The bobblehed speaks. “Capitalism sucks.” Watch the bobblehead on TikTok. Big head taking up all the screen-space. Profound revelation. Divine epiphany. Lips flapping he’s weaving through others on the street. Selfie stick extended. He stays in the frame. Miraculously. “This…
A satellite dish. Hidden behind walls in need of paint. We built machines to connect. Promised ourselves we’d never feel alone again. Now? We’re more alone than ever. Endless broadcasts, podcasts, shows, and feeds. But who are you talking to,…
“Eighteen.” Vincent Furnier, aka Alice Cooper, was 23 when that song hit big in late 1970. It captures that messy threshold: no longer a kid, not yet a grown-up. The singer drifts between worlds, unsure who he is, unsure where…
I really just wanted a coffee that Friday evening, not a sermon. The sign read, “All welcome,” so I assumed I was part of “all” and entered. A conscript’s first three-day pass is sacred. That seemingly trivial reward marked the…
Despondency is that shit feeling that resides in a post-apocalyptic crud-hole between hopelessness and apathy. As an emotion, it’s legit, and it’s a signal, but it’s a faint signal that can lead to horrible stuff if left unchecked. Rage, ironically,…
The language of conscription is glossed over with words like duty, service, honor, and sacrifice, but beneath the shine, it stinks of rotten bureaucracy, drafting people into the meat grinder. Politicians say, “the nation calls,” but never admit to coercion.…
Do you know people who wander into a restaurant, glance at the menu, comment on every item, and then leave, telling everyone outside what they saw? Worse, some post it online, and the echo chamber churns out dozens of hollow…
As a youth, my hair was routinely massacred by Adventure Barbers. A couple of middle-aged gents operated a lucrative gig on the outskirts of my community. No matter what style you requested, you always got short back and sides. School…
The dirty secret of side-hustle culture is that if your life is already crammed with stress and chaos, your creative hustle isn’t going anywhere. You can romanticize the beauty of the escape plan all you want, but creativity needs oxygen.…
Brad was flushed with rage. The veins in his forehead pulsated. “I can work for a tyrant, but not a narcissist who needs a performing monkey.” Brad resigned a week later, found a great job at a competitor’s firm, and…