I want a new puppy!


I’m spellbound. I can’t stop looking.


It’s like when I was young and my parents bought me to puppy. It was so cute and cuddly and I just wanted to squeeze the shit out of it.




I don’t know what I feel for this. It’s not thoroughly carnal, but it’s cuter than shit and I can’t stop watching.


Just wanna squeeze!



The robotic fugue of our techno-capitalism.

As I’m quite prone to do, I begin thinking about work in the weekday morning hours leading up to my normal shift.

I find myself sorting through all facets of my daily job, what has been and what is (expected) to come. I think about the people, the tasks, the system, the cannibalistic procedures, etc. All this races through my mind as I eat breakfast, iron, brush my teeth, even blog.

I was thinking about an ancillary department at work that is staffed by low-wage grunts who are essentially asked only to push buttons and mass produce clerical regurgitation. Still, they occasionally try to kick it up a notch and do a little extra. With this level of employee, I find this over-extension of abilities “cute” and “charming,” sort of like a monkey wearing a sweater. There is one person who takes it on herself to run random reports/follow-ups but she does it in a scorched Earth broad-brushed manner that lacks all nuance and detail.

It’s as if she sits at her desk and spits out rote shit without bothering to examine what she is trying to elicit. The act is more important than the practice seems to be her professional outlook. It comes part and parcel with the low-paid clerical pencil-pushing class. She sent something out yesterday which irritated me, because in its typical over-generalized manner, implied I had not exercised a sense of thoroughness. Fuck that. You can be as stupid as you want, I don’t care. It’s your right to be a dumbass. But once your stupidity and moronic myopia intrudes upon my reputation and diligence, all bets are off. That’s how I roll. Leave my work be; and if you question or raise a flag concerning the quality of my work, I’ll squash you, motherfucker!

Anyways, I was thinking of this grunt and how she sent this report out mindlessly and I pictured her sitting in front of her monitor, pushing buttons absently, like a robot. I thought of her doing this in a robotic fugue.


I love that word. It is so passe and no one uses it any more, but it is a grand word for our times, really, as it describes us quite well. The word, owing to its seeming obsolescence, seems to have lost its power. Or maybe, because of this, it has gained power.


We live in a technological fugue. That is the 21st Century for you.

Disconnected from the reality of the moment, easily accessing the collective externalized global hive, losing ourselves, melding external opinions and existences, we become absorbed in the morass of humanity and our individualistic barriers are blurred, undifferentiated.

Techno-capitalism asks us to enjoy our robotic fugue, cogs, a standard unison of working parts. Push buttons, don’t question; your role is sharply delineated.

You can be nothing more and nothing less.

Explosions over, in, China, wut? (Explosion of the Month Week club)

China keeps the momentum strong and the gunpowder moving!

Multiple explosions have targeted public buildings in a small southern Chinese city, according to state media.

At least three people have been killed and 13 injured in the blasts on Wednesday, which the official Xinhua news agency said took place in Liuzhou, in the Guangxi region.

Quoting local police, Xinhua said the explosions took place at a hospital, market, supermarket, bus station and government buildings including a township office, a centre for disease control and a dormitory building for government workers.

All politics comes down to this, I think.

You can skew it all you like. Complicate it, subterfuge the affair with all sorts of chaotic nonsense and layers of resounding interpretation and implication. Make a lot of shit out of shit, but ultimately, it’s a bunch of nonsense and the exponential curve of entropy only benefits those few parties who derive income and benefits from said disorder: politicians and the media.

At the end of the day, when considering that collective dynamic defining our culture, it comes down to this: are you a normie, or are you not?

Normies lead wholesome lives that sync with other normies. Their values are normie values. You’ll know them when your paths cross.

You knew normies in the 2nd grade, you knew them in high school, and you know them in the boardroom.

Ubiquitous, faceless runts, blending into the Great Cog and suffocating you with their repressed expectations.

Eat it and smile, bitch.

You only wish you were a normie like me.