PATTERNS · SIGNALS · HISTORY · HUMAN CONSEQUENCES

THE IT FILE

...because IT keeps showing up

Change the angle. Change the story.

Dark abstract battlefield scene with torn cloth glowing blue-green in the mud, with the title “The Wounds That Glowed” overlaid.
Before antibiotics, some Civil War wounds seemed to glow in the dark. The strange light became legend, but the real story sits between battlefield medicine, bacteria, and the fragile luck of survival.

Ruins of a destroyed village at sunset with a burned vintage car in the foreground and the title “Pardon Me” across the top.
After violence, the first story asks who was harmed. The second story may ask whether punishment went too far. Pardon Me follows Oradour-sur-Glane, clemency, memory, and the cost of reconciliation when the original harm is moved outside the frame.

Dark newspaper collage with storm imagery, redaction bars, footnote marks, and paper cutout silhouettes of women for an article about women pushed into the margins of public stories.
A tornado destroyed a home in Streator, Illinois. The public story centered the man pulled from the wreckage, but the fuller record shows Roxanne Rymek was trapped, injured, calling for help, and part of the survival chain.

A human hand and a robotic hand reach toward each other across a glowing vertical line, with the words “Define: Human” above them.
A machine can imitate a face. The harder question is who gets to decide what counts as human, and who gets pushed outside the line.

A peach orchard at sunset with peaches in a crate, paperwork and a pen on a wooden table, and a small balance scale beside the documents.
The peaches did not disappear. The doorway did.

A split graphic showing a neat grid of orange cats and blue dogs on one side and a distorted district map around the same animals on the other, with the title “Gerry Manders” across the top.
How district lines can quietly reshape political power without changing a single vote. A clear guide to packing, cracking, representation, and the questions worth asking when the map moves.

A dark collage of fractured human faces with the title “Why History Repeats” in large distressed lettering across the left side.
History doesn’t repeat because it’s forgotten. It repeats because the narrative settles before the damage is counted.

A dark nighttime view of Florence with the Duomo in the distance, a shadowy figure on wet cobblestones, case-file textures, and the title “Monster of Florence” across the image.
A famous case can become a familiar story long before it becomes an answer.