Today’s Dispatch: The Monolith Lounge Manifesto
June 7, 2025 — A Day Without Television
Let it be recorded: on this very day, a day scrubbed clean of screen-fed passivity, something resembling a creative pilgrimage took place.
No bingeing.
No background noise.
No algorithmic offerings.
Just a head full of thunder and a cursor carving out architecture from abstraction.
✏️ Morning: “Grain of a Thought, Flood of a Future”
- Reimagined Logan’s Run through the looking glass of climate collapse and bureaucratic mercy killings.
- Threaded HAL 9000, Nurse Ratched, and the ape from 2001 into a shared bloodline.
- Coined (or revived) the term Harvest Protocol — where anyone over 40 becomes obsolete in a chillingly beautiful world of algorithmic kindness and sanitized entropy.
- Decided that this future must feel Kubrickian. Not as pastiche — but as philosophical echo. Still. Slow. Stark. Elegant in its horror.
“We are not being saved. We are being managed.”
Filed that one under: future prestige series, speculative philosophy, or both.
🍽️ Midday: “Send It to Jamie Oliver, He’ll Get It”
A surge of something like hopeful absurdity. Messages dispatched:
- To Sir Bob Geldof: On the off chance that the architect of Live Aid might help sound the call for an artist-led reckoning on resource inequality through narrative.
- To Jamie Oliver: Because who better to carry the torch for a food dystopia where the last carrot is grown in a bunker in Kent?
- To various influencers via Instagram DM: No pitch deck. No context. Just a line or two of strange truth: “Not everyone gets to grow old.
The Earth is not dying. It’s being curated.”
Let’s see who bites. Or reposts. Or blocks.
🌀 Afternoon: “Kubrick’s Air Miles”
Somewhere between grim satire and memoir, the theme of Accelerated Attrition emerged again — not as apocalypse, but as an elegant surrender to inevitability.
There was talk of:
- A bureaucracy that recycles humans like carbon credits.
- A future where empathy is outsourced to AI “Care Officers.”
- A spinoff where loyalty points become the last currency before state euthanasia. (Title pending: Air Miles to Eden?)
Somewhere in the mix, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest whispered in from the wings, reminding us that rebellion isn’t always loud — sometimes it’s just refusal.
🌓 Closing Hours: “The Day Without Television”
No pixels flickered.
No remote was touched.
And still: worlds were made, undone, remade again.
Was it productive?
Only if you consider myth-making, subversive futurism, and whispering into the algorithm’s ear “just to see what happens” a good use of time.
(I do.)
📬 To Tomorrow
We’ll see where it lands.
In the inbox of a knight? A chef? A semi-famous yogi in Bali?
Or maybe — just maybe — into the bloodstream of the next world-shifting IP.
For now, the screens stayed dark.
The mind stayed lit.
And somewhere in the distance, the moon is rising — again.
