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Fear and Loathing 2024
The madness of it all, my friend. Imagine, if you will, the twisted irony of the aloof leftists—those smug bastards with their vegan lattes and unread copies of Marxist theory—who scoffed at the endless MSNBC chatter about fascism. Oh, they sneered and rolled their eyes, their ivory towers shielding them from the rancid stench of…
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The Red Insurgency
In the flickering underbelly of the Sprawl, where the scent of darknet deals hangs heavy in the recycled air, a dangerous memeplex is spreading. These Chiba-crafted crypto cowboys, particularly the Bitcoin Bishops locked in their shrines of mined wealth, seem to be confusing the fracture and fire sale of ossified megastates – the wet dream…
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The Paradox of Energy:
We live in a society obsessed with negation, with the elimination of friction, the eradication of discomfort. Tiredness? Pop a pill! Friction with the world? Retreat into the air-conditioned comfort of the screen. This is the logic of the market, a siren song promising a world without wants, without needs. Consider fatigue. It is not…
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Legacy Codebase
In the labyrinthine back-alleys of the political machine, the policy codebase resembles a forgotten Commodore 64 program held together with spit and baling wire. Any attempt to implement new social programs or tweak economic levers results in cryptic error messages and a system crash. Yet, charismatic snake-oil salesmen, fluent in the dialect of buzzwords and empty promises, keep slithering into the…
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Thinking About Rome
In the flickering neon of late capitalism, we glimpse the mirrored chrome of a fallen giant. The Roman Republic, that sprawling, data-driven empire, its coliseum servers humming with gladiatorial content, serves as a stark historical prompt. Remember the burn Notice, the flickering scroll that announced the Empire’s terminal error? It wasn’t a barbarian horde at the gates, chums, it was a system crash. Reliance on a…
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Gamblers are Fragilistas
Dig this, man. These fragilistas, these jitterbugging fiends of the roulette wheel, ain’t some high rollers out for a score.Naw, they’re optionality junkies, strung out on the fumes of some imaginary jackpot. Blind as bats to the house edge, that meat grinder slowly chomping away at their stacks. Volatility, baby, that’s their drug. Each spin a potential freak wave of fortune, a Black Swan of bling that…
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Allons Enfants
France. A bureaucratic behemoth, a sluggish centipede choked on Brie and Beaujolais. The glorious postwar dream of prosperity curdles into a nightmare of rising debt, a fromage-fueled fever dream. France. A Gaullic hallucination, a decadent Disneyland sketched by de Sade. The once-proud engine of industry, sputtering, gears grinding into existential cheese rinds. The welfare state,…
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The revolution will not be televised, it’ll be live-streamed, monetized, and sponsored by a megacorp and then it will turn out that it never really happened
Venusian fluorescents bled across the greasy monitor, illuminating a grainy, handheld view of the Ministry buckling under a tide of bodies. Or were they extras, hired by the hour to flesh out the revolution aesthetic? The caption, pulsating in a font stolen from a discount cyber-goth store, read “End The Feed! Power To The Proles!” – a slogan as pre-chewed and digestible as…
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The Commodification of Authenticity
Authenticity? A phantom limb, a ghost in the machine, flickering in the space between manufactured personas. We twitch and posture, marionettes dancing to the tune of unseen puppeteers. Every citizen a brand, These chrome-plated corporations pump out pre-fab individuality like some deranged filling station. Freedom? Progress? You got it, chum – freedom to be a…
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