Poetic restatement of classic computability theory results seems to be huge in the Slavic world for some reason.
The Halting Poet.
Punctuation of Mass Confusion.
Never before have I written a column concerning nothing more than a pair of quotation marks. Then again, never until now have I seen the power of punctuation so perniciously deployed.
Bus to the Beach.
10. No longer living in your adopted language, where every cultural reference is a new gift to be discovered, and you pick up expressions and slang like a child finding shells along a beach.
Does it matter?
I do not believe in the revolution.
I woke up in a dream today.
It's true
The way I feel
Was promised by your face
The sound of your voice
Painted on my memories
Even if you're not with me