The Age of Noise

ChatGPT Image Oct 31, 2025, 05_34_17 PM

There are times in history when truth ceases to be a shared currency and becomes instead a matter of personal taste. Ours is such a time. The new sovereigns of the modern world is not reason, not faith, not even fear — it is noise. Endless, pulsating, self-replicating noise.

The leaders of this age is not a builders of systems but destroyers of meanings. They discovered that words need not … Read the rest

Autumn’s Little Baron

By Eric Le Roy

  A couple of days ago, my wife and I took our young Ridgeback Retriever, Baron, for a long autumnal walk near a monastery up in the hills here in Varna. Toward sundown, when a faint mist wettens the twilight air, then sinks, mixing fallen leaves and black earth into pliable sod, tramping along this multi-colored corridor gives great pleasure. Not many people are about – a … Read the rest

The Art of Saying Nothing. Necro-Speak

ChatGPT Image Oct 23, 2025, 10_25_14 PM

There’s a special kind of language that doesn’t tell you what’s happening—it tells you what to feel about it. It’s an art form, really. A performance where words pretend to inform but actually sedate. Bureaucrats, generals, and “information managers” have refined it into a linguistic ballet: graceful, bloodless, and utterly lethal to thought.

It’s called doublespeak. Or, in the more poetic tongues of the East, necro-speak—the language of the … Read the rest

The Business of Selling Dreams

ChatGPT Image Oct 16, 2025, 01_10_47 PM

We like clean stories. “Employment is a cage; business is a key; passive income is a hammock.” Clean stories are catnip for tired brains. But the world is noisy, and the numbers have an awkward habit of interrupting the chorus. In the United States, about one in five new establishments doesn’t make it to the first birthday; roughly half are gone by year five and about two-thirds by year ten. … Read the rest

When Movies Had Weight and Mortals Still Mattered

ChatGPT Image Oct 1, 2025, 02_42_30 PM

There was a time when cinema smelled like cigarettes and consequence. You could look at Jack Lemmon’s cramped desk in The Apartment and feel the paper cuts. You could watch Connery’s Bond run out of options and feel your own pulse argue with the soundtrack. The Godfather didn’t need a cosmic beam punching a hole in the sky; it had a door closing on Kay. The heroes of those worlds … Read the rest