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Destruction Is Mercy Now
Systems decay. They don’t reform—they rot. Reform is lip service; demolition brings clarity. Mercy isn’t sparing what’s already poisonous—it’s removing it. Institutions built to serve now serve themselves. When the foundations are hollow, saving them is cruelty. Mercy is the wrecking bar, not the facelift. Mercy is demolition with a conscience.
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The Ancient Ones
You will die. No glitter. No therapeutic spin. Just the brutal truth: one day your breath will stop, and you will become one of the Ancient Ones—irrelevant, memory’s décor. You won’t leave behind trophies or status, just your absence. What are you made of, and what do you want to be made of before you…
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The Elegy of the Known
We mourn not what is lost, but what once felt stable. The world we knew – flawed, familiar, navigable – now collapses under a thousand clever lies. This elegy is not for the dead, but for the dependable. For shared meaning. For truth with a pulse. The known is vanishing – and with it, the…
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The Gospel of Less
In an age of noise, subtraction is salvation. The Gospel of Less isn’t about austerity – it’s about clarity. What you strip away, you gain in focus. Fewer things, fewer lies, fewer dependencies. It’s not minimalism – it’s rebellion. A manifesto for those who choose signal over static, and silence over the sermons of a…
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Beauty in the Ashes
When the world burns, we’re told to rebuild. But sometimes, the ashes are the lesson. There’s a strange beauty in collapse – in the clarity that ruin brings. What falls away reveals what matters. This isn’t despair – it’s revelation. In the embers of failure, something truer flickers. Not hope. Not healing. Just the unvarnished…
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Florence from Memory
Florence lingers like a half-remembered dream – stone and shadow, beauty and burden. It’s not the city that changed, but the eyes that see it. Memory edits, distills, betrays. What was once sacred becomes spectral. In tracing old steps, we find not the past, but the echo of who we were when we first arrived.
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The Politics of the Statistically Extinct
Democratic collapse doesn’t take dramatic collapse—it dies in the margins. Parties pretend to represent us, while voters shrug through apathy. Activists pound keyboards. Pollsters pad turnout. But in reality, entire demographics have slipped into statistical oblivion. No protests. No headlines. The real crisis isn’t public collapse—it’s silent erasure.
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Globalism’s War on Builders
Capitalism no longer builds—it bureaucratizes. The global corporation is a Gothic cathedral of forms, run by PowerPoint sorcerers and KPI necromancers. Innovative entrepreneurs have been replaced by checkbox bureaucrats who conjure compliance, not creation. Real building is a relic. Today’s performance art keeps the system alive while erasing true makers’ agency.
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Point of No Return
We ignored the warning signs. Collapse isn’t a spectacle—it’s slow rot, disguised as everyday routine. We’ve turned denial into a national pastime while society ossifies into performance art. Mercy isn’t saving what’s dead—it’s pulling the plug. And when the lights fade, we realize we were the ones inflating the exit signs.
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Did I Miss the End of the World?
A darkly amused chronicle of collapse in slow motion. While the world obsessed over clickbait and dopamine hits, the scaffolding of normalcy quietly gave way. This is a dispatch for the aware, the exiled, and the half-mad—those still wondering if they’re the crazy ones for noticing that it all seems… over.
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Wohlstandsverwahrlosung
I once guarded a Saudi prince who lived in the largest suite of the hotel—and still never left it for months. A man atop the world, imprisoned in his own luxury. That was when I realized: wealth doesn’t liberate, it embalms. Simplicity, not opulence, keeps the fire alive. How Rocky are you?
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The Great Human Rights Swindle
Human rights sound glorious—until you notice who’s selling them. From Cyrus the Great’s PR stunts to the French Revolution’s blood-soaked proclamations, the pattern is the same: noble words masking power plays. Without teeth, rights are just poetry in a dead language—diplomatic wallpaper covering the cracks of a crumbling moral order.
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Space Origami
The fourth Starship–Superheavy test flight wasn’t just spectacle — it was a glimpse of space stripped of its fragile, overengineered preciousness. With cheap, reusable launchers and orbital service hubs, spacecraft could be built like machinery, not Fabergé eggs. The moment space becomes boring, predictable, and industrial is the moment the real future begins.
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The day after Globalism
In the Cold War, we expected history to end in one blinding flash. Instead, globalization is collapsing in slow motion—tariffs, piracy, and space races replacing the clean drama of mushroom clouds. The old order is dead, the “after” already upon us, and America is shifting into a louder, more dangerous gear. Buckle in.
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The Glorious Necessity of Misery
Paris, 1999: the eve of a grand turning. We expected the Millennium to either crown us with marvels or crush us with apocalypse. The Matrix arrived like a prophecy in leather and green code. But the end didn’t come with a bang; it came with a soft, persistent hum, dissolving certainty pixel by pixel.
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Surviving Idiocracy
Idiots are everywhere—drunk in Vienna, armed in Africa, or suited in Brussels. They topple revolutions, mismanage empires, and burn down civilizations, dragging the rest of us with them. This essay charts a path through the wreckage: lessons from travel, history, and survivalism. Not paranoia, not prepping theater—just clarity, stealth, and the refusal to be an…
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The Idiot’s Ladder
History isn’t written by the winners; it’s photocopied by the idiots who outlast them. Our world rewards smooth talk over substance, empty confidence over competence, and blind ambition over vision. The result: institutions led by people who couldn’t organize a broom closet, yet somehow dictate the fate of millions.
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When the Beast Wears Your Face
No monster ever needed fangs to dominate. Ours smiles, soothes, and promises us freedom—provided we stay inside its invisible lines. We whisper about escape, then hurry back to the warmth of the cage. The beast doesn’t punish rebellion. It erases the memory of it, until all that remains is silence.
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In Trust We Rust
From birth, we’re trained to trust our senses — and then, slowly, to abandon them. Machines mediate reality, experts interpret it, and narratives decide what we’re allowed to know. In a high-trust society, asking questions is treated like heresy. But when answers turn evasive or idiotic, scepticism isn’t cynicism. It’s self-preservation.
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The Wind We Do Not Shape
Like Jeremy Renner peeling off his bomb suit, we’re facing a world wired to explode. Decades of denial, magical thinking, and political theatre have brought us here. We can’t fix the storm, can’t vote it away, can’t inspire the sleepwalkers. All that’s left is to study the wind, accept the blast, and grin through the…
