In My Mind

On the bridge’s parapet

The heads of the hanged

In the flowing rivulet

The spittle of the hanged.

On the cobbles in the market-places

The fingernails of those lined up and shot

On the dry grass in the open spaces

The broken teeth of those lined up and shot.

Biting the air, biting the stones

Our flesh is no longer human

Biting the air, biting the stones

Our hearts are no longer human.

But we have read into the eyes of the dead

And shall bring freedom on the earth

But clenched tight in the fists of the dead

Lies the justice to be served.

—poem by Franco Fortini, translated by Stephen Sartarelli

Maybe this isn't for everyone but I'm a fan of Umberto Eco and wanna recommend this.

Undercover reporters pose as gamblers with upto a bilion dollars of black money in need of cleaning.

This is so sad.

I know I post a lot of new yorker stuff. I'm sorry I seem to like it a lot more than anything else (minus their political stuff)

Third place. Behind milk and olive oil.

Every time I read or see smth about this it gets me in a panic.

More open-sourcing of LLMs.

The ending genuinely scared me here, it's the same old we talk about. But still hard hitting.