From Tiny Comps.

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Written to You, Achronotic Locus

Where does one begin when they’ve yet to decide what constitutes a “beginning?” Is there a way to break free from the shackles of the inner critic? How does a writer decide what they write about? Is it possible to become great by writing from cold-starts? My father Bryan once told me that nothing is worse than someone who does the same old shit yet expects different results. “Asinine; It’s asinine,” he’d say. My father John once told me that all great writers became great not by meticulously picking at their works, but rather by churning out content. Loads upon…

Life as System: the Macro represented in the Micro

On the corner of Panola and Burdette there lies a quaint cafe by the name of Riccobono’s. Charging 8 bucks for a meager “two, two, three,” they run a steep risk and what’s more interesting, I’ve yet to ever see a black person working in the front of house. Upon entering I was met by the cold eyes of a murderous grip of elderly waitresses. As they peered into me over their wireframe spectacles, I greeted them with a hearty, somewhat biding “Hel-looo” and let it ring out across the dining hall. I strolled up to the register, proceeded to…