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A-sin Cole retweetledi
A thousand may fall at your side, And ten thousand at your right hand; But it shall not come near you.
Mil poderão cair ao seu lado, dez mil à sua direita; Mas nada o atingirá.
#UFC274
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A-sin Cole
42K posts
A-sin Cole
@asincole
“you can hit me, hit me, I can take it. I’m illuminated by God” @CharlesDoBronxs | Charles Oliveira Stan account
Katılım Şubat 2022
1.4K Takip Edilen1.1K Takipçiler
Of course they didn’t fully create a form of resolution… just limited to paying folks… no news here
A-sin Cole@asincole
If true, the fact that it even took this long to “pretend they care”
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If true, the fact that it even took this long to “pretend they care”
Bella Wallersteiner 🇺🇦@BellaWallerstei
Breaking my X silence because we fucking won. This is a victory for women’s dignity and safety. Thank you to all the other brave ladies who shared their stories.
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
“You’re absolutely right: that was a fatal dose. My apologies.”
Greg Brockman@gdb
Introducing ChatGPT Health: openai.com/index/introduc…
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
Vjekoslav built a Windows file explorer from scratch. 2.3MB executable. No VC runtime. He threw away the standard library and wrote his own. hanselminutes.com/1030/
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
My first instinct was to say something snarky, to make fun of those people. But in this shit of a life, we are all trying. All learning. All using the tools we have at hand. All fucking up as we go.
And as someone who does not have children (that I know of) and has chosen not to, it would be easy—too easy—to criticise the decisions parents make as they try to navigate this increasingly hellish internet. But I also know that parenting is a difficult, difficult job, one that some people must do if we are to continue as a species.
We are also a social species. We want to share news, joys, milestones. We want, at the same time, to protect our kids. For some, the compromise is covering their faces. Others choose not to share at all.
In the end, we are all trying.
claire de lune@ClaireMPLS
do the people who post pics of their kids with emojis on their faces know they could just like, not post pics of their kids
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
The internet is so full of shit these days. Everyone is farming for engagement, saying deliberately triggering things so people who will predictably get riled up see it and jump on it. You can’t trust videos. You can’t trust photos. You can’t trust stories. Everything is content.
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One of the most disgusting combat events I’ve ever been unfortunate to watch 😭
Luke Thomas🏋️♀️@lthomasnews
🚨It'll probably be dumb as hell, so let's all watch together.🚨🚨 I'll go live tonight ~8:30pm ET for a #PaulJoshua watchalong. We'll react to the card when it's over and answer your questions. Join me then (link in next tweet 👇👇👇)
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
It is deeply revealing how casually Nigerians say things like “X (a private citizen) arrested Y”—as though it were normal, even acceptable, for private individuals to deploy the police as personal enforcers. Hardly anyone pauses to ask how, in a so-called democracy, a person can be abducted and detained by armed agents of the state simply for saying something offensive, when clear legal remedies for libel and slander already exist. That silence tells you everything.
The Nigerian Police is not a law-enforcement institution in any meaningful sense. It functions largely as a marketplace for coercion—thugs for hire, available to whoever can pay or threaten enough. A society policed this way cannot develop. It cannot mature. It cannot be trusted to protect anything fragile: dissent, minorities, truth, or even basic fairness.
What makes this worse is the moral incoherence of the public outrage that occasionally erupts. Nigeria’s violence is not merely institutional; it is cultural. Many who protest injustice do so only because they are on the receiving end of it—not because they believe in dignity as a principle, or equality as a value, or restraint as a civic virtue. They do not oppose cruelty; they simply resent being its targets.
I learned this the hard way. I once joined others in calling for the release of a man unlawfully detained by a politician in Kaduna. Months after his release, I came across his tweets calling for violence against gay people—describing them as disgusting and deserving of harm. The same man we had defended. The same man invoking rights when power turned against him, and brutality when it did not.
This is the country as it is. Nigerians do not yet want justice; they want advantage. They do not yet want dignity for all; they want immunity for themselves. When Nigerians truly desire equality, restraint, and a humane public order, they will organise, resist, and demand it—consistently, even when it protects people they dislike. Until then, the present reality is not an accident. It is the outcome of collective choices, rehearsed daily and defended loudly.
For now, Nigerians deserve each other.
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Can yall horrible developers that can’t code your way out of a paper bag learn how to roll your own auth and talk about it constantly so these 10x devs can let us all rest?
Jesus Christ… it’s tiring to read…
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
Some of the things I began this year without ceremony have slowly revealed themselves as works that wish to stay. What started as light, exploratory gestures has deepened into sustained attention. I find myself writing about writing itself, about the ethics and discipline of the craft, and about literature not as an ornament of culture but as one of its ways of thinking.
One story has crossed the border into another form and become a play. The change has been instructive and enlivening. It has reminded me that stories do not belong to a single shape, and that meaning often clarifies itself when language is asked to move through bodies, voices, and shared space. I am now thinking seriously about how this work might live on a stage, in time and in breath.
Alongside this is a book that resisted being named until it was already well underway. I long believed I was too young to write a memoir, but somewhere after sixty thousand words of remembered lives, private reckonings, and inherited silences, it announced itself, calmly and without apology, as a book. What I took for reluctance may simply have been the fear of listening too closely.
I am also writing and gathering a body of essays on Northern Nigeria. These pieces move across indigenous religions such as Bori, the language of desire and restraint in Hausa culture, film and popular cinema, romance novels and their secret readerships, ‘yan daudu, questions of gender and sexuality, the afterlives of the caliphate in contemporary politics and cultural life, and the long, complicated idea of the Middle Belt or central Nigeria. What draws me to this work is the sense of an immense intellectual and imaginative absence. So much of Northern Nigeria remains outside popular Nigerian discourse, spoken of only in fragments, clichés, or moments of crisis, rarely with patience, curiosity, or care.
Many writers are cautious about speaking of work while it is still forming. I have never quite learned that restraint. To speak about what I am making is to think more clearly about it. I do not experience ideas as fragile possessions but as shared weather, shaped by circulation. I do not worry about parallel thoughts or similar projects. There is room in the world for many versions of an idea, and literature, at its best, is not a competition for originality but a long conversation in which voices arrive, overlap, and make space for one another.
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A-sin Cole retweetledi
When younger people tell me about their romantic encounters lately, they’re increasingly filled with these little moment-killing interjections
“You’re not special. This isn’t special. I’ve done this 150x before and I can’t even pretend it will work out this time.”
Poe's Law, Esq: Poe's Lawyer@dyingscribe
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