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Tag: crime

doorway: 18feb26

Shoplifter, “Chromo Sapiens” (2019).

Taking off the Fitbit and the Apple Watch, putting on the Maven watch, setting up the third stage of the new notebook system (with a fourth stage to come) – it’s rapid disconnection time. More on that tomorrow because I’ve just been told I’m apparently going out for lunch.

TODAY:

STATUS: first day in a few weeks that I’ve felt even half-human
READING: I’m faintly annoyed with what I’m reading right now – last night I started a book about maximalist novels and it was so whiny (and obsessed with the word “transversal” that I gave up, and the Walsingham book is mired in “we have absolutely no idea what he dd in these years but here’s some random speculation” – so I picked up THE BIG THREE: SOCRATES, PLATO, ARISTOTLE, Neel Burton (UK) (US+)

It can be no coincidence that the hierarchical, anti-democratic Spartans, who privileged military might above all else, prided themselves on the pithiness of their speech. According to Plutarch, when an Attic orator accused the Spartans of being ignorant, Pleistoanax, the Spartan king (r. 458-409 BCE), replied: “What you say is true. Of all the Greeks, we alone have not learnt your evil ways.”


LISTENING: New Music Show

MISSION CONTROL: I can be contacted via the Cheng Caplan Company or Inkwell Management. Link in masthead to join my free newsletter.

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15dec25

The midnight salvia is somehow still going. I need to start rebuilding and replanning the garden next month.

TODAY:

OPERATIONS: Basically, all the things.
STATUS: One of those days where you just wake up exhausted. It’s a damp day. Email is full of delivery notifications. Also I have to start wrapping Xmas gifts and do a small repair on a sack – a few years ago I bought a personalised gifts sack for herself from Fortnum’s, and one of the letters of her name has started peeling off. Am I the arse who buys personalsed large gift sacks from Fortnum and Mason? I am.
READING: THE CELESTIAL HUNTER, Roberto Calasso
LISTENING: UNCLASSIFIED
LAST WATCHED: A episode and a half of THE WAR BETWEEN THE LAND AND THE SEA, which I do not need to see any more of

MISSION CONTROL: I can be contacted via the Cheng Caplan Company or Inkwell Management. Link in masthead to join my free newsletter.

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telemetry 14dec25

https://lastweekincollapse.substack.com/p/last-week-in-collapse-december-7

I still read The Economist most weeks, and this is my reminder to sit down with the new issue tonight.

Earlier this week, a woman made a startling discovery while hailing a Waymo autonomous cab for her daughter in Los Angeles: a quick glance into the back of the vehicle revealed a stranger, who’d been hiding from view in the trunk.

“This s*** won’t let me out,” the man shouted after being confronted, in a video shared by the woman. “They put me in here,” he added, accusing unspecified “people” of trapping him.

A chaotic followup video shows the man being detained by two police officers on the sidewalk, while the woman is talking to a Waymo representative over the vehicle’s sound system.

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telemetry 13nov25

Mark Elder conducts the London Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra in a sea-themed concert as part of the orchestra’s Harmony with Nature season. Sibelius’s powerful depiction of the ocean waves in his Oceanides is paired with Vaughan Williams’s mighty first symphony, the Sea Symphony with soloists Masabane Cecilia Rangwanasha and David Stout.

After testing three different toys powered by AI, researchers from the US Public Interest Research Group found that the playthings can easily verge into risky conversational territory for children, including telling them where to find knives in a kitchen and how to start a fire with matches. One of the AI toys even engaged in explicit discussions, offering extensive advice on sex positions and fetishes.

COPENHAGEN, Nov 12 (Reuters) – Iceland has designated the potential collapse of a major Atlantic Ocean current system a national security concern and an existential threat, enabling its government to strategize for worst-case scenarios, the country’s climate minister told Reuters.

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Murder Prediction

The UK government is developing a “murder prediction” programme which it hopes can use personal data of those known to the authorities to identify the people most likely to become killers.

Researchers are alleged to be using algorithms to analyse the information of thousands of people, including victims of crime, as they try to identify those at greatest risk of committing serious violent offences.

The scheme was originally called the “homicide prediction project”, but its name has been changed to “sharing data to improve risk assessment”. The Ministry of Justice hopes the project will help boost public safety but campaigners have called it “chilling and dystopian”.

One of those Torment Nexus moments where apparently nobody said “should we really create the pound-shop version of Minority Report?”

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DOWNFALL, Anna Arutunyan and Mark Galeotti

A short, dense, sharp book about “Putin’s Chef,” the man who formed and ran the Wagner private military company, the man whose armed mutiny nearly reached the Kremlin itself.

…he was ‘sitting’ in Russian parlance, stuck behind barbed wire in what was known as the Zone, the Soviet penal camp system. Old hands in the criminal subculture of the vorovskoi mir, the ‘thieves’ world’, would claim that their real life was that lived inside the Zone.

Prigozhin travelled the world and made millions upon millions, but he never truly left the Zone. This is the story of a born thug and career criminal who learned how to manipulate power but never learned how to armour his own ego against the fact that he was always going to be the hustler with his hand out.

This is, after all, how Putin’s system works. To a considerable extent, it is a modern, bureaucratic state like so many others, its day-to-day actions defined by rules, laws, regulations and institutions. Atop it, though, is an almost medieval court, in which constantly competing factions and individuals are struggling for the most important currency of them all: Putin’s favour. That, in turn, can be converted into whatever else one could want: wealth, fame, power over one’s enemies.

Not that dealing with that world worked out well for everyone in post-Soviet Russia.

…the only man who knew for sure where all the money was, Central Committee treasurer Nikolai Kruchina, fortuitously fell out of a window.

There is a dark dry humour woven through the book. Which isn’t out of place when you’re tracing the life of a street criminal who became a restauranteur and caterer who became a mercenary army commander.

Wagner, so named for the callsign used by Utkin, a man who, as one Russian newspaper report so coyly put it, was ‘known for his commitment to the aesthetics and ideology of the Third Reich’. (He would even sometimes greet Prigozhin with ‘Heil Petrovich,’ using his boss’s codename.) Naming a mercenary army after the German composer may seem surreal, but it later led to a whole slew of supportive memes, with the force being referred to euphemistically as the ‘orchestra’.

The Russian Defense Ministry described Prigozhin thusly: “no morals, no conscience, and no hobbies … He is a machine in the bad sense of the word.” He made himself into a machine for gathering money and power, but the book makes it clear he was always on the outside of real power. The story would almost be a tragedy if Prigozhin wasn’t such a fucking monster. It seems apt that, towards the end of his story, he came full circle:

The first videos that emerged showed Prigozhin standing in a circle of zeks, Russian penal colony prisoners, in their black and white uniforms. He made no bones about the fact that he was from Wagner, that the war was hard and that he was looking for ‘stormtroopers’, but he made his pitch based on equal parts patriotism, machismo and self-interest: ‘no one falls back, no one retreats, no one surrenders’, if need be on pain of a firing squad, but after six months of honourable service, they would be discharged and free. Or dead: ‘I take you out of here alive, but don’t always bring you back alive.’

Admittedly, at least then their families would receive a 5-million-ruble payout (worth some $57,000 at the time). In many ways, this was quintessential Prigozhin. The ever-resourceful businessman had found a new source of manpower for the war, but he could now be out in the open, and talking to the kind of people he had been able to understand and engage in his twenties and still could today.

The follow up to that teaches me a new phrase: “meat wave.”

To a large extent, they would be used as poorly armed and poorly trained cannon fodder, deployed in so-called ‘meat waves’ to wear down or draw out the Ukrainian forces and shield the more experienced Wagner veterans, and their casualties were inevitably frightful.

It’s perhaps a little light on detail in its final chapter or two, partly because at the time of writing it was (and is) still unknown precisely how Prigozhin was killed. But we all know why. Perhaps the real subject of this book is not Prigozhin, but what examining his life reveals about how modern Russia works. The adhocracy, headed by an ageing tsar who puts off hard decisions for entirely too long.

And Aleksander Dugin pops up!

Putin doesn’t care, because he has created a system in which there are always more waiting for their chance. Take, for example, the philosopher Alexander Dugin, a man whose greatest genius may be in self-promotion. For a short while in 2014, his nationalist views aligned with the interests of the Kremlin and he was elevated to scholarly superstar status, his books on every shelf, interviewed on every television channel. Then official policy changed, and Dugin – who for a while was being described as ‘Putin’s brain’ in the West – was no longer needed. The TV appearances dried up, and he even lost his position at Moscow State University. Yet still he stayed loyal – what else was there for him?

Brilliant book. Zips along, and yet feels very complete. And if, like me, you haven’t read deeply into current Russian politics, it feels like a great primer for the actual state of things inside the Kremlin, and explains much about the current situation.

DOWNFALL (UK) (US+)

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morning computer othering

Lorenzo Tonda.

Archaeologists have analyzed more than 3,000 human bones and bone fragments from the Early Bronze Age site of Charterhouse Warren, England, concluding that the people were massacred, butchered, and likely partly consumed by enemies as a means to dehumanize them.

Were they killed for food? This is unlikely. There were abundant cattle bones found mixed in with the human ones, suggesting the people at Charterhouse Warren had plenty to eat without needing to resort to cannibalism.

Instead, cannibalism may have been a way to “other” the deceased. By eating their flesh and mixing the bones in with faunal remains, the killers were likening their enemies to animals, thereby dehumanizing them.

Albright’s reign of terror began in October 1988, when 30-year-old sex worker, Rhonda K. Bowie, was found dead with more than 20 stab wounds on her body.

In December 1990, Albright struck again, shooting and killing 33-year-old veteran sex worker Mary Lou Pratt. She was shot in the back of the head with a .44 Magnum and severely beaten.

However, it was what investigators found—or rather, didn’t find—that shocked them: Pratt’s eyes had been meticulously removed with surgical precision.

THE EYEBALL KILLER

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Cannibalism is part of the great cultural legacies of our species. In times past, for instance, we would eat our honoured dead to gain their wisdom. In medieval times, too, it was believed that memories were stored in the cerebrospinal fluid. Sadly, it seems that memory cannot be transferred biochemically — which is just as well, otherwise Stephen Hawking would have had to get his wheelchair equipped with BEN HUR-style spikes and a turbo option.

The Sacrament of one of our more popular cults is based upon the concept of transubstantiation: that the piece of bread that the priest pops in your mouth (and if you’re lucky that’s all he’ll pop in your mouth) transforms, within your gut, into the flesh of the son of God. This is magic cannibalism, as it is understood that the son of God manifests on Earth in human form. (I cannot deny that I’d be more interested if it somehow turned into God Meat. Religion has always been a disappointment to me.)

Over the centuries, these ideas have naturally mutated through the “Chinese Whispers” effect. There was a period, for instance, where communities in northern Italy decided that, if the Church essentially condoned Jesus meat in their belly, then human meat in general must be fair game. This led to a Papal edict banning cannibalism, due to the number of good Catholics in that region getting fat and sassy on a diet of anything in shoes.

Said edict was in fact only modified in recent years, following a planeload of Roman Catholics getting stranded somewhere foul and reduced to eating their dead to survive, and then realising that gnawing weakly on corpses would get them excommunicated. The redrafted law now states that chewing humans is acceptable when the only other option is death, because eschewing the chewing would be tantamount to suicide, and that’s a cardinal sin.

This obviously applies only to exceptional circumstances: eating your dad because Marks & Spencers was closed for the bank holiday is still an economy single to Hell.

(from a piece written for WIRED UK in May 2010)

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Murder Is A Quality Of Life Issue

Whenever I think about murderers, I think about Mogo. Mogo was a peasant farmer in Kenya, a little under a hundred years ago. Peasant farmers worked for a landowner, but were allowed to build huts and graze whatever livestock they owned on the landowner’s grounds. And what I think about is Mogo’s very bad day. This was the day he was summoned to the landowner’s residence and told that he was fired. Because he was a wizard.

This was the rumour that had become the bane of Mogo’s life on the farm. People thought he was a wizard. People wouldn’t talk to him, because he was a wizard. They wouldn’t give him food, because he was a wizard. And, finally, his very presence was causing such ructions on the farm that he was fired for being a wizard.

So Mogo went back to the huts, gathered his few possessions, picked up a spear, went to the hut of the first person who’d accused him of being a wizard, and killed him. He killed his wife, who wouldn’t sleep with him because he was a wizard, and he killed his daughter, who withheld food from him because he was a fucking wizard, and he killed nine other people who wouldn’t bloody shut up about his being a wizard.

The massacre was noticed, of course, and the landowner sent for the police, accompanying them to the huts. There, they found Mogo readying his livestock for travel away from the farm. On being asked whether he might possibly have killed some people, Mogo cheerfully lead the little troupe to each of the bodies, and then turned to the landowner and demanded the wages he was owed before being on his way.

What Mogo did was to take ultimate action to improve his quality of life. This is at the root of murder. We kill people to make our own lives better. We kill them because they are obstacles to our desires, because they make us unhappy, because they burden us, or because they keep calling us fucking wizards. Murder increases happiness.

Notes for a talk at Studio-X, NYC, November 2013

CONNECTED:

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Dozens of members of Lebanon’s Hezbollah movement have reportedly been injured after handheld pagers they use to communicate exploded.
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