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This Wellness Is Making Me Sick
This is the excellent foppery of the world, now repackaged and sold as salvation in kale smoothies and overpriced yoga mats, a snake-oil gospel for the overextended and underwhelmed. When we are sick in spirit—a surfeit of our own consumption, both material and digital—we make guilty of our ennui the gluten, the GMOs, the “toxins”…
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Crypto Repurposed
What you really need in crypto is anarchists. Not the market-driven, “freedom for profit” types who have hijacked the term—you need true highly disagreeable anarchists. People who aren’t here to play the same game with new tools. The blockchain wasn’t meant to be a new way to prop up the old system—it was meant to…
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Baal
Out here, the air tastes like iron filings and bad liquor. The first shot fired by Bertolt Brecht, a sharp-edged knife in the gut of polite society—Baal, a story about a man too drunk, too damned, and too dangerous to die quietly. The poet Baal is no hero; he’s a gutted animal, dragging his bloated…
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The End of Credibility
“Don’t do it, Danny. Don’t sell out. I told you not to do it, man. You could’ve been a contender, a goddamn hero—one of the good ones. But no, you didn’t listen. You had to chase the golden ticket, the greasy handshakes, the champagne luncheons with the bastards in suits. Now look at you: another…
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The Great Firesale
Raw, Pure and Uncut Edition I think one of the most salient points of Donald Trump is that with him you’re entitled to your own reality, even if it doesn’t have a shred to do with the real world. It’s a carnival of subjective truths, a free-for-all where every lie is valid as long as…
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Motorik
The machine starts slow, a hum. No, a growl. Wheels spinning on the autobahn—rubber burning under tungsten lights. Motorik. They called it motorik. Not a rhythm. Not a beat. A state of being. Steady as a morphine drip, endless as the static on a dead radio channel. This is where it started: Germany, post-war, the…
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The Retro Maelstrom
Bowie’s Final Act in a World of Vintage Chaos David Bowie’s career was built on reinvention, on taking the cream of contemporary styles and spinning them through his black box of creativity to emerge as something that felt entirely new. In the 1970s, this process was electrifying: glam rock filtered through sci-fi androgyny, Philadelphia soul…
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Echoes
The machine never sleeps. It grinds and grinds, fueled by desperate dreams and the endless churn of small-time predators, each sniffing for a hit of the almighty dollar. They’re happy to let me buy in—oh yes, always happy to let me throw my stack into the pot. It’s the illusion of reciprocity, the great snake-oil…
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Campaing for Greta Thunberg
Got any album or book recommendations?