It all begins here with an utterance, a scrambled item of speech requiring brain time to reconstruct: “Two metres.” Grumbled and garbled, the words issue from a mask. A figure cocks its head autistically sideways. The manner resembles that of a bird, the way it jerks its little skull to look at you with just one eye. Picture that gull eyeing you as you take your lunch on a park bench, the way it indirectly sidles in your direction while you eat. Picture Norman Bates.
A Cerebramantic Age is upon us, an age characterized by mantic cerebralism—an inconsistent and incoherent mindset. . .
My tortured relationship with weed leads me down a sceptical blind alley regarding legalization. On the one hand, like psilocybin and LSD, its psychedelic effects can occasion experiences of euphoria and enlightenment. . .
The story of art and decadence is a never-ending one because economies succeed and fail, they go in cycles, and spaces are never permanently fit for purpose; meanwhile the human imagination is endlessly adaptable, and the need for emerging artists to find an opportunity, to fill a gap, is equally endless.
If we had an infallible intellect with its objective certitudes, we might feel ourselves disloyal to such a perfect organ of knowledge in not trusting to it exclusively. . .