Hunger, I think, is life.
Present from the moment we first draw breath. Justifying our earliest vocalisations. Demanding the fuel to sustain our fragile little biochemical engines.
Hunger is proof of the will to live, evidence of the life-force within.
Hunger drove us into the wild to hunt and gather, to sow and reap and herd.
Hunger reminds us, every day, that we are alive. And that we want to keep living.
What does it mean, then, when days and nights can go by...
I live in a haunted museum.
There’s many others like it. They all look the same on the outside...
This morning I woke up to find that I couldn’t log into my laptop (a Metabox running Kubuntu 17.10).
I hadn’t done anything particularly unusual. I hadn’t installed any updates recently, and I’d been using the machine just last night. But this morning when I typed in my password at the login screen and hit Enter...
In recent times, a number of people have compared my music to Philip Glass. Specifically, they have compared my first truly minimalist piano work, the Berceuses suite, to Philip Glass.
I love Philip Glass and to be compared to him is a great compliment, but I am not writing this post in order to brag. Nor am I writing this post to correct those who have made the comparison, although the Berceuses are only superficially similar to Glass.
Rather, I’m writing this in order to...