Django Ellenhorn’s essay in The Metropolitan Review this week is one of the most invigorating things I’ve ever read on Substack or anywhere else — but, in a weird parallel to its material, you have to reach the end.

I read this thing before dawn on Christmas morning. The subject matter might scare people from reading and discussing it, so it might be a while before this becomes common knowledge, but I swear: this essay is an event.