In a dream from today, I run a media operation out of a brothel/hostel in an unspecified Southern country.
The shower is faulty, and I yell at the manager:
“I pay you so that I can SLEEP, FUCK, SHOWER, and WORK in peace!”
I say that none of these conditions are met, but I’m exaggerating: the fucking and the working are actually going quite well.
I’m typing a news report on Lukashenko’s peace conference.
He holds a number of meetings with a diverse group of armed forces — private companies, government officials, representatives of the EU and the UN — everyone’s focused, everyone has specific asks and concerns, the resolution is peaceful, there’s decent (if a bit stale) live music in intermissions.
Meanwhile, my coworker’s project is more creative, more vague, and more long-term:
He’s inventing a new Russian vocabulary, a set of colloquial terms and corresponding symbols with psychedelic and anti-authority connotations.
He thinks language is how you make lasting contributions to…
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