Ángel
@angel@triptico.com
Location: 40.4235492,-3.6617828
100 following, 195 followers
El microrrelato:
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Portada del libro Microterrores XIII, publicado por la editorial Diversidad Literaria
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A drawing by Ángel Ortega, showing an underwater giant anglerfish monster with an appendix that looks like a woman outside the sea surface
#unix_surrealism #dataswamp #technomage #art #comic #openbsd
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Do you ever wonder how different thing would be if we had met in the data swamp?
@Migueldeicaza @bigzaphod @jamesthomson "I feel like I get 10x more done" is the new "I think the stripper really likes me".
Get snac'd up (not just) for #fosdem !
You can now purchase #snac propaganda stickers and apparel to show your allegiance or to wage war with.
Blessed be the hacker @grunfink for they can C.
#snac2 #runbsd #linux #unix_surrealism #fediverse
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snac's suzie qr, points to comam.es/what-is-snac
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snac alien
SINCE YOU LEFT ME
IVE BEEN SNACPILLED
comam.es/what-is-snac
https://subversive.pics is now aggregating 11 subversive galleries with @occult being the latest addition.
Instagram is starting to foam at its machine mouth!
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subversive.pics
Remember "don't print this email" in signatures that was a bit cringe? It doesn't feel that cringe anymore in retrospect. I'm doing an experiment now with this new email signature :D Anyone doing something similar? Could it catch on?
edit: BTW please absolutely steal/modify this idea if you want!
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Lucie L. Hartmann, CEO
MNT Research GmbH
https://mntre.com
Did you know? Using AI wastes a lot of energy and contributes to
climate change. I'm happy to just receive your raw bullet points
instead of a formal email if you're short on time.
Lets save some energy!
Coo coo
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We see two house sparrows drinking out of a puddle. The male says to the female: "Good puddle!" to which she replies "I love you but you have low standards". Pigeons arrive in the background, the female says "Ope! Here comes the herd" There is a long horizontal frame of the two sparrows in the midst of a bunch of pigeons cooing around them. The male then says "gentle giants" the female agrees "mhm" and then says "coo" and the male responds "haha. coo!"
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A comic. Panel 1: a figure with no face standing in empty room, a window behind, text: "I let them in through the window". Panel 2: open hand, text: "they wanted to show me something in the forest. It was my 18th birthday that day... 'I hope it's IBM EM95 4U 256GB memory module' I thought". Panel 3: a figure in the forest pointing at something, text: "I think I knew them well, but I can't recall their name". Panel 4: faceless... face, text: "or their face". Panel 5: A sign "plague, keep out", text: "despite the warnings, we went deep into the woods, where they told me about the book". Panel 6: A giant artery in the forest, liquid flowing out, text: "and showed me the arteries of the earth". Panel 7: giant artery with two figures inside, they are soaked in liquid, text: "we looked for the largest one, and when we found it we climbed in, and we walked and walked for eons, deeper and deeper, to the rhythm of the heart far ahead". An eye looking forward below (still the same panel), text: "it was the best day of my life".
strlcpy(3)
#unix_surrealism #technomage #openbsd #analognowhere #fish #penguin #mata #linux #comic #art
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MATA_Bots descend upon Fish's bunker.
Bots: "CLEAR! KEEP MOVING, THE FISH IS HERE"
Fish: "I'll buy you time. Use the ventilation system. Go wake her up. Get her out."
Bots: "GOT A SEALED DOOR. BREACH IT"
Fish: "And Purple? Thank you."
Bots: "BREACHING! MOVE MOVE!"
Fish: "For what it's worth... I wish for unlimited ammo."
last of the fish
#unix_surrealism #technomage #gameoftrees #9front no #thinkpad #openbsd #runbsd
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Girl lounging on a desk. there are 9front no-thinkpad, and game of trees posters behind her. a fish plush toy. and some other computer-speak stuff.
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A drawing by Ángel Ortega, showing a reptilian god nurturing a dead world with its own flesh and blood and bringing it back to life
Let's say you run a nonprofit animal shelter. And for some reason, some people feel you should be seeing hockey-stick growth, but the donations aren't covering it.
So you decide to start up a side-line of selling kittens for meat.
Then you will inevitably have someone stroking their chin and saying, "Yes, yes, but how could they afford to stay open if they weren't selling kitten deli slices?"
Some might say - maybe you aren't an animal shelter any more. Some might say.
https://jwz.org/b/yk2A
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Screenshot
the return of AUTOMA!
automa was the name of my blog in the past. it was abolished for no particular reason and its contents lay spread about in various corners of the internet.
the section now returns, aggregating all the weird articles, stories, guides and posts.
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blonde alien ladies with machine guns
AUTOMA
He realized he was unable to express that love in words; so big, so overwhelming, so eerie. He had no alternative than to keep living his life: lost some friends, met new others, found a job in number crunching, as he liked to say.
Years passed and he missed no new movie featuring her; he saw great stories, mediocre films and crappy flicks just because she was there. Every time the screen showed her face he felt like a delightful rendez-vous: how is you life, are you doing well, missed you so much. And every time he felt his heart breaking into pieces. Sometimes he even cried, his face covered by his hands, warm tears in the dark theater, always surrounded by strangers. Because love hurts, love is like a sickness, love is a strange and silent death.
One day, on one of those occasions when disappointments pile over each other, he decided to travel to Paris. Once there he felt he also loved the streets, the corners, the chimneys; it was a world that was a bit like her, a bit part her. He also felt the sadness of loving something that is almost not there, a mirage, a trompe-l'oeil. The bittersweet feeling of a life wasted loving a ghost.
And then he saw her. It happened on those tiring stairs in Montmartre, no less; he was sweating and panting while she moved almost like having the wind in her sails. He recognized the crow-black hair, the pale face, the glittering eyes now surrounded by little wrinkles, more beautiful than ever. Twenty-five years ago he saw her playing the grieving spouse of the great composer Patrice de Courcy and that day he started living. He smiled her and she smiled back.
This is another bone-chilling story from the ongoing book "FROM THE DEEPS OF SORROW - Sysadmin nightmares come true" by Stefano Marinelli.
"Out in the deep vastness of space, where traffic is slow and machines are old, the endless crawling of public resources by bots is a blight on our limited resources. If we don’t want our world to burn, we must keep them out, never invite them in. They try to change shapes, blend in, and therefore we must use what crude tools we have to defend ourselves."
Butlerian Jihad
A few days ago, a client’s data center (well, actually a server room) "vanished" overnight. My monitoring showed that all devices were unreachable. Not even the ISP routers responded, so I assumed a sudden connectivity drop. The strange part? Not even via 4G.
I then suspected a power failure, but the UPS should have sent an alert.
The office was closed for the holidays, but I contacted the IT manager anyway. He was home sick with a serious family issue, but he got moving.
To make a long story short: the company deals in gold and precious metals. They have an underground bunker with two-meter thick walls. They were targeted by a professional gang. They used a tactic seen in similar hits: they identify the main power line, tamper with it at night, and send a massive voltage spike through it.
The goal is to fry all alarm and surveillance systems. Even if battery-backed, they rarely survive a surge like that. Thieves count on the fact that during holidays, owners are away and fried systems can't send alerts. Monitoring companies often have reduced staff and might not notice the "silence" immediately.
That is exactly what happened here. But there is a "but": they didn't account for my Uptime Kuma instance monitoring their MikroTik router, installed just weeks ago. Since it is an external check, it flagged the lack of response from all IPs without needing an internal alert to be triggered from the inside.
The team rushed to the site and found the mess. Luckily, they found an emergency electrical crew to bypass the damage and restore the cameras and alarms. They swapped the fried server UPS with a spare and everything came back up.
The police warned that the chances of the crew returning the next night to "finish" the job were high, though seeing the systems back online would likely make them move on. They also warned that thieves sometimes break in just to destroy servers to wipe any video evidence.
Nothing happened in the end. But in the meantime, I had to sync all their data off-site (thankfully they have dual 1Gbps FTTH), set up an emergency cluster, and ensure everything was redundant.
Never rely only on internal monitoring. Never.
I was left by a big house, made of pale stone. The car disappeared behind a dust cloud.
By the door there was a man. He was old, bald, a bit overweight, but looked healthy. He wore a blue tie, a stripped vest and a white shirt.
"Buon giorno!", he said. Waived a hand.
"Hello! What a lovely day."
"You are Mr. Corbetto, I suppose". I loved how it sounded. For an instant I considered officially changing my name to that.
"Miroslav Corbett. Nice to meet you, Don Pasquale."
"Please, come in."
I found myself in a room with a very high ceiling. Three chairs and a table; the tablecloth showed a pattern of light green flowers. There was a bottle of wine, two short glasses and a dish with slices of something. The same reddish light I saw outside flowed through an oval window like a spotlight. A grey mutt was sleeping under it and ignored me with royal elegance.
"Have a bit of pecorino toscano", said Mr. Pasquale. "It's magnificient."
I had a piece. He was right.
He filled the two glasses with wine.
"I'm sorry, no alcohol for me", I said.
He shrugged and took a sip from his glass, visibly delighted.
"So, what do you want to know?", he said, inviting me to sit down.
"As I told you in my letter, my job is documenting things. Specifically, things that are happening after the Great Anomaly."
"That was a very big fuckup", he said. His English was thick but precise.
"It was. Many issues has been fixed since then, but many others are still dangling. A bunch of creatures crossed The Seam, wreaking havoc and spoiling everything."
"You bet it. We had several of those motherfuckers here. It was hard to put them down, but we finally did it."
"I'm sure you did."
"Ain't you one of the Cleaners that many talk about?", he said while having another sip of wine.
"Oh, no, no", I said. "Those are great and effective fellows, but I'm just a documentalist. I just take notes and fill forms."
"You fill Excel sheets, do you?", he said while winking. Microsoft software products were known to be one of the causes of the Great Anomaly and consequently banned forever. I smiled back. A risky joke. But all OK.
"Only paper ones, I swear."
"Superb!"
The dog stretched, sucked his balls and got back to sleep.
I asked Don Pasquale about how hard the Great Anomaly striked here.
"Oh, very badly.", he replied, "There are still some unfixed issues, but mainly just places and images, nothing too severe. We also had a bunch of that filthy bloodsuckers fucking around. You know, the Vampires, they even kidnapped the innkeeper's daughter, never to be seen again."
Through the window a red brick tower could be seen, behind a bunch of hills. It looked smooth, almost painting-like, under the sunlight. I found it very distracting for some reason, so I forced me to look away.
"This is the main reason I'm here.", I said, my mind slightly blurred. "They are usually very hard to eradicate, and I wanted to ask you if you know what happened to them."
"Oh, yes.", said Mr. Pasquale while munching a slice of cheese. "We just took them one by one and forced them to watch several of those awful young adult movies featuring Vampires, you know, the ones with the sparkling skin kids and such. Ha ha. Those filthy flying rats are tough motherfuckers, but they could not swallow the cheessy flicks full of bland, pale, skinny crybabies. Then we hit with a second strike: we read them a bunch of those romance fantasy crappy books with all that cringy sex scenes and stupid dialog and cardboard characters."
"Wow."
"Yes. That was what we did. And then they left. One after another. The Vampires were horrified with how we humans represented them. They flew away because they were ASHAMED."
I was speechless. And then I found myself looking at the chapitel of the shimmering red tower again.
"Try not to look at that tower too much,", said Don Pasquale, suddenly aware, "as it can be dangerous. You know, that is one of the effects of the Great Anomaly we haven't fixed yet. It looks very real, beautiful even. But it makes you think, it makes you wish, that you can just pass over those hills and find the base of the tower and cross the door and climb up to the battlements and toll the bells, but you can't. It's not really there. It's a trompe-l'oeil. You will never get to it, as it's always beyond the horizon, all while looking very close. You can get obsessed about going there and lose your mind and die of thirst and hunger trying to reach it."
I wasn't listening. I was anxious. I was just craving to go to the tower.
Fortunately, Mr. Pasquale took me by the hand and carried me to the back of the house. There, a bunch of kittens were chasing each other. Their mother, a magnificient cat with a pure white fur, was watching them with loving boredom. It was a mundane but captivating scene. I returned to the real world, but not immediately.
Personally, I consider the existence of so much ways of receiving water from the sky pretty redundant, bloated and unnecessary. Rain is awful and cumbersome enough, why also have falling ice in multiple formats and textures. Snow is specially annoying, covering everything with a dull, boring layer of white.
Rain/snow/blizzard/whatever is a clear example of design-by-comittee.
1990s: programmers are nerds
2010s: programmers are rockstars
2020s: programmers are extinct
Have you already grown tired of waiting for #Mastodon to implement some proper #Markdown support ?
You still can't believe to be waiting for such a simple feature on 2026?
Well .. you can keep waiting until you grow varicose veins on your legs, or just move to #snac2 , call it a 9 years old and be done with it! 🥳
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A drawing by Ángel Ortega showing the words MONSTER BRAINS. The letters are made from bones, guts, mechanical parts and eyeballs
Here is the CPU usage graph for the last 24 hours of the FediMeteo VM. A full 24 hours, during which a huge number of people are connecting, helped by the traction gained from being among the top stories on Hacker News and Lobsters, as well as the many shares across the Fediverse.
RAM usage? Active, around 450 MB. Then there is cache, ARC, and so on. But in practice, zero swap in use after days of uptime.
39 jails running, 39 snac instances, nginx serving the homepage, and HAProxy. HAProxy caching enabled. ZFS snapshots every 15 minutes, backups via zfs send and receive every hour. The same hourly schedule applies to the recalculation of cities, countries, and followers for the homepage.
All of this on a 4 euro per month FreeBSD VM.
If anyone has doubts about the quality and efficiency of FreeBSD, this is the data to show.
#FediMeteo #FreeBSD #RunBSD #IT #SysAdmin
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Time series graph showing CPU usage percentage over roughly 24 hours. The x axis represents time from about 13:00 to 12:00 the next day, and the y axis shows CPU usage from 0 to 100 percent. CPU usage fluctuates mostly between 15 and 35 percent, with periodic rises during daytime and early morning hours. Several short spikes reach around 45 to 55 percent, and one brief peak climbs to about 60 percent. Usage drops to lower levels, around 10 to 20 percent, during late evening and early morning periods. Overall, the graph shows moderate, variable CPU load with occasional sharp peaks.
How conservative empathy works:
#Conservatism #Conservatives #MeganMcCain #Maternity #Hypocrisy #USPolitcs
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Emily Peck posted the following:
Meghan McCain had a baby and
now realizes that the US needs paid
maternity leave, she explains on The
View. She says personal experience
helped open her eyes.
Andi Zeisler replied:
The conservative ethos distilled: It's
not a problem unless it happens to
me, and when it does happen to me |
am absolutely outraged that other
people let it happen to me.
#Trump #Memes #Immigration #ICE #USPolitcs
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Mohamad Safa posted:
No immigrant has taken your job.
You were laid off by a capitalist
who required cheap labor and took
advantage of that immigrant to
increase his profits, and nothing
makes him happier than to hear you
blame the immigrant and not him.
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it's a motivation poster titled
SAD ENDING
it features a cheerful person saying: "this is a happy life."
The subtitle says: "Now your worth is measured in gigabytes of RAM"
Those of you near The Sea, you'll know that I envy you. Please, give my regards to the one I love, I will be there, who knows when.
they are idiots...
you can copy and paste the text from some of the epstein files to unredact it...
absolute idiots...
OMG I love Merriam-Webster.
https://www.merriam-webster.com/wordplay/word-of-the-year
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2025 Word of the Year: Slop
Plus 'gerrymander’, "touch grass’, ‘performative’, and other
words that defined the year
Slop
Merriam-Webster's human editors have chosen slop as the 2025 Word of
the Year. We define slop as “digital content of low quality that is
produced usually in quantity by means of artificial intelligence.” All that
stuff dumped on our screens, captured in just four letters: the English
language came through again.
The flood of slop in 2025 included absurd videos, off-kilter advertising
images, cheesy propaganda, fake news that looks pretty real, junky Al-
written books, “workslop” reports that waste coworkers’ time... and lots
of talking cats. People found it annoying, and people ate it up.
PSA
#unix_surrealism #veilid #hacker #poster #comic #hackedbrain
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HACKED BRAIN magazine cover
issue #3
it's a girl with horn holding an old Nokia phone with a laptop bag with SDF, merveilles and 9 stickers patches. She's wearing a sweater with port 70 (gopher).
'early signs your offspring may be a hacker'
"my x201 won't fit in that"
"I miss SUN"
refuses to use school computers
spits every time someone says 'discord'
"hyperthreading is insecure"
talk about wanting to live on a boat
"tell grandma I'm only using veilid now"
has posters of fish and the number 9 all over their room
"ed(1) is the standard editor"
"what license is it under?"
wears strange occult symbols
uses only old tech
"it's not a cult, dad"
limbs
#unix_surrealism #mono #ai #art #glenda
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On a computer.
Suddenly the computer grabs you.
"Mister Computer?"
Bitey
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"Do you remember what you were like when you were younger?" asks one crow to another as they are landing on wet snow. "Bitey" replies the second crow. "Right... but do you remember what it was like to BE you?" "What did you think about? Have you changed fundamentally? How can you really know?" The first crow is pondering. The background is a pattern of blue circles. "I guess I don't bite as much as I used to" answers the second crow. "You bite enough" says the first.
And so - what if I went back in time to my twenties?😆 Same for me. The day of my 20th birthday I was in the army, and I don't miss a thing about that day.No, thank you.
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A drawing by Ángel Ortega of a high building, severed and bleeding, showing its organic interior of bones and guts
'magnetic fields'
boost if you like your diskettes organic
#unix_surrealism #technomage #comic #fediart #mastoart #art #recursion #foss #diskette #floppy #runbsd
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Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
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Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
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Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
There is an apocryphal saying that the women of Lemnos stopped worshiping Aphrodite because they were dreaming about a bunch of handsome men on a fancy boat that were to arrive to the island on a humid and sunny day.
Christmas Chainsaw Massacre
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4-panel-comic by War and Peas Panel 1: Santa Claus stands on the roof of a decorated house and asks the Grim Reaper, who is on the ground, "Hey! You're coming to this house, too?" Panel 2: The Grim Reaper responds, "Yeah." Panel 3: Santa Claus, still on the roof, says, "What a shame. They're getting a lot of presents." Panel 4: The Grim Reaper, holding a scroll, says, "Let me guess. One of them is a chainsaw."
Mail is crazy because it's like 99 pieces of straight up garbage and 1 that if you don't reply to you're going to jail.
The Man of MATA pt3 - The first MATA_BOT
previously: https://analognowhere.com/techno-mage/the_man_of_mata/
#unix_surrealism #ai #mata #technomage #comic
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Mata Brother: "Will this work?"
Mata Brother 2: "Pentium-M board? It's not like we have anything better."
Mata Brother 3: "Flashing MATABIOS."
Pentium-M Man: "I was dust in packets. And in the lingering mist I saw rays of light of long extinguished souls. And then I met it. Towering over me."
Spirit of the Machine: "Son of the ancients! You have been chosen. From the scraps of the old world you rise."
Pentium-M Man: "Once more..."
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Pentium-M Man (narration): "I was alive."
Pentium-M Man: "No..."
Mercury: "Fuck me. It talks?"
Pentium-M Man: "Why... have you.. brought me back?"
Mata Brother: "Shhhh."
Pentium-M Man (narration): "From dust to war"
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