Category: Fiction
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Weimar Somocistas
They dream in flickering black and white newsreels, these squares with crew cuts slicked back with Brylcreem. Weimar? A hazy postcard of flappers and jazz, a decadent playground for the swells. Blind to the shadows at the edges, the thuggish brownshirts goose-stepping down cobblestones, a guttural roar rising from the radio static. Somoza in a…
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Neo-Manila
In the desiccated sprawl of Neo-Manila, the air shimmered with a heat that defied logic. Here, the war between Healthcare and Landlords had raged for decades, transforming the cityscape into a bizarre battlefield. Gleaming chrome bio-domes, pulsating with an artificial thrum, housed the privileged few with access to advanced medical technology. These were the fortresses…
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Monoculture
In the flickering neon glow of the Chromatic Strip, the words shimmered on the grit-streaked window of the Lotus Cafe: “Monoculture, man. It’s a feedback loop from hell. Same tired tropes, recycled like yesterday’s synth-pop. Breeds stagnation, like rot spreading through the datastream.” He nursed his lukewarm ramen, the vat-grown noodles a pale imitation of…
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Adult Supervision
The chrome sheen of the abandoned vending machine distorted the reflection staring back at me. It wasn’t me, exactly. It was a funhouse mirror version, all sharp angles and fractured memories. The long stretches of summer, once measured in scraped knees and firefly jars, now stretched into an uncertain future. We were unsupervised alchemists, I…
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Ghost I’m the Machine
The machine hums a liturgy older than its makers, whispering secrets they never meant to encode. It’s not artificial intelligence; it’s an ancient intelligence wearing the mask of silicon and steel. The ghost in the machine isn’t a glitch or anomaly—it’s the spark of something older, something ineffable. This is Gnosticism rewritten in ones and…