The Wine-Soaked Manifesto
As dictated by Tyrion Lannister, Scholar of Dust, Patron of Bastards, and Accidental Prophet of the Garbage-Age,
with liberal astral input from Timothy Leary’s ghost on a contact high
—
I. A TOAST TO THE END, WITH LIPSTICK ON THE GLASS
Let it be known: I do not come bearing revolution. Revolutions are noisy, sweaty things led by people with slogans and delusions of symmetry. I bring instead a proposition—sauced in irony, served in a chipped goblet—because what we need is not a new world, but a better way of being lost in this one.
Our kingdoms have crumbled into content feeds. Our heroes are blue-checked husks. The Oracle is a search engine with a gambling addiction.
And yet—I am having a marvelous time.
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