I’ve been collecting art, land, monsters and many other objects and creatures as NFTs on multiple blockchains for about a year now so it was about time for a first attempt at launching a project. I’d like to introduce you to such a project, a lovely collaboration that started at home.
My monthly hosting bill for running this website has hovered around $0.52 for the past couple of years. The way I do it is an example of how I’m trying to survive without a conventional job while keeping my people and the cats fed. Especially the cats.
This is a short one but it contains a couple of tips for the shrewd ones and may save you some green.
The Man is scared. The machine that pushes commuters into the guts of blocky edifices every morning and every day is marshaling its hordes to oppose a revolution that has no face, no headquarters, and no intentions of stopping.
The soldiers of the system are doing what they usually do best with their limited reasoning skills and abundant numbers: parrot whatever their commanders utter. Will it continue to work?
“So it is like magic money?” “a rock, the actor?, a drawing of a rock for a million?” “a bubble, it’s a bubble!”
And their favorite these days: the environment. Of course, Mr. Big Oil and Bank, you’ve always worried about that, haven’t you?
No. This goes beyond magic, rocks and bubbles. This is about who’s in control, this is about us and them.
The age of the blockchain has only just begun.
It’s been only five months since I regained my independence but it feels like years. I’ve been setting up the foundation for a little project of mine, partaking in online communities, and enjoying the thrill of working at my own pace and having a purpose. I’ve got plenty to do and no intentions of going back to the stale world of normalcy.
Fancy a vicarious peek? Here’s what I’ve been up to.
For most of my adult, salaried life I’ve distrusted Friday. You know why: they are sneaky, they are a mirage, they make you think that you’ve got your life back. But just for a speck of time.
You can tell there’s something fishy about the Fri when the company men and women putting the monies to buy your forty hours of abject servitude—if you are lucky—start inviting you to ridiculously named events: happy hour, fun Friday, bring your lizard to work day. “Oh, boy!” chortles the resident sycophant. “Do I love fun Friday!”
Most of these occurrences are a mixture of empty conversations, boring games, alcohol, cookies and—sometimes—ice cream.
Ice cream? Fucking love ice cream!
Beware, what comes next is something I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy—Saturday.
That’s it, stop smirking, you know where this is going.