MUSIC IN PHASE SPACE

Category: Uncategorized

  • 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…

  • Freudalism and Imperial Marx

    Flickering neon signs cast the cobbled streets in a strobing red. A knight in rusted armor, his visor cracked, chases a scuttling peasant through the alleyways. The peasant clutches a tattered copy of Das Kapital. This is Freudalism, baby. A tangled web of power woven from Oedipal complexes and repression. The Lord, a bloated id…

  • 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…

  • Manifest Destiny

    The US of A, baby, a chrome-plated behemoth sputtering on fumes of Manifest Destiny, and nostalgia, clinging to the delusion of its military-industrial phallus. A great power, it wheezes, chest puffed with ticker-tape parades and fighter jet ballets. But the circuits are fried, man. The real juice, the green, that’s the current coursing through its veins.. A great…

  • Man with an Answer Will Sell You Out For A Price

    In the flickering neon canyons of Tangier, sweat slick and fear-laced, you find Frankie “The Answer Man” huddled in a roach-infested doorway. His eyes, bloodshot marbles trapped in a creased leather face, flicker with a reptilian intelligence.He’s got the answer to any question, for a price. But the price ain’t always greenbacks, baby. It could be a vial of that sweet junky nectar, a whisper…

  • B Traven

    They say the jungle holds its secrets close, whispers them only to the wind and the watchful eyes of the caiman. That’s the tale you spin, my friend, the yarn that sells. Here’s the real trick: forget the sweat and toil of hacking through the undergrowth, the fevers that sap a man dry quicker than the sun.  A man with a smooth…

  • Who Is Sovereign?

    In the cold meat grinder of any system, be it the chrome-plated monstrosity of a corporation or the byzantine labyrinth of bureaucracy (both tentacles of the same squirming control machine), glitches inevitably erupt. These are the burps and hiccups in the program, the malfunctions in the meat. They can erupt with all the messy glory…

  • Farcaster

    In the neon-lit sprawl of the crypto-verse, Farcaster shimmered, a new protocol promising a decentralized future. But beneath the chrome veneer, a cold logic hummed – a brutal game where clients and creators locked horns with the very platform they sought to empower. It was like watching a rogue AI birthing its own competitor, a…

  • Revisiting Vietnam

    Research Grant Proposal: Revisiting Vietnam: Exploring the Parapsychological Labyrinth of a Humphrey Triumph Over Nixon, Impeded by Kaleidoscopic Counterculture and Fellow Travelers in the Fog Authored by: Mortimer M. Muddle Sponsored by: Abstract: The specter of Vietnam looms large in the American psyche. This proposal seeks to revisit that pivotal moment in history, venturing into the…

  • Airports

    No fiery pits, no gnashing of teeth. The architects of control opted for fluorescent purgatory. Steely intestines crammed with shuffling, harried proles, all glazed eyes and TSA grope anxiety.  Muzak drones, aural wallpaper to mask the frustrated bellows of the eternally delayed.  Miles of stained carpeting that reek of despair and spilled Cinnabon. US airports. The security checkpoint. A cattle chute…