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Eight strangers sit in a circle of folding chairs, dressed in various interpretations of business casual.

JIGSAW: Rise and shine, conference-goers. You’re probably wondering where you are. I’ll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room you die in. Or the Rose Room at the Best Western Kachina Village.

Gasps all around.

JIGSAW: I want to play a game. Two minutes from now, that timer above you will run out. You have until then to go around the circle and say your name, then a hobby you enjoy that corresponds with the first letter of your name. I’ll begin. I’m John, and I like juggling.

CONFERENCE GOER: Hey everyone. I’m Hannah, and I like hang-gliding.

The intros continue around the circle until SARAH, who is speechless and alarmingly sweaty.

Liberals hate Trump, no question about it. He’s the definition of illiberal: authoritarian, racist, sexist, and downright nasty. Not only that, he’s a living repudiation of the liberal delusion that America runs on meritocracy. But you want to know a dirty, little secret? In back alleys, encrypted group chats, and off-the-record conversations, liberals will still support Trump on a case-by-case basis. Of course, they’d never vote for the guy, but they’ll give two cheers for some of his policies. I discovered this ugly truth during Trump’s last term while writing an article on the shift in U.S. policy toward China from lukewarm engagement to hostile decoupling. The general consensus among the foreign policy elite was that, at least in terms... Read more

My name: Burnt Pepperidge.

My profession: winning.

I stand at the starting line and survey the obstacle course like a snake surveys a nest of bird eggs.

My body is the serpent. The Wipeout obstacles are my bird eggs.

Prepare, obstacles. Prepare to be gobbled up by my hungry snake mouth. My voracious mouth of serpent hunger.

I have come here to win, and I do not care what happens to my body.

I am an empty submissive vessel for the game show Wipeout to enter and fill.

Oh, with such alacrity will I be entered.
Oh, with such alacrity will I be filled.

Here, standing at the top of the course with manliness and anticipation, I feel reverent and erect.

I am full of pain and light. I am full of adrenaline and testosterone, chlorine and spit.

Buzz. The Buzzer sounds.

It is time.

Down. Down. Down. I’m running.
I’m running down the red-padded hill of the course.
My arms are swinging with speed. With such speed they swing.

- by Aeon Video

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- by Karin Schlapbach

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- by Christopher J Hopwood

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I’ve noticed something interesting. Every time I write about what might be done to stop the Israeli genocide, actions which would require serious fighting, people say “well I understand whey they don’t want to do that because Israel will bomb the hell out of them.”

And that’s true (though not as true when it comes to Iran, which has plenty of effective AD.)

The issue here is that there’s a genocide going on. My estimate for casualties is over half a million, and other people are starting to make the same estimates. For the past two months Israel has basically let no food into Northern Gaza. The number at the end will probably be over a million dead.