Accelerationism
Trump, Land, Dugin
Trump is not Land’s monarch nor Dugin’s tsar. He is their degraded symptom: the parody of a fascist synthesis of technology and tradition, replayed in the register of meme stock and casino populism.
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Trump is not Land’s monarch nor Dugin’s tsar. He is their degraded symptom: the parody of a fascist synthesis of technology and tradition, replayed in the register of meme stock and casino populism.
From PwC’s colour-coded attendance dashboard to HSBC’s biometric checkpoints and the rise of Algorithmic Affect Management, the new wave of “bossware” represents less an innovation than the latest stage in capital’s long history of making workers legible. What began with the factory bell and the punch clock now extends to our faces, moods, and keystrokes.
Zarah Sultana’s interview in Sidecar captures the anger at Labour’s complicity in genocide and austerity, but it risks becoming another broad reformist project, haunted by the ghosts of Corbynism—vulnerable to sect capture, parliamentary illusions, and the same popular-front logic that has historically disarmed the working class.
Nigel Farage’s TikTok wunderkind wants us to imagine a Britain that never fought Hitler, kept its colonies, and models itself on Bukele’s prison state. This is not contrarianism; it is fascist nostalgia dressed up as common sense.
Alexander Dugin calls the Trump–Putin summit in Anchorage “splendid,” insisting the US and Russia must find an “understanding as superpowers.” The problem is that this fantasy of bipolar order flatters two declining states while obscuring the real forces shaping the 21st century.
With armed red-state troops patrolling a blue city, Trump is not protecting Washington; he is rehearsing the mechanics of civil war.
Every August, the right reheats its old contempt for higher education. Their complaint is not about debt or “Mickey Mouse” degrees, it is about closing the gates of knowledge, keeping universities for the dominant class and consigning everyone else to warehouses and call centres.
Braverman’s plan to leave the ECHR isn’t legal reform, it’s preparation for rule without restraint. Like the ERG before her, she wraps authoritarian ambition in the language of sovereignty. Strip away the rhetoric and what’s left is a state unbound, a state that punishes, not protects. If she jumps to Reform UK, this plan becomes reality.
What looks like autobiography is really a sermon: suffer, obey, reproduce, and vote accordingly.
You don’t take a country back by restoring student exchanges or standardising exports. You take it back by asking who it belongs to—and who it never did.
Britain doesn’t need a labour shortage to punish the poor.
Marine Le Pen is out of the race, but her party is preparing for power.
JD Vance isn’t offering Europe advice, he’s issuing terms from the heart of a revanchist empire, dressed up in the language of realism and loyalty.
Another boat sinks, more bodies wash up, and Europe’s leaders repeat the same empty promises, yet the boats keep coming, because they must.
For years, we were told there was no money, no money for schools, no money for hospitals, no money for the poor, but as Europe rushes to rearm, the old fiscal rules have been quietly torn up.
J.D. Vance isn’t merely Trump’s Vice President, he’s the intellectual architect of a disciplined, reactionary project intent on dismantling democracy at home and abroad.
The Trump administration’s second term is proving to be not a resurgence of American power, but a chaotic acceleration of its decline, marked by incoherence, reactionary bluster, and an open invitation for geopolitical adversaries to fill the void left by its retreat.
