Welcome back to the ground. I'll put the kettle on.
Sound Scapes·
Coffee Jazz
what's this?Usually, on a Saturday or a Sunday, I try to work from a more subdued mood and let intent meander. These soundscapes help cultivate the feeling and secure some respite from chronically high autonomic arousal. Melancholy and nostalgia are adjacent moods here; the line drawings of city streets in places I've lived make up the background so that, in tracing them, I can lean in for some hours of catharsis.
In this section, you can browse some favorite playlists of mine and toggle ambience. The day mode plays the sound of rain on a car roof, and the night gives an accompaniment of crickets—both of which cast me back to long, slow summers spent reading damaged old paperbacks borrowed from here or there.
Warm, mellow jazz for slow mornings and late nights. The kind that fills a room like steam from a fresh cup.
Jazz
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Digital Gallery
what's this?In coming to California, a favorite memory was of my first visit to the science center—a museum which so filled me with a sense of awe that a fraction of my decision to go to college is owed to its inspiration. When, amid years of studying physics, it would come to be for some hours or days at a time that I could stomach the sight of the blackboard no longer, I found a great deal of invigoration in visits to the J. Paul Getty Museum. There, in Monet and Rembrandt, I could be mentally tickled while overtaxed circuits for scratching out mathematical machinery in chalk slept.
By dipping a toe to get a taste for art, I've been somewhat ruined; one has to be careful for what they develop an appetite. In rationing out visits to museums, however, I've found my most potent panacea for burnout, and in this section, I wanted to bring something of that experience to the page. The curation is simply of some works which at one time arrested me. If you have recommendations which you think might freeze me, I should love to hear them.
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Poetry Collection
Through the Ages
A History of Earth
what's this?One is astounded when tracing the long string of contingent happenings. It is strange to consider that connective tissue runs from the Pharaoh's first mounting to your first crying from the cradle; and one is filled with gratitude knowing that nearly every opportunity, and even existence itself, is owed to people long bygone.
But turning from the past to face the future's reach across that same chain brings a sense of vertigo. The prospect that its vast expanse might count you among its very first links weighs burdensome. In our time, we form the bridge between a deep past and a vast, possible future. Every effort and every human action has led to this point. And now, for this moment at least, the "after" is all up to us.
With this idea of the great chain linking past and future generations, I wanted to create something that would help me intuit a sense of history's sweep, then leave the long thread dangling to punctuate the importance of our today—a sort of blinking I-beam for the history soon to be written.
Through the Ages
