Connective Cube

Connecting the hard edges

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Quite memoir, Quite fiction.

Category: Non-Fiction

  • Shaking Off Post-Traumatic Philadelphia Disorder

    At this time, I have now lived five months in Baltimore. The last place I lived, in Philadelphia, truly brought out every living anxiety in me. Many like to say Baltimore and Philadelphia are similar cities. They are in terms of the depth of police brutality and the institutionalized segregation, and even in terms of the architecture of…

  • One Year Anniversary…

    I did it. I wrote 1-5 posts a month every month over the past calendar year. Hardly prolific. Getting back on the saddle after a long hiatus from writing requires sticking to some form of routine. The routine over the past year helped me realize quite a few aspects about my approach to creating ideas.…

  • Music Memory – Freezing Toes and Hibernating Edition

    Right now my office is a cove in the dining room with a shelf directly behind me filled with animal food, paint, litter and mail. It is also next to this eight foot high window with no seals. The closest thing I have is a sheet that covers the bottom half of the window. The draft…

  • Scripts, but not of a human kind

    JavaScript terrifies me. I don’t know if it is the formal use of language or the attention to detail required to get the .{}/() in all of the right places. I am reading Jon Duckett’s series on jQuery and JavaScript. My goal is to understand the language enough to build some applications and publish them…

  • Learning documentation processes – Don’t try to remember passwords

      Okay, I got the stink eye from a web developer once when I forgot to write down my password for the salesforce system. At the time, it didn’t cross my mind that he would spend ten minutes of his day securing my new information for the network. The thing is, I have never been…

  • I am already invisible. Or so I thought.

    Perhaps my last post displayed my distaste for people who assume that I am not paying any attention.  I think paying attention has some quite complex meanings in days of extreme economic insecurity.  As in, most people do not trust anyone around them, and it creeps slowly into social relations. Every city I have lived…

  • All This Sharing Is Not Caring

    There is a major split in my life. As in, I never know when I am over sharing or not sharing enough. When I don’t share enough, I feel FMO – fear of missing out. When I do over share, I often want to lock myself into a room and not come out for days.…

  • The Smell I Can’t Forget

    Ten years ago, I woke up to a phone call from my Dad’s girlfriend in my dorm room on Lafayette Street.  It was early in the morning.  Did someone die?  My class that day didn’t start until around noon, and I had not planned on waking up until nine.  She told me a plane hit…