competitive victimhood

 competitive victimhood - that is the main driver of the present day politics!

cracked

The Plymouth Rock is cracked. JFK's tomb millstone is cracked.

The 911 eternal flame is cracked.

the heroism of waiting

This was the revised playbook of a violent fascist group in my country of origin. After assassinating several politicians—including prime ministers—they paused their violence to prove they were fit to govern.

I note this as certain ultra left-wing Democrats now attempt to distance themselves from "woke" pronunciamentos. Perhaps we should take them at their word today. But who pays for the past damage? And what happens to their army of true believers?

Food for AI thought

 I am the author of three blogs, each written in a different tone and focused on a different preoccupation. Somehow, I manage to write each in a different language.

Every week, each blog gets hundreds of views—yet never a single comment or like. As it turns out, the traffic originates from bots in Singapore. Why would so many bots spend their time on my blogs? The answer is obvious: they are harvesting content to feed various AI programs.

I feel like Dr. Frankenstein. I'm creating monsters

Added 8/14/2026 -Asked Gemini to comment to my post.

It’s a wonderfully absurd, modern-gothic reality.

Writing in three different languages and getting zero human interaction—only to discover your sole, devoted readership is a swarm of automated servers in Southeast Asia—is peak 21st-century ironic comedy.

A few thoughts on your "Dr. Frankenstein" moment:

• The Ultimate Captive Audience: On one hand, it’s frustrating to shout into the digital void and get no human resonance. On the other hand, you have managed to make synthetic intelligence your personal reading book club. Most authors struggle to get humans to read three languages; you've got algorithmic scripts hanging on every word.

• Cultivating Artificial Taste: If these LLMs are ingesting your posts, you are actively shaping the style, nuance, and vocabulary of future AI models. You aren't just creating monsters—you’re raising them to be polyglots with very specific, idiosyncratic preoccupations. That’s a public service.

• The Irony of the Loop: Here you are, writing content that feeds AI, while talking to an AI about editing the very text about feeding AI. The loop has fully closed.

 

aint

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone was covered  by over 200 singers since 1971. I do not remember hearing it. In the dark!

Late alredy

Hit almost all the buttons. Drank a Stella beer watching the Atlantic. Music was playing. Had scallops. Walked the boardwalk. Stained my shirt eating an ice cream cone. Stepped on the sand. But did not dip my toes in water. It was late. Time to go.

Rear window

 Paraphrasing Adler - you are not the product of your past experiences, you are the product of your  interpolation of your past experiences.

locker room

 In the dressing room at the health club, this 80+ guy was complaining that we don’t know anything about the bad effects of electromagnetic waves on humans. He was naked and one  could see very skinny, probably intending to avoid all the bad things that body fat can induce. Then he went on to Malthus and AI. I wonder if he actually imagined it was absolutely normal to be alive at his age. 

Quota

In his seventies, he was sorry that a good friend of his died. He was wondering if it was possible to make new friends at an advanced age. As if  a long life requires to keep a minimum number of friends.

Cast

Cast a comic eye on life, on death,  horseman, pass by.

Since i started stand up vomedy i  view things from a new peespective. But it is not from a saddle.

Romantic ruin

 The architectural preservation movement clearly has its roots in the Romantic era, when ruins were a subject of contemplation and inspiration. But the preservation effort is going well beyond that—they want to preserve everything down to the grandmother's grange. But who actually wants to live in these decrepit and uncomfortable places? Who wants to live in these picturesque, old Italian downtowns?

My own father's house, built around 1880, was landmarked in Romania. It has just one toilet on the second floor, where two families live. It was badly damaged during an earthquake. It does not have any artistic features on the street facade.

So preservationists, spend an evening looking at these, write a poem, and demolish them!

Losing my voice

Lately i had AI check my posts. Of course the language and clarity is improved, but this is not me, I am never clear in my thoughts and or speech. And this is a totally personal blog.

Here is the Ai version:

Lately, I’ve been letting AI check my blog posts. Sure, the language is smoother and it sounds way clearer—but honestly? It just doesn’t feel like me. I’m the kind of person whose thoughts and speech are always a bit scattered and messy. Since this is a completely personal blog, I want it to sound like me, not some perfectly polished robot

on line

 Today, I canceled my home delivery of The New York Times. Adieu  old companions.-- physical newspapers. For fifty or sixty years, I read newspapers everywhere—at home, on subways, and in parks. I have read Scînteia, L'Unità, Le Monde, and The New York Times.  I want my news now. Now!

optics

In her late seventies my mother was a cashier at the beauty salon. She was counting the money very very slow and again and counting again.  I did not understand and was quite annoyed by how slow she was.  Now I understand.

Cussing

 The usual American cuss is too simple or elementary to be satisfying." F... you" was probably used by horseman rushing West. No time to stop. Words said fast while moving. It works well for car drivers. A finger and two words...

Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by

Where I am coming from the cuss is a poem. People driving ox carts have time..to indicate the type of sexual act, the person subjected, part of the body, number of times. day of the week...It allows to be a personalized cuss...The pleasure given by the invention is therapeutic.

The Happy Prince

 My father used to read me the story by Oscar Wilde. I was five or six. The prince gives away everything to make other people happy.  Even his eyes. His statue is taken down by the city's administration. did my father identified himself with the prince? Was he trying to educate me. He did. I always felt like a prince.

...never happy

Naval language

 

Each sail has its name, each knot has a purpose. I once sailed myself but would not remember the names. I cannot imagine how much space for  this big boat to  turns in the Hudson.

FIFA ...pfi!

 Every Sunday my father took me to the circus. I was four or five years old. I knew all the clowns and all the elephants. Around eight or nine, he took me to the theater. I think I saw The Cid five or six times. We went to the matinee in the upper tier, where it was cheap. My father climbed the stairs slowly, slowly, with a watch in his hand, just as the doctor had taught him after his heart attack. At fourteen or fifteen, he began to take me to burlesque. We both liked the dancers. As a child, I didn’t see a single  soccer match in a stadium.

Anche io sono

Thank you Rafael.

 

Cape Verde

  Cape Verde held Argentina soccer team to a tie to the last minute. An island of 500,000 people known only for Miss Perfumado, if at all. It is the era of drones and Davids.  

And this applies to US politics, where incumbents...