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Dear Mr. President: I Hope This Letter Finds You Ill
The first days of October have tallied one point in the column for the existence of a just and moral God. Trump has the dreaded virus; he and a number of high-placed cronies have contracted the Red Death because they wouldn’t wear a Masque.
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Big Structural Bullshit
Big structural Bailey. Over the last few days, these words have come to haunt me. The phrase tolls in my head, an incantation that conjures no spell but my own bafflement. It’s ingenious in its complete vacuity. Big. Structural. Bailey.
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Cathedral Full of Mirrors
This article appears in our first print issue, Pattern Machines. I have been swept up in many addictions over the course of my life, as we all have in one way or another. Yet few have been as insidious and bewildering as my entanglement in the compulsive loops that drive the modern Internet.
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Checked Out on the Grand Tour
This fall saw the completion of my first transcontinental road trip: a two-month jaunt out of San Francisco that took my girlfriend and I along the snaking coastlines of Oregon and Washington and into the sylvan quietude of Vancouver, B.C., then on a cannonball run across the Midwest and the Great Lakes to Philadelphia, D.C.,…
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The Big Game Theory
by Tyler Walicek. Recently, over a late-night drink in a generic Seattle bar, I noticed a colonnade of arcade cabinets. One of the glowing marquees read Big Buck® HD WILD. Two plastic rifles in primary colors were cabled to the machine, the screen of which flashed garish text and icons superimposed over dull-eyed polygonal deer…
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