#hiding — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #hiding, aggregated by home.social.
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Annie (1982) featured a wise Miss Hannigan (Carol Burnett), aware of the tricks of modern day Presidents (at the time, Roosevelt).
#Little #Orphan #Annie #CarolBurnett #Warbucks #depression #NewDeal #OurPutin #hiding #catering #cart #Turkey #Iran #WhiteHouse #PressCorps #decoys #bait #IranWar #victim #casualties #Nato #summit #WarCrimes #President -
News stories have got so bizarre! https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2026/aug/10/trump-secret-flight-nato-return
#Trump #hiding #CateringCart -
Adn the Elana pics just keep going and going xDD Omg I didn't know I had drawn these many pics with her, it's crazy!
https://subscribestar.adult/pyperhaylie
https://naughtynewsroom.carrd.co/
#bondage #Oc #elana #dso #clown #redhead #ginger #hiding #peril #predicament #did #balloon -
Could evidence of life on Mars be hiding in clay? Europe wants to send a rover to check
https://atlas.whatip.xyz/post.php?slug=could-evidence-of-life-on-mars-be-hiding-in-clay-europe-wants-to-send-a-rover-to-check
<p>ESA's Rosalind Franklin rover will investigate possible signs of life in Martian clay.</p>
#evidence #hiding #europe #rover -
RE: https://mastodon.social/@hanse_mina/116887313578960019
Even Vlad’s got a super-yacht: “Vladimir Putin's luxury yacht, Graceful” moved to Murmansk, maybe running from pesky Ukrainians with their long range sanctions. Maybe they still have fuel in Murmansk…
#Ukraine #Russia #Ruzzia #luxuryYacht #running #hiding #satelliteImagery
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Mama Lemon is ready for her interview with Zach Galifiniakis. 😁
#MamaLemon #betweentwoferns #CatsOfMastodon #straycats #cats #fedicats #SilentSunday #garden #hiding #cute #camouflage
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#Soil #Health Polarities : Mediumv
#Career #Advice That’s Holding You Back: 11 Career #Myths To Stop Believing : Forbes
#Scientists #Discover a Vast #Structure #Hiding Beneath #Antarctica's #Ice : Misc
Latest #KnowledgeLinks
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A quotation from La Rochefoucauld
We easily forget our faults when they are known only to ourselves.
[Nous oublions aisément nos fautes lorsqu’elles ne sont sues que de nous.]François VI, duc de La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680) French epigrammatist, memoirist, noble
Réflexions ou sentences et maximes morales [Reflections; or Sentences and Moral Maxims], ¶196 (1665-1678) [tr. Stevens (1939)]More about (and translations of) this quote: wist.info/la-rochefoucauld-fra…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #larochefoucauld #crime #error #fault #flaw #hiding #secrecy #selfawareness
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Und was ist eure Strategie? Und wie funktioniert sie? ;)
(Man kann nur hoffen, dass es diesen Niemand nicht wirklich gibt.. ) -
"The library was not yet a third space of meeting and collaborating, but a place where books were hidden."
Beautifully spoken. It makes for a fine entry into _The Dictionary of Things Past_ (The Guermantes Press, Combray 2056).
And your reflection brings back happy memories of young me trawling the dusty aisles of the MIT Barker Library, finding books by location, colour and smell, rather than via the catalogue. That sacred place sadly holds no more actual books: https://mastodon.art/@analogfusion/116648720737063701.
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Where Can I Go
I wonder if there are things in me that are broken beyond repair.
That implies that people, I included, are problems to be fixed rather than vessels that can be redeemed, healed, resurrected.
I am not a machine. There is no assembly line churning out happy brains or compassionate hearts. I can’t take a blowtorch to the jagged cracks in my broken soul. I can’t flip a switch and suddenly become a nicer person. There is no can filled with oil of no rage that will help this groaning bitterness subside.
I despair of ever being present to who I am, let alone becoming better. I look within and see nothing but creasote poles with rusting staples and the tattered yellowing inspirational quotes I have collected over the years beside the well-worn ruts of habits that lead me in circles.
In Old French, habit often meant clothing, dress, or outward appearance, like a monk’s habit or nun’s habit: the clothing that marks a way of life.If only I could see my habits as holy raiment.
Because a habit is not only what is worn outside. It is a repeated way of being that clothes the soul.
A habit begins as an inward repetition, but it rarely stays hidden. Over time, it can leak into the outer world.
A habit of resentment leaks out as envy.
A habit of gratitude leaks out as generosity.
A habit of fear leaks out as the need for control.
A habit of prayer leaks out as patience.
A habit of contempt leaks out as cruelty.
A habit of mercy leaks out as gentleness.
What I repeatedly “wear” inside can eventually becomes visible outside. The soul’s wardrobe becomes the body’s costume.Or perhaps:
What the soul wears long enough, the world eventually sees.
But is this universally true?
Some habits leak outward. Some become visible in tone, posture, choices, reactions, tenderness, irritability, silence, generosity, avoidance.
But much of my inner world remains hidden, even from people who love me.
There are whole rooms inside me that never echo with speech. Longings. Griefs. Strange associations. Private shames. Holy hopes. Images. Old wounds. Dreams that would sound foolish if spoken out loud.Even my kindness can be hidden. Even my faith can be hidden. Even my pain can be hidden.
So the truer version might be:
What is repeated inwardly often shapes the outer life, but it does not always reveal the entirety of the inner life.
The outer self is not a full confession. It is more like a weather report from a continent no one has completely mapped.
And sometimes what leaks out is not the deepest truth, but the most defended part. Anger may leak out while grief stays hidden. Sarcasm may leak out while longing stays hidden. Withdrawal may leak out while love stays hidden. Busyness may leak out while loneliness stays hidden.
So habits do indeed clothe the soul—but the clothing that is revealed is not the whole person.
There is still the hidden self. The unseen self. The self known by God more deeply than by others, or even by me.
To be unseen by the world is not to be unseen by God. To be unknown by the world is not to be unknown by God.Where can I go from Your presence? the Psalmist asks.
My inner world may be hidden. That does not mean it is less real than the outer world. It may be unrevealed, unreceived, unspoken, or still becoming. But hidden is not the same as nonexistent. And unknown by others is not the same as unknowable.In fact, sometimes it feels like what is within is more real than what is without. The challenge is the dichotomy of the two. I am a fragile glass automaton wandering in a blistering world of hard, sharp-edged creatures trying to trip me into a soul shattering fall. All that I have lived for gone in the blink of one mistep.
In the end, I must admit that I don’t really understand either world. My only hope is that what continues to thrive within will overcome the desert without and not the other way around.
#behavior #Change #Despair #Habits #hiding #life #Psalms #Redemption #SoulCare #Writing -
What the Dramatist Knows About Monsters
I sold my first paid byline to a Lincoln, Nebraska, newspaper at the age of ten. That was 1975. In the fifty-one years since, I have continued to be paid to construct figures that audiences will find frightening, or sympathetic, or contemptible, or laughable, on schedule, in plays and musicals and screenplays and novels and podcast scripts and editorial work. My Dramatists Guild membership dates from 1984. My MFA is from the Oscar Hammerstein II Center for Graduate Theatre Studies at Columbia University. A publishing house I founded in the same year I sold the first byline has operated without interruption since. The inventory exists for a single reason: the labor of figure-construction is something I know from inside the work, and the working-dramatist's perspective on that labor is the perspective from which my new book is written. […]https://bolesblogs.com/2026/05/28/what-the-dramatist-knows-about-monsters/
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MARCUS: Sorrow concealèd, like an oven stopped,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet
Titus Andronicus, Act 2, sc. 4, l. 36ff (2.4.26-37) (c. 1590)More about this quote: wist.info/shakespeare-william/…
#quote #quotes #quotation #qotd #shakespeare #williamshakespeare #titusandronicus #concealing #emotion #grief #hiding #repressing #sadness #sorrow
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Not All Hidden Content Is Equal: How Different Hiding Methods Impact Accessibility, by (not on Mastodon or Bluesky):
#accessibility #hiding #css #html #aria #attributes #techniques #comparisons
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Red-winged blackbird. Shy-boy.
#nature #naturephotography #birds #birding #wildlifephotography #michigan #animals #birdphotography #wildlife #photography #blackbird #shy #hiding #tree #trees #migration
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The Corner Store at the End of the World
Every local prepper carries the same private film in his head. He is the survivor. The neighbors who laughed at the Costco pallets and the propane tanks and the blue tarp over the generator are huddled in their cold houses while his basement lights still burn through week three of the outage. He sits on the front porch with a rifle across his knees, finally vindicated, the man on the block who saw it coming. The film has a hero, a moral, and a clean ending. What it leaves out, what eight years of YouTube channels and bug-out videos have trained him to leave out, is the crowd. […]https://bolesblogs.com/2026/05/23/the-corner-store-at-the-end-of-the-world/
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Is Alien Life Hiding in Plain Sight, Right Here in Our Solar System?
https://atlas.whatip.xyz/post.php?slug=is-alien-life-hiding-in-plain-sight-right-here-in-our-solar-system
<p>The grandeur of Saturn is stunning to behold when viewed through a telescope
#system #hiding #solar #alien -
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Ischia is Burning: The Novel I Have Been Writing for Thirty-Six Years
Most books are written. A few are excavated. Ischia is Burning is a book I excavated from a steel filing cabinet in a Manhattan apartment, where it had been sitting for more than three decades inside a folder marked Ischia, in the form of a screenplay I wrote at twenty-five years old in the second year of an MFA program at Columbia. The novel that has just been published is what happened when I sat down with that folder in May, found the staples rusted and half the dialogue wincing, and wrote what the twenty-five-year-old version could not yet write. The novel is now available as a paperback and a Kindle edition, and a complete free web reading edition lives at BolesBooks.com.
I need to tell you where this started, because the thirty-six years between the conception and the delivery are the form of the book, not biographical trivia.
The Steel Filing Cabinet
In the spring of 1990 I was a graduate student in the Oscar Hammerstein II Center for Graduate Theatre Studies at Columbia University’s School of the Arts, in the dramatic writing concentration, working on a thesis screenplay for a class taught by Grafton Nunes. Grafton had produced Kathryn Bigelow’s first feature, The Loveless, with Willem Dafoe in his first leading role. He had spent his early career at Paramount. He knew what a film script was supposed to do and he knew when one was doing it.
I wrote a screenplay called Ischia is Burning. The country I had visited once. The island I had never seen. What I had read about it concerned the Greek colonial site at Pithekoussai, the oldest western Greek settlement in the central Mediterranean, founded in the eighth century before Christ on a volcanic island twelve miles off the Bay of Naples. The island had a basin. The basin had a name. I gave the basin sixteen children and four adults, and I gave the four adults eighteen years to build an Iron Age village around the children, and I gave the village a contamination event in the groundwater that would not have happened in the Iron Age.
Grafton read the screenplay. He told me it was the best student screenplay he had ever read. With a teacher’s specificity, he named the adjustments he wanted me to make. Blockbuster was the word he reached for, as if he were predicting a weather event.
I did not make the adjustments.
I gave the screenplay to Sam Crothers at The Producer Circle. Sam read it. He told me he loved it. The cohesion problems were the second thing he raised. After that came the matter of money, which Grafton had not raised at all. The last thing Sam asked me was what I was willing to wait for. Sam got sick within the year. He retired to Florida. We did not speak again. Marty Richards, who ran the Producer Circle, died in November 2012. Sam followed him in April 2013. Neither lived to see the novel.
I put the screenplay in a steel filing cabinet in an apartment on East 13th Street. It stayed there for thirty-six years. From time to time I took it out, read the first ten pages, and put it back. The notebook in which I had written down Grafton’s adjustments was lost in a move sometime in the late 1990s, and after that I told myself for a long set of years that I could not begin the novel because I could not remember what Grafton had said, and to begin without remembering would be to disrespect what he had given me.
I see now that the unremembered adjustments were the alibi. The actual reason was simpler. At twenty-five I was not old enough to write what finding out costs a child. Nor was I old enough to write what finding out costs the adults who have spent eighteen years not telling.
The Basin on Pithekoussai
The novel opens in the autumn of 1986 in a basin on the western flank of the Italian island of Ischia, in a place called Mezzavia. Mezzavia does not exist on any map I have been able to locate, although the road of that name does run between the towns of Forio and Casamicciola Terme on the actual island. In the novel, the basin holds four adults and sixteen children. The children range in age from six to seventeen. The adults are, by training, an anthropologist, a physician, a pilot, and a linguist. They have spent eighteen years building a closed Iron Age village around the children, complete with hand-woven clothing, a small iron mill the children themselves operate, a constructed Germanic dialect rooted in Old Norse and Old High German, an invented cosmology with four gods and eight constellations, and a sky with no airplanes in it.
The children believe they are living in the Iron Age. They believe this because the four adults have withheld twenty-four years of European history from them. No radios enter the basin. No printed page betrays the year. The antibiotic that would tell a child the world contains chemistry beyond the herbal poultice does not exist there.
In September of 1986, a cesium-137 contamination event begins to appear in the basin’s groundwater. The four adults face the question they have spent eighteen years not asking, which is what to do when the constructed world you have built around children begins to poison them, and the only treatment you can offer comes from a century the children are not allowed to know exists.
The title of the book is also a transmitted phrase. A pilot speaks it into a dispatch microphone at zero four sixteen on a Thursday in September 1986, from the cockpit of a plane climbing out of the American air base at Aviano in northeastern Italy. The book takes its thirty-three chapters to answer three questions about that phrase: what is burning, who is speaking it, and where the radio signal is going.
The novel is the answer the four adults arrive at.
The Temptation
The book moves at the velocity of a thriller and the moral architecture of an inquiry, which is what keeps it from settling cleanly into either form. What it pursues is a question older than the basin and older than the Iron Age the basin pretends to be. The question is what happens when a small group of educated people, looking at a larger group of human beings, decides in private that the larger group cannot be trusted with the truth and must be administered the world on a schedule the educated group will determine.
That question runs through the Tuskegee Syphilis Study, the Willowbrook hepatitis study, Decree 770 of the Socialist Republic of Romania, the Stanford prison experiment of 1971, the closed religious compounds of the American Southwest, and a hundred other documented projects in which one group of people decided what another group would be permitted to know. The Notes on Sources at the back of the novel walks through the historical anchors. Inside the novel itself, those anchors are kept off the page. What sits on the page is fiction. The four adults and the sixteen children of Mezzavia are inventions. What is not invented is the temptation that built them.
I am calling it temptation, and I want to be precise about the word. The four adults are educated, careful, well-spoken people who can defend every individual decision they made, which is precisely why naming them as monsters would let the reader off the hook. The novel is interested in how educated, careful, well-spoken people arrive at a project that, taken in aggregate, looks like the thing they would never have built if they had been able to see the whole shape of it from the outside. What the novel refuses to do is let them off the hook for what they built. It refuses, at the same time, the easy out of calling them monsters, because calling them monsters would close the question of how their colleagues, students, and followers found them defensible while the work was being done.
An Addendum the Way I Wrote It at Twenty-Five
The original 1990 screenplay is reproduced unaltered in the back of the book as Addendum I. The dialogue I made wince in May has been preserved exactly as I committed it in 1990, with its small infelicities and its young confidence both intact. I considered editing the screenplay. I decided against it. The point of including the screenplay at the back of the book is to show the reader the gap, in technique and in moral attention, between what I could write at twenty-five and what I could write at sixty-one, rather than to display the early version as a finished object. The story is identical across both versions, along with the four scientists, the sixteen children, the basin, and the fire. Two different writers, separated by thirty-six years, were working on the same material.
If a reader of the novel goes to the addendum and finds that the screenplay version reaches conclusions the novel does not reach, and lands its moral judgments where the novel will not land its moral judgments, that is the point. The young writer was bolder. The old writer is more careful, and more wounded, and less willing to tell the reader who the villain is.
For the Children Who Were Never Told
The dedication of the book is one sentence long. It reads, For the children who were never told.
I want to be clear about who that dedication is for. First, the sixteen fictional children of the basin on Pithekoussai, who are inventions, although the patterns of behavior they live inside are documented in places that were not inventions. Beyond them, the dedication names every reader who has ever sat across from a parent, or a doctor, or a government, and realized that the version of the world they had been given was a redacted version, edited by someone who had decided, on their behalf, what they could carry. The book is also for the adults who decided. Those four scientists in the basin can defend every individual decision they made. What the novel is interested in is why their defenses sound the way they do, and why those defenses have sounded the same way in every century in which someone has been entrusted with a knowledge that someone else has decided will not be shared.
How to Read the Book
The novel runs around 130,000 words across thirty-three chapters and a closing addendum. Paperback and Kindle edition are available now at Amazon, and a complete free web reading edition lives at BolesBooks.com, where the full bibliography of David Boles Books is also indexed. The Foreword tells the thirty-six-year story I have only summarized here. A Notes on Sources section walks through the historical record the novel draws on. Readers who want to put the book down and argue with somebody about it will find a Reading Group Discussion Guide in the back, which is the use I would most like the book to be put to.
I will be writing about Ischia is Burning at length over the coming weeks, including a Human Meme podcast episode on the moral physics of withheld knowledge, a Prairie Voice investigative piece on the documented American history of closed communities, and a conversation series on BolesBlogs.com about the book’s relationship to the Institutional Autopsy trilogy and to the question of what fiction can do that documentary work cannot. The conversation continues. The book is the entrance into it.
Sam Crothers asked me, in 1990, what I was willing to wait for. The answer arrived thirty-six years later. The book exists.
David Boles is the founder of David Boles Books and the editor of Prairie Voice. His Institutional Autopsy trilogy was completed in March 2026 with the publication of Underwritten. He lives in New York City with the Deaf ASL educator Janna Sweenie and two British Shorthair cats.
#bolesBooks #book #burning #children #collusion #davidBoles #film #grafttonNunes #hiding #history #ischia #kathrynBigelow #novel #publication #schoolOfTheArts #screenplay #secrecy #theLoveless #thriller #willemDafoe #writing -
A giant back step. How thinking that security by hiding could be a security solution and live happily. 😎
https://shkspr.mobi/blog/2026/05/nhs-goes-to-war-against-open-source/
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How your #Heartbeat could keep #Cancer at bay : Nature
#Dangerous #Microbes may be #Hiding in #Drought-stricken #Soils : Sci Am
Latest #KnowledgeLinks
