#10 Being pissed about Self-help, Instagram and who becomes an idol
Get angry and laugh a bit with these authors
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A while back, I wrote in my other newsletter about why I don't read self-help books. This week I found a far funnier and more entertaining twin story by Yazmin Bradley. You should read her article together with the other beautiful writing and illustrations that I have collected.
Which Death God Can I Sacrifice The Entire Self-Development Genre To?
Let it f*cking END
It’s kind of like a religion. Usually men, usually white (but hey, let me tell you this genre attracts readers of all genders, race, and creed which is doubly worrying), and they kind of hang around the Self-Development/Business section like a fart you thought you’d try and sneak out except what was meant to be a love puff is actually a crop-duster. It lingers.
These guys linger.
Asteroid City Blues
After a brief foray into animation with the delightful Isle of Dogs, Anderson’s returned to live-action in last year’s The French Dispatch, a quasi-collection of short films fashioned as stories in a New Yorker-like magazine. At first glance, these stories are seemingly unrelated, but look closely at The French Dispatch, and you see the same subject as in Grand Budapest: Art and culture as weapons in the never-ending fight against human greed and political oppression.
Ain't no culture without them
honoring the unnamed cultural muses of our history
Not a year goes by I don’t recite “Advice,” one of my favorite poems by the great Langston Hughes, at least twice. Once on my birthday. Once more, at least, on a day that I am weary.
Advice
Folks, I'm telling you,
birthing is hard
and dying is mean—
so get yourself
a little loving
in between.
How did I get on this planet?
A letter to friends like Kafka used to write
While the electric kettle boiled, I stood in my kitchen and gazed out of the window. I was wondering about evolution. How did we become self-aware? At what point in time did it happen? I poured the hot water into my favorite Japanese mug, watching the black tea leaves as they bloomed within a satchel. Why did I wonder about these things so early in the morning?
I've Lost 2000 Followers on Instagram. And I Don't Care.
Instagram used to be my creative playground. Now I'm reluctant to open the app.
I’m currently in the process of writing a non-fiction book proposal and one of the things I had in my favour was a fairly healthy-sized Instagram account to impress the publishers with. So to come out publically and state that I don’t care about losing a large number of followers over two years is perhaps not the wisest move I’ve ever made. But that just shows the strength of my feelings about Instagram now. I genuinely don’t care.
Home is a Softball Field
A story of belonging.
Friends, I’m thrilled to have a new illustrated essay to share with you today: “Home is a Softball Field.” While I’ve shared a few essay series with you so far this year, this week’s story is a stand-alone piece — about a softball field I stumbled across a few months ago in Montevideo, and the surprising picture of belonging I found there.
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See you next time! :)
Hi Amani! Thank you for the great text! 🤩
Curated lists like this are great. Having "thinky" hubs on Substack provides value for your readers; well done!