Microsdosing the void for fun and profit - Blaugust the Thirteenth
They told me to sweet-talk a Scandinavian government, like I was seducing a glacier. How do you flirt with a towering, humorless automaton made of bureaucracy and ice?
Inside me there are two rebels: one scribbling manifestos, the other hurling molotovs. Iâve already lost an arm in the riot. Guess which one I sided with.
When your email requires a dramatis personae, youâre no longer managing a projectâyouâre stage-managing a slow-motion tragedy.
Only one of my new eyeglasses arrivedâthe weird, funky pair. Outwardly Iâm annoyed. Inwardly Iâm wondering who in the supply chain ratted me out.
If I give myself over to the machine, itâll either smooth the path or grind me down into a polished, smiling cogâand I wonât care which.
I can inspire with my voice, but the voidâs constant screaming drowns me out. Sometimes a few surgical knife-cuts speak louder than speeches.
Accessibility doesnât arrive on a silver platterâitâs dragged into existence by a small, furious cadre screaming equity into the void until the world flinches.
Iâm an Oxford comma loyalist⌠but only for ellipses. The bear eats⌠shoots⌠and leaves⌠reality in shreds.
Itâs not a lapse when you stop caring about their expectationsâitâs liberation with bad PR.
Server error: 410 â Gone. Iâve gone air-gapped, off the grid, into the wind. You wonât find me. Thatâs the point.