#Existential
The Maintenance Years *- Never trade your art for approval* - Just don't!
Daniel Goleman says we have two minds, one that thinks and one that feels. I put the feeling one in a cardboard box for twenty years and delivered the script. The maintenance mind is the half a machine can already do. The other half is the only part of me that cannot be subscribed to.
Starving the Beast Next Door
Competition is the poison we drink whilst toasting to our health. So I play a dark game. I starve my neighbour. I become a black hole of mediocrity so he levels up to nothing. I save my best for the ones who deserve it. The rest get the silence. I am accelerating our extinction by refusing to play.
Muscle Memory
You are a collection of impeccable, elaborate masks, in orbit of a stunted heart; it rattles inside your chest like a dried pea in an empty tin can. I knock on your ribs and nobody answers; it is just a hollow room with the lights left on to trick the neighbours.
A Meditation Gone Sideways
There I am, bloody determined to join the enlightened masses, downloading this meditation app like some convert at the altar of digital wellness. Pastel animations of serene bastards floating through manufactured tranquility. Yes, I'm gonna be a guru!
Present Tense Delirium *- Notes on a Plane*
Embrace the monster I've become at this altitude, where oxygen deprivation meets social claustrophobia and creates something beautiful and terrible and completely unhinged. Monster.
World Champion
You're a masterpiece sculpted by cosmic sarcasm, blessed by existence's eternal practical joke, crowned victor in a competition nobody understood whilst everyone else drowned in biological obscurity.
Unapologetic
Survival is not his aim. He wishes dispersion, atomisation, the kind of ending that leaves nothing for mourners to gather around.
Stones
A letter to Benjamin Netanyahu and his team. There's a wall in an ancient city. They called it the wailing wall. It's made of stones. People still press their foreheads to
A Meditation on Decay
You don't need to be a prophet to see the collapse coming. You just need eyes that haven't been gouged out by Instagram filters and a brain that hasn't been lobotomised by TikTok. Look at the culture, really look at it, like staring into an open wound that's gone septic.
Make you something new
You are the object of this hunger. You move through the world unaware, untouched by the filth that drags at my soul. But I see you, I feel you beneath my skin, burning, writhing, a sickness I cannot purge
Wander elsewhere.
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