Tempus Mortis Mac OS
Here is the scenario:
- Windows 2003 Server, NTFS volumes, several SMB shared folders
Mix of 10.6, 10.7 and 10.8 Mac OS X clients with all updates applied
Computerworld.com - It was 20 years ago today that APple chief Steve Jobs taught the Mac to play the NeXT way as Apple introduced the first iteration of Mac OS X Tempus fugit: Apple launched Mac OS X 20 years ago today - Flipboard. 'Tempus rerum imperator.' The guy buying it has a recording studio and is upgrading from a Power Mac and wants an Intel Mac. My opinion: if you're not running OS X on it, sell it for $1,100.
The problem exhibits on the Mountain Lion clients. They occasionally have trouble seeing or changing certain subfolders on the SMB shares. This coincides with other Macs also accessing the same subfolder.
In the past, 10.6 clients could work simultaneously inside a subfolder of the SMB share. Now, their appears to be permissions related issues.
Has anyone seen this behavior or know a workaround?
Make it Real
When something really resonates, I often find myself writing in my sleep. During my dreams I sometimes capture the perfect words to describe my thoughts and what is lingering my heart. When I wake the words have flown, and I struggle to recapture them so I can voice myself, my heart, my mind. Last night was the same. I wrote in my dream, had the perfect words to describe what the lyrics of “Strange Fruit” sung by Billie Holiday woke inside me. It was perfect, my words, my thoughts, accurately displayed. But with the rising sun they have faded and I am left trying to stumble my way through all I feel inside.
I have always known of slavery, of lynching, of the horrors done to Black men and women. I read of them in black words on white pages, in history books and articles. I knew, but somehow, never “knew”. How is it that we can be taught dates and times and names and are never told the story? We’re never told in history class the way it smelled. The bodies hanging on trees, how the flies gather and the crows cry with greedy voices to devour our family. We’re never told how it would feel to stand beneath the shadow of your mother’s dead body, her eyes plucked away, her tongue sticking out, swollen in death because she choked and struggled at the end of a rope. A rope tied by angry, selfish men. We’re told and not. This is information, a picture we should all see and for some reason we have to hunt it out. Why? Why haven’t we been told ALL the stories? Why haven’t we been made to connect and feel like this is OUR history? Why do we say it is Black history when it is all of ours? The horror of it is ours. The pain they endured, all of it is OURS. They are US. They are our family and they are ignored.
They cry, they hurt. They are WE. This horrible past is our responsibility. And don’t start the argument of “my family never owned slaves”, “my family-“
Shut up! That’s not the point. OWN THIS HISTORY. OWN THE HORROR. OWN AND ACKNOWLEDGE THEIR PAIN!
It happened, so show me. Show US. Make it REAL.
Stop hiding behind shame and take responsibility. It belongs to us. It belongs to me.
This is the history of my people, because they are MINE.
Make is Real – A Poem by L Becker
When you read of things in history class
It looks and feels the distant past
Very rarely do we compare
The distance in time from here to there
I read of slavery and do not see
Bodies swinging on the trees
I read words in black and white
Never feeling the urgency in the fight
For justice and equality
For human beings just to be free
It seems separate, disconnected from me
To this past I’ve been partially blind
Disconnected and not claiming it as mine
I have no distant relative
Who were killed because of their skin
I say what does this have to do with me?
Because what’s written doesn’t make me see
Doesn’t make me feel and realize
What children watching parents eaten by flies
Tempus Mortis Mac Os Download
I do not live inside their hearts
Having read only bits and parts
I am disconnected to the truth, to reality
Living in a bubble, white washed, so pretty
Tell me more than what is written and told
Make me feel, see, smell what it was like to be sold
Tell me more than facts and a date
Make me understand the root of hate
Bring the truth home to me
So I can finally truly be
Tempus Mortis Mac Os Catalina
Connected to the world in which I live
So at long last we can outlive
The past so brokenand wrong
To acknowledge a people made strong
No longer shall I be
Disconnected from my world’s history.