The Colour of Time

On the morning of July 1, 1916, a 21-year-old British captain named Wilfred Percy Nevill (”Billie” to everyone) was standing in a trench near Carnoy in northern France, just a few hundred yards from the German lines. It was the first day of the Battle of the Somme, and in a matter of minutes, he and all his men were going to have to drag themselves out of a muddy ditch and walk straight into an absolute hell of machine-gun fire.

Oh, hey! Happy New Year, everyone. This space has been quiet for a while, which wasn’t the plan, and also wasn’t some dramatic decision. I could get into the details or try to turn it into a story, but that feels unnecessary, and probably not very interesting. So, let’s just say that I needed distance to recalibrate how and why I write here, because this newsletter matters to me more than showing up on a schedule just to fill space.

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Hello, and Happy New Year, everyone! We’ve made it to another January, and somehow I’m still here oversharing on the internet. After doing this for almost a decade, I think it's okay to call it a tradition at this point. Hope you all wrapped up 2024 nicely and are doing well. It’s my first post of the year and the first one I’ve published in a while. I wasn’t sure I wanted to write this, mainly because the internet is already drowning in endless rants about artificial intelligence and creativity.

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HELLO!! I know, I know, it’s been a while… Let’s just say that a lot of not-so-great things happened in the past few months, which kept me away longer than I planned. But I’ll save that drama for another day. The good news is that I'm fine, and I’m back.

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takes a deep breath So, I was scrolling through Instagram the other day, minding my own business, when I came across this crazy video. It’s got these two climate activists, gotta be in their 80s, whacking away with a hammer and chisel at the glass case protecting the Magna Carta. You know, that ancient document from 800 years ago that laid the foundation for modern democracy? Yeah, that one.

I mean… I had no idea that this whole thing was a whole thing…! I can’t believe slices of Einstein’s brain are on display still, completely disregarding his wishes to not be gawked upon. And his eyeballs in a safe deposit box? Whhaaaa?! Why? So stupid. The whole thing is bizarre. I’d like to steal them all and burn them to ash for the wind to disperse all willy Billy, as per the original owners request. It’s a weird and morosely invasive material possessiveness on grand display.

On April 17, 1955, Albert Einstein's Sunday was shaping up to be anything but ordinary. There he was, seated at his messy desk (who am I to judge?) in Princeton, New Jersey, surrounded by a pile of papers and books, when suddenly, a familiar pain in his chest intensified, transforming into a sharp, unbearable agony. This was no stranger to Einstein; he had been living for a while with an aortic aneurysm, a potentially lethal condition where the heart's main artery develops a dangerous bulge.