Grind Mode Quotes

The bad ones want you to work around them and their time and the decent ones want too much time. I just don’t have it. I am in grind mode. I do not have time to be a mother, a student, a home health care worker and a girlfriend to someone. Now a fuck partner, yea I could get with that.

Hope is reactionary: it cocoons actuality in the gossamer of the tolerable, dulling the thirst for change. Despair is revolutionary: it grinds the knife-edge of the intolerable against the whetstone of actuality, sparking the will to change. Whoever tolerates the present will never risk everything to change it. Only those who realize they have no future left to lose will be willing to stake everything on the total transformation of the present; a transformation in which every envisageable future is abolished, the better to invite the facelessness of what will come. The only appropriate mode of thinking for a culture on the edge of extinction is the thinking that stimulates pain.

The River is a sprawling ecosystem of like-minded people that includes everyone from low-stakes poker pros just trying to grind out a living to crypto kings and venture-capital billionaires. It is a way of thinking and a mode of life. People don’t know very much about the River, but they should. Most Riverians aren’t rich and powerful. But rich and powerful people are disproportionately likely to be Riverians compared to the rest of the population.

Helping teacher leaders come to understand their gifts is the first step in developing a specialty. Some leaders are great coaches and should focus on instructional leadership in a district or network where that is valued and supported. Great conceptual thinkers are good in startup mode but the daily grind of leading a school doesn't suit them. Other leaders thrive on the turnaround challenge. The dynamic blended future of education will allow more role specialization.

The problem is when progress becomes its own ideology—that is, when advocacy for incrementalism is seen as the astute and preferred mode of political transformation. It is never easy to win, but progress is also never sufficient. Incremental change keeps the grinding forces of oppression—death—in place. Actively advocating for this position is a moral failure.

We are expected to function, to go on with our lives, to carry on and repeat the exact same behaviours that got us into this rainbow-loading screen in the first place because 'everyone else can--so suck it up!' And we'll fall. And we'll crash. And we'll keep on crashing. We'll crash again and again and again as we're forced into these scenarios to be washed, rinsed, repeated and spat back out again. Until we can't anymore. Our bodies can only take so much, and after too long of too much, we can't continue anymore. We go into safe mode.

We are under a deception similar to that which misleads the traveler in the Arabian desert. Beneath the caravan all is dry and bare; but far in advance, and far in the rear, is the semblance of refreshing waters... A similar illusion seems to haunt nations through every stage of the long progress from poverty and barbarism to the highest degrees of opulence and civilization. But if we resolutely chase the mirage backward, we shall find it recede before us into the regions of fabulous antiquity. It is now the fashion to place the golden age of England in times when noblemen were destitute of comforts the want of which would be intolerable to a modern footman, when farmers and shopkeepers breakfasted on loaves the very sight of which would raise a riot in a modern workhouse, when to have a clean shirt once a week was a privilege reserved for the higher class of gentry, when men died faster in the purest country air than they now die in the most pestilential lanes of our towns, and when men died faster in the lanes of our towns than they now die on the coast of Guiana. ... We too shall in our turn be outstripped, and in our turn be envied. It may well be, in the twentieth century, that the peasant of Dorsetshire may think himself miserably paid with twenty shillings a week; that the carpenter at Greenwich may receive ten shillings a day; that laboring men may be as little used to dine without meat as they are now to eat rye bread; that sanitary police and medical discoveries may have added several more years to the average length of human life; that numerous comforts and luxuries which are now unknown, or confined to a few, may be within the reach of every diligent and thrifty workingman. And yet it may then be the mode to assert that the increase of wealth and the progress of science have benefited the few at the expense of the many, and to talk of the reign of Queen Victoria as the time when England was truly merry England, when all classes were bound together by brotherly sympathy, when the rich did not grind the faces of the poor, and when the poor did not envy the splendor of the rich.

The only real question about all this finitude is whether we’re willing to confront it or not. And this, for Heidegger, is the central challenge of human existence: since finitude defines our lives, he argues that living a truly authentic life—becoming fully human—means facing up to that fact. We must live out our lives, to whatever extent we can, in clear-eyed acknowledgment of our limitations, in the undeluded mode of existence that Heidegger calls “Being-towards-death,” aware that this is it, that life is not a dress rehearsal, that every choice requires myriad sacrifices, and that time is always already running out—indeed, that it may run out today, tomorrow, or next month. And so it’s not merely a matter of spending each day “as if” it were your last, as the cliché has it. The point is that it always actually might be. I can’t entirely depend upon a single moment of the future. Obviously, from any ordinary perspective, this all sounds intolerably morbid and stressful. But then, to the extent that you manage to achieve this outlook on life, you’re not seeing it from an ordinary perspective—and “morbid and stressful,” at least according to Heidegger, are exactly what it is not. On the contrary, it’s the only way for a finite human being to live fully, to relate to other people as full-fledged humans, and to experience the world as it truly is. What’s really morbid, from this perspective, is what most of us do, most of the time, instead of confronting our finitude, which is to indulge in avoidance and denial, or what Heidegger calls “falling.” Rather than taking ownership of our lives, we seek out distractions, or lose ourselves in busyness and the daily grind, so as to try to forget our real predicament. Or we try to avoid the intimidating responsibility of having to decide what to do with our finite time by telling ourselves that we don’t get to choose at all—that we must get married, or remain in a soul-destroying job, or anything else, simply because it’s the done thing. Or, as we saw in the previous chapter, we embark on the futile attempt to “get everything done,” which is really another way of trying to evade the responsibility of deciding what to do with your finite time—because if you actually could get everything done, you’d never have to choose among mutually exclusive possibilities. Life is usually more comfortable when you spend it avoiding the truth in this fashion. But it’s a stultifying, deadly sort of comfort. It’s only by facing our finitude that we can step into a truly authentic relationship with life.

He did not care if they were middle schoolers, housewives, or so-called “e-girls.” He killed every last person who got in the way of his grinding.

WhatsApp: +1 (443) 859 - 2886 Email @ digitaltechguard.com Telegram: digitaltechguardrecovery.com Www @ digitaltechguard.com Between tournaments, I'd mined $330,000 worth of Bitcoins, building capital quietly over the vocation. It wasn't even a side venture. It was the fall- back for the future, something upon which one could fall back when the vocation eventually dried up. But all this nearly disappeared one evening.I turned the rig like every ordinary day, ready to grind some games, only to discover the bright red screen. My computer became inaccessible, and all the files were all encrypted. My heart sank. They were demanding the ransom through the medium of Bitcoin and warned them about deleting all the data unless I paid them the ransom. But the worse is? My $330,000-worth-of-wallet, all held up the very same computer. I felt like being checkmated. I did know online games could turn ugly, this one being one notch higher. For days, panic mode for me. I could not make up my mind about whether I dreaded the loss of the Bitcoin or the thought some guy behind the screen has bested me. That was when one of the players from the opponent side approached me unexpectedly. We'd met earlier during competitions, but the player sent one message containing some advice that turned the situation around for the best. He informed me about Digital Tech Guard Recovery, where he said they were the best when it came to stolen wallets and cyberattacks. I contacted them the following day. From the start, the experience felt different. They did not explain things using complicated tech mumbo for the sole purpose of bewildering me. They broke all this down for me so that I could understand the process. My issue went over to their security experts, and they were available around the clock trying to break the encryption without draining my wallet. Ten days later, the wallet lay open. All $330,000 were present, not crumpled. My jaw dropped. To make it through the final round after being one shot from being gone felt like winning. The best part is not only did they recover the money, but also educated you about anti-phishing, protected wallets for the future, and even gave advice about keeping the gaming account secure. Digital Tech Guard Recovery did not only recover the Bitcoin for you; they also ensured you will not fall for the same scum again. GG, scum.

Yet as 1978 began, Iran still bore many of the distinguishing characteristics of dictatorships everywhere. The most obvious of these was fear. With the regime promoting the idea that its SAVAK security apparatus was all-seeing, most Iranians continued to be extremely guarded when voicing complaints about the state. Then there was that other feature intrinsic to dictatorships, one that often leads to grinding inertia or grievous self-inflicted wounds: stupidity, a default mode of profound, even impregnable passivity that grows more acute the closer one gets to the locus of power. This passivity is also rooted in fear, of course, the worry of losing one’s standing within the power structure—or, in more robust dictatorships, of losing one’s head—but it is the constant second-guessing of what might please the strongman or his representative at the next level up the governing ladder that causes the lower-level functionary to gradually lose the ability to act or think independently at all. To the contrary, the best and safest course in this timorous society is to never question or initiate, to simply go along with whatever edict or passing whim works its way down the chain of command. In just this way, the senior government minister subjected to the babblings of the strongman hears only brilliance, while the lowliest traffic policeman accepts without question that today he shall ticket only blue cars or allow only right-hand turns.

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