Mr Leith had a curious knack for subverting the establishment from within.
just before sending his copy to the editor-in-chiefly-benign-journlism, he contemplated the things he wrote in respect to the solicitation ribbon that would appear at the bottom of the piece, warning how it was a 'dangerous moment for dissent.' but without much ado, he clicked and sent his copy flying through cyberspace, gulped back his delonghi espresso and washed it down with mineral water from the swiss alps.
this one was about how substack represented a departure from traditional social media, which he found was a curious claim, but one that readers were interested in. he didn't bother himself with the notion that there isn't really anything new about new about writers publishing e-mail newsletters:
A peculiar aspect of the dawning of the digital age is that it has, in some respects, returned literary life to the 18th century.
was just ludicrous but provocative enough to elicit some curiosity.
he got some good quotes in this one, about how the writers' recommendation aspect doesn't only pollute subscribers' inboxes, but breeds a good natured 'generosity of spirit.'
there were others too, primarily banal things about how substack felt not quite human but 'almost human.' and how published writers could easily dupe readers into being 'happy to pay for fashion tips' and how this could easily make them 'six figures.'
there was even a quote about how one of them obsesed over the dissection of a socialist's cerebellum.
he was not quite sure whether this return to the 18th century was much of an upgrade from the 'hublebragging and showing your life as a highlight reel,' but then again, it was 'a dangerous time for dissent.'
'Send.'