Binka writes about how she is a morning person, and I say I love the night. The night is magical (and at times manic), but I am still learning to not listen too much to myself after the sun has gone down.

“Æ e redd for mørket, som en unge
Trur at alle onde ting kan skje
E det det at vi blir meire fremmed
eller blir vi meire sånn vi e”

Kari Bremnes – Ansiktet te Månen

Some days I wake up and I feel like this. Wild Strawberries has one of the most beautiful beginnings I have ever seen. It makes no sense, and perfect sense at the same time. Bergman was before his time.

Vad som mera än något annat försonar mig med döden är bilden av en plats: en plats där dina och mina ben ligger begravda, nedslängda, avtäckta, tilsammans. De ligger utströdda där huller om buller. Ett av dina revben lutar mot mitt kranium. Et av mellanhandsbenen i min vänstra hand ligger innanför ditt bäcken. (Mot mina brutna revben ditt bröst som en blomma.) De hundratals benen i våra fötter ligger kingströdda som gruskorn.

John Berger / Översättare: Steve Sem-Sandberg.

I Have PSD from Hyperakt on Vimeo.

“Photoshop dexterity (PSD) is a skillset acquired by proficient users of Adobe Photoshop, the world’s most ubiquitous digital tool for creating visual ideas. Qualities of PSD include supernatural powers of imagination and an overwhelming desire to constantly make the world more beautiful. PSD affects people from different walks of life. In fact, there is a high probability that you have PSD.”

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”

— Carl Sagan