Essay

Overcoming Writer's Block
Bruce Springsteen was frustrated and exhausted when his manager, Jon Landau, insisted he write a preeminent single for his 1984 album “Born in the U.S.A.” By that point, Springsteen had already written over 80 songs for the album, yet a standout single still eluded him. Returning to his hotel later that evening, Springsteen poured all of his pent-up angst and frustration into the song “Dancing in the Dark”, wherein he grapples with the “joke[s]” that are writer’s block and self-doubt, as well as how the external pressures of the music industry and his own audience can stifle creativity and personal growth.
By Strange Overtones7 months ago in Critique
So I watched Wednesday ...again. . Content Warning.
So I watched Wednesday again on Netflix. Following the release of the second half of season two on Wednesday, September 3, 2025; I was inspired to start again at Season One. A whole new world started to re-weave itself around me. In this little part two of So I watched..., I wanted to discuss what in my weed-enduced psychosis I found in the underlining story that writer Tim Burton shares with us.
By Parsley Rose 7 months ago in Critique
My Favorite Dead Writer
Oh, what is this Facebook thing I keep hearing about. Is it like radio for I believe it is for there are programs one can listen. I am Maragret Mitchell that wrote a Civil War epic entitled 'Gone with the Wind' in the year of our Lord 1939. We are on the brink of another war to end all wars, and my book is one the shows how war affects the one's left at home to deal with the many challenges of just being able to survive. 'Gone with the Wind' is a story of a family The O'Hara's who believed in a system that seemed right for them, but not for society in general that had many right and wrong ideas of how to see 'others' as this guy Hitler that I keep hearing about in Germany.
By Mark Graham7 months ago in Critique
Back to School Again
Another school year is upon us now and memories abound for all ages. Do you remember that first day of elementary, middle school, high school even or college. The thoughts you had or for some still have. You see old friends and maybe even make some new. Wondering what you heard was true or false of the teachers you will be learning. Another year of questions and answers that will maybe leave you pondering with your own thoughts on how to achieve what you need to achieve and understand how everything may or may not fit into our daily lives.
By Mark Graham7 months ago in Critique
Ismaila Whittier case for reforming the ITU
Full Article with citations: https://medium.com/@ishmi.whittier/reforming-the-itu-5d4797cf8f63 Ismaila Whittier case for INTERNATIONAL TELECOMMUNICATION UNION
By Ismaila Whittier7 months ago in Critique
Formula 1 Drivers Are Overpaid
Formula 1 is often described as the pinnacle of motorsport - a glamorous world where drivers are celebrated as superheroes and earn millions. Fans worship their lightning reflexes, car control, and ability to handle speeds that most of us can't even dream of reaching.
By s naicker7 months ago in Critique
Mineral Water: The Hidden Luxury in Plain Sight
The label was glossy, embossed in silver. It read “Alba de Vita – Naturally Sourced Mineral Water” and it sat like a trophy in the center of the hotel mini-fridge. Price tag? $14. For a single 500ml bottle.
By Shehzad Anjum7 months ago in Critique
The Architects of Desire: How Gucci Survived Scandal and Became a Global Powerhouse
The Architects of Desire: How Gucci Survived Scandal and Became a Global Powerhouse Murder, betrayal, and reinvention — the story behind Gucci’s luxury reign.
By waseem khan7 months ago in Critique
The Last King Standing. AI-Generated.
I. The Masquerade of Masters The so-called architects of civilization—those who sip vintage wines in soundproof rooms and smile as markets bleed—have always mistaken themselves for gods in tailored suits. Their orchestras of influence play symphonies not of beauty, but of manipulation, scored in the cold arithmetic of profit and loss. They convene in sanctuaries of glass towers, draped in the illusion of wisdom, while their decisions reverberate like earthquakes in the stomachs of the poor. They preach “stability” while trading chaos like a commodity, and chant “progress” while shackling humanity to their carefully engineered dependencies. If morality were currency, they would be bankrupt; yet in a world calibrated by lies, their insolvency appears as wealth. They are not leaders but performers, stage-managing a theater where citizens are both the captive audience and the unpaid actors, applauding a drama that starves them.
By Sucipto7 months ago in Critique
Hong Kong Ballet.
It is a tale as old as time, only it has a twist. This Romeo and Juliet meets Yentel. The Ballet, "The Butterfly Lovers" is a show that must be seen! The sets, the dancing and the acting are all first rate!
By Robert M Massimi. ( Broadway Bob).7 months ago in Critique
Digital Saints, Disposable Morals. AI-Generated.
Modern morality is not dead. It has simply been outsourced—like customer service to a cheaper country. What once lived in the marrow of human conscience now lives in TED Talks, motivational podcasts, and corporate mission statements. The old voice of the soul has been replaced by a cheerful PowerPoint slide. We still speak of “virtues,” but only as branding. Honesty? That’s a marketing strategy. Compassion? A selfie with a homeless man. Courage? Posting an opinion online and then disabling the comments. Justice? A campaign slogan, flexible as elastic, sold to the highest bidder. Our ancestors built cathedrals of stone; we build cathedrals of optics. Everything must be visible, photographed, performative. Morality today is not about being good—it is about being seen as good. The saints fasted; we detox. The martyrs bled; we post. The philosophers wrote; we make reels. And yet, we call ourselves enlightened. We laugh at the primitive codes of the past while bowing to algorithms with the obedience of medieval peasants. We do not burn incense to gods, but we burn our time on glowing screens. We have not abolished idolatry; we have digitized it. Modern man is not immoral. He is over-moralized—drowning in shallow slogans, choking on fashionable principles, forever switching masks to match the crowd. His values are like fast fashion: cheap, disposable, and instantly outdated. One week he proclaims one cause, the next week he abandons it for the next trending virtue. He is not guided by principles, but by the rhythm of hashtags. Noise has replaced virtue. We have confused volume with truth. To shout online is to be “brave.” To remain silent, to reflect, is to be irrelevant. Outrage is considered justice; hashtags are considered sacrifice. But hashtags cost nothing, outrage burns nothing, and sacrifice demands everything. Little wonder sacrifice has vanished—it is too expensive for our impatient times. Consider compassion again. What was once quiet, almost sacred, is now loud and rehearsed. Cameras are brought to charity events, not to document but to advertise. A sandwich for the poor must come with the watermark of a brand. Philanthropy is now PR, and pity is monetized. Kindness has been converted into content, and like all content, it expires in twenty-four hours. Courage, too, is misunderstood. Once it meant enduring danger, persecution, exile, even death. Now it means announcing one’s unpopular opinion in a safe environment and deleting the app when the mob arrives. Our ancestors risked everything for the truth; we risk nothing but Wi-Fi stability. And yet we congratulate ourselves as if bravery were measured by the number of likes. Justice, stretched beyond recognition, has been industrialized. Causes are commodified, protests are marketed, and even moral outrage comes in subscription form. Corporations are our new prophets, preaching justice on billboards while outsourcing labor to sweatshops. We live in an age where the same company can release a diversity campaign in the morning and fire thousands of workers by the evening. Yet the audience claps, because the performance looked sincere. And tolerance—oh tolerance! The virtue of modernity, now a parody of itself. To be tolerant today does not mean enduring difference with dignity; it means applauding on command. We are tolerant of everything—except of the intolerant, which means we are intolerant, but in a fashionable way. Our tolerance is selective, curated, branded. The medieval heretic was burned at the stake; the modern heretic is canceled in digital fire. Both flames leave scars. And love? Love has been reduced to an algorithm, a series of swipes and curated profiles. Intimacy is outsourced to machines, affection is measured in emojis. Our ancestors carved poetry into stone; we carve our desires into pixels. Even loneliness has been monetized, with apps selling companionship for a monthly subscription. We have succeeded in turning the human heart into a marketplace. But here is the irony: we think ourselves superior to the past. We call ourselves free, rational, enlightened. We ridicule the ancient laws, the medieval codes, the traditions of our grandparents. And yet we feel restless, exhausted, lonely. We live in a storm of moral slogans, yet our souls are emptier than ever. The contradiction is glaring: the more values we proclaim, the fewer values we practice. True morality, I suspect, has not died but fled. It hides where the noise cannot find it—in silence, in anonymity, in small acts of dignity that refuse the spotlight. It lives in the kindness that is not recorded, in the courage that is not tweeted, in the justice that is not branded. True morality is not extinct; it has simply gone underground, waiting for this circus to collapse under its own absurd weight. Until then, let the performance continue. Let the influencers cry, let the corporations preach, let the hashtags rage. Modernity deserves its theater, and every clown deserves an audience. History will look back at us not as wise, but as actors in the longest-running comedy of self-righteousness. And when the noise fades, when the filters fail, when the applause dies, perhaps morality—the real one, the one that asks for sacrifice instead of slogans—will return from exile. Until that day, I remain a stranger scribbling in the shadows, laughing and mourning, convinced that the last virtue left is the ability to see through the spectacle.
By Sucipto7 months ago in Critique
Redecorating
Been a few days now and in the midst of redecorating my bedroom and very slowly decluttering. I started rearranging the furniture and trying to figure a different way to put the main furniture. De-cluttering is kind of fun but at the same time it's hard to do and let go of certain items. This started as a chore day that is taking a long time for now, I am waiting for a steam cleaner to finally get my carpet cleaned and it looks like it may be Saturday to get that done. Wish me luck in this endeavor, please.
By Mark Graham8 months ago in Critique