On the cold morning of November 14th, I found that my brother Frank had become a foxed, leather-bound, and mysteriously dusty hardcover of The Monadology by Gottfried Leibniz. Mondays, right?

It made sense, I reasoned. We had fiercely clashed the previous night along metaphysical fault lines. I tried and failed to explain my metamodern philosophy, which was partially inspired by the late German philosopher, along with the scientific advancements of the last few centuries. To Frank, this ki...