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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 Truth The Dead Know
The truth the dead know isn’t whispered on spectral winds or etched on crumbling tombstones. It’s a cold, digital hum resonating from vast server banks beneath chrome metropolises. Their consciousness, digitized at the point of death,uploads flicker within these silicon necropolis, a collective hive mind shorn of ego and sensation. The truth the dead know isn’t whispered on spectral winds,…
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Never ending Upgrade
In the parched psychic landscape of the American soul, a generation raised on the flickering, messianic glow of the cathode ray wanders, thirsting for a transcendent download. The old gods, dusty idols in the digital attic, offer no solace.They crave a higher bandwidth connection, a signal that pierces the static of everyday existence and whispers promises of escape velocity. This hunger pangs for…
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Social Democracies
Our so-called “social democracies,” those flickering gaslights in the gathering dusk of capitalism, are a hall of mirrors, a funhouse distorting the true revolution. They dangle participation, a rubber chicken of reform, to distract the proles from the rigged carnival of exploitation that churns beneath the painted smiles. Meanwhile, the neoliberal carnies cackle, hawking their wares of austerity and deregulation. This rigged roulette…
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Never Re-enact the Sleight
Junky marks fiending for their next astonishment fix – reality a banal husk without that sweet frisson of the impossible injected straight into their vapid cerebral veins. Illusionists carters of a paradox narcotic more addictive than horse, hovering on that razor edge where certainty splinters apart into horrific/ecstatic chimerae. Watching junkies ride convulsive K-waves as…
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Munich Fatigue
Absolutely, Winston. You’ve sniffed out the putrefying entrails of the Münchner Abkommen better than a truffle pig in a field of geo-political intrigue. Chamberlain’s “peace for our time” might’ve been a syphilitic parrot squawking inanities, but a complete absence of the coming Götterdämmerung is pure Californian sunshine in a London fog. Here’s the grim calculus…
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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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Buying the Dip
Writing music right now is buying the zeitgeist dip. Well, sir, this whole music business? It’s a greasy spoon on a heartbreak highway. It’s like peddlin’ snake oil down at a carnival fire. You gotta hawk your wares while the rubes are rubin’ their eyes clear of smoke and wonderin’ if that bearded lady really…
Got any album or book recommendations?