Category: Non Fiction
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Pandora’s Box
The Real, a buzzing, chaotic id beneath the surface of existence, pulsed against the thin veneer of the Symbolic – the realm of language, a flimsy net cast over the roiling unconscious. Pandora, that curious soul, a pawn in some cosmic prank, became an archetype for the doomed yearning to pierce the veil, to glimpse…
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The ZIRPification Of Lore
Ah, the ZIRPification of lore. A term as potent as it is unsettling, conjuring a realm where backstory becomes a suffocating miasma, a narrative equivalent of quantitative easing run amok. Just as central banks distort markets with artificially low interest rates, excessive lore warps the very fabric of a story. Imagine, dear reader, a text…
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The Vanishing Web
Fold in the flesh pages, man. Knowledge used to bleed ink, stain your fingers with the past, a papery virus replicating through time. Tomes, fat and heavy, monuments to the deadweight of ideas. You could crack one open, snort the pulverized history clinging to its edges, mainline the wisdom of generations. The tome, a phallus…
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Cherish Your Bugs
Success, man, is a word carved on a cracked tombstone. You dig? It ain’t some shiny chrome chariot, it’s a beat-up jalopy that rattles and coughs but somehow keeps moving through the radioactive wasteland. The straighter the path, the more likely it leads straight to a sinkhole. In the sprawling, entropic landscape of human endeavor,…
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The Edge of history
Fukuyama, bless his optimistic heart, saw the fall of the Berlin Wall as the grand finale, the curtain call on the human drama. History, with a capital H, would shuffle off the stage, replaced by a monotonous, albeit peaceful, epilogue of liberal democracies holding hands and singing Kumbaya. But Fukuyama, for all his impressive polysyllables, hadn’t reckoned with the carnivalesque id that lurks beneath the veneer of…
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Bacon Boys
Dig this, man. We’re talking way before the robber barons crapped all over everything. Back when Bacon’s boys spooked the Virginia swells something fierce, they ditched those white indentured stiffs for a whole new bag: black chattel. Seems the poor white trash and the Negroes were getting a little too chummy, what with the hightailing, the hooch-fueled rampages, the pilfered swine, and the whole miscegenation…
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Ali’s Flat: The Muezzin’s Howl
The minaret, a concrete needle against the bleached sky. Heat shimmers, distorting the muezzin’s call into a guttural howl. This is the Islam of the bazaar, not the sterile mosques of Wahhabism. Ali, the anthropologist, his eyes like pools of Turkish coffee, lays it out. He spoke of a religious crossroads. Sunni Islam, he rasped,…
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Pusherman:
American Addiction #69 They’re all strung out, man, on the same scratchy needle. Living on red income, strung out on next week’s deposit. A paycheck, a scrap of paper chasing its own tail. These are the jittery legs of the working class, the treadmill hearts pumping rent, groceries, utilities – bills like neon signs screaming against the…
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The Savage Professors: A User’s Manual
Professors, tenured and trembling, clutched their tenure packets like rosaries. “Diversity,” “Equity,” “Inclusion” – these were the holy trinity, whispered in hushed tones during faculty meetings. But down the labyrinthine corridors of the university, a darker current ran. DEI, anti-racism – these were Molotov cocktails slung at the ivy-covered walls. The seminar room reeked of stale coffee and desperation. Tenured egos, once puffed…
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Before the Music
The concert hall shimmered, a metallic womb pulsing with fluorescent hum. Musicians, faces pale smudges in the harsh light, drifted in, shedding winter coats like molting insects. A cacophony of coughs, greetings sliced by the metallic screech of oboe tuning. It was the pre-symphony symphony, a chaotic ballet of individual voices yearning for cohesion. The…