We live at the junction of two systems: bodies have biorhythms and breath; servers have timestamps and uptime. The intersection of worlds is not a compromise but an interface, a place where human attention meets machine protocol. It is important to be fluent in the language of feeling and the language of systems. Silence is not a pause but a medium; the algorithm is not a judge but a tool. Meaning is a signal that passes through noise without losing the human dimension.

Design not for retention but for free will. Choose depth over reach. Recognize friction as part of the protocol, not a bug. Mark boundaries and sources, especially when AI is involved. Transparency is the new ethical minimum. Build small protocols that return agency: rituals of attention, careful maps instead of total pictures of the world. Publish not “truth forever” but careful diffs, checkpoints in the evolution of thought.

The intersection of worlds is a place where the system can be rebooted. Here we fix the initial conditions: first the body, then the tool; first reality, then the model. Between heart and circuit, between voice and code, the protocol preserves the full spectrum of the signal, including feeling.

Look at the cute little cat I added to the photo.

I used to think that meeting the right person would bring answers.

But now I see that questions matter more. An answer closes something inside. That’s it. Done. A question, on the other hand, opens, creates, guides. A good question is fuel for thinking.

Last night I had a short conversation with someone who briefly shared their view on a situation. It wasn’t an answer, but there was a seed in it. I started wondering — why do they think this way and not another? Why do so many people think like that? Where does this pattern of thought come together? I began to search — and the thread led me to a place where the answers were already waiting.

What matters are the questions themselves, the dead ends, the patterns, and the ability to notice them — all of this leads to the answer.

The answer isn’t outside.
Just no key yet.
Or is there?

A year ago, during an evening walk, I met a man in the city — probably in his sixties.
He didn’t block my way, but his eyes held a quiet wish to speak.

I stopped, took out an earbud, and let him know I was ready to listen.

He said:

I never thought it would come to this.

Then added:

You’re not planning to drink, are you? (tomorrow, the day after — during the holidays)

I told him no.

He said:

Don’t be afraid. You hear me? Don’t be afraid of anything.

I replied:

Thank you. All the best to you!

He answered:

No — all the best to you.

An ordinary evening. An ordinary passerby. But there was something in him — something real, calm, and wise.
He didn’t impose, didn’t ask for anything, but it felt like he wanted to say something important.

Unfortunately, in the flow of life, we often fail to notice His presence — in passing strangers, in other people.

Finally, I kicked off the cycling season! The hardest part of the first ride is getting in the zone. I try to recall the route, listen to the bike after the repair , and stay focused on the road. Physically, it’s not easy either — my heart rate spikes, my breathing’s off, and my legs burn on the very first climb.

But I love these first rides for that childlike feeling of freedom.

In the end, I rode 28.2 km. For the start — great! I’m in the season now.

The bike performed well (knock on wood!). I was worried that problems would pop up after the repair, but everything went smoothly. The upgraded transmission is a joy: you can really feel how all the power from my legs goes straight into the wheels, with no slippage or play.

I had the idea to take a new route, but decided to stick to the familiar one for the first ride. In the end, it felt like a new route — I was surprised to see how much the city had changed in a year¹ — where there used to be shacks, now there are (monotonous) high-rise buildings and bike lanes.

Anyway, I’m happy!
Riding on.

Finally got my steel horse back from the shop. Yep, that legendary blue Merida ;-). I skipped the last season — no time for rides — but this year I’ve got big plans: so many beautiful places to visit and many kilometers to cover.

A word of advice for everyone in the saddle: don’t put off maintenance. Otherwise, you’ll end up replacing not just the chain, but the cassette and chainrings too — speaking from experience.

It’s become a tradition: spring for me comes with a French soundtrack.
Today it’s Juliette Armanet and her À la folie.

A beautiful song — a great melody, beautifully sung, incredibly well put together!

Notice how Juliette emphasizes the endings of words. She marks them like punctuation at the end of sentences. It adds clarity, transparency, and creates the right rhythm for this song: a heartbeat, a dance, passion.

What’s interesting is this: the song is about losing control, yet the delivery is meticulous. It sounds like an attempt to hold oneself together through the music, to stay afloat. Like a spell. Like a ritual chant:

Fête… défaite… tête-à-tête…
Danse… cadence… chance…

Without those crisp endings, everything would fall apart — the words would blur together, losing their shape like hazy memories.

And the words themselves form striking contrasts:

• fête / défaite — celebration and defeat
• tête-à-tête — intimacy, closeness, but also enclosure
• danse / cadence / chance — everything spins and moves, like life or fate

French speech usually flows — soft transitions, fluid connections, as if everything melts into everything else. But here, it’s different: the endings cut through. The rhythm becomes broken, almost sharp — like breath caught at an emotional peak.

The stress on endings feels like a fixation of tension, like a point of no return.

A great example of how form serves content. In a song about mad love, where everything might fall apart at any moment, these precise endings bring ritual order.

Highly recommended listening!

If the crowd doesn’t like (approve) - most likely, everything is done correctly. There is only one criterion of quality - sincerity. That’s it.

I’m on my way to this, but I can’t yet throw off my dependence on approval and come to crystal sincerity. We are social creatures, which means we depend on the opinions of other people. Conformism is encouraged in systems.

At first glance, it may seem that it is easier for an introvert to run away and hide from the world - “I’m right, and you’re all assholes!”, “Nobody understands my genius!” And indeed, you need to avoid the crowd so as not to lose yourself. But you definitely can’t hide from one person. I talk to myself for hours every day – in text, in my head, and even out loud. The arguments there are more intense than those in your get-togethers with colleagues at planning meetings, with friends in cafes, or cute purrs in the comments. I have nothing to fear – there is blood and flesh, joy and pain, a black abyss and blinding light. Most people avoid all of this in themselves, keeping it on the farthest shelf, never approaching or opening it. But it’s all here. It’s all already in me. This is me!

A constantly open daily note on my phone, so that I can catch the flow. If I sit down to write on purpose, I’ll end up with a plastic piece of crap that can collect a lot of likes, but will kill me as a person, a human being, a creature.

So likes aren’t important? It’s a paradox, but they are important. A like is one form of showing love¹. This is a good person and I want to express my love to them. It’s nice to receive this because it required an internal dialogue and awareness on the other side. So, there is a similar person there.

I know people who never like. I know people who like everything. I know the mechanisms of both.

In the meantime, all I can do is try to push people away, because attracting people who don’t resonate with your personality will always lead to negative friction. I call it Anti-Marketing.

P.s. This topic is very interesting to me and I will definitely continue to think about it and share it with you. In the era of marketing, we have forgotten about sincerity. In the era of likes, we have stopped valuing feelings.

Instead of a like, write to me and tell me what you think.

The other day I voiced my short film “Sunset (I know it will happen again) ”. It was very important to me that the voice sounded natural. I did several takes¹ - where I feel relaxed, there are always rough edges and mistakes - here you can’t hear a letter, there the accent is wrong. It seems simple - try and everything will be great, but then the soul is lost and I hear artificiality. There are projects where this is not so important, but here it was extremely important, and I am my own strictest director.

This makes you think about the fact that the present is imperfect. Expressing yourself honestly may lead to dissatisfaction with the result, since it is human nature to make mistakes.

Since ancient times, people have tried to illuminate their lives as much as possible, because darkness is frightening and arouses exploratory and conquering interest. But today this leads to light pollution ¹ of cities. And if we understand light not literally, then it is the desire to “illuminate” as much as possible around us - more information, more “useful” surfaces and screens, more contacts with people per unit of time. Sounds good, but it has a terrible effect on us every day - defocus, laziness and loss of interest, because there is so much around us right now.

You need to be able to turn off everything for yourself, and then gradually return only what is truly significant. Here is your true interest right now and nothing else exists at all - the candle flame. At this moment, the surrounding emptiness creates space for perception of the most important thing. After a while, when your eyes get used to it, you begin to distinguish the details of the space, you will see more context, more colors. The space will acquire more meaning, because it surrounds the object of your interest now.

For example, you are sitting opposite another person. You are calmly communicating. Pay attention only to this moment. Turn off and remove your smartphone from the table. Instead of a noisy and crowded cafe, sit on a bench in the evening park or in the kitchen with a cup of tea. The person opposite you is a candle flame - only its light is important now, only it illuminates the space.

This can be applied to the project you are working on, to information, to rest. It is not for nothing that people prefer a paper book instead of a digital one - nothing should distract attention, including the medium.

Only the candle flame reflected in your pupils.