Bunny's Burrow: Hopping into Life

I hope you're ready because we’re diving headfirst into the flaming dumpster fire that is American politics. It’s not just a mess right now it’s a motherfucking three-ring circus where the clowns are running the show. And at the center of it all? Donald J. Trump, the egomaniacal grifter who somehow conned half the country into thinking he actually gives a fuck about them or something... Trump isn’t a politician; he’s simply a glorified con artist with a cult following. He bulldozes through norms, shits  on democracy, and operates on a doctrine of self-worship. Some see it as ‘shaking up the system’; others call it what it is—burning the fu cker to the ground for his own gain. One thing’s for sure about Mr. Trump love him or hate him, he’s fucked up American politics in ways we’ll be dealing with for decades. The establishment... you know...those polished, suit-clad career politicians who play by a certain set of rules. Trump? He flips the table, sets it on fire, and then rage-tweet...

 If you don't take the risk, will the regret of not trying outweigh the fear of failure?

Ну что, мои дорогие искатели истины, давайте сегодня разберемся с одной весьма пикантной темой—материя как иллюзия. Да-да, вы не ослышались. Всё, что мы трогаем, ощущаем, считаем "реальностью"—это просто игра света. Оптическая иллюзия, за гранью которой скрывается нечто куда более фундаментальное. Давайте сразу с козырей: классическая наука уверяет нас, что материя—это нечто твердое, осязаемое, состоящее из атомов, нейтронов и всего этого скучного барахла. Но тут врывается Валтер Рассел—человек, который считал, что физическая Вселенная не что иное, как «разум в движении». Он утверждал, что то, что мы воспринимаем как материю, на самом деле есть всего лишь сжатый свет. Не частицы, не волны, а именно свет в его фундаментальном смысле. Вы только вдумайтесь! Все предметы, стены, наше тело—это не нечто "существующее само по себе", а просто определённым образом организованный свет. А если свет можно уплотнить до твёрдого состояния, значит, можно ли его "распустить...

Солнце висело низко над городом, словно раскалённый угасающий уголь, погружающийся в пыль. Воздух пропах дизелем, потом и чем-то металлическим, что никогда не уходило из горла. Мы не спали, казалось, уже вечность. Адреналин и усталость боролись за контроль над телом, а вены пульсировали, сжимая в себе нечто невыразимое. Я помню, как свет проникал сквозь пулевые отверстия в стенах, создавая на земле странные созвездия. Мы затаились в полуразрушенном здании, слушая, как рация потрескивает обрывистыми голосами. Руки были неподвижны, но сердце било так, что, казалось, его стук могли услышать снаружи. Вопрос прозвучал буднично, но был тяжелее свинца: — مررت لها السلاح؟ Ты передал ей оружие? Пауза. Достаточно долгая, чтобы ощутить, как воздух в комнате стал плотнее. Нас здесь не должно было быть. Официально. Не на бумаге. Но в таких местах правила писались чернилами, которые исчезали быстрее, чем их успевали прочесть. Я встретила его взгляд. Темный, пристальный, полный ожидания. Кивок — едва...

  Два часа ночи. Я работаю уже 55 часов подряд. Мое тело официально объявило забастовку, и я погрузилась в сон такой глубины, что наркоз кажется легким дремом. И тут звонит телефон. Дуг. Конечно, это Дуг. Я отвечаю, едва осознавая себя человеком, безжизненно: "Что?" Дуг ухмыляется. "О, я специально звоню тебе в самую глубокую фазу сна, а в ответ только 'что'?" Дуг, если ты когда-нибудь захочешь встретиться, немного покопаться в мыслях друг друга, немного один-на-один... Я: "Осторожно, Дуг, не переходи черту, за которой уже не будет пути назад. Я – рак для карьеры большинства людей в нашей индустрии." Он замолкает на мгновение. Затем резко выдыхает – звук человека, решающего, стоит ли дразнить зверя. "Подожди, Дуглас, ты действительно веришь, что кто-то украл настоящее тело? Почему?" Пауза. Я слышу, как он обдумывает каждое слово, выкладывая их, как кирпичи. "Говори медленно, Дуг, и разъясни мне все, потому что—за исключением...

  Подождите, дайте мне разобраться… Значит, пухлый младенец с луком и стрелами носится по воздуху, стреляет в людей, и – бах! – они вдруг влюбляются? Это что вообще за магия третьего сорта? Кто-то подумал, что лучшее воплощение любви – это полуголый карапуз с оружием?! Ладно, допустим, любовь можно заставить возникнуть насильно – но почему через стрелы? Это же по сути вооруженное нападение! Ты просто шел за хлебом, а тут тебе в грудь прилетает стрела, и ты внезапно влюблен в ближайшую кассиршу? А если я не хочу? Если у меня планы на вечер, а не «ах, судьба распорядилась»? И вообще, зачем младенцу оружие? Кто его пустил в оборот? Где его родители? Почему никто не задается вопросом, насколько это нездоровая концепция? Представьте, если бы так работали дружба или работа – «Ой, я не хочу идти в офис…» – бах, прилетает стрела, и ты сгораешь от страсти к бухгалтерии. А этот Купидон, он как выбирает, в кого стрелять? Он изучает совместимость или просто «летел, увидел – стрельнул»? Если...

  23 февраля ____ г 04:12 – Прокинулась. Этот чёртов будильник, как всегда, напоминает мне, что я — живая. Или, может, не совсем, но я ещё здесь. Мозг решает, что не стоит сразу вставать, но день меня ждёт. Погружаюсь в свои мысли. Как бы выжить в этом мире с такими людьми вокруг? 06:45 – Поднялась. На улице зима, солнца не видать, но это как раз в моём стиле. Всё равно не особо настроена на «солнечные дни». Итак, чашка чая и утренний взгляд на происходящее — куча сообщений от тех, с кем даже не хочу говорить. Наверное, я слишком скромна, чтобы не отвечать всем, кто думает, что я «помогу». 07:30 – Сделала себе завтрак. Знаю, что будет долгий день. Решила не тратить время на мелкие дела, потому что вечер обещает быть интересным. 09:00 – Звонок от одного старого знакомого. Пытается втянуть меня в его авантюру с инвестициями. Честно говоря, не хочу вникать в его «технологии», но, возможно, его назойливость станет полезной позже. Подожду, пока не надоест. 10:15 – Заглянула на сайт...

The blast stole my lungs' breath before I knew it hit. The pressure wave slammed into me with the force of a freight train, tearing through the lobby, obliterating marble, steel, flesh—anything dumb enough to be in its path. One second, I was standing there, listening to my contact talk about logistics. The next, I was on my goddamn face, my ears ringing like a siren had been crammed into my skull. My detail tackled me to the ground, a dead weight crushing me against rough concrete. It wasn’t clean pavement, either—it was littered with glass, splintered wood, bits of someone’s fucking skull for all I knew. My cheek scraped against it, and the taste of blood filled my mouth, thick and metallic. Dust and debris clogged my throat. I coughed, spitting something wet and dark onto the ground, my body screaming at me to move, but my muscles wouldn’t fucking listen. When I forced my head up, the world around me was an unholy mess. Smoke churned in the air, thick as tar, mixing with the ...

There are certain things in this world that shouldn’t exist, things too grotesque to be real, too monstrous to comprehend. But there I was, standing in the middle of the rubble, staring at something that should never be. A boy. Barely 7 or 8 years old. He wasn’t even old enough to grow into the kind of man who would ever make a real choice, but he was standing there in front of me—shaking, his body wrapped in the vest of his impending doom. You’d think I would’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known, right? We’d been through enough of this godforsaken war to recognize the signs, the whispers in the wind, the quiet before the storm. But this time, it hit me harder than anything ever had. He was just a kid. His face was smudged with dirt, eyes wide, mouth trembling like he couldn’t even process what was happening to him. And there he stood, in the middle of that dusty hellhole, the one thing I never thought I’d see— child soldiers —but this one… this one was different. He wasn’t armed. No...

Alright, kiddos, buckle up, because today we’re diving into one of the coolest ideas in physics: the principle of least action. Sounds fancy, right? But trust me, it’s not that complicated. Basically, it’s like nature is a lazy genius—things always happen in the most efficient way possible. This idea ties together everything from how light moves to how planets orbit the sun and even how tiny particles behave in quantum mechanics. Let’s break it down step by step and see how some of the greatest minds in history figured this out. Fermat’s Principle of Least Time Imagine you’re a lifeguard at the beach, and you see someone drowning. You need to run across the sand and then swim to save them. What’s the fastest route? If you just ran straight toward them, you’d spend too much time swimming, which is slower than running. If you ran too far before swimming, you’d waste time covering extra distance. The best route is somewhere in between—minimizing the total time taken. That’s basically what...

  Oh, sweeties, history loves its villains, but it also has a habit of rewriting them. Saddam Hussein—dictator, reformer, butcher, protector? Depends on who you ask. The truth? He was all of the above. A Ruthless Rise to Power Coming from humble Bedouin roots, Saddam clawed his way up through the Ba'ath Party, turning Iraq into a modernized, yet fear-driven, powerhouse. Schools, hospitals, and infrastructure flourished under him. But so did mass executions, ethnic purges, and state-sponsored terror. Progress at the price of freedom? Classic authoritarian trade-off. The West’s Favorite Monster (Until He Wasn’t) Ah, the irony—Saddam was once the golden boy of the U.S. when they needed a strongman against Iran in the ‘80s. They armed him, shook his hand, and ignored his brutality—until Kuwait happened. Then suddenly, he was the next Hitler. Funny how quickly the narrative changes when oil is involved. The War That Broke Iraq The 2003 invasion, based on lies about WMDs, didn’t just top...

  Mathematics has always been about discovering the rules of the universe, and sometimes, a single line in an ancient book can lead to revolutionary ideas. One such line, buried in the oldest known math book, puzzled mathematicians for centuries. This line, Euclid’s fifth postulate, seemed almost unnecessary so much so that for hundreds of years, experts tried to prove it using simpler principles. But when they stopped trying to prove it and instead questioned it, they uncovered entire new universes. Euclid’s Controversial Fifth Postulate Euclid, the father of geometry, wrote a book called Elements over 2,300 years ago. In it, he outlined five basic rules, or postulates, for geometry. The first four postulates were simple and intuitive, like “A straight line can be drawn between any two points.” But the fifth postulate, also known as the parallel postulate, was different. It stated: “If a straight line falls on two straight lines in such a manner that the interior angles on one si...

There’s a peculiar agony in knowing your brilliance can also destroy. I built something remarkable—technology meant to protect, to defend, to save. And yet, every report I see, every shattered life, whispers the same haunting truth: it kills. And it does so exceptionally well . I should be proud, shouldn’t I? Instead, I feel like Baba Yaga watching her enchanted hut trample through a village—powerful, yes, but stomping on souls I never meant to harm. Every algorithm, every precision strike... they told me it would save lives. What they didn’t say is how many of those lives wouldn’t belong to soldiers. There’s a cruel irony in it. They say tech is neutral, but when did it become so eager to follow orders without asking why? And why is it that civilian blood—mothers, children, the ones caught between—always ends up being part of the equation? I’m no saint—don’t get me wrong. I knew what I was making, knew the contracts, the buyers, the promises. But somehow, I let myself believe the lie ...

Today, I woke up to a silence that didn’t just fill the room—it clung to me, wrapped itself around my ribs, and whispered in that hollow space where my heart used to feel full. It wasn’t the soft kind of quiet. It was sharp, brutal, and unrelenting, the kind that sinks into your bones and makes you ache in places you forgot existed. I thought I’d learned how to live with it, how to bury it under routine and motion, but no. It crept back in like it always does, uninvited and heavy, dragging memories behind it like chains. It gnawed at scars I thought had long since healed, and I hated how easy it was for them to tear open again. So I sat in the dark. Crying, like I always do when it becomes too much. The halls stretched on endlessly, their stillness mocking me, and yet I wandered them like I might stumble across something—anything—that would make this emptiness feel less consuming. My fingertips brushed against the walls, the rough texture grounding me, a painful reminder of how far I...

 For too long, I carried the weight of my struggles in silence, believing that strength meant facing everything alone. My grandfather—bless him—taught me that real Russian women don’t ask for help, they just endure. I thought that was my path. But it’s a lie. A damn heavy one. Years of trauma, burnout, anxiety, and a body that’s screaming for mercy pushed me to the edge. I’ve ignored my limits, clung to my pride, and let fear keep me from reaching out. Now, as the weight threatens to crush me, I wonder if it's too late to ask for help. Can I still heal when I’ve spent so long thinking I had to handle it all alone? I don’t know. But maybe this is where the real strength lies—finally breaking free from the past, from the expectations, and letting myself be vulnerable enough to ask for the support I’ve always deserved.

 It is with heavy hearts that we reflect on the tragic news of the loss of five brave U.S. Marines in a helicopter crash outside San Diego. As the military confirms the devastating outcome, our thoughts, and prayers go out to the families and loved ones of those who made the ultimate sacrifice in service to their country. In moments like these, words often fail to capture the depth of sorrow felt by a nation indebted to the courage and selflessness of our military personnel. As we mourn the loss of these dedicated individuals, let us also honor their memory by acknowledging their unwavering commitment to duty and their willingness to put themselves in harm's way for the greater good. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten, and their legacy of service will continue to inspire generations to come.

 So, Dr. Robert Sapolsky's dropping a bombshell: we don't have free will. Cue the collective gasp! The man's been studying us for decades, and now he says we're just puppets in the grand cosmic play. But hold on, isn't this the same guy who made studying baboons cool? Maybe he's been watching too much "Black Mirror" lately. All that said, Sapolsky's theory is like your cat knocking things off the table just to see what happens. A bit messy, right? It's a philosophical minefield! If we're devoid of free will, what's the point of our endless pondering and deep thinking? Did I decide to write this blog post, or did some cosmic force make me do it? Are we all just biological algorithms? But let's not get too snarky. Sapolsky's challenge to free will sparks fascinating debates. Are we merely reacting to our environment and biology, or do we possess some sliver of autonomy? As we delve into this existential rabbit hole, remember that ...

 President Biden appears to have adopted a tough stance towards China. According to Yahoo Finance, the U.S. is considering cutting off investment in China. Are we witnessing a bold move in international finance, or is this just wishful thinking? Before we jump on the bandwagon, let's break it down. Cutting off China, the global manufacturing hub, sounds like a real game-changer, right? But remember, it's a complex dance with global repercussions. It's like saying you'll never eat chocolate again; it might sound good, but can you really stick to it? While we all love a good show of strength, the reality of global finance is intricate. Cutting off China might be a bit like cutting off your Wi-Fi while working from home. Sure, it sends a message, but can you really afford the consequences? In the end, it's a move that's easier said than done, love. International finance is like a Rubik's Cube – it looks straightforward until you start twisting and turning those...

Well, well, well, what do we have here? According to a story recently published in the New York Times, more Americans are waving goodbye to organized religion. It seems like the pews are getting as empty as my coffee cup after a long night of binging Twitter. But hey, it's not all bad news; it's about time we questioned the dogma, sweetie. While the decline in religious belief and interest might be slower than the decline in organizational participation, it's still a sign that we're becoming more enlightened. Let's face it, love, the world is changing, and so are our beliefs. With the rise of science and reason, it's no surprise that we're losing interest in outdated traditions. So, is this the end of religion as we know it? Only time will tell. But for now, let's embrace this shift, and who knows, maybe we'll all be chanting Slavic pagan incantations in the sunshine of California one day. After all, it's all about spreading kindness and affectio...

 Oh, it seems that Trump just can't resist the urge to stir the pot!  In the latest episode of "The Trump Show," we witness a New York judge issuing a "limited gag order" after our former president couldn't help himself from launching verbal attacks on court staff.  Now, we all know Trump's Twitter/T ruth Social  fingers are legendary, but it appears his penchant for disparaging remarks knows no bounds. Judge Arthur Engoron had to step in and remind Trump that the courtroom isn't a reality TV set where insults are welcome.  This gag order, my lovelies, only applies to verbal attacks on court staff, but it's quite the statement. It's like telling a child, "No more cookies before dinner!" Let's see if Trump can resist the temptation to post up a storm on Truth Social.  In the meantime, the rest of us can sit back, grab some popcorn, and watch this legal drama unfold. After all, there's nothing quite like the theatrics of Trump...