Tag: SV
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East India Company
I first read The Anarchy by William Dalrymple in the early days of the Trump administration—back when there was still a fleeting concern of malevolent competence, a sense (however misguided) that the machinery might be steered, however clumsily. That mirage evaporated fast. What followedu wasn’t some masterclass in autocracy but a clown car of…
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Architectures of Contradiction
Let’s get one thing out of the way: the plagiarism debate is a red herring. It’s a convenient distraction, an intellectual sleight-of-hand designed to keep us arguing in circles while the real game unfolds elsewhere. Framing the conversation around whether AI “plagiarizes” is like asking if a vacuum cleaner steals the dust. It misunderstands the…
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Notes on TPOT/RATS
One of the defining features of the TPOt crowd was that medium rat was running on such obscene levels of dopamine and peer validation, basic brain functions like memory got completely fried. The social high was so unrelenting it turned executive function into background noise. What emerged was a closed-circuit attention economy: ideas weren’t tested…
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Messianic Hype
How can the crypto/Web3 ecosystem believe its own messianic hype when it’s entirely built on a fragile global capital structure it doesn’t understand—and can’t survive without? At its core, the illusion of crypto’s divinity is just a derivative trade. They sell it as destiny—“the future of finance,” “a decentralized revolution.” But the reality is more…
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Discipline
DISCIPLINE In 1981, as the world grappled with the hangover of the freewheeling 1970s—stagflation, punk’s rubble, and the cold dawn of Reaganomics—King Crimson, rock’s most mercurial act, reemerged with an album titled Discipline. Its track, “Indiscipline,” was a jarring manifesto: a recursive guitar riff, arrhythmic drums, and lyrics about obsession, control, and the terror of…
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Fear of the Shakes
Look, pal, let’s get something straight, okay? I don’t have time for your bullshit. I need five grams of coke, ketamine, MDMA, meth, Adderall, ecstasy, oxy—whatever the hell the market’s cooking up these days. A little PCP, a dash of heroin, if that’s what’s trending. Don’t tell me it’s not necessary. It is. I don’t…
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Crypto Strategic Reserve: A Chronicle of Hybrid Collapse
Act I:The Golden Mirage The U.S. Empire, armored in Fordist steel and atomic swagger, once anchored the global economy to a sacred lie: the dollar as gold’s Siamese twin. Bretton Woods was less a financial system than a state religion—fixed rates, convertible faith, the handshake of empires. But by 1971, Nixon, that grandmaster of realpolitik,…
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The Great American Firewall
San Francisco, 2025. Up in the Hills, the Masters of the Universe are slumped in Herman Miller chairs, IV-dripping horse tranquilizers straight into their overclocked nervous systems. Ketamine—the official drug of the techno-aristocracy—keeps the existential dread at bay, smooths out the jagged edges of a collapsing world. One minute they’re at a fireside chat mumbling…
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Generally Upward Moving Swine
Somewhere deep in the neon gulag of the 21st century, where men in fleece vests and Allbirds whisper hosannas to their algorithmic overlords, a new and hideous breed of sycophant has emerged—the Tech Toady, the simpering priest of digital feudalism. I have seen bootlicking before. Hollywood has its share of grovelers, yes—but at least the…
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There are Guano Billionaires that I Respect More than Mark Andreessen.
By God, the guano billionaires—they had grit! They had vision! They were the last screaming lunatics with the guts to shovel mountains of bird shit into the cannons of empire and make the world kneel before their stinking altars. And I’ll be damned if I don’t respect them more than that pallid husk of a…