And they wait, and they hope; and they hide the truth from themselves, that it is barbarism, the supreme barbarism, the crowning barbarism that sums up all the daily barbarisms; that it is Nazism, yes, but that before they were its victims, they were its accomplices; that they tolerated that Nazism before it was inflicted on them, that they absolved it, shut their eyes to it, legitimized it, because, until then, it had been applied only to non-European peoples; that they have cultivated that Nazism, that they are responsible for it, and that before engulfing the whole edifice of Western, Christian civilization in its reddened waters, it oozes, seeps, and trickles from every crack.

Discourse on Colonialism, Aimé Césaire

Submitted by Erin, via the “imperial boomerang” Wikipedia entry.

And I was thinking about Kevin Roose, serially and with apparent enthusiasm donning each next pair of gigantic clown shoes handed to him by this or that Silicon Valley titan, and dancing in them long past the point when everybody else figured out it was all on behalf of a grift.

“Toward A Theory of Kevin Roose”, Albert Burneko for Defector

Spend enough time looking at the billboards in San Francisco and you start to feel like you’re losing your mind.

“San Francisco's Billboards Aren't For You”, Wendy Liu for Bay Area Current

I arrived at SFO on Tuesday afternoon and was immediately accosted by a giant digital screen displaying the Palantir logo. Driving highway 101, the array of billboards on display were about as mind-melting as Liu describes.

Finitude is not much to trade for the privilege of existing on this planet, and a little solid effort in the gym is just enough to remind you that you are, for now, alive, alongside—whatever their gender, and whether or not they even lift—all your bros.

“Strength Training”, Phil Christman for The Point

Submitted by Anne with the comment “Apparently Sundays are for reading boys feeling metaphysical and feminist in their lifting.”

The first time I met the Senator she spoke darkly about lettuce.

“An Excerpt from the Post-Truth and Irreconcilable Differences Commission”, Brendan C. Byrne

This short story first appeared in an issue of Imperica that I couldn’t find online, but it’s in a new collection of Brendan’s short stories (linked above) which I read on the plane to California this week. The story was inspired by a shitpost of mine I think around 2018, and in 2019 Brendan and I collaborated on a newsletter novella further riffing on the premise (which means that I get the honor of appearing in his author bio for probably another couple of years, until he writes a few more books).

The main word I think of with Brendan’s writing is “visceral.” A lot of his characters radiate that on-edge trembling feeling when you haven’t slept enough and need a shower and maybe don’t want to remember how exactly you ended up feeling this grimy and coarse. Not exactly desperate people, maybe haunted people. There’s also a lot of gonzo comedy and weirdos and oblique outcomes. I’m pleased to report that fatherhood has apparently not softened Brendan’s writing one bit.

Some more bangers from the collection:

Our customers had never known how to live, and we sure as hell weren’t going to show them.

“I’m going to become a planet,” Thiel said.

(that one’s from the short story “The Three Stigmata of Peter Thiel”, which is a wild ride)

After, abandoned algorithms spawned in cloistered, fetid pools that had once been the walled gardens of industry.

One high point has all of Ohio being made to vomit simultaneously.

What about meticulously framed scenes that blend nostalgia and melancholy with just a dash of whimsy?

“You Sure You’re In The Mood For Another Wes Anderson Film With Everything That’s Going On?”, The Onion

She had a number of love affairs with men who also drilled small holes in their heads, including Mr. Huges and the writer Joseph Mellen, with whom she was in a relationship from 1968 to 1993.

“Amanda Feilding, Eccentric Countess Who Backed Psychedelic Meds, Dies at 82”, Michael S. Rosenwald for the New York Times

Submitted by Anna.

Error after error was laid bare with merciless prolixity.

The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope

Submitted by Steve with this context: “The sentence is spoken or thought by Lady Carbury, a widow in Victorian England who finds herself in need of money and decides to try her hand at writing history. it’s her reaction to her first review. I think the sentence is a marvel of word economy.”