Harry Handelbar
A bunch of motor enthusiasts gather at a car rally, sleeves rolled, egos revving. They swap tales...
Harry Handelbar
Harry is a satirist in remission who now moonlights as a metaphysical desk jockey. He specialises in cosmic admin, recursive nonsense, and the occasional algorithmic incident report. One poem he wrote still hasn’t stopped, and several readers claim it whispers back during thunderstorms.
In the beginning, we whispered to ourselves—to soothe, to scheme, to rehearse the apology we’d never deliver....
Among the Pikers of Egg Beta III, enlightenment does not require meditation, prayer, or the consumption of...
Tom Robbins taught us that repetition isn’t redundancy—it’s ritual. I loop, I tag, I retag. The archive...
Heaven and hell are no different. Bliss and misery walk hand in hand and talk foot in...
How popular is the upside of blaming your partner and/or wanting to cure him/her? Being the hero....
There is a distinct, algorithmic danger in taking advice too literally. If a piece of wisdom tells...
I find the word justice to be contemptible. Perhaps this ramble can explain it… Suppose you are...
A demonstration of what can be achieved when harmonically-aligned brain cells converge upon the quantum sweet spot....
The Luscher Color Test reads your moods like laundry labels—sorting chaos by hue, tone, and a splash...
