated by deep, dark tones—rich browns, ochr...
Manuscript
earthsheartGenre: Speculative Fiction
Earth's Hidden Heart: A Verne & Burroughs Legacy Part 1: The Buried Legacy (The Unseen Seed) The year is 2075.
The world's population swells, energy demands skyrocket, and the last vestiges of fossil fuels dwindle.
A generation earlier, humanity, in a desperate bid to secure its future and dispose of its most dangerous byproducts, committed to deep geological repositories.
Within a labyrinth of engineered tunnels, far beneath the surface, lie the silent monuments of a past crisis: vast sarcop...
The world's population swells, energy demands skyrocket, and the last vestiges of fossil fuels dwindle.
A generation earlier, humanity, in a desperate bid to secure its future and dispose of its most dangerous byproducts, committed to deep geological repositories.
Within a labyrinth of engineered tunnels, far beneath the surface, lie the silent monuments of a past crisis: vast sarcop...
Poetry
The Rose Has Left The Gardenby Richard Le Gallienne
The Rose has left the garden, Here she but faintly lives, Lives but for me, Within this little urn of pot-pourri Of all that was And never more can be, While her black berries harden On the wind-shaken tree. Yet if my song a little fragrance gives, 'Tis not all loss, Something I save From the sweet grave Wherein she lies, Something she gave That never dies, Something that may still live In these my words That draw from her their breath, And fain would be her birds Still in her death.