Theses on the World Crisis
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Theses on the World Crisis

So I have decided to write a series of posts on my substack exploring theses on the world crisis. You can join my free weekly newsletter at jeffrich.substack.com, and I would encourage all readers of the blog to do so.

The poet, the bureaucrat and the émigré
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The poet, the bureaucrat and the émigré

During the week I have been finalising my next book, 13 Ways of Looking at a Bureaucrat, and reading some essays and poems of Marina Tvetaeva (1892-1941), the great Russian poet, collected in Art and the Light of Conscience. A strange mix, true, but that is the life of my strange mind.

Memory, History, Forgetting, Macron and Ricoeur
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Memory, History, Forgetting, Macron and Ricoeur

Towards, the end of Memory, History, and Forgetting, indeed, Ricoeur evoked the famous angel of history from the painting by Paul Klee, described in Walter Benjamin’s Theses on the Philosophy of History. This image also inspired my poems, blog, podcast, YouTube and now Sub-Stack newsletter. It marked a deep, unexpected bond between Ricoeur, Macron and I.

Reserve Currency and the End of the US Dollar Empire

Reserve Currency and the End of the US Dollar Empire

I took a deep dive into the history of the idea of global reserve currency in the podcast this week. This episode was provoked by the outcry in America about other nations that showed the audacity to trade in their own national currencies rather than the US dollar.

Money is the root of all collapse today

Money is the root of all collapse today

‘Money/, So they say,’ sing Pink Floyd in Dark Side of the Moon, ‘Is the root of all evil today.’ And money makes the roots of the multipolar world, the power of great states, and the grand illusions of Western dominance in the world.

‘Once I lived in heaven above, now I live among grass and brambles’
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‘Once I lived in heaven above, now I live among grass and brambles’

Empress Zhu wrote, “Once I lived in heaven above, in pearl palaces and jade towers; now I live among grass and brambles, my blue robes soaked in tears. I hate the drift of snow.”