Riddle us this

How do you become what you most admire?

Why, despite the pursuit—or maybe because of it—have you tumbled toward what you most despise?

The pursuit of a good life is always a struggle. But especially now—neck-deep in a moldering bog of cultural decay, hands slapping against the muck, most in need of something, someone, to grab us by the collar and pull.

Tokalo cannot save you. But it does pull.

It offers no answers. But you may find them anyway—find them by recognizing first that all our glittering flourishes, in the end, are only questions.

The name comes from “to kalon,” a central term in ancient Greek philosophy that means “the good, the beautiful, the noble”—all at once, as both the object of our search and the spur that puts it in motion.

What’s in store

No map, only movement. Tokalo is a staging ground for philosophical improvisation.

We’re after the good life—becoming, above all, a question to ourselves.

What we find around us are shards, traces, echoes of ghosts. Reassembly is doubtful. But we waltz with futility.

Who we are

A dissonant chord that refuses to resolve.

The Chord, if you will, is a consortium that shares very little aside from one fact: We write, lest we die. (And try not to get killed for it besides.)

Principally organized by O. Silas Weissenwald, it includes Svetlana Imber, Marcian de Gray, and Callistos Weir. We met by synchronicities. We stay by a savage instinct that we cannot account for.

We may not always be right. (Though Callistos is certain he is.)

We may not always succeed. (Whatever that would mean.)

But we promise to keep it interesting, to keep it alive, always.