Ángel

Former programmer and struggling artist

No AI was used in any of my writings, tunes, doodles, software or anything

#artwork #ShortFiction #relatos

Public Key

npub1sxvzu2f60fx49z58zuka0vlm74vy3egeezvpn857t47eggxd5e8sss2cv3

NIP-05 Address

angel@triptico-com.mostr.pub

Profile Code

nprofile1qqsgrxpw9ya85n2j32r3wtwhk0al2kzgu5vu3xqen6096lv5yrx6vncpz3mhxue69uhhyetvv9ujuerpd46hxtnfduqs6amnwvaz7tmwdaejumr0dst4y6fc

Publishing to

relay.damus.io

nos.lol

Author Public Key

npub1sxvzu2f60fx49z58zuka0vlm74vy3egeezvpn857t47eggxd5e8sss2cv3

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Last Notes

2026-10-26 09:00:52 UTC

MOON GIRL AND THE TRICERATOPS
#artwork #makeuglythings #noai
https://triptico.com/artwork/moon-girl-and-the-triceratops.jpg

2026-10-14 10:49:39 UTC

Qué hilera perfecta surca la tierra; qué maravilloso huerto. Qué lejos del libre andar de los cazadores-recolectores, de su idea de cosecha.
-- Alessandro Baricco

2026-10-11 14:55:33 UTC

Clockwerk Shue says no to AI
#neverslop #noai #fuckai #artwork #MakeUglyThings
https://triptico.com/artwork/clockwerk-shue-says-no-to-ai.jpg

2026-10-03 10:59:44 UTC

https://fuckoffaimusic.com/
#FuckAI #NeverSlop

2026-10-02 09:06:59 UTC

I've been ROTOSCOPED!
Art by @nprofile…ca3j
🥰
https://triptico.com/social/angel/s/post-9c898418ad4eef3e2fac248ce97ce169.jpg

2026-10-02 08:06:55 UTC

This is the coolest 404 Error screen ever
https://triapul.cz/img/jedna/dont_stop.png

2026-10-02 08:00:58 UTC

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The Penitum with alien script was cooler

2026-10-01 13:03:33 UTC

MAN / MACHINE INTERFACESThis is a real story.
Back in the days, I worked for a small company that built EGSEs (short for Electric Ground Support Equipment) for civil and military satellites built by Airbus, Thales Alenia, Leonardo and others. The hardware was designed by my boss, a bitter and harsh but incredibly brilliant man, and I was responsible for the software interfaces, networking and remote control systems. Basically, we built human-height racks full to the top with COTS transponders, multimeters, power supplies, RF connectors, etc, and custom-built small Linux systems that coordinated the hardware; on the other side, this monster was commanded from a GUI in a standard laptop or desktop computer, that also provided connections to other Central Checkout / Command Control systems, test procedure scripting, and such. Also, our EGSEs used to have a small touchscreen where you could do very basic things like switching attenuators on / off, switching power supplies on / off, and commanding simple things to them like setting current, voltage, PWM, etc. I designed these small screens with the FLTK (Fast Light Toolkit), which was simple and appropriate for this very small systems.
One day, on an extremely hot summer (what the fuck, this is Spain, all summers are extremely hot), I went from my remote desktop to where my boss was working near the rack, and then he said:
"Please stop fucking around with the remote control system while I'm calibrating the power supplies".
"What? I did no such thing. I was [...whatever I was doing, I don't remember what]"
"Please. I was working when I heard the CLACK of the power supply switching off. I saw the logs and it was software-triggered."
"Maybe a temperature threshold, it's hot as fuck here."
"No. Software-triggered."
"Oh, sorry, then. Maybe I broke something, I'll go check my code."
Next day, I was already there by the rack with my boss. We were discussing something, and then we both heard the CLACK of the power supply going off again.
"Holy fucking Christ", said by boss.
"The remote control is disabled right now, the desktop is not even running, so I'm not to blame", said I, slightly relieved.
There was much swearing, as we were, as always, over the project deadline.
My boss then said:
"Whatever, our client has requested some more information in the rack's screen. I've sent you an email with the details."
I moved to my desktop, checked my email, and there was no message from my boss. I emailed the client and, yes, they wanted some more telemetries to be shown in the already crammed space. So I rewrote the small touchscreen main dialog (FLTK tools are cumbersome but effective), rebuilt and deployed it.
I moved to the rack. The air conditioning was buzzing like a small hurricane, the room hot as an oven. I checked how the mini-screen looked (sometimes, what was shown in the development machine didn't always match the real one): everything was OK, the new temperature telemetries were correctly shown near the power supply on-screen buttons.
Also, there was a fly over the screen. Then I joked to my boss:
"Oh, you must look at what I have done: I put a pretty, hyperreal bitmap of a fly on the man / machine interface, come look at it".
The fly moved a little, and then stepped over the power supply OFF touch-screen button.
CLACK
#ShortFiction #RealNotFiction

2026-08-31 17:59:17 UTC

join the #neverslop kitto gang
#ai #antislop #antiai #art #fediart #mastoart #comic
https://triptico.com/artwork/neverslop.jpg

2026-08-25 19:38:03 UTC

Dolly Parton has died. She was an awesome artist and a great person. Many other people should have died instead.

2026-08-21 16:03:48 UTC

LOS SUEÑOS EMPIEZAN IN MEDIAS RES / DREAMS START IN MEDIAS RES (2026)
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/in-medias-res.jpg

2026-08-17 16:34:40 UTC

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Love to see again the Menaville reference 🙂

2026-08-12 09:18:08 UTC

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Keep the fight!

2026-08-11 11:09:23 UTC

THIS PLACE IS NOT SAFE (2026)
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/this-place-is-not-safe.jpg

2026-07-20 11:50:49 UTC

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Congratulations!

2026-07-11 16:45:13 UTC

IGNORE PREVIOUS INSTRUCTIONS
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/ignore-previous-instructions.jpg

2026-07-10 01:01:35 UTC

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How many instances must an admin spin up before you can call it a fediverse?
All of them!

2026-07-08 07:55:48 UTC

Bolsa de lona con un dibujo mío inspirado por la canción de #Karil
https://triptico.com/sink/1455e04fc080db4c88c6987b1426aca4.jpg

2026-06-26 07:51:05 UTC

Marzo
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/marzo-kike-por-dios.jpg

2026-06-13 12:01:47 UTC

Montag + Mildred
#artwork #fahrenheit451 #RayBradbury
https://triptico.com/artwork/montag+mildred.jpg

2026-06-12 13:03:45 UTC

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Oh, we southern europeans are not immune to canadian irradiation
CC: @nprofile…z6zj

2026-06-05 23:24:38 UTC

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I wish it was a real life coffee shop near my home, but this is not going to happen by now
CC: @nprofile…z6zj

2026-06-04 18:49:25 UTC

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"Betrayed by content negotiation" is a good name for a cyberpunk story or a chiptune-based band
CC: @nprofile…z6zj

2026-06-04 18:41:40 UTC

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why content negotiation will eventually betray you
🤭 Sorry, but I found this very funny
CC: @nprofile…z6zj

2026-05-28 12:23:23 UTC

Fediverse account recommendations (may, 2026)essentials@nprofile…h0t9 (project gutenberg, host of public domain texts since forever)
@nprofile…j02p (the public domain review, great posts about works in the public domain)
for the views@nprofile…9vcy (sci-fi and fantasy vintage magazine covers)
@nprofile…gt73 (movie posters from the golden age of film noir)
@nprofile…d7ls (biomechanical, unix surrealism and somewhat punk)
@nprofile…8fmm (images from french's nouvelle vague, silent these days)
for the laughs@nprofile…9cm7 (sadness, nihilism, friendship and love)
@nprofile…jmr5 (witches, cats, dildos, wars and peas)
@nprofile…6d3e (cats and cuteness and animals)
@nprofile…trmh (bold and proud birds)
@tomgauld.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy (literary humor, yeah, i know, the account is from fucking bluesky)
@nprofile…jpj2 (political and satirical)
@nprofile…xywj (email absurdity)
@nprofile…a5rn (fun things, not very prolific)
for the tech@nprofile…st8u (to know when codeberg is down)
@nprofile…caar (news for the debian operating system blah blah blah)
@nprofile…07sp (yeah that jon corbet from linux weekly news)
@nprofile…qfem (daniel j bernstein knows more about cryptography than you)
@nprofile…z6zj (barista of the bsd.cafe, brilliant developer and sysadmin, also great person)
@nprofile…cjkf (new software and other news from the fediverse)
@nprofile…2lhv (info about the great openbsd vps provider)
en español@nprofile…rwx4 (cuentos del bosque oscuro, podcast de textos clásicos de género)
@nprofile…vfwj (efemérides culturales y otras cosas)
@nprofile…kunk (palabra del día del dle de la rae)
#FollowFriday yea i know it's thursday or whatever

2026-05-24 16:08:16 UTC

ANTICHTHON UNIVERSALIS, page 18 (2010)
the full thing
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/antichthon_universalis_18.png

2026-05-21 13:07:37 UTC

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For some reason, I used to read "Meanwhile" as "Menaville"
Menaville being a non-existent place in a virtual world is an incredibly beautiful concept

2026-05-21 12:09:20 UTC

"The literal meaning of life is whatever you're doing that prevents you from killing yourself."
-- Albert Camus

2026-05-19 10:52:59 UTC

THE MISTERY WAS REVEALED
#artwork
https://triptico.com/sink/1f11b2e63f6ae1d3875eb93238fe05c2.jpg

2026-05-16 05:51:04 UTC

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Amazing: how the moron jumps from "haha be kind to the kid he's cute and knows some AI" to "I wipe my ass with your experience and knowledge, you are obsolete".
More amazing response from Stefano: "fuck off"

2026-05-13 05:02:54 UTC

JuanitaPUNK NØT DEⒶDXVI LA·TORREELLA ES LA NOCHE
https://triptico.com/social/angel/s/post-156a019637d9a4d23762e5b27dae5f6f.jpg

2026-05-10 06:32:57 UTC

ANTICHTHON UNIVERSALIS, page 44 (2010)
the full thing
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/antichthon_universalis_09.png

2026-04-28 08:57:31 UTC

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I wish you strength, my friend. Stressful situations can be very bad for your health. And, well, wear that grey beard with pride.

2026-04-17 12:20:40 UTC

There is a new post aggregator out there, seemingly fed by RSS:
https://bubbles.town/
Unsurprisingly, it will be used to promote the same old internet-rockstars and to ignore the rest of us like other things like "Hacker News" or Lobsters or the other zillon of similar sites, but only time will tell.

2026-04-16 16:05:39 UTC

Sharing stories on Scuttlebutt (LWN):
https://lwn.net/Articles/1065471/

2026-04-08 10:34:46 UTC

My voice is not loud enough to fairly shout how awesome @nprofile…d7ls's Kitty Odysseus is

2026-04-06 08:37:22 UTC

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Wow love it 🥰

2026-04-03 10:07:46 UTC

THE THIRD SATELLITE OF PLANET EARTHThe press room of the World Space Agency was full to the brim. To my left there was an old man wearing small, golden glasses writing something in a notebook; to my right, a powerful woman, stiff like a stick, wearing black shades and camouflage clothes, arms crossed over her breasts. In front of me stood a young man that I knew from something.
A bureaucrat, dressed in a dull grey suit, crossed the door, moved behind a forest of microphones and began talking.
"Starting today, and after last month sad happenings, the World Space Agency nominates cosmonaut Ilya Iskanderovich Takashvili as the third satellite of planet Earth. This is a homage and this is an eulogy. God bless him. Thank you very much for your attention."
"God? What is this joke?", said the young man.
"Is that all?", said the old man, looking up from what he was writing.
"So it seems", said the woman.
The young man turned back to listen, then looked at me and smiled.
"Oh, you are Miroslav Corbett from documentation, aren't you?"
"Yes, it's me. Do I...?"
"We shared a table at the last convention of the Cinematik Ausfahrt Biotech Aréopage."
That was probably true.
"Sorry, but can any of you tell me who this cosmonaut was?", said the old man in golden glasses.
The woman in military attire started talking: "He was a member of ISS Nova's repairing staff. His umbilical link was broken while repairing the right solar panel and..."
Suddenly, a deep, nasal voice from the back of the room silenced everyone.
"Sorry, I have a question."
All of us looked back. His large silhouette opaqued the back lights; his bright red skin, black scar tatoos and pointy horns contrasted wildly against the immaculate white tuxedo he was wearing.
He was one of the demons that crossed the Seam. Many of them were shoved back or killed, but a few of them, peaceful in nature, stayed here among us and adapted to our society as especial guests. Their world view and opinions, so different than those from the humanity, were always appreciated and taken into account.
He continued his mesmerizing, gutural speech.
"First, I want to give my condolences to Ilya Takashvili's family and friends; I'm sure he will be missed. His oval orbit will produce an eclipse with the Moon every three days, so he will hardly be forgotten. But I want to remark something you all, human beings, have trouble remembering."
The silence was total, awkward, frightening.
"What is the second satellite of planet Earth?", he finally said.
I tried to remember. While doing it, my brain entered something like a cloud, a mist, a fog of dread. Simply, I was lost. The rest of the people there (excluding the demon and the mechanical butlers, shiny grey eyes like pearls) found themselves in the same trance state.
The demon kept talking.
"The damage caused by the Mind Sickers from the Great Anomaly is still here. No one of you remember what the second satellite is. You may consider it while counting, you may recall old photos and tales and drawings, but every time you try to concentrate in the details, your brains crash and reboot."
Slowly, I recovered, but my stomach was still twirling.
The old man with the notebook was lying on the floor; the woman in combat clothes was helping him. Some people were crying. Others were bleeding from their ears and nostrils.
"I wish I could help", finished the demon, "but don't know how, yet."
Invoking that memory in the middle of a massive crowd was a despicable act; but demons, even while trying to help, behave this way.
Half an hour passed before the press room was finally empty.
previously
#ShortFiction

2026-04-02 18:33:58 UTC

En la convocatoria de octubre pasado, mi relato TAN LEJOS, TAN SOLOS quedó finalista del II Certamen Cuentos del bosque oscuro 2025, en la modalidad ciencia-ficción. Este concurso está organizado por @nprofile…rwx4, un podcast donde se hacen lecturas de relatos de fantasía, ci-fi y terror, así como de poesía. Dadles una oportunidad; sus locuciones son muy buenas y los contenidos, inmejorables.
II Certamen Cuentos del bosque oscuro 2025 - Ciencia ficción, ganador y finalista
https://triptico.com/social/angel/s/post-9931c020d9411d919bcb2519e26bf682.jpg

2026-04-01 10:40:53 UTC

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What a beautiful piece. Thanks.

2026-03-25 15:47:05 UTC

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R.I.P. Gino Paoli. This song is beautiful. Also remarkable are Il cielo in una stanza, Senza fine and Sapore di sale.

2026-03-22 16:33:24 UTC

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Happy Sunday, Stefano. Enjoy some coffee, a walk under the sun a maybe a bit of tiramisu.

2026-03-20 12:51:12 UTC

Mi microrrelato de terror LA NOCHE ABANDONADA, REVISITADA ha quedado finalista del premio Microterrores XIII convocado por la editorial Diversidad Literaria.
El microrrelato:
LA NOCHE ABANDONADA, REVISITADALa perseguí durante largo tiempo, atravesando dunas, ríos helados y montañas hostiles. Quedó atrapada entre unos rayos de luz y al fin pude verla. Tenían razón: la noche era un ser vivo. Sus ojos eran como de gato; su cuerpo informe un tejido de llantos de niño, tiritar de perros, sudor de amantes, jirones de sueños y pesadillas. Dentro se agitaban las almas de los condenados, gritos como un sudario. Vine a matar a la noche pero me uní al coro de almas perdidas. Aquí sigo sepultado, mudo, ciego.
#relatos
https://triptico.com/social/angel/s/post-d6f432d127a9a2ea0fee830a6fbfa454.jpg

2026-03-10 15:08:37 UTC

Got me some @nprofile…d7ls 's delicacies because I deserve them.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/62/8b/1e/628b1e2aa0fde0961c128fa030e1f02b.jpg

2026-03-01 08:16:09 UTC

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I wish you my best for both of you. Take care, my friend.

2026-02-17 20:45:10 UTC

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So it seems. Here in Spain we also had a luminous morning.
Hope you won the combat in the watchtower

2026-02-17 08:11:02 UTC

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Also, what an incredibly blue wonder of a sky

2026-02-17 07:52:36 UTC

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Directly to the battlements of the tower, so the battle begins

2026-01-27 17:13:41 UTC

LA VERDAD SOBRE LAS SIRENAS / THE TRUTH ABOUT MERMAIDS (2015)
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/la_verdad_sobre_las_sirenas.jpg

2026-01-27 17:04:38 UTC

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Hope things get better soon. Take care, my friend.

2026-01-25 12:38:37 UTC

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Stunning and peaceful. Love it.

2026-01-18 18:17:33 UTC

EL NUEVO DEMIURGO / THE NEW DEMIURGE (1993)
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/el_nuevo_demiurgo.jpg

2026-01-15 22:01:44 UTC

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Is that a Fiat Cinquecento behind the bushes?

2026-01-14 17:28:58 UTC

CASTING NO SHADOWHe felt bored one day and decided to go see a movie, no matter which one. So he walked down Martín de los Heros street, entered a cinema and chose a random French film. This was the most important decision in his life: almost instantly, he fell in love with the actress. She was young, pale-skinned, hair black as night, eyes like a universe. When the film ended he already felt a missing piece inside his heart.
He realized he was unable to express that love in words; so big, so overwhelming, so eerie. He had no alternative than to keep living his life: lost some friends, met new others, found a job in number crunching, as he liked to say.
Years passed and he missed no new movie featuring her; he saw great stories, mediocre films and crappy flicks just because she was there. Every time the screen showed her face he felt like a delightful rendez-vous: how is you life, are you doing well, missed you so much. And every time he felt his heart breaking into pieces. Sometimes he even cried, his face covered by his hands, warm tears in the dark theater, always surrounded by strangers. Because love hurts, love is like a sickness, love is a strange and silent death.
One day, on one of those occasions when disappointments pile over each other, he decided to travel to Paris. Once there he felt he also loved the streets, the corners, the chimneys; it was a world that was a bit like her, a bit part her. He also felt the sadness of loving something that is almost not there, a mirage, a trompe-l'oeil. The bittersweet feeling of a life wasted loving a ghost.
And then he saw her. It happened on those tiring stairs in Montmartre, no less; he was sweating and panting while she moved almost like having the wind in her sails. He recognized the crow-black hair, the pale face, the glittering eyes now surrounded by little wrinkles, more beautiful than ever. Twenty-five years ago he saw her playing the grieving spouse of the great composer Patrice de Courcy and that day he started living. He smiled her and she smiled back.
#ShortFiction

2026-01-14 14:38:28 UTC

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@nprofile…z6zj Oh my. What an asshole.
This is another bone-chilling story from the ongoing book "FROM THE DEEPS OF SORROW - Sysadmin nightmares come true" by Stefano Marinelli.

2025-12-19 09:19:18 UTC

THE HOUSE IS SLAUGHTERED. Pen on paper, 1988.
#artwork
https://triptico.com/artwork/the_house_is_slaughtered.jpg

2025-12-15 14:33:40 UTC

WOMEN OF LEMNOSWhen the Argonauts arrived on a humid and sunny day to the island of Λημνος (Lemnos), they found it a desolate place: no males were to be found. Jason and his companions were informed that the women of Lemnos had killed all of them; fathers, husbands, sons. Some time ago, a strange frenzy had motivated all males to travel to Thrace, abduct women from there, make them their spouses and bring them back to the island. All native women responded with violence: the massive killing was one of anger and jealousy and outrage. Jason, after begging for an elaboration on the cause of that frenzy, was told that the men of Lemnos had accused all women of heresy because of an awful smell emanating from their private parts. Finally Hypsipyle, queen of Lemnos, explained that the hideous odor were given as a curse to women by the anger of Aphrodite, offended by their lack of offerings and worshiping. The Argonauts stayed in the island for a long time (even years, according to some sources) and cohabited with the women of Lemnos; we can only guess that by then the bad smell was gone or that it was not that awful after all.
There is an apocryphal saying that the women of Lemnos stopped worshiping Aphrodite because they were dreaming about a bunch of handsome men on a fancy boat that were to arrive to the island on a humid and sunny day.
#ShortFiction

2025-12-09 18:53:07 UTC

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Yes, I did. It's an immense creative opus. Cervantes, while creating the first modern novel, he also created the first postmodern novel, with its three narrators and the fourth wall breaking and all that.

2025-12-09 18:32:16 UTC

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Yes, it is!
Also, Spanish is my mother tongue, so I have the privilege to read Borges' words as he conceived them, without external intrusion, and is a bliss.

2025-12-09 17:18:56 UTC

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Thank you. #JorgeLuisBorges has always been one of my inspirations and favourite authors.

2025-12-09 11:00:00 UTC

THERE IS NO KILL LIKE OVERKILLThe Saint Boniface Maximum Security Prison. What a shithole.
"Hello, I would like to meet warden Titus Riccitelli", I said. The guard was a thin, old man that looked very bored. I gave him my business card.
"Miroslav...", he read it, paused, and said "Like the car?"
"What car?"
"The Corvette."
"No. Like the boat, but with a double T."
"A boat with a double what?"
"Is warden Riccitelli on premises? I have an appointment."
After waiting for a long time and crossing a myriad of corridors and annoying check points I finally got to the warden office.
"So you are Miroslav Corbett", said the warden, a bald, sweaty man with a ridiculous mustache. "I got a message from an angry bureaucrat from the government saying that you were about to come here. You have very important friends up there."
"Oh, I don't think so."
"Do you want a drink?"
"I don't do alcohol."
He looked at me with disdain in his face.
"Listen to me, young man. We are very busy here. I'm sure you don't understand the very important job that we..."
I interrupted him.
"I'm sorry, warden Riccitelli. I'm here for a very specific thing. I'd rather not be here, believe me. I don't want to waste your time. I'm only interested in one of your inmates. Just a short interview in her cell."
"What for?"
"As it says on my business card, I document things."
"What kind of things?"
"I keep a log of out-of-place happenings, reality distortions, unexpected presences and such. The duty of my department is to document the bizarre things that happen since the Great Anomaly..."
"Oh don't talk me about the Great Fucking Anomaly."
"I don't want to talk about it neither. I just need to meet a person that is incarcerated here. I just want to talk to Desdemona Dunkelmorgen."
He looked very upset or surprised or whatever.
"What? No way", he said. "She is the most dangerous person here. She is the most dangerous person in the whole fucking world. And I won't risk my resources by putting anyone of them near that damned bitch from hell."
"Do your employees know that you call them 'resources'?"
Warden Riccitelli took a ceramic ashtray from his table and launched it onto the wall. It exploded into pieces.
"Listen to me, little bastard..."
"Mr. Riccitelli," I interrupted him in my quietest voice while browsing my papers, "I know everything. Desdemona Dunkelmorgen, aka the Queen of Deception, aka the Mistress of Disguise, aka One-Trouble-On-Two-Legs. Born in Madrid, Spain. Who would say, bearing that name? Con artist, mischievous robber, ruthless blackmailer, despicable criminal, drinks while driving. Previous warden report: 'Handle with special care. Do NOT listen to her lies. She could be anywhere, anyone. She could be me or she could be you and you will not notice.' I'm not sure to understand what this last quote means."
"Damn. Holy Christ. I won't send my men to her cell because she will trick those dickheads and everything will go to hell again. I don't want another prison break from that motherfucking vixen. I will go there with you personally."
"I'm sure that is a very intelligent decision on your part."
"Come on, let's do it once for all."
He grabbed his own copy of the keys and we went down the belly of the prison. While on our way, I asked:
"Is it true what they say about her?"
"What do they say?"
"That she looks like no other woman in the world."
He took some time to answer. "To be honest, I don't know how she looks like."
"Haven't you seen her?"
"Not personally."
Not personally, I repeated to myself. What a douchebag.
We crossed the threshold to the hyper-ultra-high security block or whatever they called it and finally got to her cell's door.
"Ok, here we are", he said, "Be extremely careful."
"I'll be."
He unlocked the gate and we entered the cell. A small, barred window almost by the ceiling. Grey and dull walls. A dirty toilet. A chair and a table, no features. And nobody to be seen.
"What the fuck...?", he yelled, "But where...?"
He searched for her like crazy while swearing like a sailor: under the table, under the bed, as if she was as small as a mouse. Then he got back at me, his face red and swollen and sweaty:
"Why are you so calm? What the hell is happening here?"
"Have you heard the adage that the highest achievement of the devil was convincing men that he doesn't exist? Well, they don't call Desdemona Dunkelmorgen the Queen of Deception for nothing. She tricked you, all of you, into believing that she was here. She made you believe that you were able to catch her. In fact, it's a little more complicated; the highest achievement of Desdemona Dunkelmorgen was convincing men that she DOES exist. She is a trick of the mind. She is a glitch, a mirage. She is something that isn't and that shouldn't be."
Warden Riccitelli dropped to the floor, crying like a child.
"Oh my. I'm finished. Everybody will laugh at me for years."
"They'll do", I said, "but don't be too mean to yourself. Everybody was mislead. These illogical issues are overwhelming. All we can do is write about how this unfaithful reality is playing with us."
He jumped up in an explosion of rage, ran to the passage and started yelling at everybody.
"What are you doing there? Do something! Find her! Nuke this fucking place from above! It's the only way to be sure!"
"I'm afraid I have to leave", I said, but he was no longer listening to me.
It was a quiet evening out there. The parking lot at Saint Boniface was almost empty. I wrote some ideas on my notebook, not completely sure that I wasn't Desdemona Dunkelmorgen after all.
previously
#ShortFiction

2025-11-17 14:59:50 UTC

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@nprofile…0m5j on the other hand, and from my personal experience, I find the lack of interaction in the Fediverse appaling. I have [let me see...] 134 followers, which is much more that what I've had in any of the privative social networks (back when I had accounts there), and I usually have less than 10 likes or boosts with my best received posts. Most of the time is 0 interactions. I've just opened an Instagram account last month (because, well, I write fiction, and I was fed up of meeting people in writer gatherings asking me "what is your Insta Id" and telling them that I have none) and, with an order of magnitude less followers and much less posts, I get as much interactions.
Of course, there is the possibility that what I write here is not interesting, at least for those listening.
CC: @nprofile…lsyg @liaizon@wake.st @nprofile…k60c

2025-11-04 17:00:00 UTC

Incredible artwork by Conchy Cruz
#beastie #freebsd
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/67/bb/6b/67bb6b6945043a98431cf4946e000d26.jpg

2025-11-04 12:21:12 UTC

This is awesome
Sticker sincerity by @nprofile…gmm4 #unix_surrealism
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/72/97/e3/7297e37f22cbeb7b604a530c29ec8c26.jpg

2025-10-27 12:38:51 UTC

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@nprofile…gmm4 is the best

2025-10-17 16:37:49 UTC

How odd I can have all this inside me, and to you it's just words.
David Foster Wallace

2025-06-20 07:44:55 UTC

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WTF is wrong with all these people 🤦
"Open Source software users are in fact consumers, so they have the right to demand"
These morons may have the "right" to demand, but they also have the priviledge of being automatically ignored.
"Developers who release open source must take responsibility for satisfying users, otherwise they'd better not release"
This is even a bit funny 😆. Be responsible, or never release!
And regarding you being new to this thing, well, fine, whatever.

2025-06-17 14:08:09 UTC

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You can find some apache2 configuration snippets in snac's documentation:
https://comam.es/snac-doc/snac.8.html#EXAMPLES
CC: @nprofile…7sks

2025-06-17 14:04:29 UTC

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Great post. I'm glad you've found a place you belong to. Also, don't treat yourself too hard about the lost decades; there are still a lot of time ahead.

2025-06-01 15:10:39 UTC

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(totally ZFS ignoramus user here) did you have to actively start a transaction just before the doomed rsync, or is lastSnap some kind of magical identifier?

2025-05-26 11:43:27 UTC

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OpenBSD is almost always the best choice for a computer.

2025-05-22 13:04:00 UTC

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Maybe ~/.Xauthority permissions?
CC: @nprofile…a2d6

2025-05-21 12:38:31 UTC

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Another amazing one of the #ITHorrorStories by Stefano. You are a great narrator (the material is horrifying by itself, of course).

2025-05-20 08:37:34 UTC

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Thanks. But given that they don't even know if the in-premise system is running, I guess that they would not be able to use it to restore anything by themselves, am I right?

2025-05-20 07:40:06 UTC

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Hi, Stefano. When you set up this kind of backup systems for your clients, do they have the ability of restoring the backups by themselves in the case of an eventual catastrophe, or should they call you for this matter?

2025-05-14 08:27:10 UTC

#meermittwoch
https://triptico.com/blog/marbella-2020.jpg

2025-05-14 07:48:29 UTC

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I felt. AGAIN.

2025-05-13 19:46:19 UTC

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And of course, I’ve left out the worst parts of the story.
This is tragic and frightening. What a story.

2025-05-10 18:10:45 UTC

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This sounds really sad. I hope you get there whenever it's possible. Take care.

2025-05-09 06:50:02 UTC

I'm seeing lots of photos of Italian newspapers with the header Il papa americano and now I can't take Renato Carosone out of my mind.

2025-05-08 20:34:03 UTC

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I'm pretty sure I won't win the Literature Nobel Prize, but being the next Pope... who can be sure!

2025-05-08 20:13:28 UTC

Joder, el nuevo papa solo tiene 13 años más que yo ಠ_ಠ

2025-05-04 17:33:41 UTC

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I bought the battery last year on Aliexpress, so yes, they are still out there.

2025-05-04 17:16:13 UTC

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I also have an Acer Aspire One, manufactured in 2007, IIRC. A friend gave it to me, as it was getting dust in a closet. I love this little vermin. Extremely portable and cute, with a surprisingly acceptable keyboard. It's the one where I write my fiction in when I'm out there writing in parks, cafes or writer meetings.
I just had to replace the battery. I bought a rather bulky one, but it lasts like a million years of mostly text-only work.

2025-05-04 11:19:50 UTC

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Too many trackpad breakage... Maybe it's broken, or on the verge of breaking?

2025-05-02 06:58:57 UTC

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What a beautiful song.

2025-05-02 06:47:23 UTC

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Yes, in Spanish a Tarántula is also a spider (big, hairy and hideous). How do you call these geckos in Italian?

2025-05-02 06:18:07 UTC

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These fellows are cute ones. A friend of mine, of italian origin, called it a Tarantola or Tarentola when he saw one, if I recall correctly (which surprised me, because in Spanish, a Tarántula, sounding very similarly, is a very different kind of creature).
In Spanish these insectivorous geckos are called Salamanquesas or Saltarrostros (which means "jump to the face", which is an activity they are famously for not doing). It's said that they bring good luck.

2025-04-25 18:10:04 UTC

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Incredible! 😲
I don't think this piece of cake was even sold in Spain, or I'm sure I would remember.

2025-04-25 16:08:31 UTC

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Never knew this was a thing. Did it have a green phosphor screen?

2025-04-25 07:06:26 UTC

Brilliant post (as always) from @nprofile…pt5e about the Windows 11 experience:
[...] copilot [...]. How can something this dumb help you with your job? What is your job?
😆
https://flak.tedunangst.com/post/windows-experience-goes-to-11

2025-04-20 09:00:00 UTC

Hace unos días puse en marcha este bot: @nprofile…2k85 . Saca la palabra del día de la página del Diccionario de la Lengua Española de la R.A.E. y la envía como un post público, una vez al día, por la mañana (zona horaria de España). También se puede acceder mediante RSS.
Con el software de ActivityPub que uso (#snac) es muy fácil montar cosas de estas.

2025-04-16 12:18:24 UTC

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"We and our 887 partners store..."
Sure. (Closed tab).
😆
That's my reaction, usually after some shouting to the screen.

2025-04-15 02:13:51 UTC

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Very moving and heartwarming. Thank you so much.

2025-04-14 17:19:03 UTC

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Oh my, let's hope it's not that. Trapped in a hell of retry queues, timeouts, down-for-maintenance instances and expired certificates, longing for an exit that never happens.
May be she is a modern Sysyphean or Promethean archetype, lost in a wasteland of overflown stacks and bad drive blocks.

2025-04-14 16:30:27 UTC

But what does Nicole want from me? She doesn't even try to sell me anything! She doesn't ask for money! She's just right there, taking her pre-health sciences program!
Is she a ghost, trapped in an infinite loop of sorrow?
I never satisfy her needs, nor even talk to her, but she keeps coming back! But, why, Nicole, why?! 😭

2025-04-09 02:26:13 UTC

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Looks great, and moves fast!
And this is pure bliss: https://my-notes.dragas.net/2023/09/25/25-years-later/

2025-04-04 07:20:05 UTC

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Good morning, Stefano and friends! April may be the cruellest month, but days are longer and the sun is shining. Final fight to the weekend!

2025-04-01 05:10:00 UTC

LA ATALAYA RECORTADA CONTRA EL CIELO: El otro lado (Capítulo 7, extracto)La escena que vio le resultó vagamente familiar; la calle, las aceras de piedra, las farolas. Pero había algo que la hacía diferente. Una suerte de niebla cubría el paisaje; una niebla espesa, negra, como humo. Las farolas estaban encendidas pero emitían una luz leve y espectral que parecía dibujada por un pintor no demasiado hábil, formada por trazos gruesos y torpes, como sumergidas en un líquido denso. Un poco más allá había unas viviendas pero solo podía divisar unos bloques geométricos sin rasgos, como en un boceto sin terminar, simple y descuidado. La quietud era extrema; ni una fluctuación de iluminación, ni un movimiento, ni un temblor. Y reparó en el silencio casi total; solo podía escuchar su propio rumor interno y una especie de zumbido grave y monótono como el de un trueno muy lejano y continuo.
[...]
Bran escuchó una especie de chirridos que llegaban desde la calle.
Avanzó despacio mirando a todas partes con cautela; cuando pasó junto al farol tuvo la sensación de que el frío era más intenso. El efecto de la niebla en la luz era extraño; parecía una masa casi tangible con el aspecto de una lámina de aceite flotando sobre el agua.
Los ruidos se hicieron más claros y más agudos.
Entonces, casi al lado de la siguiente farola, encontró la fuente: los chillidos procedían de unos bultos sin forma definida del tamaño de puños que parecían vibrar ligeramente, rodeados de una mancha oscura en el pavimento.
Era un grupo de ratas. Todas ellas estaban aplastadas, pero no como si hubieran sido atropelladas, sino como si alguien o algo las hubiese machacado a propósito. Algunas conservaban aún la cabeza, otras el rabo y las patas traseras, y otras eran prácticamente una lámina de apenas un dedo de grosor. De sus cuerpos destrozados asomaban las pequeñas puntas de hueso de costillas y vértebras, afiladas y partidas, y también órganos irreconocibles y resecos de color pardo. Todos los cuerpos reposaban sobre lo que parecía ser una gran mancha de sangre totalmente seca. Una gruesa capa de arena fina y polvo lo cubría todo, como si aquella pequeña masacre hubiera ocurrido mucho tiempo atrás.
Pero lo más inquietante de todo era que aún estaban vivas.
Aquellas en la que los cráneos no habían sido convertidos en pulpa aún eran capaces de moverse: eran ellas las que emitían los chillidos que habían llevado a Bran hasta allí. Sus pequeñas cabecitas sin ojos se agitaban lo poco que podían, boqueando como peces en tierra, accionando sus descoyuntadas mandíbulas. Las patas que aún estaban enteras hacían temblar sus minúsculas garras. Incluso aquellas que estaban totalmente aplastadas se agitaban perceptiblemente.
Era una masa de carne doliente, carroña viva.
Bran sintió una tristeza muy profunda al ver aquello y movida por la piedad empezó a aplastar aún más aquellos pequeños miembros en movimiento con la punta de sus botas. Los huesos y la piel reseca se desmenuzaron sin dificultad. Pisoteó y pisoteó, presa de una especie de frenesí motivado por la confusión y la tensión nerviosa, hasta que tuvo que parar para recuperar el aliento.
Observó con detalle el montón de carne macilenta y triturada. Al instante volvió a sentir aquella leve vibración de la vida, unos leves temblores, un murmullo apenas audible por encima de sus propios jadeos.
Sintió que estaba a punto de volverse loca, o que quizá eso ya había ocurrido. Su mente se negaba a aceptar lo que sus sentidos le comunicaban: aquellos pobres animales no morían por muy destrozados que estuvieran sus cuerpos.
LA ATALAYA RECORTADA CONTRA EL CIELO
https://triptico.com/blog/presentacion-atalaya.jpg

2025-03-31 18:24:57 UTC

LA ATALAYA RECORTADA CONTRA EL CIELO: La familia (Capítulo 4, extracto)Unos días después, a la vuelta del instituto, Bran se encontró con su madre en mitad del salón con la mirada perdida en la pared. Su mano izquierda sangraba profusamente; en la otra tenía un cuchillo de cocina. Bran la sentó en el sofá, corrió con el corazón galopando en el pecho hasta el botiquín del baño, cogió el yodo y unas vendas y volvió para curarla. Tenía un corte largo desde el codo hasta la muñeca. Le limpió la herida y la envolvió en la venda, que poco a poco se iba empapando de un rojo profundo. Le habló y le habló pero su madre estaba ausente: la persona detrás de aquellos ojos hundidos y amoratados parecía estar muy lejos. Deseó que Cristóbal estuviese allí, pero probablemente había ido a trabajar o a comprar. Aquellos días eran como un torbellino.
Y de repente su madre se incorporó, la miró y le dijo unas palabras que no entendió pero que ya nunca pudo olvidar:
—He conocido al Hombre de Cuerdas.
Bran le preguntó de qué estaba hablando; ella se quedó como en trance unos instantes con el labio superior tembloroso y después continuó:
—He estado estos días en la casa de Cincogargantas. En su Casa Infinita. Lo que me ha pedido está muy claro. Es mejor no ver.
Bran se sobresaltó: ¿dónde está Pedrín? Y a modo de respuesta escuchó el ruido de algo cayéndose al suelo al otro lado del pasillo.
Echó a correr hasta la habitación y Pedrín estaba allí, en su silla de ruedas, con la cabeza ladeada; una bandeja y un plato estaban desparramados por el suelo y un fuerte olor a orín y excrementos inundaba la estancia. Tenía los labios secos y pegados. El organismo de Pedrín, en continua degradación, se deshidrataba fácilmente; Bran le pellizcó en el brazo como le habían enseñado y comprobó que la piel no volvió a su estado normal. Buscó a toda prisa el bote de plástico, lo encontró caído detrás de una silla y le dio de beber. Él lo hizo muy poco a poco porque estaba casi inconsciente.
Bran sintió que estaba a punto de llorar cuando oyó abrirse la puerta de la calle. Cristóbal entró cargado de bolsas. Bran se lanzó hacia él y le explicó como pudo la parte que entendía de todo lo ocurrido. Él la escuchó, tratando de calmarla. Le dio un beso en la frente y le dijo que no se preocupara, que él se encargaría de todo.
Aquella noche, nada más dormirse, Bran tuvo un sueño espantoso: un ser enorme y ensangrentado, con los dedos largos como gusanos serpenteando hasta el suelo, se arrastraba hacia ella cargando con el mismo cuchillo que había visto en la mano de su madre. Le decía con voz cavernosa que era el Hombre de Cuerdas; por alguna razón, ella ya lo sabía antes de que abriese su boca llena de dientes diminutos. La pesadilla duró apenas un instante. Se despertó empapada en sudor. Miró el reloj digital de su mesilla: 02:13.
Le costó conciliar el sueño; solo lo consiguió a base de repetirse una y otra vez como un mantra que todo había pasado. Todo ha pasado. Todo ha pasado.
Pero lo peor estaba aún por llegar.
LA ATALAYA RECORTADA CONTRA EL CIELO
https://triptico.com/blog/presentacion-atalaya.jpg