This project was never built for the like button.
I write pieces that demand attention, not agreement. They strip away consolation and refuse tribal shelter. That kind of work does not travel on hearts or applause; it travels in private rereads, marked paragraphs, awkward dinners, and decisions made when no one is watching.
If the surface here looks quiet, it is because a public “like” is a social affidavit. Many of these essays implicate the audience as much as the institutions. People who feel seen do not always click. They keep reading.
I do not measure this by engagement rituals. I measure by whether language becomes usable: if a phrase you met here returns to you in a meeting, if a distinction keeps you from being captured by a headline, if a paragraph slows your anger long enough to recover proportion. If that happens, the work is doing its work.
You owe me nothing—not hearts, not replies. If you need to remain silent in public, keep your silence. If you need to argue, argue. If a line helps you hold a boundary or refuse a lie, use it and say nothing.
This is not content; it is an ethic. I will keep writing as if memory matters more than metrics. The room may look quiet. The ledger isn’t.
I don’t write for money. I have a specialized job; this is not my job. I fund it myself—each essay, each audio version—because the work matters more to me than the balance sheet.
I write for the message, not the metrics. I’m not competing for market share or chasing applause. If the surface looks quiet, that’s fine. This project travels in rereads, saved lines, and choices made off-screen.
I love language. Metaphor and precision are my tools. I also use other tools when they serve the truth—including AI—without shame. Substance outranks form. I won’t perform “authenticity” with stylistic tics; the standard here is clarity and fidelity to what’s true.
This body of work is a long, ongoing diagnosis of where Western civilization is—attention, memory, power, appetite. I trust time more than feeds. I don’t need to advertise its value. My task is to keep writing as if the long ledger will be kept—and to keep paying the costs that let the work exist.
Use what helps you, argue with what doesn’t, and feel no obligation to signal approval. I’ll keep writing.
—E.W.
