Lyrics: John Barlow
Music: Bob Weir

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left, you were in his dream
Ah child of countless trees
Ah child of boundless seas
What you are, what you’re meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Lost now on the country miles in his Cadillac
I can tell by the way you smile, he is rolling back
Come wash the night-time clean
Come grow the scorched ground green
Blow the horn, tap the tambourine
Close the gap of the dark years in between
You and me, Cassidy

Quick beats in an icy heart
Catch colt draws a coffin cart
There he goes and now here she starts
Hear her cry

Flight of the seabirds
Scattered like lost words
Wheel to the storm and fly

Faring thee well now
Let your life proceed by its own designs
Nothing to tell now
Let the words be yours, I’m done with mine

I wonder if you could print a 3d printer that was programmed to print copies of itself ad infinitum.

The only difference between an office and a closet is the word your boss uses to refer to it.

I’d really like to see a documented process for creating process documentation for the process creation documentation process.

Resist the temptation to believe that 100% of your responsibility lies in code. To become a well-rounded developer requires a skill set that spans technology, process, and toolsets.

Guilty Pleasure Rant (Dave Grohl)

I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you fucking like something, like it. That’s what’s wrong with our generation: that residual punk rock guilt, like, “You’re not supposed to like that. That’s not fucking cool.” Don’t fucking think it’s not cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” It is cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic”! Why the fuck not? Fuck you! That’s who I am, goddamn it! That whole guilty pleasure thing is full of fucking shit.

Dave Grohl

The very nature of “big things” makes it impossible to be very close to anything big.

thoughts, rants, and writings