MUSIC IN PHASE SPACE

Category: Non Fiction

  • The Second Coming of the Third Reich, Fourth time around

    A greasy film coats reality, a flickering newsfeed nightmare. The Third Reich, a putrid corpse twitching on the slab, jerks back to life – not as jackboots and goose steps, but as a virus whispering through the media matrix. Faceless suits in chrome towers, their eyes cold and reptilian, cultivate fear like a cash crop.…

  • Exodus

    On Tiktok, a hyperreality unfolds. Generations collide in a digital spectacle, each trapped within their own pre-programmed narrative. The “enshittification,” as Gen Z terms it, permeates the platform, a self-referential loop of manufactured discontent. For Gen Z, this is all they’ve known. They navigate the labyrinthine simulacra of social connection, a world where authenticity is…

  • Dune

    A Flesh Machine of Power and Messiah’s Buzzsaw Forget the squares who couldn’t hack Dune, man. Stuck in their binary good-guy/bad-guy loops. Like clockwork oranges programmed for happy endings. Dune ain’t that joyride. It’s a word-virus burrowing deep, showing the control freakery of Church-State hybrids and the mind-warping power of celebrity cults. These cats, hooked…

  • Narco Narcissism

    A scabrous ego, pulsating with black market hunger. It slithers up the mirrored pyramid of power, convinced it’s the diamond at the apex. This ain’t no penthouse suite, baby, it’s a roach motel wired with paranoia. The diamonds are chipped, the champagne’s bathtub gin, and the only view is a kaleidoscope of self-loathing fractured by…

  • The Person is the Medium

    The Static Cries: A person isn’t a channel, no mere conduit. The creative person, man, is a fleshy, oozing bio-circuit wired into the control panel of the universe. He ain’t a goddamn channel, passive and inert. No, he’s a goddamn cathode ray transmitter, a chaotic tangle of synapses amplifying the raw, buzzing data stream of…

  • Architects of Permission

    Permission Structures Power wriggles like a parasitic worm, burrowing into definitions, twisting language into wet rags. “Apartheid,” “genocide” – words pulsing with meaning, then morphing into hollow husks, sucked dry by the leeches of justification. Bureaucrats with ink-stained fingers pronounce pronouncements dripping with legalese, not blood. A word virus infects minds through media, turning “apartheid”…

  • Anti-Hedonic Inflation

    The market, a writhing flesh-mass, pulsates with a cancerous growth. Price tags morph into malignant tumors, ballooning on cans of joyless beans and flickering simulacra of entertainment. The grey dollar bleeds. Shrinks in your pocket, a junkie fiend on a score. Price tags balloon, neon tumors on the storefront whores. You reach in, pull out…

  • Pulling the plug

    The Zoog faction, wired on a hyper-flux of information, their minds flickering with memes and TikTok ephemera, regard the FaceBook with a cold, reptilian disdain. It is a monolithic grey slab, a mausoleum of outdated statuses and vacation photos, where their parents – the Boomers, once flower-power radicals – now shuffle through a senescent digital…

  • SXSW and the Military-Industrial Roach Motel

    They bug you with sponsorships, man. Like a roach motel for your soul. Take Raytheon bread, they say, it’ll get you in the door. But the door just clicks shut behind you. You’re trapped, see? Stuck shilling for the very machine you thought you were subverting. They hooked me, man. Raytheon, with their cold chrome…

  • Financial Nihilism

    The American Dream, that technicolor hallucination flickering on the screen of your youth, melts into static. it’s a roach motel. Checkin’ in easy, checkin’ out? Forget about it. The Boomers, fattened on Reagan’s trickle-down that never trickled, hoard their loot in gilded cages on the hill. This, chums, is Financial Nihilism, a virus lodged deep…