a self-declared cyborg doing cyborg stuff
The ‘Soulcruzer’ podcast (more of an audioblog, really).
Expect a blend of mysticism and music, psyche and soul, everyday wisdom, and the esoteric. One day, I might be waxing lyrical about Nietzsche’s eternal return, and the next, uncovering the wisdom of the tarot. It’s all up for grabs on this pod.
So, if first-person confessional style podcasts are your jam, subscribe to mine wherever you get your podcasts. I’m on all of the major platforms.
Q: what is it about me that i can’t keep my virtual hands off of creativity, love, mysticism, and misfit ontology?
I find myself under the soft glow of the moon, dancing joyously yet solemnly on the grave of the “Author”-as-God. For too long, readers have been subservient to the writer’s sovereign imagination, surrendering the right to actively co-create meaning. But the age of reader autonomy is fully upon us now....
Amidst the hallowed halls of the Artis Moderna Gallery, a particularly peculiar statue catches the wandering eye—a hyper-realistic marble mannequin with a vintage 1950s television for a head. Dubbed “The Watcher,” this sculpture tells a tale of technological existential crises and temporal nonsense. Its meticulously carved body oozes with muscular...
She gazed in wonder at the cascading pixels that fell around her. Each one glimmered with vibrant hues—ferocious reds, sunny yellows, verdant greens, and vivid blues—that blurred together like the colours of a rainbow. As they drifted down, some landed softly in her hair, feather-light pixels tangled in dark locks....
I sat down to write, my fingers poised over the keyboard, unsure of where this passage would lead. I wanted to comment on the ceaseless appetite of consumerism—the way people frantically acquire and discard the latest trends without a second thought. But who was I, with my smartphone and fast-fashion...
Here I am again, wandering through the landscape of my past, searching for the person I used to be before I lost my way. I can see him flickering in the distance like a mirage—that young boy whose hopes hadn’t yet been smothered by the relentless mundanity of life. He...
I’m firing up my trusty MarsEdit spaceship to blast out this blog post at warp speed! Gotta make sure all systems are go before taking this bad boy out for spin across the blogosphere. If she handles smooth, I’ll be punching holes in the time-space continuum with MarsEdit from here...
there’s a pulse, a beata rhythm that’s jagged and rawdancing to the cadence of the streetlights. it’s here in the hollows of the night where words tumble out like dice in a back alley craps game where the poets huddle over steaming cups of coffee, their cigarettes making halos in the dim light. it’s...
The old house crouched behind the overgrown trees, weathered boards warped, and windows cracked like the foggy eyes of a weary monster hiding from the townspeople that feared its very existence. But the monster was not to blame for its monstrosity. It had originated from the prejudices and superstitions of...
