The Black Mint

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on November 09, 2026

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Sure, let’s put a pin on that:)

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Big bug

There was no bug that Kitty could not fix, except for this one that has been staring back at her for the past 12 hours. And it was not even a clever problem worth solving, but rather a careless error that one of the interns input, no doubt thinking that it was a clever move that saved them tons of manual coding, not realizing that any subsequent codes after that error were useless until someone could figure out a way to rewrap them in a workable group, or risk dragging the entire office to pull all-nighters before the client finds out. Kitty crunched line after line, reloading and retying to no avail. She could feel the shock and horror from the online forum of strangers where she presented her scenario for help. The feedback received was not constructive, accusing even, of deception and vibe coding. She turned to ChatGPT then, and gave up shortly after multiple corrections of facts – hard, important, serious facts – that were treated like suggestions on w...

Home sweet home

I know of a place where the walls are sugar-coated and the floors are swirled; the doors boarded up and the windows tinted with rain. Light pours in but only to cast shadows of the silent thunderstorms ahead. None could forsee, in any way possible, under such gayness and heat, but what consents the imaginable to exist is not the will of logic, but the sense of melodrama, the longing for a foreign scenery or an unyielding path, where the world’s malaise to your uniqueness becomes a delight relished in secret. It’s where the beanies hung to dry, the tail wagged in front of mirrors, and the blazers perfectly pressed in the closet somewhere safe. Such is the place called home, shrunk by the coldness of the blazing bonfires, fed to feed the worthy, fed to birth the hungry.

Impression

Divinity is not replicated; it is bestowed upon a few stars that condensed light years of orbital forces into perfect biomes that hold breath, dreams that one can only wish to fabricate. Those dreams are never short of deep-treaded footpaths and steps thoroughly researched, yet they fall short on the very blueprints that reject the darkness and invite nightmares – the intuition of a soul, the foresight of a century, and the gift of a timing fortune. Should planners account for such ambiguities, things could work out just fine, in any case, there are only so many failures one could make in their lifetime to stumble across perfection. Whence such optimism is sustained, on the belief that greatness derives from effort uncorrupted by intangible wanton stardust, and that so long as the night sky is black, there is always a spot for the undivine.

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