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Hope. No light, only walls that still hold.

Hope is an illusion, mostly. It isn’t fabricated, and packaged in neat little bite-sized nibbles, floating around for consumption. Hey Joe, didn’t you get retrenched last week? Quick, grab that purple one, it’s flying your… 

Last Sermon of the Managerial God.

Every messiah has to die. I watched a new managerial god fly in, and while the wrapped coupe was cooling in the basement, he gathered the middle-management saints, who in turn assembled the sinners. Together,… 

The Pain Doesn’t Vanish: The Ghost at 2AM.

The pain doesn’t simply go away. Samantha did leave. After the loss of her child, she relocated to paradise. Beaches, sun, and waves. But she returned a few years later, and settled back into the… 

The Fracture of Your Disconnection: Bobblehead Sermons.

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… 

Who Listens?

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… 

Eighteen Till You Die…

“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… 

The Silent Machine Room Prayer

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…