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The phrase “history is written by the victor” gets thrown around a lot. It sounds simple: whoever wins gets to decide the story. But what defines a victor? Is it just military victory? Political power? Or something subtler, like control over narratives and culture?
A victor isn’t always the one with the biggest army or the last word on the battlefield. Sometimes it’s the one who controls education, media, or public memory — the gatekeepers of what gets remembered and how.
And here’s where it gets complicated: history isn’t a single, clean story. Multiple versions can coexist, sometimes clashing, sometimes running parallel. Take World War II, for example — Americans learn about heroic sacrifices and liberation, while Japanese narratives might focus on suffering from bombings and loss, or different reasons behind the war. Neither story is “wrong,” just framed through different lenses.
Or look at the Cold War — Eastern Europeans often have a very different take on Soviet influence than Americans do. Even within a single country, perspectives can vary wildly: the American Civil War is still debated today, with some seeing the Confederacy as a traitorous cause and others as a cultural identity.
More recently, politics and social movements have shown how history can be weaponized to support conflicting truths — each group claiming its own version of what “really happened.” It’s less about who won and more about who controls the story in the present.
So maybe history isn’t just written by the victor — it’s rewritten endlessly by everyone with a voice. And the real question is: how do we listen to all those voices without losing sight of truth?
the trait i value the most about myself is honesty. i try to be honest with folks, even when i dont have to, even when it may not seem necessary, even when the truth might be hard for folks to take. i believe that we need to be honest no matter what. i believe even when we are scared to admit truth, its best to be honest about the truth. we shouldnt hide it or downplay it or bend it or twist it or whatever. we need to just be honest and open and up front with folks. thats it. so many problems in this world both on a macro and micro level are from folks simply not being honest with each other. hiding the truth, keeping secrets, outright lying and spreading disinformation and misinformation and propaganda and false news. so many things in this world could be hell of a lot better if folks were just honest with each other. thats why i, when i do speak on here, try to be honest. i dont bullshit. i dont lie. now of course, theres things i dont share on here. things that are very personal that im not ready to share. and thats fine, and i think thats different. but the things i do share on here, the things i do talk about on here, thats all me. i try to be real with folks about the stuff i do share.
April 2019 was a month that left a permanent mark on my life. It was the month I lost my uncle, someone who had been a constant presence throughout my childhood and into adulthood. His passing felt sudden, and yet, somehow inevitable, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. Losing him forced me into a space I had never fully encountered before—a space of grief, reflection, and ultimately, learning to let go. I didn’t know at the time just how long the journey would be or how deeply it would affect me. But the universe has a way of giving us reflections, subtle and strange, in unexpected forms. For me, one of those reflections came in the form of a movie that arrived just months after my uncle’s death: El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie.
El Camino was released in October 2019, six months after I had said goodbye to my uncle. The timing was uncanny, almost eerie, yet in that coincidence, I found a strange kind of comfort. The film follows Jesse Pinkman in the aftermath of the Breaking Bad series finale, dealing with the consequences of a life surrounded by chaos, betrayal, and loss. Walt is gone. Jesse has survived, but at a tremendous cost. In the movie, he struggles with freedom, guilt, and the uncertainty of what comes next—an emotional and psychological journey that, in many ways, mirrored my own experience of loss. Watching Jesse navigate his post-Walt life felt almost symbolic, as if the story were acknowledging a personal grief I hadn’t fully articulated yet.
Grief is strange in how it manifests. When someone you love passes away, the immediate absence is almost tangible. You notice the empty chair at the table, the silence on the phone, the lack of shared laughter in familiar spaces. For me, losing my uncle was more than losing a family member; it was losing a touchstone, a figure who represented stability, guidance, and unconditional support. In the weeks following his death, I felt untethered. Life continued around me, moving forward in a rhythm I couldn’t keep up with, and yet, I was stuck in a loop of remembrance, replaying memories, and grappling with the weight of absence.
Watching El Camino in that context was unexpectedly cathartic. Jesse’s journey after the fall of Walter White resonated with me because it was a story about transition—about the painful process of leaving behind something that defined you, even if it was destructive or complicated. Jesse had to navigate a world without Walt, a figure who, despite everything, had been central to his life. Similarly, I had to navigate a world without my uncle, someone whose influence had been deeply woven into the fabric of my own life. The parallel was not exact, of course. Jesse’s world was fictional, violent, and chaotic, while my own grief was personal, quiet, and internal. But the emotional truth—the challenge of learning to let go and move forward—was shared between us.
Letting go is not a single act; it is a process that unfolds over time. There is no magic moment when grief disappears or when pain is erased. Instead, it becomes a series of small concessions, moments of acceptance, and quiet realizations that life continues despite the hole left by those we have lost. For me, the first step was acknowledging the depth of my grief without judgment. There were days when I could not focus, when laughter felt impossible, and when the world seemed absurdly unfair. And yet, there were also moments of reflection, where the memory of my uncle brought warmth instead of pain, and gratitude instead of sorrow.
The next step, as I gradually realized, was understanding that letting go does not mean forgetting. It does not mean erasing someone from your life or pretending their influence did not exist. Rather, it means finding a way to carry their memory forward without allowing it to anchor you in a place of perpetual mourning. Just as Jesse ultimately has to step into a new life at the end of El Camino, I had to find a way to step into a life that acknowledged loss without being defined by it. It was a process of learning to breathe, to move, and to accept that the world continues—even when it feels unbearably empty.
The connection between my grief and El Camino was not something that struck me immediately. At first, the timing of the movie’s release felt coincidental, almost trivial in the shadow of actual loss. But as I reflected on Jesse’s story, I began to see the resonance. There is a universality in his struggle: the grappling with freedom, responsibility, and identity after a profound rupture. In the months following my uncle’s death, I recognized the same themes in my own life. I had to redefine myself, my routines, and my emotional boundaries. I had to confront questions I had never anticipated: How do you honor someone’s memory while still allowing yourself to live? How do you reconcile love with absence? How do you find peace in a world that feels smaller without them?
The journey is ongoing. Even now, years later, there are moments when grief resurfaces unexpectedly—a song, a smell, a fragment of a conversation. But the difference lies in the way I relate to it. Instead of resisting, I try to acknowledge it, allowing myself to feel without being consumed. I try to carry forward the lessons, the laughter, and the love that my uncle imparted, using them as guideposts rather than weights. It is a delicate balance, a negotiation between memory and presence, past and future.
In some ways, El Camino became more than a film for me. It became a metaphor, a reflective lens through which I could view my own experience. Jesse’s journey from chaos to tentative freedom mirrored my own path from shock to acceptance. His struggles reminded me that grief is not linear, that the process of letting go is messy, unpredictable, and profoundly human. And while his story is fictional, the emotional truth it conveys is undeniably real: loss is transformative, and the way we respond shapes the lives we continue to live.
Ultimately, what my uncle’s passing and the release of El Camino taught me is that letting go is not about closure in the conventional sense. It is about integration—finding a way to include absence in the ongoing story of your life. It is about moving forward without erasing the past, honoring love while embracing the possibility of new experiences. And it is about recognizing, in both fiction and reality, that survival, adaptation, and hope are inextricably linked to the human condition.
The year 2019, marked by loss and cinematic reflection, became a pivotal point in my life. It reminded me that grief can coexist with growth, that pain can coexist with gratitude, and that letting go can be an act of courage rather than surrender. Just as Jesse steps into an uncertain but promising future at the end of El Camino, I continue to navigate my own path forward, carrying memory, love, and lessons learned. The journey is ongoing, sometimes challenging, sometimes surprisingly beautiful, but always a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the enduring impact of those we have loved and lost.
Have you ever thought about why we clap at concerts, theater shows, or speeches? It’s such a universal ritual — loud, rhythmic applause to say “thank you” or “well done.”
But where did this come from? And why clapping instead of any other gesture? It’s a way of making noise together, a communal signal of appreciation. Yet it’s also oddly mechanical, sometimes performed out of habit rather than genuine feeling.
Clapping is one of those weird social cues that’s both spontaneous and scripted. We don’t just clap to show approval, we clap to participate — to be part of the moment with others, to signal belonging.
So maybe the noise isn’t just about the performers, but about us. Our way of connecting, celebrating, and saying “I’m here with you.”
Anime, comics, and manga are more than just entertainment—they are gateways to imagination, storytelling, and culture. Each medium offers a unique way of experiencing narratives, building worlds, and connecting with characters. Whether it’s the sweeping epic of a long-running manga, the emotional depth of an anime series, or the intricate artistry of a comic book, these mediums have captivated fans for decades. Today, I’m excited to announce the launch of my new blog: Anime, Comics, and Manga, a space dedicated to exploring, celebrating, and analyzing all the incredible stories these worlds have to offer.
The idea for this blog comes from a lifelong passion for storytelling in all its forms. Anime, manga, and comics each provide something distinct yet complementary. Anime combines movement, sound, and visual artistry to create immersive experiences that are hard to replicate in any other medium. Manga, with its carefully designed panels and narrative pacing, offers a depth of story and character development that is often even more intricate than its animated adaptations. Comics—whether superhero epics, indie projects, or experimental works—blend art and text to explore imagination, social commentary, and culture in ways that can be both entertaining and profound. Anime, Comics, and Manga aims to celebrate these mediums while diving deep into the creativity, artistry, and storytelling that make them so beloved.
One of the primary goals of this site is to provide readers with news and updates from the worlds of anime, manga, and comics. From exciting new anime seasons to upcoming manga releases and major comic book announcements, staying informed is part of the fun of fandom. The blog will cover industry news, spotlight new series, explore adaptations, and keep readers updated on everything happening in these creative spaces. But it isn’t just about reporting—it’s about understanding the significance behind these stories, characters, and releases, and what they mean for fans, creators, and the larger cultural landscape.
Beyond news, the blog will offer deep dives and thoughtful analysis. Every story has layers, every character has depth, and every world is crafted with intention. Anime, Comics, and Manga will explore these elements, examining character development, narrative structure, themes, and artistic choices. From analyzing how a long-running manga evolves over time to exploring how an anime adapts and reinterprets its source material, readers can expect in-depth content that enriches their understanding and appreciation of the media they love. These posts will be as much about discovery and insight as they are about celebration.
Anime has a unique ability to combine multiple elements—animation, voice acting, music, writing—into a seamless, emotionally resonant experience. From classics like Cowboy Bebop to contemporary sensations like My Hero Academia and Chainsaw Man, anime captivates through its ability to immerse viewers in rich, detailed worlds. Anime, Comics, and Manga will explore these experiences, breaking down what makes particular series resonate, examining standout episodes, and highlighting the artistry that brings stories to life. Readers can expect thoughtful exploration of both mainstream hits and hidden gems that deserve more attention.
Manga offers another fascinating perspective on storytelling. Its focus on visual storytelling through static panels allows for unique experimentation with pacing, composition, and character development. Many anime are adaptations of manga, yet the source material often contains deeper or alternate narratives, subtle thematic exploration, and creative choices that deserve examination. The blog will cover a wide range of manga genres, from shonen and shojo to seinen and josei, as well as one-shots, experimental works, and long-running series. Each post will aim to provide insight into the artistry, storytelling, and cultural significance of manga in all its diversity.
Comics, both Western and global, add yet another dimension to visual storytelling. Superhero comics are widely known, but indie comics, graphic novels, and experimental works showcase the breadth and innovation of the medium. Comics can entertain, provoke thought, explore identity, and challenge societal norms—all through a combination of art and narrative. By covering comics alongside anime and manga, Anime, Comics, and Manga embraces a broad view of visual storytelling, highlighting the creativity, craft, and cultural impact of each work. Posts will include reviews, character studies, thematic analysis, and discussions of the evolving comic landscape.
Another focus of the blog is the intersection between mediums. Many anime are adapted from manga, while comics are often adapted into anime or live-action series. Examining these adaptations allows for fascinating exploration of creative choices, storytelling adjustments, and audience reception. Understanding how a story shifts across mediums sheds light on both the strengths and limitations of each format, offering readers a richer appreciation for the art of adaptation and creative reinterpretation.
Community is a vital aspect of anime, manga, and comics fandom, and Anime, Comics, and Manga aims to celebrate that. Fans create art, cosplay, fanfiction, theories, and discussions that enrich the experience of storytelling. The blog will highlight these contributions, providing a space to explore fan creativity, community reactions, and interpretations that add depth to the worlds we love. Engaging with fan culture allows the site to connect official content with the passion and creativity of the community, offering readers a well-rounded perspective on the media they enjoy.
The site also values the joy of discovery. While popular series and mainstream hits are exciting, some of the most rewarding experiences come from exploring hidden gems, underrated series, and overlooked works. Anime, Comics, and Manga will introduce readers to these treasures, highlighting unique stories, innovative artistry, and creative experiments that may have slipped under the radar. Celebrating both the popular and the obscure ensures a diverse, engaging experience for all readers.
At its core, Anime, Comics, and Manga is about fostering curiosity, critical thinking, and appreciation. It encourages readers to look beyond surface-level enjoyment and explore the artistry, narrative depth, and cultural significance of their favorite works. Posts will be designed to entertain, inform, and inspire, creating a space where fans can deepen their understanding while celebrating the joy, excitement, and emotional resonance that these mediums provide.
Ultimately, the mission of Anime, Comics, and Manga is to provide a comprehensive, engaging, and thoughtful resource for fans of visual storytelling. Whether you are a lifelong enthusiast or just discovering these worlds, the blog offers news, analysis, and exploration across anime, manga, and comics. It is a place to celebrate the creativity, imagination, and artistry that make these mediums so compelling, and to connect with a community of like-minded readers who share the same passion.
I invite readers of The Musings of Jaime David to explore Anime, Comics, and Manga, dive into the stories, and join me in celebrating the incredible worlds these mediums offer. From the latest anime releases to classic manga series, from mainstream comic events to indie gems, there is something here for everyone. Whether you’re looking to stay informed, explore in depth, or simply enjoy the beauty and creativity of these stories, Anime, Comics, and Manga is your destination.
So, if you’ve ever been captivated by animation, drawn to the pages of a comic, or fascinated by the artistry of manga, this is the place for you. Let’s dive into these imaginative worlds, celebrate the stories that inspire us, and discover new favorites—one episode, one chapter, and one panel at a time.
In a world overflowing with media, it’s easy to feel like we’ve seen it all. From blockbuster films to trending social media posts, from best-selling books to viral videos, content surrounds us at every turn. But sometimes, the most fascinating and memorable moments in media are the ones that defy expectations—the strange, the quirky, and the unusual. These are the moments that make us pause, laugh, question, or simply scratch our heads. And that is exactly the space my new site, Oddities in Media, is designed to explore.
Oddities in Media is a blog dedicated to highlighting the odd, the overlooked, and the utterly unique corners of all forms of media. It doesn’t matter whether it’s social media, YouTube, movies, TV shows, books, or other creative outlets—if it’s unusual, unexpected, or fascinatingly strange, it belongs here. The goal is simple: to shine a light on the media that most people miss, ignore, or dismiss, and to explore what makes it so compelling.
The idea for this site stems from my fascination with media as a reflection of culture and creativity. Often, the content that seems odd, strange, or even ridiculous at first glance tells us more about society, artistic experimentation, or collective human behavior than the mainstream hits ever could. A bizarre viral video might reveal fascinating trends in internet culture. An obscure movie scene might reflect societal anxieties or creative risks from its era. Even an unusual book or TV episode can challenge conventions, experiment with narrative, or present ideas in ways that demand attention. By exploring these oddities, Oddities in Media offers readers a new lens through which to view and understand the media they consume.
This blog is not just about cataloging strange content—it’s about celebrating it. Media doesn’t always have to be polished or commercially successful to be valuable. Often, it’s the imperfections, the quirks, and the unexpected moments that make a work memorable. A movie scene that seems unintentionally funny, a viral meme that surprises us with its absurdity, or a forgotten book with experimental storytelling all have a story to tell. Oddities in Media aims to give these works the attention and appreciation they deserve. It’s about curiosity, laughter, reflection, and discovery.
Another goal of Oddities in Media is to provide context and analysis. It’s one thing to point out that something is strange; it’s another to explore why it exists, what it reveals, and why it captures—or fails to capture—attention. Posts on the site will often dig deeper, looking at historical, cultural, or artistic context, examining what makes a particular work odd, and exploring the impact it has on audiences. By combining observation with insight, the site encourages readers to think critically while still enjoying the weirdness and charm of unusual media.
The scope of the blog is intentionally broad. It covers a wide variety of media, from the newest viral videos to forgotten movies, TV shows, YouTube channels, or books that may have slipped through the cracks. Oddities can be small, like a quirky line in a scene, or large, like a completely unconventional narrative structure or aesthetic choice. Social media posts, obscure fan videos, experimental art, and unusual adaptations are all fair game. By keeping the focus wide, Oddities in Media can uncover hidden gems, spark curiosity, and provide a space where readers can encounter content they might never have discovered otherwise.
One of the joys of exploring odd media is that it invites conversation. Strange content often provokes strong reactions—laughter, confusion, awe, or curiosity—and discussing it allows us to see different perspectives. Oddities in Media aims to be a space for community engagement, where readers can share thoughts, reactions, and their own discoveries. Whether it’s a particularly bizarre movie scene, a viral social media trend, or a forgotten TV show, there’s always room to discuss, debate, and explore. The blog encourages interaction and discovery, making it more than just a collection of posts—it’s a hub for curiosity.
Oddities in media often reveal patterns, insights, and trends that are otherwise invisible. They show us the unexpected side of creativity, the ways artists experiment, and the ways audiences respond. Sometimes these moments are unintentionally funny or strange; other times they are deeply thought-provoking. By highlighting these works, the blog invites readers to expand their understanding of media, culture, and storytelling. It’s a reminder that the unusual often holds more significance than we realize and that paying attention to what’s “offbeat” can lead to fresh perspectives and new appreciation.
The site also emphasizes the fun of discovery. In a media landscape dominated by algorithms and trending topics, it can be easy to miss the small, strange, or unconventional gems that exist just beyond the mainstream spotlight. Finding an odd, fascinating, or overlooked piece of media can be incredibly rewarding—and that’s exactly the experience Oddities in Media wants to share. Readers can expect posts that uncover hidden gems, explain what makes them unique, and invite discussion, all while celebrating the unpredictability of creative expression.
In short, Oddities in Media is a celebration of curiosity, creativity, and the strange corners of culture. It’s about embracing the weird, the unexpected, and the overlooked, and finding value in moments that might otherwise pass unnoticed. By exploring media through this lens, the site encourages readers to think critically, laugh, reflect, and above all, enjoy the fascinating diversity of the creative world.
I invite readers of The Musings of Jaime David to visit Oddities in Media and join me on this journey. Whether you are looking for strange and hilarious moments in media, overlooked artistic gems, or deeper insights into cultural trends, there’s something here for everyone. By celebrating the unusual and unexpected, Oddities in Media hopes to inspire curiosity, foster discussion, and remind us that sometimes the most memorable experiences come from the things we least expect.
So, if you’ve ever been intrigued by the weird, the quirky, or the wonderfully strange, Oddities in Media is your new destination. Explore, discover, laugh, think, and enjoy. The world of media is vast and full of surprises, and sometimes the oddest corners are the most rewarding to explore.
Lately, I’ve noticed something about myself—I’ve seen plenty of stories out there that I’ve wanted to talk about on my blogs, but I just haven’t had the energy to actually sit down and write them. It’s not that I don’t have opinions, or that I don’t care. Quite the opposite—I care too much sometimes. But when you’re drained, even the things you want to do, the things that normally feel exciting or fulfilling, just feel heavy.
I’ve been in that space recently. I’ll scroll past a headline, or hear about something going on in the world, and a part of me immediately thinks, that would make for a really good blog post. But then reality sets in—I don’t have the spark to dive in the way I want to. I don’t want to force it, because then it wouldn’t come out authentic.
Writing, for me, has always been about honesty and presence. And right now, my presence has been wrapped up in simply trying to hold onto enough energy for the day-to-day. So if the words haven’t been flowing as often, that’s where I’m at.
Maybe that’s the lesson here: sometimes it’s okay to let the blog sit quietly for a while, even when ideas are piling up in the back of your head. Sometimes it’s okay to admit that you’re drained. That honesty, too, is part of the writing journey.
Lately, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to be creative. It feels like the weight of recent events, and the noise that follows them, has just zapped something out of me. Normally, writing, blogging, recording, or creating feels natural—like something I’m drawn to without even needing to think about it. But right now, I just don’t feel it.
It isn’t that I don’t want to create. In fact, I want to. I want to sit down and work on new pieces, sketch out ideas, draft essays, or even just jot down some smaller things to keep my creative momentum alive. But when I try, nothing comes. It’s like the part of me that usually sparks with imagination and drive is just… quiet.
I’ve noticed it spilling into all the corners of my creative life. My newsletter, which usually does have a consistent format, has been off track ever since the week of Charlie Kirk’s death. That week, and the one after, I couldn’t bring myself to keep it in its normal style. And honestly, I suspect this week will be the same. It feels strange, like even the routine structures I rely on are being disrupted by how drained I’ve felt.
The same thing has happened with my other creative outlets. My YouTube has been sitting without a new upload this week. And when it comes to my blogs, the only activity happening is either the automated news posts on my politics and mental health blogs, or the scheduled posts I had set up ahead of time. Beyond that, I haven’t really done anything fresh.
It’s frustrating, because creativity is such a big part of who I am. To sit here and feel like that part of me is dormant makes me restless. And yet, I also know forcing it never really works. Creativity can’t be pulled out of thin air when your mind feels heavy. It has to come naturally, and right now, my headspace isn’t making that easy.
Maybe this is just one of those phases. A season of quiet that I have to accept instead of fight. I might be in this for a while, and as much as I’d love to push through it with sheer willpower, I think it might be more about giving myself patience. Sometimes the most creative thing we can do is to allow ourselves the space to not create, to recharge, and to process everything that’s happening around us.
For now, I’m just letting myself be. The scheduled posts will carry my blogs forward for a bit, and when the spark comes back, I’ll be ready for it. But in this moment, I’m learning that part of being creative is also knowing when to rest.
Over the years, I’ve noticed a strange pattern. It feels like more and more of the creators I’ve watched—sometimes closely, sometimes only briefly—have passed away. First Emer Prevost, known as Hellsing920. Then Samuel Kehl, the Prince of Queens. Ahmed Alshaiba, the musician whose oud covers brought ancient sounds into modern songs. Benny Potter, the Comicstorian who unpacked comic book worlds. And most recently, Charlie Kirk, whose presence I mostly knew through clips in other people’s videos.
I know this is not unusual in the sense that people die; everyone does. But the repetition, the cadence of loss across creators I’ve watched over the years, is jarring. It’s more than grief. It’s the odd, heavy realization of how intertwined these figures have been with my digital life.
Emer Prevost (Hellsing920)
The first of these losses that really hit me was Emer Prevost, better known as Hellsing920. Emer was a reviewer and commentator on YouTube, known for his blunt style, his sharp humor, and his unapologetic takes on media and pop culture. I didn’t watch every video he made, but I dipped in regularly enough that his presence became familiar. He was one of those creators whose voice you expect to hear in your recommended feed, whose style you can instantly recognize.
When Emer passed away, it felt deeply disorienting. The YouTube space that had seemed so consistent suddenly had a void where he once was. There’s something uniquely jarring about losing someone whose work feels casual and yet intimate. Emer didn’t share his life the way vloggers do, but his opinions, insights, and humor had a way of threading into daily routines. His absence highlighted just how real parasocial connections can feel—even when the person is a stranger in every direct sense.
Samuel Kehl (Prince of Queens)
The next loss came with Samuel Kehl, known online as the Prince of Queens. Samuel’s content blended political commentary with personal perspective, carving out a niche that resonated with viewers looking for thoughtful analysis with a touch of personality. I wasn’t a constant viewer, but his work floated into my digital life enough to make an impression.
Hearing of Samuel’s passing brought the same peculiar mix of distance and intimacy that Emer’s death had. It’s easy to forget that our experience of creators is mediated, filtered through screens, algorithms, and curated clips. And yet, that mediation doesn’t diminish the emotional weight of their absence. The voice you’ve heard in background tabs, in recommended videos, in shared clips becomes familiar, and when it stops, you feel the gap—even though you never knew the person personally.
Ahmed Alshaiba
Ahmed Alshaiba’s death in 2022 was particularly hard for me. Unlike Emer or Samuel, I actively followed his work. Ahmed was a Yemeni-American musician who brought the oud, a traditional Middle Eastern instrument, into the modern music space. His covers of popular songs, film scores, and cultural pieces were nothing short of mesmerizing. He translated familiar melodies into the oud’s haunting voice, revealing layers of emotion and history that the original recordings might never convey.
When Ahmed died in a car accident, the grief was compounded by the loss of potential. His niche was rare, his artistry unique, and imagining the music he could have created is almost painful. Yet his recordings remain, timeless, haunting, and instructive. Revisiting his covers is a ritual for me, a way to honor his legacy and keep that conversation alive.
Benny Potter (Comicstorian)
More recently, Benny Potter, known as Comicstorian, passed away. His YouTube channel was a haven for comic book fans, a place to explore Marvel, DC, and other universes with clarity and enthusiasm. I wasn’t a diehard follower of every upload, but I watched enough to recognize his voice, his cadence, and his unique perspective on storytelling.
Benny’s death, like the others, underscored how digital creators inhabit spaces that feel simultaneously public and intimate. The content persists, yes—but there’s an emptiness knowing no new videos will ever arrive, no new explanations, no new breakdowns of complex comic lore. The void left behind is both specific and diffuse, felt in playlists, recommended feeds, and personal memory.
Charlie Kirk
Finally, there’s Charlie Kirk. I never watched his videos directly, but his presence reached me through clips and commentary from others. He was a polarizing figure in political media, a person whose speeches and opinions were frequently quoted, discussed, or analyzed online. When he died in September 2025, it felt strange in a way distinct from the others. I didn’t miss his content in a personal sense, but his absence still shifted the digital landscape I inhabit.
Even when a creator is controversial—or when your engagement with them is indirect—their presence structures your online attention. The silence left behind is noticeable, and its weight is cumulative when combined with the loss of others.
Why It Feels Heavy
What ties all of these losses together is more than coincidence. It’s the nature of parasocial relationships, the cumulative effect of digital familiarity, and the peculiar intimacy of online media. Several factors make these deaths feel heavier than they might in other contexts:
Parasocial Bonds: Regular engagement with a creator, even casually, can generate a sense of familiarity akin to friendship. The absence of a creator can feel like the loss of a companion.
Cumulative Effect: Losing one creator is notable. Losing several across years can feel like a trend, a pattern, an uncanny coincidence. It creates an ongoing awareness of mortality within the digital sphere.
Digital Permanence and Absence: Content persists even after the creator is gone. This creates a tension: the work remains, but the creator does not.
Intimacy of Online Presentation: Many creators film in personal spaces, speak directly to the camera, and cultivate communities. This blurs the line between public figure and familiar voice, intensifying the sense of absence.
Reflection: Grief in the Digital Age
This pattern of loss has made me reflect on what it means to grieve in a digital age. The grief is genuine, yet it exists in a unique space between public and private. Unlike losing someone in your personal life, there’s no funeral, no shared social mourning in your immediate circle—though comment sections and fan communities often serve as proxies.
And yet, despite the sadness, there is gratitude. Each of these creators enriched my life: Emer with his humor, Samuel with his insight, Ahmed with his music, Benny with his guidance, and even Charlie with the attention he drew in commentary. Their work shaped my digital landscape, and remembering them means honoring what they contributed.
Holding the Memory
How, then, do we hold these losses? For me, it’s about engagement. Listening to Ahmed’s oud covers. Revisiting Benny’s Comicstorian breakdowns. Watching Emer’s critiques. Reflecting on Samuel’s commentary. Acknowledging Charlie’s influence, even indirectly. The content remains a bridge between the living and the deceased.
Another part is sharing. Telling others about the work, creating playlists, posting recommendations. Small gestures like these keep the creators’ impact alive and tangible.
Conclusion: Loss, Legacy, and Digital Intimacy
Watching multiple creators pass away over the years is a strange, heavy experience. It reminds me of the fragility of life, the intensity of parasocial relationships, and the power of digital media to connect us to voices we will never meet. Each creator—Emer Prevost, Samuel Kehl, Ahmed Alshaiba, Benny Potter, Charlie Kirk—left a mark, shaping my attention, my perspective, and my appreciation of music, media, and storytelling.
Their deaths are sobering, but the legacies remain. Their work is still there to watch, to listen to, to revisit. In engaging with it, I honor their contributions and keep the connection alive. It is heavy. It is strange. But it is also a gift: proof that the creators we watch, even from afar, matter, and that their voices continue to resonate long after they are gone.
