An Ironic Homage to Walter Benjamin, and a Cheerful Eulogy for the Human Pen The New Aura of the Algorithm For most of human history, writing has been the most intimate of acts. Fingers stained with ink. Cigarette ash on the edge of the typewriter. Long nights. Longer silences,…

I was nine years old when I first realised that what I was speaking wasn’t simply the Bulgarian language, but something stranger, labelled by the incomprehensible word dialect. I was visiting my cousins in the romantic little town of Kavarna (“romantic” means nothing more here…

Good evening, dear sir – would you permit me the modest pleasure of your company on this grey and rather unpleasant Berlin night? One rarely encounters countrymen here, and if one does, they usually hurry to turn into the nearest side street – most often out of embarrassment…

The Children of Hans Asperger Life with Autism: A personal Story Today I begin a story which I probably regard – quite justifiably – as the hardest and most painful in my life so far: the story of the birth and upbringing of our two children, Paul and Lea Enev. I spoke with all…