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Grand Apartheid
A concrete jungle, pulsing, throbbing with white prosperity, stretched across the stolen land. But the white control freaks,twitchy and paranoid, couldn’t stomach the black presence. It was a virus in their sterile system. So the grand scheme,hatched in smoke-filled rooms thick with fear and ideology, began to crawl. A fever dream of segregation, a cartographer of hate redrawing the map with bulldozer blades.…
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Clean Break
I don’t buy that clean break bullshit, man. That’s for squares with lobotomized emotions and hearts stuffed with excelsior. No, the good stuff, the real fallout? That’s a compound fracture, a jagged mess of splintered bone and raw nerve. It throbs with a dull ache that creeps into your dreams, a constant reminder of the…
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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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8 Names On a 4 Chord Song
Four chords. A tired dog chasing its tail on a vinyl treadmill. Bureaucracy on a drum kit, eight suits in mirrored shades pounding out a dirge of control. This ain’t music, it’s a roach motel for creativity. A tired carousel circling a stagnant pond. Eight names on the marquee, a flickering neon graveyard. This ain’t music, man, it’s a control…
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Life Cannot Be Delegated
Life, baby, ain’t some goddamn timeshare you can pawn off on your accountant. It’s a blood-curdling, batshit rendezvous with the abyss, and you’re the only one strapped into the goddamn rocket. You can hire a lawyer to fight your battles, a therapist to untangle your neuroses, and a chef to nuke your microwave burritos – but that won’t buy you a single goddamn…
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UAPs Jobs Program
The spooks at Langley, adrift in a sea of conspiracies of their own making, flail about like demented cuttlefish, spewing ink – nay, official statements! – to obscure the truth they themselves birthed. A truth as slick and squirming as a fresh-peeled Scientology engram. These suits, shuffling through the halls of the Pentagon, their polyester blending with the omnipresent beige, are caught in a…
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Monday is Committing Seppuku
Monday, that starched white collar of the week, that joyless grindstone of productivity, was keeling over, not with a whimper, but with a ritualistic harakiri of epic proportions. The air, usually thick with stale coffee and regret, carried the tang of iron filings and existential dread. Was it the soul-crushing TPS reports, or the fluorescent lights humming a maddening Cold War spy tune? It was…
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From the River to the Sea
A low murmur, a tremor of unease, rippled through the labyrinthine corridors of the Ministry of Justice. A new proclamation, its ink barely dry, hung heavy in the air. The pronouncement, issued with the utmost bureaucratic gravity, declared the phrase “generic sentence” a criminal offense. Yet, a disquieting dissonance echoed within the very pronouncement itself.…
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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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