Technology births an illusion of familiarity. Familiarity, alas, breeds contempt. Contempt is pregnant with rebellion. Rebellions dream of alternate worlds who then demand change. Change is a form of violence. Violence births disintegration of selves. Disintegration waters the flowers of madness.
November 15, 2024 at 12:18 AM
Technology births an illusion of familiarity. Familiarity, alas, breeds contempt. Contempt is pregnant with rebellion. Rebellions dream of alternate worlds who then demand change. Change is a form of violence. Violence births disintegration of selves. Disintegration waters the flowers of madness.
A storm.
Winds will arrive in hope of ravaging this city of glass and steel like some medieval raider. But barring for a few downed electric wires, the city will survive. The winds shall return home empty handed. Howling. Modern man shall praise his own cunning—a God, after all, has been defeated.
Winds will arrive in hope of ravaging this city of glass and steel like some medieval raider. But barring for a few downed electric wires, the city will survive. The winds shall return home empty handed. Howling. Modern man shall praise his own cunning—a God, after all, has been defeated.
February 12, 2024 at 9:59 PM
A storm.
Winds will arrive in hope of ravaging this city of glass and steel like some medieval raider. But barring for a few downed electric wires, the city will survive. The winds shall return home empty handed. Howling. Modern man shall praise his own cunning—a God, after all, has been defeated.
Winds will arrive in hope of ravaging this city of glass and steel like some medieval raider. But barring for a few downed electric wires, the city will survive. The winds shall return home empty handed. Howling. Modern man shall praise his own cunning—a God, after all, has been defeated.
Sunday evening dread.
An affliction unique to modernity that can be traced to a temporal regime that reduces man's life to a week. Where we experienced the vastness of time's blue sky in the past, we now scurry, cubicle to subways. Dying in our frenzy to live. Like rats caught in the maze of time.
An affliction unique to modernity that can be traced to a temporal regime that reduces man's life to a week. Where we experienced the vastness of time's blue sky in the past, we now scurry, cubicle to subways. Dying in our frenzy to live. Like rats caught in the maze of time.
February 11, 2024 at 11:26 PM
Sunday evening dread.
An affliction unique to modernity that can be traced to a temporal regime that reduces man's life to a week. Where we experienced the vastness of time's blue sky in the past, we now scurry, cubicle to subways. Dying in our frenzy to live. Like rats caught in the maze of time.
An affliction unique to modernity that can be traced to a temporal regime that reduces man's life to a week. Where we experienced the vastness of time's blue sky in the past, we now scurry, cubicle to subways. Dying in our frenzy to live. Like rats caught in the maze of time.