Welcome to Monday’s News on the March – The week that was in my digital world.
Article at The Hofflebrock:
But who knows. I’m the sort of tragic character who cuts his hair to exert control. Who says fuck everything and climbs into a hole, plastering the walls with pictures of what I’m pretty sure the world looks like, and that’s fine enough. I don’t need to go out and see what’s really out there because I’d have too much to keep track of. I might get lost. My cave paintings, though, they don’t move. I can forget they’re even there. I can stare off into nothing and feel freedom from time and space.
I’m writing this story. These stories. I’m writing about writing. I’m writing about writing about writing. Instead of doing. Instead of teaching. “Those who can’t even…” I want that on a tshirt....… (read more).
Video interview at the Agenda with Steve Paikin:
Dire predictions about an impending overpopulation crisis have loomed large in the human imagination for centuries. Darrel Bricker and John Ibbitson co-authors of, “Empty Planet: The Shock of Global Population Decline,” say these predictions have been greatly exaggerated. In fact, the global population is on the decline. They join The Agenda to discuss a shrinking planet and the myriad challenges it poses...…Watch entire interview
You tube interview at Powerful JRE:
Edward Norton’s perspectives about those artists who have had the biggest influences in their given field, including Marlon Brando and Bob Dylan were fascinating.
ABC News Australian podcast at ABC:
When is an invasion not an invasion? When Putin’s propaganda machine is involved, sowing false narratives, confusion and fear.
From Putin’s motorcycle gang to his ‘little green men’ and his hip-hop loving head of misinformation, Russia tried everything to convince the West it wasn’t invading Ukraine.
The propaganda push worked – sort of, and tells us a lot about the misinformation Russia has gone on to do in the West.…. (Listen to podcast)
Poem Mike’s Manic Word Depot:
a tarnished silver tray
in the flickering
of a darkened room
long into rot
under the constant buzz
of flies (Read entire poem)