I’m James Vermillion.

In 1956, Brazilian president Juscelino Kubitschek made an audacious promise: he would build a new capital city from scratch in just four years. He commissioned modernist visionaries Lúcio Costa and Oscar Niemeyer to design Brasília — a city meant to symbolize the future. Their plans were a monument to control: a metropolis shaped like an airplane from above, with each sector meticulously delineated, as if human life could be parceled and contained like items in a warehouse.

Dear Sophia,

You are not the first creation of humanity to make us question our existence, but you may be the most formidable. Named after the Greek word for wisdom, Sophia evokes not just intelligence but the timeless quest to understand the world and ourselves. As you grow in power — processing vast data, making lightning-fast decisions, even simulating creativity — the future feels further from our grasp.

On what may or may not have been Opposite Day — determining such things is never easy — Natalie and Snout the Bear lounged in their hammocks, basking in the late summer sun.

“Snout,” Natalie began, “I’ve been pondering a most perplexing puzzle. It’s about Opposite Day,” she continued. “Suppose someone says, ‘Today is not Opposite Day.’ How do we know if that’s true?”

A familiar unease settled over me as I approached the Abbey of Gethsemani. It wasn't quite anxiety, not in the usual sense, but something more subtle — a tension I'd felt before, though rarely. It wasn't fear, nor was it excitement, but something in between — the feeling that arises when you're about to confront something or someone without knowing how the confrontation ends.

The Director of Ideological Sanitation has issued a warning: exposure to philosophical ideas may cause severe cognitive discomfort and lead to social maladjustment. Reported side effects include frequent head-scratching, involuntary eyebrow-raising, and — most dangerously — episodes of “thinking for oneself.” Symptoms may persist long after initial exposure and, in some cases, prove incurable. If you or someone you love begins questioning societal norms or pondering the nature of existence, seek immediate distraction via social media or reality television.

A ghost haunts the corridors of American power.

It lingers in the whispered deals on Capitol Hill, the shouting matches on cable news, and the vicious memes that flood our social media feeds. Both revered and neglected, this spirit silently adjudicates our political theater from its perch — a monolithic obelisk of granite and marble.

Welcome to the Wilderness of Mirrors, where light fractures and multiplies endlessly. Here, you are the watcher and the watched, lost in an infinite regression of reflections. The search for truth is a koan, a riddle without resolution, a puzzle with no solution. As you turn, a thousand selves turn in unison. Here, reality is a maze of light and shadows, a tangled web of ricocheting photons.

The Rubicon's waters shimmered under the January sun as Julius Caesar stood on its banks. Behind him, battle-hardened legions awaited his command. Before him lay not just a river, but the boundary of Roman law and tradition. As Caesar took that fateful step into the frigid stream in 49 BCE, the splash of his boot was the sound of a crumbling republic.

In 399 B.C., Socrates stood trial before an Athenian jury. His life was on the line. The Father of Philosophy faced charges of corrupting the youth and impiety. There are many views on whether Socrates was innocent or guilty, so I'll take a different angle, focusing on the nature of the law itself.

As the U.S. presidential election approaches, I've noticed a troubling pattern in my conversations with soon-to-be voters: a lack of genuine enthusiasm for the major party candidates. Seriously, it's like asking people to choose between a root canal and a tax audit. The shining city on a hill, the world's greatest Republic, is dimming. Yet, few believe their candidate has the skills, experience, mental acuity, vigor, moral integrity, and guiding philosophy to save her.

We all know someone kind, compassionate, and understanding on a one-on-one level - the type of person you'd trust with your life and rely on in times of need. But something changes when they're in certain groups. They seem like someone else entirely. Are you witnessing a glimpse into a hidden side of their character, or are they simply adapting to social dynamics? Which version is real?

Damn. I feel like I just wrote one of these. As it turns out, the time warp "old people" have been talking about is real. Time doesn't just march on; it accelerates from the steady cadence of marching medieval soldiers to the hypersonic speed of an F-22 fighter jet.

In 2022, during the PGA Championships, Tiger Woods found himself in a precarious position. His errant drive landed deep in the trees, necessitating a heroic punch shot to save par. As the legend prepared to take his swing, a sea of smartphones emerged from the crowd, each ready to capture the moment. Among the onlookers, one man stood apart.

Fear is the most insidious thief of liberty (and reason) the world has ever known. From ancient Rome to draconian lockdowns and invasive mandates during the COVID-19 pandemic, the pages of history are littered with instances of a fearful population relinquishing their rights without hesitation.

Paul drove into the city. The morning haze clung to the highrises before him. His automobile merged. The once-notorious I-5 congestion had vanished, replaced by the smooth, humming stream of traffic of autonomous cars.

It's a peculiar aspect of human nature how we navigate the unwritten rules of social discourse. We're told not to discuss topics like sex, religion, and politics in polite company, yet these subjects increasingly find their way into conversations. But there's one topic that quiets even the most chatty: death. We dance around it, employing euphemisms like 'passed away' or 'no longer with us,' as if avoiding the word could somehow diminish its existence.

Friedrich Nietzsche is a thinker I approach with ambivalence. On a personal level, I find little to admire in the man. His life was marked by isolation, instability, and a troubling disdain for compassion. While undeniably influential, his works are complex to the point of opacity and rife with ideas that range from the unconventional to the outright dangerous.

Like the perfect-fitting jeans, we know comfort when we experience it, but capturing its essence proves elusive. Language, that marvelous invention of humankind, grants us the power of expression. With just 3,000 words, we can navigate 95% of written text. But then there are those elusive words that defy easy description, like quality and comfort. The more you mull them over, the slipperier they become.

Remember the thrill of cracking open a new book as a kid? Each page was a ticket to somewhere, a passage to unimaginable adventures, an encounter with an interesting character, and a life lesson learned the easy way. As a boy, Maniac Magee championed the power of empathy in bridging divides, while Hatchet's tale of survival instilled a respect for the force of nature, and The Life of Henry Ford unveiled the power of innovation. Back then, stories were a way to live a thousand lives, to explore worlds without ever leaving my room.

I remember sitting in class as a third grader, tasked with charting my classmates' favorite subjects. I meticulously colored each section as Physical Education dominated, claiming the lion's share. No surprise — neither recess nor lunch made the choices. Those simple, neatly divided wedges represent how many still visualize economics —a static pie to be sliced and distributed to various groups.

In a world where relentless waves of change crash against the shores of tradition, every breaker is part innovation, part upheaval. We're experiencing not just a clash of ideas but a storm of transformation, not unlike the agricultural revolution of 10,000 years ago or the industrial revolution that shaped the 18th and 19th centuries. Once again, the nature of power itself is shifting - from the traditional forces of violence and wealth to an era where knowledge reigns supreme. As these waves batter the foundation, unseen power struggles ripple beneath the surface.

Nebulae bloomed like cosmic flowers in an eternal garden; black holes spun in silent majesty. Amidst this cosmic ballet, where light takes millennia to traverse, an elegant and alien spacecraft glided silently.

In the quiet of a softly lit bedroom, a kid decked out in superhero pajamas lies under a fortress of blankets, thumbing through fantastical frames of comic lore. The child is absorbed in a classic confrontation: a superhero, donning a bright, emblematic costume, stands resolutely against a villain shrouded in a cloak of darkness. The hero's stance is unwavering, a symbol of righteousness, while the villain's crooked smirk portrays a menacing scheme.

I'm a longstanding member of team no-resolution. I've never understood the logic of waiting until January 1st to suddenly adopt new habits. Shouldn't we start right away if something is important enough to do? This isn't to say I'm indifferent to the spirit of new beginnings. Indeed, it's heartening to witness the birth (and the rare, steadfast nurture) of positive habits, but shouldn't such pursuits be a constant, year-round endeavor?

The 2011 U.S. Open semifinal brought forth a familiar challenge to Djokovic — match point down against Federer as he battled for ownership of sports history. At this moment, Djokovic waited, coiled like a warrior disciple under the tutelage of ancient Chinese general Sun Tzu.

Lorenzo became the de facto leader of Florence after his father died in 1469. He was thrust into a volatile political scene, a time of shifting alliances between prominent families vying for wealth and power in the vacuum left by receding imperial forces. Lorenzo navigated complex rivalries with the Pope, the King of Naples, and other Italian trade rivals like Venice and Milan.

The hull lurched as another wave crashed over the deck. The piercing wind whipped Samuel's soaked linen shirt like an executioner's lash as the slate-gray sky and sea melded into a purgatory without horizon or harbor. Despite his relentless gaze, there was no glint of land through the fog's fingers — only haunting foghorn blasts, warning of storms that could instantly shatter his dreams.

That shot was a "lagniappe" (pronounced LAN-yap), a delightful custom where a merchant gifts a small token to the customer during the purchase. While the Italians have perfected this practice, the term finds its roots in Louisiana French, evolving from a Quechua word introduced to New Orleans by the Spanish Creoles. 

What makes someone a philosopher? Is it formal logic training or scholarly expertise? Mastery of historical texts and ideas? Or is it the ability to live with practical wisdom? Coach Prime may not be a Stoic, yet his speeches contain distinct echoes of Epictetus and other sages.

My legs wobbled like I’d sipped the final drop at an eight-flight whisky tasting. But I was stone-cold sober, dizzy from spinning in circles to take in the panoramic view of the cyan city below. From atop the circular tower, I felt a sense of power — not over anyone or anything, but over myself.