Slay Your Orc, Then Read Your Poetry

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

Edgar Cayce, the “Sleeping Prophet” (1877-1945), was a peculiar figure, a lanky Kentuckian who slipped into some kind of trance-like stupor and spouted answers to life’s mysteries like a backwoods oracle. Over 14,000 of his mutterings were scribbled down by diligent stenographers, responses to questions from 6,000

Attempts to define the Tao are like a retard trying to stick his head out of a closed car window. Sad, pitiful, and comical. Until he gets so frustrated that he smashes the window with a hammer. Fresh air rushes in but so do shards of glass. Bust up the