Nassim Taleb Tore into the Left Hemisphere Before The Master and His Emissary

I ain’t got a shred of hard proof, but I’d wager that G.K. Chesterton’s noggin was rigged with a hulking, boisterous right hemisphere that steamrolled the left like a runaway freight train. That jovial giant’s right hemisphere didn’t just outmuscle its analytical counterpart. It

America’s gone and lost its knack for wasting time, and we’re paying a butcher’s bill for it. Young folks, especially, ain’t lingering with each other, not in the aimless, sprawling way that used to stitch souls together. The fallout’s grim: depression’s up, suicide’s

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