An Ode to Struggling Writers

By Mike

In the beginning, there was the Brow.
Unfurrowed, it floated gently above the world,

like a leaf on still water.
But then came the noise:
Speeches without meaning.
News without nuance.
Pundits with more teeth than wisdom.

So the Brow furrowed—not in anger,
but in concentration.

It saw what others ignored:
That goats speak truer than generals,
that dogs remember what politicians forget,
that owls ask the questions no one wants answered,
and even a fly on the wall can be the voice of reason.

The Way of the Brow is this:

• Speak without shouting. A whisper well-aimed can undo an empire.
• Laugh without cruelty. Satire is not a sword—it is a mirror.
• Pause before reacting. The truth swims in still water.
• Question everything. Especially the answers.
• Let each creature speak in its own voice. The goat rages. The owl reflects. The dog barks, then sniffs. The fly observes.

Do not chase the headline. Let it drift to you.
Do not seek clicks. Seek clarity.
Do not trust the loudest voice. Trust the one that listens.

The Tao of The Furrowed Brow is the way of the sideways glance, the raised eyebrow,
the long exhale before the punchline.
It walks through the chaos not above it,
holding a mug of coffee and a well-worn notebook,
scribbling what matters in the margins of madness.

It is not here to save the world—
only to notice when it slips on a banana peel.

And so the Brow stays furrowed.
Not out of worry.
But out of wonder.