• fight club

    Do you remember the movie Fight Club? 

    Fight Club was and still is one of my favs. It was a late-90s nihilism flick where underground groups of men disaffected by modern society punched each other senseless and congealed into an anarchist gang plotting the overthrow their society.

    I always liked it because it had a deeper layer to it: Fight Club told a story of people rejecting the standards thrust upon them by the world into which they were born, and given my upbringing in a strict religious household it offered me a kind of mental liberation from the rules into which I myself was born. 

    It’s deep, dark flaw, of course, is that the story stops at the triumph of anarchy over order. The bombs go off and the system is seen falling into ashes as the credits roll. No consequences are revealed. No plan is in place. Nothing remains but chaos.

    The allure for most for that film was the chaos itself. It was the brutal fights. It was the middle finger to the establishment. It was the perception that control could be obtained by balking the rules and subverting the system.  And maybe, deep down, quite a few of us have little “what if” nuggets in our minds of how that other side of collapse might look. 

    Most of us stop at speculation.

    And that’s what irks me about the Alberta Separatist movement.  It is a Fight Club. It is from all appearances grotesquely organized around chaos. It’s a tearing down the order without a realistic plan for what happens after the collapse. It is a middle finger to the establishment simply because of vaguely articulated grievances.

    Sure, if the system has not been working for you, the allure of belonging to a secretive underground no-holds-barred movement might be strong. Burning down the system to re-roll the dice might be a gamble you are willing to take.

    But on the other side of chaos there is not necessarily better odds for anyone. By most measures, and likely for generations, the impacts to such societal collapse will be detrimental to all. In the pain caused by disaffection there is a temporary salve to be found in anger and chaos, but the real healing comes from hard work and building stronger for everyone. 

    Architecting collapse, no matter what you call it—freedom, sovereignty, or righteousness—seems like little more than a kind of diagnosis of social mental illness, failing to understand the plot, and definitely not thinking beyond the roll of the credits.

  • click incentive

    Do you ever scroll through social media and see a post that has you just itching to reply?

    You know the kind. Sometimes it’s asking an inane question with an obvious answer, or occasionally someone will say something just so incredibly wrong that you scratch your head immediately get the urge to correct them.

    Do you?  Do you click and open up the comment box and jump right in to say your piece?

    Thing is… you probably shouldn’t. This is mostly all click bait.  It’s an engagement trap. It’s designed to prod your subconscious into scrambling out a reply before your fingers even realize what they are doing. 

    It’s a hook, you are the fish. It’s a flame, and you are the moth.

    I see these kinds rolling up through my feed so often, and I sometimes get the urge to open up the replies to have a little chuckle at all the people earnestly arguing with the original poster. Who falls for this stuff, I wonder. But we both know, don’t we? We all fall for it now and then. And believe me when I tell you the original poster cares not a whit what you think or say. They are not posting to change your mind or become your new internet frenemy. 

    Writing pithy posts that squirm under your skin and evoke a reaction from you is pretty much a science at this point. And it is such a lucrative one, it is a business, too. Clicking, liking, sharing, commenting—all of these actions that you do in response to this ire-generating post are little flags for the algorithm, which itself doesn’t care if you are happy or sad, angry or jubilant. The algorithm only wants engagement. It only cares if you interact with the post.  When you do it amplifies it, elevates the voice of the author, give credibility to the account, and shines a glowing digital spotlight on any future posts by that same invisible person.

    Engagement. Clicking. Correcting. Answering. All of it is fuel for the fire that sets the engines of those accounts aglow and blasts them higher into public prominence. 

    What happens then?  One might suppose any number of things happen to an account that has supercharged itself in the algorithm, but if you don’t believe they are sold to someone with a message more sinister than the click bait you clicked on—why not write me a comment or two and tell me all the reasons I’m so wrong, huh? If you’re giving out engagement for free, I’ll take some too.

  • mainlining propoganda

    I recently took a mini-vacation to the mountains here in Alberta and I spent a couple nights in a hotel near the ski hills. 

    All sorts of local folks do this… and then spend their evenings chilling in front of the television with a cozy drink in hand. The last guy who had my room left his social media accounts logged in on the television in what was now my room, so I’m pretty sure that’s what he had been up to, too.

    Algorithms, in case you didn’t already know this, drop us into informational silos. They are feedback loops, showing us increasingly more—and more extreme versions—of what we have already watched. And because of this, we don’t often get to peek into how other people are being walled up in different kinds of silos completely opposite of our own.

    This guy, another Albertan—I did some research with his username—had been mainlining right leaning video content like it was oxygen. The account was logged in when I opened up the app and I clicked through to see what he had been watching recently, and it amounted to a steady diet of single-perspective politics that ran so counter to the reality in which I live I was almost nauseous reading the click-bait titles and thumbnails.

    I was kinder than I should have been, and logged him out, taking more care with his privacy that he was obviously capable.

    But I did spend the weekend pondering how any of us can break through the silos that these platforms are erecting around all of us. That is, if I were to meet this guy in real life and attempt to have a conversation, how to do you bridge the gap when the things he is watching are literally dehumanizing me, my family and my friends. 

    How could a single conversation attempt to compete with a firehose of hate and misinformation? 

    How do you live together when the things these kinds of folks are watching are pushing the idea that certain people are not even worth living with?

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about

Welcome aboard.

This site was started in January 2026 to write more against the rising tide of Alberta separatism, a rot of grievance and divisiveness nurtured by dark foreign influences that is threatening to tear apart our country, our livelihoods and our future for the petty greed a few bought players.

My opinions are my own.