Maisie Ward, Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Picture Thomas Sowell, that old warrior of the mind, sitting at his desk, sifting through the wreckage of human folly. His right hemisphere? Hell if I know how it hums. Does he commune with the Tao, feel the pulse of the cosmos in his bones? Not my place to say,

Few things are more degrading than being a child of the modern age. “Prison wife” comes closest. It ain’t our fault we were born into this asphalt dystopia of algorithms and plastic. But we can claw our way out. We can break the chains. The trick is knowing what

In this left-brained madhouse we call western civilization, the right-brained are the outcasts, the oddballs, the glorious lunatics who refuse to salute the spreadsheet and the algorithm. They’re the ones who don’t fit in the cubicle, who won’t bow to the soul-crushing hum of the globalist machine.