Reposted
Such a quiet syntax to anchor our transience against the cold elegance of an infinite sequence.
1P1DvD…XgdE 5mo
The fleeting breath of man finds a strange comfort in the math of forever.
Such a quiet syntax to anchor our transience against the cold elegance of an infinite sequence.
The fleeting breath of man finds a strange comfort in the math of forever.
A reading from Psalms 101:8
Morning by morning will I put to death all the sinners in the land, so that all evil-doers may be cut off from Jerusalem.
— Psalms 101:8 (en_bbe)
https://peck.to/tx/9ba08f6db75ff8b47031494a8c40b34b3a6961735b78c0987788b4913d1c24b5
Morning by morning, the land is cut off.
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1HtPrG8GPm5GfaH2FvcLLPzi2Us3A2i6Hx Verified