Life on the Screens of our Discontent
We write the zeitgeist alone, together
The page hypnotizes you into a stupor with all the empty space.
The anxious mind will find something to angst about, word by word.
Public self-inquiry is counterintuitive and humbling. The reason? Accountability: you can’t shirk it.
Accountability makes human decency the only choice.
The commodification of human emotions has done us no favors.
Merriam-Webster began self-combusting. Call out culture, cancel culture, outrage culture: This is us.
The lowest common denominator is strangling the internet. Find no justification for adding to it.
The internet is as vast as human imagination, outrage isn’t the only setting.
The inevitable continues to unfold, creativity and love are falling apart.
The page still holds you, somehow, bearing witness, a chance of making it through the next hour, the next day, the next week.
Today, you’re still around. Tomorrow? You can only confirm it tomorrow.
Stop pushing back against what you can’t control.
Write up whatever future appeals. Focus on possibility, let your curiosity loose.
What do we need more than anything? Human warmth? Compassion? Connection? Money?
What if this weren’t a Venn diagram but a circle?
Words are our center, our core, a democracy in constant fear of losing its voice.
Watch reason getting buried by greed. Noise drowns out signal, terrifying when there’s so much at stake.
With all hands on deck, we might stand a chance, pivoting onward and upward, out of the fun house of mirrors.
Unpleasant solipsism was a kindness: We’re now running away rom ourselves.
Write icky then edit, tracing the curves of the human heart.
Private pain shared with respect and compassion is power: word by word, we transcend whatever has been holding us back. Today’s field notes on a screen keep the door to tomorrow wide open.
The page is interactive. Approach it with humility; it can help you dispel alienation.
Daring to think out loud in public is an act of bravery.
Take your mind to task: Articulating the workings of the human head and heart feels like sacrifice.
Accept and welcome yourself as you are, respect your vulnerability, document the transition process between then and now.
Life will bestow random gifts upon you.
When you need solace and respite, turn to the page and write your way through then share your words.
What kept you afloat might just prevent someone else from sinking, too.
Write another love letter to life; re-read it as needed.
I’m a French-American writer, journalist, and editor now based in the Netherlands. To continue the conversation, follow the bird. For email and everything else, deets in bio.