MUSIC IN PHASE SPACE

Tag: William Burroughs

  • Cyberpunk

    Lately, I’ve been thinking about cyberpunk’s jagged grip on the collective id, its knack for haunting the edges of our digital decay like a rogue algorithm stuck on loop.  Cyberpunk isn’t just about dystopian futures—it’s about the failure of successive belief systems, each of which once promised order, progress, or salvation but collapsed under their…

  • Checkpoint

    The agent crouched low in the alley, the flickering neon lights jerking like a mind caught in a seizure. Shadows danced on the walls, erratic as neurons firing in a dying brain. The Interzone hummed with the static of fractured realities, a buzz that bled through everything—glitching, fraying, as bits of half-thoughts and lost memories…

  • Block Time

    “Time is a junkie. Shoots up eternity and comes down as minutes. You’re not living in time—you’re processing it.” He sat cross-legged on a floor that never aged, scribbling with a pen that never ran out, his hand looping eternal cursive over blank sheets that devoured ink without a mark. This was Block Time—slabs of…

  • The City of Ten Thousand Doors

    The room has been thick with smoke, curling in lazy rings under the ceiling fans, the walls stained amber in the dim light. Tangiers has pulsed outside, the city flickering in neon, shadows shifting like restless ghosts. In the corner, beneath a cracked light, the boss has leaned back in his chair—Moroccan leather, worn with…

  • The Garage

    Ray: “It’s the garage, Bill. The garage itself. Not some ordinary space filled with nails, wood shavings, and the detritus of middle-class American living. No, this garage, it’s alive. Like one of those shops in the old stories, the ones that weren’t there yesterday and won’t be there tomorrow. But today? Today it hums with…

  • Doppelgänger

    The Zone was all wires and rot, a place where the buildings sagged like the bones had been sucked out, where people’s faces blurred, like the heat had warped their features into something barely human. A place where reality skipped like a bad film reel. Jack Tully pulled his collar up against the sting of…

  • Money Should Be Free

    Imagine a world where money flows like words through the airwaves, a filthy river of greenbacks coursing through every gutter and alley, seeping into the cracks of society, soaking the earth, drowning the parasites and the predators alike. A glorious torrent, unfettered by the iron bars of bank vaults, slipping past the sticky fingers of…

  • Algorithms and Section 230

    A platform’s algorithm, far from being a neutral intermediary, actively constructs reality by shaping and directing the user’s desires, creating a speech that is its own, and therefore, liable. The algorithm acts as the Big Other, imposing a Symbolic Order on the user, reflecting back a distorted image of the self, rooted not in the…

  • A Manifesto for the Modern Money Launderer

    Listen up, fellow drifters of the digital dirt roads, and connoisseurs of the con. The world’s a stage, and every storefront, every glossy website, is just a prop in the grand theater of laundering. The real action happens behind the curtain, in the shadows where the money changes hands without so much as a whisper.…

  • Tangier

    The air hung heavy with the sweet, cloying scent of kif. The narrow, labyrinthine streets of Tangier were alive with the cacophony of street vendors, the chatter of locals, and the distant wail of a muezzin. In a dimly lit, opium den, a group of expatriates sat huddled together, their faces illuminated by the flickering…