Every journalist alive has a crystal ball. What Comes Next is big business. Big podcast. Big names. Big money. Big experts. But what about tomorrow. Hire an expert to build a time machine. So the experts among us make the rules. Most physicists agree that going forward is theoretically feasible. But going back in time involves dimensions we do not know exist. The word dimension is a black hole itself. In another dimension I would call the deviant a new name. Dive into the future no matter what it is. And is not. I kid the deviant. I could help his royal highness pick out a new name. How about Pedo. Or Geppetto. Pinocchio’s father figure. My money is on Geppetto. In the original version, a wooden, sentient puppet has adventures that today’s censors would simply flip out over because those kinds of adventures do not happen to nice children. At the end, Pinocchio dies. The subjective way I see it, he’s pushed. Executed. The Disney version is rubbish. The wretched father slays his son. The storyline speaks to the kind of Scare The Kids Game Show in which children quickly learn to eat their spinach and never talk back. I believe all conspiracy theories. The new Geppetto is a figure standing alone in shadows. Hamlet. “Pinocchio is swinging. It gave him atrocious spasms…His breath failed him and he could say no more. He shut his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched his legs, gave a long shudder, and hung stiff and insensible.” The real story is a tragedy. 1881 was a tragedy, too… – Tim Barrus