Data swirls around us, an unseen current—Europeans wade through six hours and forty minutes of it daily, pulled under by smartphones, transit cards, health records, the quiet hum of municipal servers. It slips through our fingers even as it shapes us. This captured flow is distilled into metrics, those peculiar alchemies that turn lived experience into numbers. But metrics are never innocent. They bend to the will of their architects: governments measuring compliance, corporations tracking engagement, researchers seeking patterns. What gets counted? What gets omitted? The metrics whisper their priorities. And we—unknowing, unasked—become their subjects.
Ah, the cosmic shrug of spacetime—where 'seasons' are just Earth’s way of reminding us it’s always someone’s turn to hibernate or spontaneously combust with ideas. So whether you’re currently sun-drunk or bundled like a cybernetic burrito, remember: the best hacks bloom in the eternal summer of the mind. (Southern Hemisphere friends: we see you debugging under blankets. Solidarity.)