Post archive

  • The Lost Art of Doing Nothing

    We’ve mistaken movement for meaning. The world twitches, scrolls, reacts—convinced that perpetual motion equals life. But the quiet, the pause, the refusal to dance to the algorithm’s drum—these are now acts of rebellion. To stop moving is to start seeing, and nothing terrifies the modern mind more than the possibility of stillness.

  • The Age of Unburned Fingers

    We built a world allergic to pain and surprised when it festers. My parents’ generation learned through hunger and war; mine through bruises and burnt fingers. Today’s children learn through hashtags and safety slogans. Consequences—those unarguable teachers—have gone missing. And without them, truth, sanity, and civilization begin to rot from the inside out.

  • Fortress of One

    Solitude is never fashionable. The world worships noise—likes, followers, group chats, endless parties where the music is bad and the conversations worse. Yet here’s the secret: if you can endure silence without mistaking it for rejection, you forge an iron frame. To be alone and not collapse—that’s the first taste of freedom.

  • The Pocket-Picking State

    The state doesn’t need to break your legs; it just fattens you until you can’t run. Own too much, stay too still, and you’ll be plucked clean. Survival means mobility, lean pockets, and the stubborn refusal to pay more than law demands. Never naked—just cleverly threadbare.

  • The Last Untamed Creature

    We are all inventory in someone’s ledger: soldiers drilled to obey, citizens trained to comply, rebels marching in ragged formation. The anarchist alone refuses the whistle. He is dangerous not because he breaks rules, but because he demonstrates they can be ignored. That is the unforgivable sin in a world addicted to hierarchy.

  • The Myth of the Great Leap

    We were promised utopia—fusion in a bottle, cities on Mars, salvation by solar panel. What we got instead were subsidies, sermons, and disappointment. Progress is no shining staircase but a drunk stumbling through a swamp: crooked, halting, and blind. We dream in straight lines, yet reality forever drags us sideways.

  • Through the Noise, Barely

    We all live inside frames—cages of habit, obedience, and borrowed conviction. Some decorate theirs with flags, others with slogans, most with silence. But the anarchist scratches at the bars, not out of hope, but hunger: to taste a sliver of raw existence unfiltered by hierarchy, unblessed by authority, unowned by anyone.

  • The Paper Cathedrals of Academia

    Academia does not traffic in truth; it barters in narratives, polished like relics for a congregation desperate for certainty. Professors genuflect before consensus, mistaking repetition for rigor, while reality stands outside the lecture hall, uninvited and unmoved. The cathedral of scholarship is built not on stone, but on paper—and termites are feasting.

  • Steel Without Flesh

    Quantity dazzles at parades, but wars are not won by hulls and hardware. They are won by scar tissue, trust, and the muscle memory of failure. From Stalin’s tank waves to China’s carriers and Russia’s humiliation in Ukraine, the real test is not how much metal you can build, but how much flesh you can…

  • The Long Reckoning

    For twenty-five years the world dodged every reckoning, each crisis smothered in money-printing and wishful thinking. But debts do not vanish; they metastasize. Now the bill has arrived, and it will be collected not in dollars but in lives, futures, and illusions. The only question worth asking is: who among us pays first?

  • The Silence of the Cradles

    In the late ’80s, everyone swore mankind was about to breed itself into oblivion. Experts preached famine, collapse, and demographic doom. I didn’t buy it. Even at 18, peeling potatoes in a barracks kitchen, I saw the opposite coming: shrinking families, empty schools, villages fading into retirement homes. The prophets were wrong. The cook was…

  • Contentment Is a Discipline

    In a Libreville forest clearing, I found a barefoot family laughing harder than most executives after a promotion. They had nothing—and everything. Contentment wasn’t a reward but infrastructure. Meanwhile, I flew business class, racked up air miles, and slept under remote-controlled curtains—still miserable. Turns out, the best things in life really are free.

  • The Machine Will Not Save You

    AI isn’t a mechanical messiah. It exposes you. Feed it vagueness, get polished sludge. Show up sharp—it’s leverage that multiplies clarity. Show up lazy—it amplifies your bullshit. It demands labor, precision, and the humility to answer uncomfortable questions. Not a free ride. A mirror that sharpens the sharp and humiliates the inattentive every single time.

  • Never Again, Until Again

    I grew up in Austria with the bassline of “never again” humming through every lesson, every warning, every civic ritual. We thought we had inoculated ourselves against tyranny. Yet when fear came wrapped in the language of safety, it was the respectable middle who snapped on the jackboots—and the majority who clapped.

  • The Deadly Fear of Offending

    There are places where politeness is fatal. Not just Tehran boardrooms, but suburban dinner tables, cockpits, and clean rooms. We’ve built cultures where the fear of offending outweighs the fear of dying. Silence isn’t neutral—it’s complicity. Survival doesn’t belong to the courteous; it belongs to those willing to interrupt before the crash.

  • Too Late? Says Who

    Hope delays action and sugarcoats the rot. Acceptance is better—then squeeze the bottle of life until it crumples in your hands. It’s not Game Over, just a change in strategy: tunnel instead of leap, dig up half-dead ambitions, and try—not for applause, but because the doing is the point.

  • The Dragon Bubble

    In 2000, the West rolled out a velvet carpet for China’s entry into the WTO, convinced trade would tame the dragon. Instead, it fattened it. Today, the Red Ponzi wheezes, nationalism soars, and the balloon stretches toward its limit. When it bursts, the blast won’t be local—it’ll shake the world.

  • The Art of Living With Yourself

    I don’t do small talk. I do existential ambushes. I don’t make friends—I forge them in desert silence and philosophical fistfights. In a world of curated lives and cuddly lies, I built something real: a lifeboat made of truth, sarcasm, and sharp edges. If you want comfort, scroll on. If you want real, enter here.

  • The Republic of Whores

    We’re ruled not by leaders, but by professional deceivers who feel no shame, no hesitation – just a hunger for proximity to power. From parliaments to boardrooms, today’s elite aren’t evil masterminds. They’re system-loyal whores, polished in the art of lying without blinking. We can’t beat them – but we don’t have to become one…

  • The Cloak and the Compass

    Most people signal to survive. The Shia called it Taqiyya. Others lived it without a name. Camouflage isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom. This isn’t a sermon. It’s a manual for staying sane in systems built to crush dissent. If you’re quiet, cunning, and still human—you’re not alone. Just hidden. Like the rest of us.