In this mad spinning world
You - you are the immovable center
Anchoring my reality
With your very being, shaping the fiber of mine.
I know of the impermanence of life
The triviality of existence
But in theses few moments of peace
I can feel the shape of eternities.

    – Nehar
       Oct 08, 2012
       

The ones that win are the ones that ship.

    – Mark Pilgrim
       
       

get a count of unique values in the first column of file (foo is the file name):

cat foo  | awk -F \\, '{print $1}' | sort -u | wc  -l

Replace the comma with whatever your field separator is. Replace $1 with whatever column number you’re looking for. Counts unique values - get rid of sort -u to get everything.

    –
       
       

If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.

    – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
       
       

And you write in blood,
and you write in blood,
ant you write in blood,
songs that are long dead and gone.

By the edge of fear,
on the edge of fear,
On the edge of a rhyme long gone.
On the edge of a love long gone.

We were as gods,
we were as gods,
we were as gods
with the breath of our soul long gone.
The light of our soul long gone.

It’s made of trust
it’s made of trust,
it’s made of trust -
This need for truth long gone.
This need to run long gone.

And the brave will die,
and the good will die,
With the gift of dust all gone.
When all the dust is gone.

They say you believed,
they say you foresaw
you knew it would all be gone.
Before the foretelling was gone
before the innocence was gone.

It’s all the same
It’s all the same
you can taste the truth long gone
the taint of dust long gone.
The time is long long gone.

It’s all good, It’s all fine
we fucked up the tune
we missed the beat
otherwise was a hell of a song.

    – Nehar
       2009-11-25, 2:06am
       

Yet creeds mean very little, Coth answered the dark god, still speaking almost gently.
The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true.

    – James Cabell, “The Silver Stallion”
       
       

It’s far under the old, old sun,
there is a heart to the heat.
Dust blooming like flowers of mist.
There is memory here,
and a tightening of breath.
And serrated edges that focus on the horizon…
… or point at the past -
it’s always hard to tell.
The day seems shorter still.
Somehow… Constricted at the pith.
There is truth to be found here - or so they say.
Maybe. There is a rightness to the thought.
After all, there is a feel of something…
at the edges - always at the edges.
Never mind.
This is what I choose to remain.
This and nothing more.

    – Nehar
       2009-06-24, 11:42pm