A Dream or a Curse
A dream I’m tired of chasing
Can overtake-consuming
Overpowering all thought
My mind burnt to a black smudge
I want this
I hate this
Hold it above everything else
It grips my inner core
Mudding all else
I hate this
I want this
The soot of blackness smearing my mind
Thought overpowered all
Consumed, overtaken
The dream chased everything else away
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A Dream or a Curse
by Stephanie Daich
What are your thoughts on social media fact-checking? Do you believe that Meta platforms have the right to protect us from untruth? Even if it is you spewing their deemed lies? Are you comfortable with them suppressing your views? Perhaps you don’t mind censorship thrust upon your rival political party, but what about on you?
Who gets to be the one who holds the measuring stick to truth?
J.Brough explores these ideas by showing how we are often unaware of the degrees of inappropriateness that never meet our eyes. Social media algorithms and fact-checkers must wade through seas of disbarring images such as sex abuse upon a child or beheadings. Shouldn’t we thank them for shielding us from graphic images and thoughts that would fill our minds with toxic sludge?
Brites, M. J., Castro, T. S., & Contreras-Pulido, P. highlight the changes in journalism through history and how, today, young people mix their views with the story shared, truth or not, ultimately controlling and participating in the narrative. Brites, M. J., Castro, T. S., & Contreras-Pulido, P. implore that with social media, there are no safe grounds to protect the vulnerable from misinformation. Social media opens the eyes of the world to different thoughts and cultures. Can we trust the ideas they share (2024)?
Hameleers, M., & van der Meer, T. G. L. A. detail how misinformation can polarize and influence politics. It regards fact-checking as a way to deliver trustworthy news and limit falsehoods, yet the truth is hard to define. Fact-checkers can change the message delivered and the audience receiving it. Hameleers, M., & van der Meer, T. G. L. A. ran a study that showed fact-checkers block ideas contrary to their views and stance. If this is the case, why would we want to give such power to a group of people with alternate views of the truth? Fact-checkers may have a bias that they want to cover up. The ability to hide information from the people gives massive amounts of power to those who might taint the truth. Hameleers, M., & van der Meer, T. G. L. A. concluded that “fact-checkers do have the potential to correct attitude-congruent misinformation” (2019).
Is this where we are today? Are we so afraid of our abilities to discern truth from fiction that we allow a group of people to decide what information we consume?
Brannon, V. C. shows the conflict between those who want social media regulated and those who believe in free speech, highlighting how the Supreme Court grants free speech even on social media, which the First Amendment protects. (2019)
What are your thoughts? Do you support the restriction of information for the good of the people, or do you believe we should be accountable for researching the information given and making an informed decision? But how do we regard the youth who take deception at face value? Do we have the right to shield and protect them from what we deem invaluable? Are our values the pinnacle to the rest of society? Are you comfortable only seeing posts and articles curated by your political opponent? Who gets to define truth? There are compelling arguments on either side. What is your stand?
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Deleted for Your Welfare
by Stephanie Daich
References:
Holding you, I remember not, when was the last time, your hand in mine, your arms around my neck.
I lived for these moments yet neglected that they would end.
From the morning welcome to the nightly tuck, this is just what we did.
When did it stop?
When was the last cuddle, you wrapped in my arms and everything in life on pause?
Had my thoughts been cluttered, looking to end it, seeking something else while you placed your trust in me?
I had put you to bed a million times, an unthought task, just routine.
And now I stand at your closed door. I am not even welcome to say goodnight.
Pain grips my heart. We had our last cuddle, our last moment as a mother and child where nothing else in the universe mattered to you?
And I missed it; the final cuddle.
I didn’t realize it was the last time you would snuggle in my arms.
The last time to inhale your scent.
Would I have released you if I had known you’d never cuddle again?
Just us, with your faith in me, your love in me.
I didn’t know it was the last time.
And now your door is closed.
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The Parent's Last Cuddle
by Stephanie Daich
WET NURSE
If you had lived in another time, say a hundred, even a thousand years ago, somewhere in Britain or even Egypt, and you were not a member of the chosen people, stuck in a race, a system where there was no way to rise out of, you might have found the deprivation of living unbearable. Everything you did, loved, kicked to the ashes. Those who felt superior to you, even the children, would look at you with scorn if they looked at you at all. They would say amongst themselves, is this a human at all? I doubt it.
Georgiana lived such a life, where all was taken from her, but nothing given back, where she sacrificed the good of her children for that of her master, and such a word is that, master, someone taking dominion over her every breath.
Georgiana thought, for once, that providence had smiled upon her as she held her newborn baby in her arms, the new baby suckling at her breasts. All the persecutions, the beatings, and the sacrifices were all worth it to be the mother of the sweet baby. Georgiana didn’t understand why her master let her rest in her bed for two weeks following the miracle, but she relished every second with her baby.
For now, you will no longer work, they told her. Georgiana could scare breath, yet they realize their mistake. Some part of her knew that the moment would pass, that things would change, but she tried not to think of it as her son took loud, pleasurable gulps of Georgiana’s pure milk of life.
But then, Master gave birth, and Junior was brought to Georgiana’s breasts. You will no longer feed your child from your breasts. There must always be an ample supply of milk for Junior. A sentence passed upon Georgiana, almost as damning as being thrown in the dungeon. And from that point on, Georgiana’s son wailed in hunger; his belly used to rich, thick cream, now consigned to drink water with bread soaked in it. Whenever Georgiana could steal a small dribble of pig’s milk, she brought it to her son’s lip. Oh, how her breasts ached for her child, how they swollen and engorged to his cries. But to be caught nursing him would be the instant sale of her son. She knew this, for they threatened her about it daily.
I want to say that things worked out well for Georgiana’s baby, that she was able to stow him away in a basket, send him down the river, and eventually be called to nurse him. But I can’t.
In other times, in other places, life moves slowly and hard, weighing down those forced into slavery. The unfortunates bury their will, their very sense of being human.
So, Mama, if you have the fortune to raise your baby, do so with gratitude and joy. Hold that infant tight as it suckles your breast. Sing them songs and tell your stories, for you have what millions of others have been denied: the privilege and freedom of being their mom.
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Wet Nurse
by Stephanie Daich
LET YOURSELF FREE
This is the pillar which you build your life upon.
You fight to show the world it’s rosy and grand
You try to hide your struggles
And when you fall and land, you keep your image rosy and grand.
These are the people you spend your time with.
You adopt their mannerisms and ways, often becoming someone new.
You stuff yourself deep within,
Hiding yourself true, often becoming someone new.
These are the lies you feed yourself and others,
Pretending and deceiving, veiling your heart,
Constantly fighting with your true self,
Until you feel you’ll rip apart, veiling your heart.
Scrape off all the stucco and stains you have accumulated.
Throw away the foolish trends that bind you; let yourself free.
Stop hiding and suppressing who you are.
Take a breath and let yourself be; let yourself free.
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Let Yourself Free
by Stephanie Daich
RETURN TO YOURSELF
Reenter your imagination with a child-like hunger,
And allow it to wash over you.
Surrender your rigid schedules
And destroy your oppressive walls.
Once you traveled this realm freely,
Once you let it in.
When did you shut it out,
Close your doors to its possibility?
Kick out your mind’s curator,
The one who has boxed up all your innocence,
And filed it deep into the vaults of the forgotten,
Unobtainable memory. Rehire the organizer of
Your mind from yesteryears.
Allow curiosity and wonderment to be your
Constant companion, for it swelled in you once,
And it can regain its place in you.
Why do you have to rush about,
Too busy to even notice the small flower
Growing out of the cracked asphalt?
Have you taken the time to lie on your back
And gaze up at the clouds, noticing Heaven’s palette?
When did you really listen to the magic of music
And allow it to paint pictures of wonderment in your mind?
Return to yourself,
The one who felt intrigued by a
Stranger and made an instant friend.
Open your heart to adventure and spontaneity,
For that is the spice to life, the icing on the
Cake that you always took time to taste.
Today is the day! The minute is now.
Toss out all your reserves
And allow imagination and curiosity
Their rightful place in your soul!
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Return to Yourself
by Stephanie Daich
NOTEBOOK
Crafted lines in the tattered book.
Pen to paper, in my nature nook.
Conduit open.
Inspiration abound.
Meditation open to sound
Senses feeling the power surge.
Brush strokes and ink, ideas emerge.
Bloch of paint.
Charcoal smear.
Emotions expressed, tender and dear.
Imagination forever encaptured.
Heart and soul, eternally enraptured.
Feelings raw.
Talent shook.
The power of a blank notebook.
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The Notebook
by Stephanie Daich
