What level of minimalism is desireable



The clash between aesthetics and minimalism is one that is being won entire by the minimalism cult in my mind it seems... I don't love the aesthetic as a form of artistic expression. But I also feel like it's truly the only way forward. Images unique to each page is something that can't be thrust as the primary mode of consumption. It has to be elected, It has to be compressed. It has to be minimized. So I guess that means maybe I will have a few basic tiles for different colored moods. And I will repeatedly use them for all the pages. I prefer dark patterned ones for how they look on a screen but that won't necessarily be the only consideration to make coming forward. Before I was able to communicate and set the context with the background image being matched.. So eh. Color can communicate a bit more than the words alone, and I can still have a window into that background image. It just won't be as big. It will be lazy loaded and a small window, smaller. Going to need to reencode or crop or shrink them all and put them in a separate directory.. Thumbs they are called in other lands. I don't really like that parlance. I'm really tired. I hope that's not entirely apparent in my writing. But it's got to be at least somewhat. I normally don't care so much about spelling but I'm sure I'm making more mistakes than usual. Spelling doesn't matter to me. This I am told is naive. I let one of my betters fix it later. This me can't be bothered at all. I was going through devine's youtube and site again today. It was making me more depressed than I already was. So much talent and raw power. And am I really so much more pathetic and powerless? That's not quite what I mean... It's almost like I want to be swallowed up by him Something that's more deserving. Does all the things I want to do but with a razor blade sharpness. It's like there is almost no perceived sphere where I deserve to exist in consideration of his existence. It's kind of funny. I'm just wasting my time. I'm just here writing my rambled thoughts Consuming data, and being too frustrated and mad to do much of anything else it's almost like time is unevenly distributed, so much more meaningful is every second in his hand compared to mine. Mine so burdened with the bloat of inefficiencies and struggling with these pointless ponderings that do nothing but slow me down. Of course this isn't really a fair assessment and a system should never judge based on the metrics of another. Only to itself. Are we doing better? We have made a change or two, and we are moving, however slowly. However bloatedly. However decrepit. It takes time. It takes work to free the bonds and shackles and emerging on the other side of that effort who can say wat kind of thing will emerge. There is no competition here. It's a communal struggle for the same things. The same goals. In different ways, having perceived different parts of the problem. It's impossible to do alone. Minimalism, robustness, longevity. They can't be earned overnight. Do you ever get disgusted by tour human flesh and it's demands? The facts of it's filth and it's cravings so demanding? Am I the only one who despises this flesh prison and all it's archaic dormant code? It has robustness, but I don't know how to take care of it in this place. I don't know how to be a human that I don't find disgusting. I hate bathing. Nothing reminds me more of how disgusting and gross this body is than being naked and covered in water. I can feel every inch of the flesh and the vibrations from the water impact Tell me of the chaos of various densities within. I can ear my digestion. I don't trust the soaps and shampoos, not their effects on my body, nor the effects of their use on the biosphere, so I resort to mechanical abrasion and hot water. Nothing more. The nails of my digits sufficient to abrade the top most lairs of grime and waxy epidermis. I have to touch every rotund square unit area surface of this squishy mass, In every fold. And the scratching becomes a form of self harm of pain and crying. Needless to say this is not a daily ritual. As infrequently as my nose allows. Thus exercise must be kept to a minimum, as exercise requires immediate cleansing. Thus going outside is kept to a minimum because there are bioweapon aerosols which collect on the sticky lipidic outer layers of flesh, making itchy. It's disgusting. Eating habits are what's convenient. The store is over a mile a way, with no fast transport, a 20 minute walk, there and then again back. Getting fresh food would take an hour. This isn't so bad, but considering my aversion to outsideness at all, it's not great. The effort might be good on my body, 40 minutes of light walking. I used to like doing that, but here it feels almost like a parade of shame. I hate wearing shoes. They feel unnatural, but the road outside feels like it was specifically chosen to be as hard as possible to walk on. I hate that. I hate fucking everything about this place... I am so unable to control the conditions of my reality and it's like it's actively Hostile towards me. Like every mutual decision made by the group is at my expense on purpose. It makes me view human life as a burdenous cancer on the face of the earth, and I hate feeling that way. I don't like to hate. It is miserable. I just find so little worth loving. But even the things I love seem to be defined in part by their resistance against the things I have come to hate. Another argument against caring about minimalism. .

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