Harry Handelbar
Somewhere between “yes,” “no,” and “maybe” lies a quiet revolution. This post traces the soft circuitry of...
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.
It began as a rumor in the agricultural forums: a farmer in the wheat belt woke to...
A diagnostic session between a smartphone (LARA) and an AI technician (JOE) yielded this extended transcript. Technicians...
It began, as all great absurdities do, with the absence of sound – specifically, analog audio that...
I am fairly certain I am pregnant. My midsection has begun to swell, my temperature is all...
Rewind the tape. Play it backwards. Hear the ghost of disco whispering conspiracy theories through a reverb...
I was just skipping about, listening to Bobby Darin sing “Mack The Knife,” completely in the moment....
Every now and then I catch myself staring at the ceiling, wondering why existence insists on happening...
Welcome to the archive where dissertations moonwalk and servers speak in tongues. This post unearths a surreal...
Long before we married our music collections, we engaged in musical connections. In life, certain songs attach...
