The act of smoking (or smoking up) is a sacred ritual. Dating back to ye ‘ol times of yore, it involved an old man, probably senile, and definitely hairy on the wrong side of the head, transforming crushed dried leaves and herbs into a portable-apparition device by the simple act of lighting it up and inhaling the white fumes. Puff-puff-pass was probably a thing back then too, definitely. Air, fire and earth – the holy trinity of existential liberation in just the right proportion seems to free your mind and soul [1] . When in actuality, it chokes your lungs and wreaks havoc on… well, pretty much every other part of your body. But goddamn does it feel so good to breathe in that toxic smoke. Maybe that’s why the first drag of the dirty nicotine stick every morning feels so special. That DNA-altering carcinogenic smoke tickles something so primordial, it wakes up the dormant gene that once resided in the (organic) tar-filled lungs of your great 250 -grandfather [2] . Like a nea...
It’s a 11 pm on 11/11. I am supposed to be writing something important. To try and convince a client why the use of AI is okay for the brand. Instead, I’m penning my second blog post for the day. Probably my shadow self (Jung dodappa FTW) making up for all the othla times I’ve manifested this year. Anyway, back to the point. Or straying away from it further. Wheeee… Peter Pan Syndrome. According to ChatGPT, Dr. Dan Kiley, who popularized the term in his 1983 book The Peter Pan Syndrome: Men Who Have Never Grown Up, defined it as a condition where adults exhibit emotional immaturity and avoid typical adult roles such as career, financial management, and stable relationships. Well, nigga, does it feel good to hop jobs every 18 months with a matcha (or whatever fruity fucking drink is in vogue that season) in hand ignoring the double text from your situationship? I honestly threw up a little writing that sentence. It was proba...