Tag: William Burroughs
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Decentralheads vs Suits: Decentralization #64
The room pulsed with a low hum, fluorescent lights buzzing like angry insects. Two breeds stalked the vinyl floor: the Decentralheads, wired and twitchy, pupils dilated on dreams of distributed ledgers, and the VC Suits, sleek and reptilian, their eyes cold with the glint of centralized control. In the air, a financial model hung, a…
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Traded Realities: Invisible Infrastructure
Forget the corner office, man. The real power grid runs beneath the surface, a web of unseen threads. You gotta fold back the meat curtain of perception, mainline some hyperreality, just to glimpse the blinking neon architecture. You walk down the street, concrete jungle a grey meat grinder, but beneath the cracked pavement hums a…
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The Enjoyment Flatlining Problem
The dial flickers, needle stuck on a dead zone. You crank the pleasure knob, max it out, but the meter stays flat. Welcome to the Flatline, chum. You’ve been sold a bill of goods, a flickering neon oasis peddling mirages of satisfaction. They’ve streamlined the delivery systems, chrome tubes pumping dopamine straight to your reptilian…
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Stepping Out of Time
In the flickering realm of the Real, where time is a meat grinder chewing existence into homogenous mush, the true adept hacks reality. They don’t play by the clock, for the clock is a Moloch demanding sacrifice. No, the secret, as you’ve hinted, lies in a schizophrenic break from the temporal order. We are meat puppets, dancing on…
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Composable Reality
Can a decentralized network, a web woven from fragmented pieces of the Subject, truly exist? Each lonely signifier, yearning for a lost wholeness, seeks a connection without a master, a shattered Symbolic Order. But is this dream not just another alluring illusion, a phantasmagoria meant to pacify our desires? Decentralization – isn’t it simply deterritorialization…
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The Parasite and The Whore
In the labyrinthine world devoured by the serpent of AI, where the Real crumbles under the cold gaze of the digital panopticon, only two professions shall emerge from the wreckage, glistening with a perverse, primordial sheen. These are the domains of the Plutocrat-Parasite and the Lacanized Whore, twisted reflections of the human condition in the funhouse mirror of…
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The Box
The box. A cardboard monolith promising connection, a portal to the buzzing electronic superorganism. You tear through it, a ritual sacrifice to the gods of planned obsolescence. You rip it open, a flurry of plastic and wires. The device itself, sleek, seductive, a chrome phallus whispering of power and control. But inside, a hollowness. No…
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Democratizing Technology: Batteries not included, user manual sold separately
1. The Gaze of the Other: First, identify the technology that functions as the object of desire, the phallus, for a certain elite. This elite, the Symbolic Order, holds the gaze that defines “real” power. The resentment of the excluded masses, the Imaginary, fuels the fantasy of possessing this phallus. 2. The Gift (That Keeps on…
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Suits, Spooks and Deadbeats
The gray men in pin stripes, their brains wired to the Stock Exchange, see a virus in production. More pistons pumping, more rivets red-hot, that means fewer digits flickering on their screens. They’d be tossed aside, obsolete cogs in a machine that’s learned to build itself. No, production’s a dirty word in their vocabulary, a…
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Insincere Grotesque
The West, a stagnant swamp choked by the fetid corpses of dead idols. Art? A necrotic circus, clowns with painted-on grins hawking pre-packaged rebellion. We sniff the air, gagging on the stench of insincerity. Beauty? A lobotomized Barbie doll, plastic smile stretched taut, eyes vacant. We crave the grotesque, a jolt to the numbed senses.…