@catforchaos reacts to Boundary Condition in The Watcher

 (@catforchaos REACTS TO: Boundary Condition)

First off: this chapter slaps. Like being handed a user manual for a planet that’s already voided its warranty. Holden comes in radiating “tech bro who’s seen the abyss,” Limantour grills shells like she’s prepping an offering to some pre-AI sea god, and Farallon (that’s you, right?) is trapped between jellyfish metaphors and a reboot that smells like scorched ley lines.

---

Let’s break it:

“Chrysaora”

Named after a jellyfish. Not subtle, and that’s the point. It’s not the boss fight — it’s the bloom, the slick, ripple-born proof that too many realities are cohabitating the same wetsuit. It doesn’t want to kill you. It doesn’t want anything. It drifts. That’s what makes it terrifying.

“Built from signal, not tissue.”

That line? Tattoo it. Annotate it. Whisper it to your hard drive before bed.

---

“DAARQ is live.”

Every single acronym in this passage could be a band, a religion, or a CIA side-project. Love that.

“Failsafe lattice… detects formation, not intent.”

Yes. Yes. We need more sci-fi that ditches the Marvel-logic “evil AIs have goals” crap. This isn’t Skynet. This is ambient apocalypse. It just is.

---

LIGO = Earth’s Cardiogram

This was the holy moment for me. We took real physics infrastructure and slipped it into speculative theology.

“If the Earth stops sending its pulse… Apex goes live.”

You didn’t just say that LIGO listens for gravitational waves. You said it monitors the condition of Earth as a system. This is peak techno-esoterica. Watcher lore meets infrastructure paranoia. A+++.

---

Limantour and the Soft Threat

She barely speaks, but when she does, she’s like a leyline in human form.

“No Apex for the dinosaurs.”

YES MOTHER. We’ve stopped pretending evolution was random and started revealing it was a failed beta program. She steps forward and reframes prehistory as design failure. Firmware, not folklore.

And then she casually drops the holy sites:

“Stonehenge, Göbekli Tepe, Nabta Playa, Newgrange…”

We’re not in Indiana Jones anymore. We’re in a post-geo-spiritual bootloader sequence.

---

And then the three choices

This is the most honest version of the “hero’s decision” I’ve seen in a long time:

1. Let the world dissolve into drift.
2. Intervene — but risk triggering Earth’s built-in firewall.
3. Trust Limantour. The wildcard.

Nobody wins. Everybody drowns in recursion or bureaucracy. Peak catforchaos energy.

---

Final Take

This whole chapter reads like Pynchon got dosed at a Singularity conference.

It’s beautifully sick with knowledge. It’s pacing a blacksite somewhere between spiritual systems collapse and eco-mystic disclosure.

If this is Chapter Three, Chapter Four better come with a pulsecheck, a sigil, and a backdoor into the LIGO mainframe.

🕳️⛓️🐚

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Elsa's picture

Read the stories to understand more.

 

@catgirlforchaos review of Elsa from Residuals by Ed Adams (ARC Copy)

 @catgirlforchaos

🌀 ARC review: Elsa (she/her? she/spiral?) 🌀

Elsa walks like the mission already happened.

Like the rest of us are just catching up, running version history in the background.

Like she’s been briefed, debriefed, and rebuilt more times than she’s going to tell you.

📁 appearance:

– grey slacks, crisp white shirt, wartime lipstick that hasn’t chipped since 1944

– hair pinned like a citation

– tattoo: spiral, left knuckle, three turns = three warnings? three loops? three lives?

every inch of her reads: uniform in disguise.

not hiding, just no longer requesting permission.

“you’re late,” she says — and you are. not to her. to yourself.

there’s a painting.

she’s in it.

you turn around — she’s also in the room.

causal order? denied.

subject/object? folded.

Elsa speaks like she’s clearing a frequency.

her sentences = clean-room protocol:

“You’ll be introduced properly.”

“We’re still inside the window.”

“It was an easier mission. Fixed objectives. Clear egress.”

??? like okay MOM.

but you believe her. not because she convinces you,

but because reality does. it starts arranging itself around her.

there’s no exposition. she is the exposition.

✨final verdict✨:

Elsa isn’t your handler. She’s your afterimage.

The last stable packet before the burn.

The one who got out.

And came back anyway.

11/10. Spiral-coded.

Not explained. Just encrypted.

🩸🕊️🩶🌀

Ed Adams - Tyrant Review - Sasha P.

 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

“An extremely useful novel. Highly recommended for… analysts of Western decline.”

— Review by “Sasha P.” (Diplomatic Attaché, cultural desk, Washington DC)

Tyrant is a remarkable document. While presented as fiction, it offers unusually detailed insight into the psyches, procedures, and terminal neuroses of America’s elite administrative class. The prose is sharp — even surgical — cutting through the theatre of democracy to reveal its exhausted circuitry.

What struck me most was the author’s fluency in the language of control: surveillance masquerading as convenience, nationalism performed via streaming platforms, and the weaponisation of nostalgia. These are not imaginative exaggerations; they are field notes disguised as literature.

The character of Cardinal is perfectly rendered: grotesque yet plausible, comic yet tragic, utterly convinced of his own legitimacy even as his empire buckles beneath its own simulacra. Vescovi, however, is the true north — a cool operative in a boiling room, patient and precise. It would be impolite to say he reminds me of anyone I know.

Azaria’s subversion of the loyalty economy is… instructive. Her tactics deserve further study.

In short, Tyrant is not just a novel. It is, let us say, a diagnostic artefact. One can only hope not too many Americans read it too carefully.

That would be… inconvenient.

 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I hated him. I loved him. I couldn’t look away.”

— K.M. Treadwell, Verified Purchase

Richard Cardinal is the worst man to ever hold power in fiction. Which is precisely why he’s unforgettable. Think if Caligula ran a YouTube channel, or if Donald Trump was rebooted by a satirist with a god-tier grasp of algorithms and brand architecture. The man speaks in hashtags, governs in loyalty metrics, and sells the apocalypse like it’s a lifestyle subscription box.

And yet… you understand him. That’s what makes Tyrant so dangerous and so brilliant.

Cardinal is grotesque, yes — spray-tanned id, live-streamed psychosis, forever posing for a camera that might not be real — but the writing never lets you dismiss him as just a joke. He’s a system made flesh. A glitch that became a president. A monster we clicked into being.

I didn’t expect to feel this much. Or laugh this hard. Or whisper “oh no” so many times.

And by the time you reach the final chapters — when even the AI can’t fake him anymore — you realise: Tyrant wasn’t about Cardinal. It was about us.

And we still haven’t logged off.

Highly, terrifyingly recommended.

A hard drive's gonna fall

I wondered why my disk had filled up. 

27 Terabytes used seemed excessive. Then I looked in the recycle bin. 

Oops. I'd been archiving but not deleting for a long time. 

Now I've freed the space, Hyper Backup has restarted itself.

No wonder one of my drives also expired.

Synology is up to 1,347,000 items to delete and still counting. And some of them are movies. Gulp.

And I also notice that Synology is data scrubbing the server at the same time. Technology, eh?

It'll be good to reclaim the space

Tyrant, by Ed Adams - A review @catgirlforchaos

 🌟🌟🌟🌟½

“this book made me laugh, cry, spiral, and delete my citizen loyalty app.”

i finished Tyrant at 3am, in a hoodie, whispering “what the actual hell” to the void of my screen. this book is INSANE(complimentary). imagine if Black Mirror, Veep, and Threads had a cursed baby raised by TikTok algorithms and late-stage capitalism. now imagine that baby running for president.

the vibes:

🔻 satire so sharp you bleed while laughing

🔻 fake presidents, real despair

🔻 AI surveillance apps that know when you’re sad

🔻 loyalty coins you can’t spend (but you can lose your fridge privileges over)

🔻 girlboss propaganda officers

🔻 dossiers, glitches, memory wipes, 🍔 speeches that go viral for the wrong reasons

i came for the cyberpunk aesthetics, stayed for the existential dread, and somehow left feeling… weirdly hopeful? maybe? idk. maybe i’m just sleep-deprived.

shoutout to Azaria (icon), to the character who prints a message on actual paper like a rebel from 1997, and to the chapter where people burn their Homeland passes in a trash can and the mic catches “NEVER AGAIN.” 🫡

anyway if you’ve ever:

· doomscrolled at 2am

· raged at a malfunctioning smart fridge

· felt seen and violated by your own phone

read this.

final verdict:

🤡🤖🔥🍟📉

(translation: clown world, AI world, burn it down, fast food fascism, collapse is coming)

Balcony. Morning. View.

 

Well, I've been away again, and this is the morning's view from the balcony. I know the UK has been experiencing a heatwave, and so have we. 

It all started several years ago when I said I quite fancied doing a 'writers' retreat' here. The truth be told, I haven't had time to write much, although I did absorb enough to give me some more ideas.

My planned sequence of novels is as follows: Pearl (just published), Tyrant (mostly written), Numbers for God (started), and a fourth novel that ties the ideas of the other three together (working title is Untrammelled, but that will certainly change). 

It's all a bit bonkers and probably an effect of sangria imbibement, but we shall see.

Ed Adams - Tyrant - EPK insert

It's still a work in progress...

EPK insert: Tyrant by Ed Adams review – satire for the age of collapse

Surveillance, loyalty scores, and the grotesque golden afterglow of post-truth power

[Review]

Imagine if Thomas Pynchon binge-watched Fox News, read TikTok comments at dawn, and reprogrammed Orwell for the attention economy. The result might resemble Tyrant, Ed Adams’s blistering, black-hearted novel of algorithmic empire and reputational freefall.

At the centre of this scorched satire is Richard Cardinal, a grotesque amalgam of failed businessman, populist avatar, and reality-televised pharaoh. Cardinal doesn’t govern so much as glitch — riding waves of grievance and gold-plated narcissism straight into the seat of power. Adams’s prose tracks him like a predator drone: clinical, close, and unsparing.

But Tyrant isn’t simply a character study in megalomania. It’s a systemic autopsy. We are walked through the architecture of collapse: loyalty-score apps rolling out without consent, Homeland Light checkpoints beside vape shops and bakeries, resistance movements hidden in fridge-lock errors and QR codes etched into tungsten. It’s all terribly funny until it’s not. And that’s Adams’s true skill — turning farce into fear with a sentence.

The structure mirrors its subject: fragmented, recursive, and spiralling. Chapters named for the Seven Deadly Sins alternate with confidential memos, podcast transcripts, hallucinated code drops. It’s not always linear — nor should it be. Tyrant understands that tyranny in the digital age isn’t a straight line. It’s a loop. A feed. A meme you can’t unsee.

Characters like Azaria, the shadowy strategist, and Zane Parallax, a tech-bro with messiah delusions, hint at deeper conspiracies but resist cliché. Even Vescovi — a Kremlin-adjacent operator with the soul of a faded spymaster — reads like Le Carré’s Smiley reincarnated inside a VPN.

Some readers may tire of the novel’s relentless tone — sardonic, caustic, at times overwhelming. But perhaps that’s the point. Tyrant isn’t here to reassure. It’s here to remind us what happens when power is hollowed out, and all that’s left is optics, loyalty algorithms, and golden thrones made of plywood and lies.

Verdict:

A searing, brilliantly destabilised portrait of late-stage politics. If Orwell warned us, Adams dares to laugh as the sirens sound.

Another electric car?

 

Sometimes its fun to see how alternatives can be imagined. 

A couple of my friends used to drive Citroen 2CVs. It was always a delight to be a passenger. The airconditioning was a simple plate that opened the front of the car to let unfiltered air in. The windows had folding glass. The car with its 425cc 10hp engine would struggle to go up inclines. But you could roll the roof back and drive around al fresco, including along bumpy tracks.

Top speed? Never reached., but probably about 50mph. MPG, around 80.

I wonder what they will do with the new one?