Book 5: The Orbit of Phoebus
My latest collection of futuristic-weird short stories stirs up the worker ant nests, laughing at corporate heroes chafing under the "productivity" of 80-hour weeks with no paid overtime. It's an experimental, homebrew blend of my dippy Australian humour and universal irony-a forecast for a New Holland where all the pubs have finally gone broke, and the all-stars of no-name, going-nowhere bands (like me) realise they can't even tell the difference between their latest spacepop masterpieces and AI slop.