Category: Non Fiction

What’s the Cosmos Punchline You Are Waiting For?

I keep waiting for the punchline. A cosmic punchline, to be specific. Maybe a booming voice from the heavens to drop the gag and clear the smoke, because it sure as hell can’t be real. What kind of sick joke have we wandered into this time? The war in Ukraine—stalemated and bloody, grinding on like a meat grinder with no off switch—set to the dull roar of geopolitics played by armchair generals with more hair dye than brains. Then there’s Palestine, where “genocide” is the polite word we use to describe the meticulous erasure of a people. And all while the U.S. political machinery—once marketed as the Last Bastion of Freedom™—has choked on its own gridlock, content to sip cocktails with the very capital that’s designed the mess. All of it. Every bit of it.

Is this the great cosmic joke? The punchline so dry, so dark, you can barely hear it over the drone strikes and CNBC stock tickers?

Let’s start with Ukraine. It’s 2024, and yet here we are—watching Cold War reruns but in high-def. Russia stumbles into a war it thought would last weeks, but now the landscape is littered with bodies and rusted tanks as far as the eye can see. And what’s on the other side? The West, doling out arms with the subtlety of a blackjack dealer at a casino, waiting to see how many chips they can lose before the house explodes. Everyone’s playing the long game, except for the Ukrainians who don’t have the luxury of games—they’re playing survival. But hey, war is great for business. The defense contractors are licking their chops like they just found out Santa Claus is real and his sack is full of billion-dollar contracts. Cha-ching.

Then we glance toward Palestine. What’s there to say that hasn’t been whitewashed already? Words like “war crimes” and “ethnic cleansing” float around like balloons at a child’s party—except the party’s been over for 75 years, and there’s blood on the floor. The bodies pile up, but somehow it’s never the right time to talk about it. “Complex situation,” they say. It’s about as “complex” as a brick wall hitting you in the face. Israel’s playing chess with bulldozers, while Palestine gets checkers with rocks. And the world watches with a kind of selective amnesia—Oh, is that still happening? Yes, Karen. It’s still happening, and it’s going to keep happening until someone remembers that human rights aren’t an item on a “to-do” list.

And while we’re distracted by the explosions, we’ve got the good ol’ USA trying to be the referee in a game where it lost the whistle years ago. I mean, gridlock politics has always been a joke—two parties, equally corrupt, with the collective foresight of a goldfish on meth. But now it’s a full-on parody. You can’t even get these jokers to agree on funding their own government, let alone tackle climate change or fix healthcare. The elephant and the donkey are so deep into their wrestling match, they don’t even realize they’re both choking on the same chain—the one tied to Wall Street and Silicon Valley, keeping them nice and tame. Don’t worry, folks, democracy’s just taking a nap. For the next 50 years.

But hey, at least the capital’s doing fine, right? Cozy up to it. Pour it a drink. Capital doesn’t care if you’re Republican, Democrat, or a libertarian freak who thinks Bitcoin is the second coming of Jesus. It just wants to be stroked and fed, like a fat, lazy cat that can still somehow land on its feet every time. Hell, it’s already one step ahead. While we’re all doom-scrolling and arguing over whose fault it is that the world’s on fire, capital is already planning its next vacation to Mars. Elon Musk is building rockets while the world burns, and I swear he’s doing it just to rub our faces in it.

The cosmos has to have a punchline for this. There has to be something coming at the end—some grand, twisted laugh from the universe itself. Otherwise, what are we even doing here? Watching atrocities on YouTube while eating takeout. Arguing online in a digital Tower of Babel where everyone’s shouting into the void and no one’s listening. Maybe the joke’s on us.

Or maybe the joke is us.

Cosmic absurdity would be a mercy at this point. A giggle from the gods, some divine laughter rolling down the heavens to let us know it’s all been one big cosmic farce. But we aren’t so lucky. There’s no laugh track. No curtain call. Just the blood-soaked ground and the drone of machines, churning on and on.

What’s the punchline you’re waiting for?

The Sacred Composables and the Shrugging of Genocide:

Jesus Christ, I thought the acid had finally kicked in when I first saw it. There, scrawled like the fever dream of a tech-bro shaman who’d binged too much DMT, was a new commandment. Something that felt lifted from the bowels of Silicon Valley’s most unholy boardroom meetings—a declaration that took a jagged turn off the path of reason and went headlong into the abyss of cyber-nihilism.

“Composables are the sacred threads that weave the tapestry of our new digital civilization,” it begins, like the first stanza of a hymnal only the faithless could write. Sacred threads? A tapestry? Who are we kidding here? We’re not talking about some heartwarming renaissance of human ingenuity, but the cold, calculated assembly of bite-sized bits of code smashed together by engineers hopped up on kombucha and VC dollars. They call it digital sovereignty, but it smells more like a slick repackaging of the same techno-oligarchy we’ve been serving since the first A.I. told us how to live our lives.

And what’s this about tools of creation? That’s some Orwellian doublespeak if I’ve ever heard it. These composables—their holy building blocks—are nothing more than little cogs in the great machine of our synthetic reality, little gears that grind and turn while the architects sit back and watch the plebs bask in the radiant glow of their own destruction.

But the real kicker, the belly-laugh-inducing bit that should make you reach for the nearest bottle of mescaline, is this: Genocide, in all its abhorrence, may be shrugged off if the composables are deemed worthy enough to transcend the collapse of worlds.

Ah, there it is. The shrug. That lazy, decadent acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, people might die in the wake of all this glorious progress—but hey, that’s just the cost of doing business in the brave new world. If the composables are good enough, we’ll forget all about the bones beneath the motherboard, the forgotten casualties of progress. This is Silicon Valley Manifest Destiny with a UX update and a lower latency.

What they won’t tell you is that this digital sovereignty, this brave new frontier, isn’t some utopian playground for the righteous and the free. It’s a battlefield, soaked in the blood of the analog world and littered with the wreckage of our collective humanity. The composables they revere so highly are the digital colonizers, rewriting reality to suit their algorithmic overlords while the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces, trapped in an endless scroll of simulated existence.

Ah yes, let’s not forget the elephant in the server farm: where these sacred composables are born. You see, the irony in all this digital sanctimony is that these building blocks of freedom are often cobbled together in countries with a nasty habit of disappearing people. Genocide becomes less of a moral horror and more of a footnote when your composables are manufactured in the sweat-soaked factories of authoritarian regimes—places where forced labor and mass extermination are conveniently swept under the rug of innovation. It’s hard to get too worked up about human rights abuses when the pipeline from oppression to cloud computing is greased with the blood of the forgotten. But as long as the composables keep flowing, who cares if a few million lives are erased in the process, right? We’ve got code to write and digital worlds to build.

And let’s not overlook the fact that some of these composables are birthed in the heart of a garrison state, a place where every inch of land is watched, measured, and controlled with the precision of a military operation. There, the hum of servers mixes with the buzz of drones overhead, and every new piece of tech feeds into an ecosystem built on surveillance, occupation, and the slow suffocation of entire populations. The people trapped in this digital prison might as well be ghosts, their existence erased in favor of a seamless stream of composables. Here, in this crucible of control, innovation is as much about maintaining power as it is about transcending it. Those who build the code live in bunkers, and those on the other side of the fence? Well, they’re just obstacles in the endless march toward a more efficient future.

They’ve shrugged off genocide before. Ask any displaced community whose data was harvested without consent, whose privacy was vaporized in the name of optimization, whose culture was flattened into a GIF, whose trauma became a meme. But now they’ve said it aloud—loud enough for even the most coked-up startup founders to hear. As long as those damn composables are “worthy enough,” the collapse of worlds becomes a minor footnote in the pursuit of transcendent code.

This is the future, people. A digital Wild West where the cowboys wear Google Glass and fire code commits instead of bullets. And make no mistake, when they talk about collapsing worlds, they’re talking about you. They’re talking about the world you live in, the one you mistakenly believed was stable, the one built on the bones of decency, community, and shared experience. That world? Collapsed. Gone. Shrugged off.

But don’t worry, the composables are transcendent now. And if we’re all wiped out in the process, at least we’ll know it was for the good of the code.

So load up your digital six-shooter, crank up the bandwidth, and say a prayer to whatever deity still listens to the cries of the damned. Because this new frontier doesn’t give a damn about your sovereignty, your soul, or the bodies it tramples on its way to transcendence. The composables are sacred. The rest of us? Disposable.

Cheers to the collapse, my friends.

—HST, in the unholy matrix

The Little Colonel

The three industrialists sat in a plush room, smoke curling from cigars, their sharp suits immaculate, reflecting the wealth of a world still emerging from a previous conflict. The polished oak table between them bore half-drained crystal glasses. Outside, the rhythmic hum of a factory provided a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

Industrialist 1 (Herr Vogel):
“This little colonel, this… Hitler,” Vogel said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, “He’s a blunt instrument, no? Useful for now, but not for long.“

Industrialist 2 (Herr Drexler):
“Ja,” Drexler nodded, adjusting his spectacles, “He speaks of a thousand-year Reich, but it’s all fantasy. His bluster may serve to stir the rabble, but it’s the banks, the factories, the resources that decide nations’ futures.” He flicked ash onto a silver tray. “Soon enough, France and England will see reason. They’re not fools. Versailles was a mistake, and they’ll realize it.“

Industrialist 3 (Herr Schmitt):
Schmitt chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Versailles was a chain around our necks, but chains can be broken—without tanks or bombs. All we need is time, patience. France and England will come to the table again. Hitler?” He shrugged. “He’s merely a distraction. Once they want peace badly enough, the little colonel will be irrelevant. We’ll be the ones standing tall.“

Vogel:
“Exactly. We’ll renegotiate. Versailles will crumble, just as that upstart’s grip on power will. Germany doesn’t need his chaos long-term. It needs industry, stability, and—above all—profit.” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “Soon, the world will tire of his noise, and when they do, we’ll be here, ready to pick up the pieces.“

Drexler:
“And the Führer?” Drexler smirked, savoring the word with sarcasm. “He’ll have served his purpose. A pawn that gets sacrificed for the real victory.“

Schmitt (laughing softly):
“By then, it’ll be over. The fool won’t even see it coming.“

The room fell silent for a moment, as Schmitt’s laughter lingered in the air. Vogel shifted in his chair, and Drexler’s smile thinned, both considering the unspoken risk—the small, unpredictable thread that was the “little colonel.”

Ah, a war. Let me adjust the dialogue accordingly.

The room was quiet now, the weight of what had been said hanging in the air. Drexler stubbed out his cigar, breaking the silence first.

Drexler (sternly):
“And what if the little colonel releases not just words, but war?” His voice was flat, his eyes hard. “A war could be the end of us, and everything we’ve built. France and England will not negotiate if he drags them into another conflict. They will destroy us.“

Vogel (smirking, though his confidence faltered slightly):
“War?” He waved a hand, though it was less casual now. “He’s not mad enough for that. He barks and threatens, but he knows— or at least, those around him know—that another war would tear this country apart.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “No, no, the Führer will push, but not too far. Not far enough to make the world bleed again.“

Schmitt (leaning forward, his smile fading):
“And if he does?” Schmitt’s tone was sharp, his earlier flippancy gone. “If this idiot actually provokes a war, Vogel, do you think we’re immune? You said it yourself—France and England will have no choice but to retaliate. And this time, it won’t just be trenches and treaties. It’ll be devastation, real devastation. Our factories will burn.“

Vogel (defensive, standing up from his chair):
“If he’s foolish enough to start a war, we’ll be long out of harm’s way. We have holdings outside Germany, interests abroad. We’ve made sure that no matter what happens, we will not be chained to this sinking ship if he sends it into the abyss.“

Drexler (shaking his head, voice calm but tense):
“You underestimate the madness of men like him. Hitler speaks of glory, of revenge, of Germany’s resurgence, but he doesn’t care about us—about industry, or economics, or reality. His pride could push him to war, and pride is blind to consequences.“

Schmitt (quietly, almost whispering):
“And if that happens, we won’t just be out of harm’s way, Vogel. We’ll be targets.“

Vogel (pausing, finally turning to face them):
“Targets? What do you mean?*”

Schmitt (coldly):
“If he pulls Europe into another war, the Allies won’t just be aiming at armies. They’ll be aiming at everything that supports the war effort. Factories, supply lines, resources—everything we’ve built. And when they strike, do you really think they’ll care whether we were the ones advocating for peace behind closed doors? No. They’ll level this country.*”

Drexler (nodding, eyes fixed on Vogel):
“And that means us. Our businesses. Our fortunes. Our lives. We may think ourselves immune because we’re the ones who fund the war machine, but when the bombs fall, it won’t matter. If the little colonel unleashes another war, this time there won’t be any pieces left for us to pick up. We’ll be buried under the rubble with him.“

Vogel (lowering himself back into his chair, now visibly shaken):
“You really think… you think he’s capable of that? Of risking it all, knowing what’s at stake?“

Schmitt (grimly):
“He doesn’t think like us. He doesn’t care about what’s at stake for us. He sees war as a chance for his delusions of empire. And if he drags us into one, we’re all at risk. This isn’t 1914. The next war will not end in trenches and treaties—it’ll end in ruins.“

Drexler (leaning forward, voice low):
“We need to be prepared. If war comes, we have to ensure that we’re not tied to his fate. We’ve survived crises before, but this time…” He let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

Vogel (after a long pause, voice hollow):
“So what do we do?“

Schmitt (smiling darkly, his old confidence returning):
“We make sure that if war does come, we’re already positioned to survive it. Cut ties where necessary, shift our assets, and, if need be, make sure the little colonel doesn’t drag us down with him. He’s a pawn, Vogel. If he becomes too dangerous, we find a way to remove him from the board.“

Drexler (nodding):
“Before he destroys us all.“

The room was heavy with the weight of the decision they had just made, unspoken but understood by all three men. The little colonel may have held Germany’s future in his hands, but their future? That was something they would control.

Financialization: The Hair Metalization of Technology

In the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis, the tech industry underwent a significant transformation, driven primarily by the forces of financialization. This shift has led to the criticism that modern tech, much like hair metal in the 1980s, has become more about flashy appearances than substantive innovation. The comparison between tech and hair metal provides a lens to understand how financial priorities have reshaped the industry, sidelining genuine progress in favor of market share and valuations.

Hair metal was a genre defined by its flamboyant aesthetics—big hair, dramatic performances, and an emphasis on style over substance. The music, often criticized for its lack of depth, became secondary to the spectacle. This focus on image and commercial appeal overshadowed more innovative and authentic musical expressions, pushing them to the margins in favor of what was profitable and popular.

Similarly, the financialization of tech has led to a scenario where technology is often used as “window dressing.” The real potential for innovation is sidelined in favor of features and products that are more about boosting market share and attracting investment than addressing significant societal needs. Just as hair metal was more about the show than the music, much of modern tech is more about market dominance than meaningful technological advancement.

This financial-driven approach has led to the sidelining of “indie” innovators—the true technologists and creators focused on substance rather than superficial gains. In this environment, real innovation is marginalized, just as indie music was during the height of hair metal’s popularity. The emphasis on financial gains and speculative growth has turned tech into a vehicle for profit rather than a driver of progress, leaving the true potential of technology unfulfilled.

The essence of this critique is not an outright rejection of technology, akin to the Luddite movement, but rather a rejection of how financialization has shaped technology into something more superficial and less impactful. The comparison to hair metal underscores the idea that when profit and market share become the primary goals, the deeper, more meaningful aspects of innovation are often lost.

In summary, the financialization of the tech industry has led to a situation where technology is more about appearance than substance, much like how hair metal prioritized image over music. This shift has sidelined genuine innovation, reducing tech to a tool for financial gain rather than a force for real progress. The challenge now is to reclaim the value of technology by focusing on substantive innovation, much like the resurgence of authentic, indie music that followed the decline of hair metal’s dominance.

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 Wall Street sharks, flooding every slum and penthouse until no one can hoard, no one can starve, no one can die for the lack of it.

This is the vision, the fever dream of a society where cash isn’t chained to the whims of the suits, isn’t corralled behind the velvet ropes of high finance, but is free—wild and unruly—as free as the foul-mouthed graffiti scrawled on the underpass, as free as the bile spewed by the demagogues and the dissenters on late-night radio. Money, unbound, loose in the streets like a pack of feral dogs, gnawing at the edges of the old order, tearing down the ivory towers with every snarling bite.

Money should be free like speech, like the words we spit and the lies we tell, the truths we barely dare to whisper. No more should it be the domain of the privileged, locked away in Swiss accounts and Cayman havens, but instead a tool, a weapon, a voice for every bastard son and daughter of the American Dream, every poor sucker born on the wrong side of the tracks, every down-and-out loser with a fistful of dreams and a pocket full of nothing.

But they fear it. They fear what happens when the floodgates open, when the dollar isn’t shackled to a price tag, when every man, woman, and child holds the same power in their hands as the boardroom elite. Because money, like speech, is dangerous when it’s in the hands of the many. It breeds chaos, it sows dissent, it upends the delicate balance of power that keeps the machine churning and the masses in line.

So they keep it locked up, parceled out in tiny doses, just enough to keep the gears turning, just enough to keep us hungry, desperate, begging for scraps. They know that if money were free—truly free—like speech, like thought, like the anarchic energy that pulses in the veins of every street corner prophet and half-crazed preacher, the whole rotten system would come crashing down, the pyramid of power collapsing under its own bloated weight.

Free money, free speech—two sides of the same damned coin, the currency of revolution, the language of the oppressed. And until they’re both free, really free, we’re all just slaves to the same old gods, dancing to the same old tune, while the fat cats sit back and laugh at the spectacle of it all.

Let’s cut through the bullshit. The objections to making money free like speech are nothing more than self-serving garbage, concocted by those with a vested interest in keeping the rest of us under their heel. They wave around words like “inflation” and “economic instability” like they’re some kind of holy scripture, but it’s all a smokescreen—a sleazy con game designed to keep the power where it’s always been: in the hands of the rich and the ruthless.

The fear of hyperinflation is the first line of defense for these bastards. They’ll tell you that if everyone had access to money, the economy would spiral out of control, that prices would skyrocket, and the whole system would collapse. But let’s be real—this assumes that the only economic model worth a damn is the one that keeps their coffers full. What they won’t tell you is that the current system is already on life support, propped up by the same handful of bankers and politicians who have rigged the game in their favor. So who are they really protecting? Not you, not me—just their own bloated wallets.

Then there’s the tired old line about “loss of incentive and productivity.” The idea that without the threat of poverty hanging over your head, you’d just sit on your ass all day is a goddamn lie. They want you to believe that money is the only thing that drives people to work, but they’re deliberately ignoring the real motivations—passion, creativity, the desire to build something meaningful. Free money wouldn’t kill productivity; it would set it free, unshackling us from soul-sucking jobs and letting us chase our real dreams. But of course, the last thing these parasites want is a population that’s not chained to the grind.

And then they start whining about “widening inequality,” as if that’s not the most hypocritical pile of horseshit you’ve ever heard. The same people who’ve been exploiting every loophole to hoard wealth are suddenly worried that free money would somehow screw over the little guy? Give me a break. The truth is, they’re terrified that if money were free, their precious system would implode, and with it, their stranglehold on power. Free money wouldn’t widen inequality—it would level the playing field, giving everyone a fair shot at the game.

Oh, but the poor banks! The poor investment firms! “Undermining financial institutions,” they call it, as if that’s something to be concerned about. Let’s get one thing straight: these institutions exist to serve themselves, not the people. They’ve been sucking the lifeblood out of the economy for decades, and now they want you to believe that without them, society would crumble. What a load of crap. The truth is, they’re scared shitless of losing their relevance, of waking up in a world where they can’t dictate the terms anymore.

“Moral hazard,” they cry, as if letting people have money would turn us all into reckless idiots. What they really mean is that they don’t trust you to make your own decisions—they’d rather keep you on a short leash, afraid and obedient. But the real hazard is letting these assholes keep calling the shots, because they’ve already proven they can’t be trusted. Free money would strip away their control, and that scares the hell out of them.

They love to talk about “corruption and misuse of resources,” as if the current system isn’t already a cesspool of corruption. The difference is, under their system, only the rich get to be corrupt. Free money would democratize power, and that’s the last thing they want. They’re not worried about corruption; they’re worried about losing their monopoly on it.

Then there’s the bullshit about the “devaluation of labor and skill.” They’ve got you convinced that the only way to value work is with a paycheck, but that’s just another way to keep you in line. There’s plenty of work that’s vital to society—caregiving, teaching, creating—that’s already undervalued because it doesn’t rake in profits for the elite. Free money would let people pursue the work that matters, instead of just what pays. But they can’t stand the thought of a world where they can’t exploit your labor for their gain.

Finally, they’ll throw out the “erosion of social contracts” argument, as if the current social contract isn’t already broken beyond repair. The reality is, the contract they’re so keen to protect is one that keeps them at the top and everyone else fighting over scraps. Free money would mean rewriting that contract, making it fair, making it just. And that, my friends, is what they’re really afraid of—losing their grip on the power they’ve so carefully rigged in their favor.

So don’t buy the bullshit. The cons against free money are just the desperate last gasps of a dying system, clinging to whatever scraps of control it can still grab. They’re scared, and they should be. Because when money is free, so are we.

Enlightenment

Enlightenment? The moment that word escapes your lips, it’s already too late—hell, the process was doomed the second you started groping for it. Enlightenment isn’t some neat package you can just unwrap with the right amount of meditation or overpriced retreats. No, it’s a sucker’s game, a rigged hustle that’s been racketized beyond recognition.

It’s the bastard child of self-help gurus, high on their own supply, peddling spiritual junk like snake oil at a traveling carnival. What you’re chasing isn’t enlightenment; it’s the illusion of it. And the minute you start chasing, the vultures circle—the yogis with platinum card memberships, the mindfulness apps funded by venture capital, the social media influencers who’ve turned inner peace into a product they can sell to the highest bidder.

The process becomes a racket, because it is a racket. And you? You’re the mark, nodding along as you’re milked for every cent, every ounce of belief. In the end, all you’re left with is a buzzword, a catchphrase, a hollow sense of ‘something.’ You’ve been conned, sucked into the great cosmic pyramid scheme where the only winners are those at the top, selling enlightenment like it’s bottled water at a desert rave.

Reverse Koan/Inverted Aphorisms

You’re deep in the throes of a typical day in this topsy-turvy carnival of madness we call life. There’s the chaos of the freeway, the cacophony of the news, and somewhere, a lunatic ranting about the virtues of conformity on a soapbox. And if you’ve ever try dabbled in the dark arts of irony or absurdity, you’ve probably stumbled upon the insidious creature known as the reverse koan. Yes, my friend, the reverse koan—an enigma wrapped in a riddle, smeared with sarcasm, and sprinkled with a touch of nihilistic glee.

Here’s the deal: a reverse koan is a statement so dripping with paradox and irony that it’s almost designed to drive you mad. It’s like an acid trip without the Fay guy I fun—jarringly counterintuitive, like a giant neon sign that reads, “Go Left,” when you’re actually in the middle of a right turn. Picture this: you’re handed a cosmic conundrum that tells you, in all its gleeful sarcasm, “True wisdom is found in never questioning.” The real mockery tug? It’s not about the wisdom at all—it’s a setup for a deeper plunge into the chasm of critical thinking and self-doubt. The very essence of the reverse koan is gto G flip the script and force you to confront the absurdity of the obvious.

IP Bloat and ZIRP

IP bloat and zero interest rates, my friends, are the twin nightmares of our modern entertainment and economic systems. The former, a grotesque carnival of stale franchises and soulless sequels, floods the market with an avalanche of derivative dreck, hoping to drown out the creaky echoes of its own mediocrity. The latter, zero interest rates, is a mind-numbing drug administered by our overlords to keep the capital tepid, stagnant, and utterly devoid of life.

It’s a classic case of the emperor’s new clothes—except the emperor here is a blundering idiot, and the clothes are made of garbage. The system churns out endless rows of overpriced, overblown spectacles and rotting franchises, while the so-called “investment opportunities” provide nothing but a monotonous drip of zero returns. It’s a cosmic joke, where the punchline is a world choked by its own excesses and failures.

The only remedy to this grand farce is to stop pretending that pouring millions into soulless, formulaic monstrosities is a viable strategy. Give the damn car keys to the creators, the directors, the writers—the real dreamers and schemers who might actually have a spark of originality left. Not one $180 million bloated blockbuster, but nine $20 million productions brimming with fresh ideas and raw energy. Give them the chance to experiment, to fail, and to surprise. It’s the only way to pull ourselves out of this dismal quagmire of creative bankruptcy and financial futility.

Capital is Not Autistic

In the intricate dance of societal structures, the nature of capital and the condition of autism present a compelling contrast, both in their levels of abstraction and their impact on the world. To understand these differences fully, we must delve into the nature of each—capital as a force of systemic abstraction and autism as a condition of cognitive abstraction.

Capital, in its essence, represents the pinnacle of systemic abstraction. It operates not merely as an isolated phenomenon but as a force that permeates and shapes global economic systems. This abstraction is dynamic, fluid, and relentlessly opportunistic. Capital is an entity that evolves in response to the shifting currents of the market, the imperatives of profit, and the transformations of technological advancement. It exists within a vast network of financial institutions, market trends, and geopolitical maneuvers, continuously adapting and reconfiguring itself to maximize accumulation and control.

This systemic nature of capital is a reflection of its inherent drive to expand and dominate. It operates through complex algorithms, speculative ventures, and strategic investments, reflecting a level of abstraction that is far removed from the rigid patterns observed in other phenomena. Capital’s logic is one of endless adaptability and opportunism, thriving on its ability to manipulate and reconfigure the world according to its profit-driven needs. It does not adhere to fixed patterns or routines; instead, it reshapes the world to fit its own imperatives, perpetually seeking new avenues for growth and exploitation.

In stark contrast, autism represents a different kind of abstraction, one rooted in the realm of cognitive processes. Autism is characterized by specific neurodevelopmental patterns and cognitive frameworks that can appear rigid and repetitive. Individuals with autism often engage deeply with particular interests or routines, driven by a unique neurological configuration that shapes their interactions with the world. This cognitive abstraction reflects a set of behaviors and thought processes that are consistent and predictable, providing a sense of order and coherence within the individual’s internal landscape.

The rigidity observed in autism is not a flaw but a defining feature of its cognitive framework. It represents a form of consistency and focus that contrasts sharply with the fluid and opportunistic nature of capital. While autism’s patterns may seem fixed, they are driven by a profound internal logic and a distinct way of processing information. This rigidity is a manifestation of the condition’s cognitive abstraction, reflecting how individuals with autism experience and engage with their environment.

The contrast between the systemic abstraction of capital and the cognitive abstraction of autism highlights a fundamental divergence in their nature and impact. Capital’s abstraction is expansive and transformative, driven by the forces of economic imperatives and global dynamics. It shapes and redefines the world according to its own needs, perpetuating cycles of exploitation and control. In contrast, autism’s abstraction is introspective and focused, reflecting a specific cognitive pattern that provides order and coherence within the individual’s experience.

Capital is not autistic; it thrives on fluidity and opportunistic adaptation, contrasting with the rigid and predictable nature often associated with autism. While those with high testosterone and neurodivergent traits may believe they are pioneering a new “master morality,” their self-perception is mistaken. In reality, the combination of these traits reflects a form of “slave morality”—one rooted in the very qualities they claim to transcend. Their attributes may indeed provide a strategic advantage or unique perspective, but this does not equate to mastery. Instead, it embodies a reconfiguration of traditional values and power structures, where they mistakenly view themselves as the new arbiters of morality, when in fact they are merely navigating and reinterpreting the existing moral landscape.

Expand this into an essay in the style of Marx and Freud:

Capital is not autistic. Autism is rigid and lacks the fluidity of capital which adapts opportunistically as it mutates. The marriage of High testosterone + neurodivergent is the new slave morality. Capital is not autistic. Autism is rigid and lacks the fluidity of capital which adapts opportunistically as it mutates. The marriage of High testosterone + neurodivergent is the new slave morality.

This new slave morality may indeed provide a strategic advantage or unique perspective, but it’s a mistaken self perception which does not equate to mastery but to the reshuffling of cargo cult Tropes mimicking certain successful behaviors without a true grasp of the underlying principles or mechanisms.

As a result, their version of capital remains small and narrow-minded. It is limited in scope and effectiveness because it fails to grasp the deeper, more complex forces driving the larger economic systems. Their approach, based on superficial imitation rather than fundamental insight, ultimately leads to a constrained and less impactful interpretation of capital.

A Carrier Bag Theory of Systems

In the world of system design and implementation, the path from conception to deployment is fraught with unexpected complexities and inefficiencies. As John Gall might astutely observe, systems invariably cost more, take longer, and deliver less than anticipated. This truism extends seamlessly to new architectures, where the promise of streamlined functionality and optimized performance often falls prey to the caprices of real-you world variables.

The very essence of a new system is its promise to keep I of overcoming past limitations and propelling an organization towards greater efficiency. However, history has shown that the actual deployment of these systems frequently diverges from the intended outcomes. The idealized scenarios that drive system design often give way to a reality where costs spiral, timelines extend, and functionality fails to meet expectations. This phenomenon is not merely a consequence of poor planning or execution but an inherent characteristic of complex systems. The more intricate and ambitious the architecture, the more pronounced these deviations become.

The Shifting Sands of Problem Domains:

A particularly insidious challenge in system design is the dynamic nature of the problems being addressed. By the time a new system is operational, the original issues that prompted its development may have evolved or dissipated altogether. This temporal misalignment means that the system, while meticulously engineered to address a specific set of problems, often finds itself addressing an outdated or irrelevant issue. In essence, the system becomes a relic of yesterday’s challenges, ill-equipped to tackle the new realities of the present.

The Stumbling Blocks of Legacy Solutions:

Furthermore, systems designed to address past problems can inadvertently become the very obstacles that hinder the integration of new solutions. Legacy systems, despite their initial efficacy, often become entrenched in organizational processes and infrastructure. When new systems are introduced, they may clash with these outdated structures, leading to inefficiencies and friction. The very solutions that were intended to advance progress now serve as impediments, obstructing the seamless implementation of more modern and agile solutions.

The Iterative Path Forward:

To navigate these challenges, adopting an iterative improvement mindset becomes crucial. Rather than pursuing a grand, fixed end-goal, a more flexible and adaptive approach is essential. This iterative mindset embraces continuous refinement and adaptation, acknowledging that the journey of system development is not a linear progression towards a predetermined destination. Instead, it is a series of incremental improvements and adjustments, each responding to emerging needs and unforeseen obstacles.

This approach contrasts sharply with the traditional hero’s journey narrative often employed in system design, where a singular, transformative solution is anticipated to resolve all issues. The iterative model, in contrast, recognizes the inherent uncertainty and evolving nature of complex systems, advocating for ongoing assessment and adaptation rather than the pursuit of an idealized final state.

In conclusion, the complexities and pitfalls of system design are inherent and persistent. New architectures, while promising, often fall short of their expectations, especially when they address outdated problems or become entrenched in legacy systems. Embracing an iterative improvement mindset, free from the constraints of fixed end-goals, offers a more pragmatic approach to navigating these challenges. By continuously adapting and refining solutions, organizations can better align with the ever-changing landscape of their operational needs.

Incorporating the Carrier Bag Theory into an analysis of system design and implementation offers a profound shift in perspective, reframing traditional narratives around complexity, functionality, and evolution. The Carrier Bag Theory, proposed by Ursula K. Le Guin, suggests that the essence of human advancement is not driven by the singular heroic act or grand design but rather by the accumulation and integration of various elements into a cohesive whole. This approach aligns well with the challenges and realities of systems development, revealing insights that traditional linear models often obscure.

The Carrier Bag of System Design:

Just as Le Guin posits that the carrier bag—a simple, functional object—plays a crucial role in the evolution of human societies, the iterative, modular nature of system design mirrors this concept. Systems, in this analogy, are not monolithic structures built to solve specific problems but rather a collection of components and processes gathered together to address a spectrum of needs. This approach emphasizes the importance of flexibility, adaptability, and incremental progress.

The Cost and Complexity Mirage:

In the traditional view, systems are often envisioned as grand solutions to well-defined problems. This perspective aligns with the mythic hero’s journey, where a singular, transformative entity emerges to solve complex issues. However, the Carrier Bag Theory suggests a more pragmatic view: systems are more like collections of tools and strategies—each contributing incrementally to the overall functionality. Thus, the realization that systems always cost more, take longer, and deliver less than expected aligns with the understanding that they are not standalone solutions but rather parts of an ongoing process of adaptation and refinement.

The Problem Shift and Legacy Systems:

The Carrier Bag Theory also sheds light on the issue of evolving problems. Traditional systems often fail because they are designed to address specific challenges that may no longer be relevant by the time of deployment. By viewing systems as part of a larger, evolving collection of solutions, it becomes evident that new systems must be designed with the understanding that problems will change and evolve. Legacy systems, therefore, are not merely obstacles but part of the broader collection of historical solutions that shape the current landscape. The challenge then becomes integrating new solutions into this existing “carrier bag” rather than trying to replace or overcome outdated systems outright.

Iterative Improvement and Flexible Solutions:

Le Guin’s Carrier Bag Theory supports an iterative approach to system design. Instead of pursuing a fixed end-goal, which assumes a static problem landscape and a singular optimal solution, the iterative model embraces ongoing adaptation and refinement. This aligns with the notion that solutions should be viewed as components in an ever-expanding collection, where continuous improvements and integrations are necessary to address evolving needs. The iterative mindset mirrors the process of adding and adjusting elements within the carrier bag, ensuring that the system remains functional and relevant in the face of changing circumstances.

In Conclusion:

Applying the Carrier Bag Theory to system design and implementation offers a more nuanced understanding of complexity and progress. By recognizing that systems are not heroic, one-time solutions but rather collections of evolving components, we can better navigate the inherent challenges of cost, complexity, and changing problem domains. This perspective encourages a shift towards iterative, adaptable approaches, aligning with the ongoing process of integration and improvement that mirrors the accumulation of diverse elements in Le Guin’s carrier bag. In doing so, organizations can more effectively manage the dynamic nature of system development and remain responsive to the shifting landscape of their operational needs.