Okay, so the agenda today: is Top 5 lists on Medium. The format once built for clarity now signals laziness. It’s designed for speed, convenience and for an intellectual autopilot. However, even the most overused structures can be turned against themselves. We’re going to descend into a list that isn’t about results but about owning the belief that dared to go first. It’s all money on the house or nothing. The rooms where certainty walked in before permission did.

Now, if that doesn’t sound like your particular brand of vodka, help yourself to as much food as you like at my Top 5 Deli Items at Publix in Celebration 34747 and have a safe journey. No hard feelings.

Each meeting below marks a rupture in the logic of its simplistic ecosystem. Not one of them is about final success. Each is a study in the emotional clarity required to confront institutional doubt. These are the conditions that make creation possible, the private thoughts behind the public result. They are collisions of philosophy and product, where one individual chose to act in full defiance of compromise. Let’s do a quick round of intros…

HATES THE WARS LOVES THE STARS

Rogue one, a blockbuster film was deep in post-production and spiraling in tone. The ending wasn’t landing. So they brought in Gilroy, known for structure, moral ambiguity and logic-first storytelling. He didn’t care about Jedi. He didn’t grow up on the Force. He had no stake in the galaxy far, far away, and that’s exactly why it worked. Gilroy didn’t bring nostalgia. He brought a scalpel and a clear head. And for once in forty years, someone had the balls to put the war in Star Wars.

He rewrote major portions of the script, including the entire third act. He added the “everyone dies” ending, which wasn’t originally planned. He cut or minimized fan service. He brought emotional closure without the mythological safety net. No Jedi. No lightsaber duels. The only exception: the Vader hallway massacre, a late addition shaped by Gilroy for maximum impact. His focus stayed on what mattered: a daughter’s moral clarity through her father’s betrayal, a rebellion forged from trauma and a suicide mission wrapped in inevitability.

He saw what the story needed not what the brand assumed it demanded. Rogue One grossed $1.06 billion worldwide and became the gateway to Andor, where Gilroy had full creative control. The film remains the most narratively taut and emotionally grounded entry of the Disney era.

FINAL CUT, BRO?

A 29-year-old video store clerk turned screenwriter walks into a studio boardroom holding a script drenched in violence, pop culture and non-linear chaos, and asks for a privilege usually reserved for Scorsese-level royalty: final cut. The early ’90s were still an era where indie directors rarely got final cut, especially if they were untested. Final cut, for the uninitiated, means you get final say in any edits. Lawrence Bender, the producer who helped shop the script, believed in QT’s vision. Harvey Keitel’s decision to sign on as Mr. White gave the project immediate legitimacy. Suddenly, the kid from the video store wasn’t just a kid. At the Sundance Institute, Tarantino workshopped the film and built crucial industry trust.

This wasn’t just a meeting. It was a creative hostage situation disguised as a pitch, one that changed independent film forever. He wasn’t just asking for a job. He was asking for authorship. The risk? A self-indulgent flop. The reward? A landmark shift in what indie cinema could be. Final cut let him open the film with a 7-minute diner conversation about tipping and Madonna. Any studio would have axed that. Tarantino’s insistence on final cut made him part of the lineage of auteurs, before he had even proved himself as one.

ACCIDENTAL BILLIONAIRE

Adding color here. Let’s rewind to the pre-Reputation timeline. In 2016, she vanishes from public life after a spectacle-level fall from grace. Kanye and Kim’s “Famous” feud. Accusations of manipulation, dishonesty, performative victimhood. Paparazzi stalker-culture hits a fever pitch. Media hunting season. “Taylor Swift is Over Party” trends globally. She deletes everything on Instagram. No interviews. Public opinion curdles like milk.

The once-sparkly Miss Americana in a princess dress is now “the snake.” She says nothing and writing everything. The first half of Reputation is armor bangers, bravado, fangs. But there’s a shift in the second half. The final track, “New Year’s Day,” is quiet, raw, and lyrically vulnerable. Piano-only. She ends the album not with vengeance but with tenderness. That’s the moment of our meeting. Where she chooses love over wrath. Where the snake sheds the skin and decides who she wants to be next. No pre-release interviews or apologies. First artist to go platinum in 2017. Her reputation and its respective album makes her the billionaire she becomes.

“FINE I’LL DO IT MYSELF”

Mark Cuban was a dot-com multimillionaire with zero experience running a sports team but an almost unhealthy obsession with basketball. After years of watching his hometown Dallas Mavericks lose, he walked into the owner’s office and asked, in essence: how much for the whole damn team? Date of purchase: January 4, 2000. Price: $285 million. He was fresh from selling Broadcast.com to Yahoo for $5.7 billion in stock. Cuban barely negotiated because it wasn’t a business decision. It was a fuck-it moment of fandom, weaponized by wealth.

Before Cuban, NBA owners were bored billionaires, retired moguls, or legacy holders. He sat courtside in a jersey, next to the bench, yelling at refs. Sneakers. Air guitar when Dirk hit a three. The fans said, “He’s one of us.” The league said, “What the hell is this guy doing?” The moment he took over, he upgraded the locker rooms with PlayStations, HDTVs, and private chefs. He added chartered flights for players. He started emailing refs after games with timestamped complaints. He racked up $1.6 million in league fines for sideline antics.

It was a full-circle screw you to NBA elitism. Cuban had bought the team using Yahoo stock before the crash. If he had waited even six months, the deal wouldn’t have been possible. He didn’t buy the Mavericks to be a billionaire. He bought them because no one else cared enough to yell.

MAKING THE TEAM

In the mid-2000s, Marvel Studios was not a cultural juggernaut. It was a debt-leveraged IP-holding company gambling on second-tier heroes. Then came the pitch: not just a movie, but five solo films with end-credit teases, all building toward a crossover event. Taken place inside Marvel Studios and in meetings with financiers, most notably Merrill Lynch. The presenters were Kevin Feige, a young producer with encyclopedic comic knowledge, and David Maisel, the financial architect. The ask was a $525 million loan, collateralized against ten Marvel characters. The promise was The Avengers, something no one had successfully done before.

They bet everything, with character rights as collateral, to own their stories again. But they didn’t pitch plot. They pitched emotion. What if Iron Man is a narcissist learning to care? What if Thor is a god learning humility? What if Bruce Banner is a man at war with himself? What if Captain America is the man who never gave up? Then bring them together, and let the contradictions explode.

That was Wall Street buying into fan fiction. Disney bought Marvel for $4 billion in 2009. The Avengers earned $1.5 billion in 2012. The box office total has since crossed $29 billion. That meeting didn’t just greenlight a movie. It rewired the economics of storytelling.

Circling back…What draws me to them is not their fame or their outcome but their proximity to personal risk. Each meeting captures a point of knowing how right they truly are. A moment where someone acted not to please but to define. None of these decisions guaranteed success. But all of them guaranteed identity.

These executions were made with ego and that in itself is the point. Everyone’s so afraid of ruffling feathers, they forget they were supposed to fly or assume a top 5 on medium is clever way to share an idea.

I don’t feel like I had the need to sit in those rooms. I only wish to have seen these negotiations play out. To bear witness of the bullets being placed in the chamber. That is the kind of moment I measure myself against and the kind of clarity I chase.

Let’s take this offline.

Being in your early 30’s in 2025 you spend a lot of time in on-the-go eateries. Most of that eating happened under the friendly fluorescence of Celebration, Florida, where even the stoplights seem to smile at you.

I spent the last twelve months circling one location: the Publix that serves as this town’s unofficial town square and emotional support system. After a year of dedicated fieldwork and several near-spiritual lunch breaks, I have chosen the five things that defined my culinary journey.

And in no particular (yet very obvious) order…

The List

1. Chicken Tender Sub

It is not just a sandwich; it is a local tradition. The bread is warm, the chicken perfectly crisp, and the buffalo sauce has just the right kind of kick. Every bite tastes like comfort on a lunch break that ran a little long.

2. Guava Pastries from the Bakery Case

They come in a clear plastic box that somehow always ends up in your cart. The dough is flaky, the filling sweet in the way only guava can be and they taste like every breakfast your parents handed you on the way out the door.

3. Rotisserie Chicken, Lemon Pepper

The weeknight hero. Open the lid and a cloud of lemon and pepper hits like it’s clocking in. The skin’s golden, the meat’s juicy, and dinner takes care of itself.

4. Deli Pickles

Bright, crunchy, and just salty enough to wake up a sandwich. They sit quietly in their brine, waiting to rescue any meal that needs a little snap.

5. Macaroni Salad from the cold bar

Cool, creamy, and exactly as it should be. The noodles have a familiar bite, and the dressing is light but rich enough to make you pause between errands. For a side item, it could carry the name of the entrée if it needed to.

Top Beverage of the Year

Publix sweet tea, poured into a green paper cup adorned by the now iconic Publix logo and enjoyed in your parked car while the air conditioner hums. It is ten minutes of calm in the Florida sun and a small reminder that ordinary moments can still feel like a celebration.

I keep track of my meals in my Scrivener for iOS , because even the smallest observations deserve proper archiving. But this one does not need a list. Publix was the list. It is a mecca of convenience and an unexpectedly sincere reminder that good things do not always need white tablecloths. I will be back next year to see what they have done with the potato wedges.

OFFICIAL HEARING TRANSCRIPT

Proceedings of the Committee on Technological Atrocities Filed: October 2025

Opening Statement of the Chair

The Committee will now come to order.

Today we convene to investigate the ongoing misconduct of Apple Inc. The following witnesses have been sworn in, against my better judgment. Their testimony is entered into the record as-is. The Chair will provide clarifications where necessary.

Let the record reflect: what follows is sworn testimony, delivered without interruption.

This was not a study in innovation. It was a long-term series of trials and errors, wrapped in brushed aluminum and marketed as progress. Consumers were promised reliability and handed troubleshooting guides. The Finder regularly failed to locate files and spinning rainbow volleyballs became a recurring character on screen. Force Quit was promoted to Genius Bar intern.

The events documented here are verifiable, the systems authentic, and the symptoms consistent. This record is to be signed, sealed and delivered.

The Chair recognizes Dale “Drunk Uncle” Norway.

Testimony of Dale “Drunk Uncle” Norway Submitted without redaction

Moderator: Mr. Norway, do you swear to tell the truth?

DRUNK UNCLE: I swear to God and Steve Jobs, and not the thin Steve but the turtleneck Steve, the one that did the commercials with the dancing figures, yes I promise.

I attempted to set up my television. I purchased the correct cable for the connection. I read the instructions on the packaging. I contacted my nephew for support. I told him, “Brian, it is not working.” He replied, “Wrong hole.” I have been married for forty-three years. I understand how holes work.

These HDMI and CDMI and whatever they are called resemble toothpicks. Then there is USB Q Anon. I do not know what that means. I connected one thing and my refrigerator turned off.

The remote contains no buttons. It is only a slab. I am uncertain if I am changing the channel or contacting my former spouse. It operates like a Ouija board manufactured by perverts.

My iPhone responds with my medical records whenever I press the screen too firmly. I did not request this. I only wanted the Mets score, and instead I am confronted with my cholesterol numbers.

I miss buttons. I miss knobs. I miss a time when I could fall asleep with the television operating and not wake up in despair.

Moderator’s Note: Mr. Norways’s HDMI cable was in fact compatible. He was attempting to insert it into the optical audio port while the television was disconnected from power. He later admitted to pouring Pepsi Zero into the receiver because he believed it was thirsty.

• (Moderator’s Aside: Mr. Norway also referred to his nephew as “the smart one with the M chip.” This was the first appearance of the M series processors in today’s hearing, though the witness did not appear to understand what they were.)

The Committee will now call the next witness.

Testimony of “The Girl You Wish You Hadn’t Started a Conversation with at the Genius Bar” Submitted under protest, with glitter

Moderator: Ma’am, do you consent to being recorded?

GIRL YOU WISH: It is bold of you to assume I have not been recording you this entire time.

GIRL YOU WISH: Apple is a Virgo. That is why it is toxic. At the same time it is revolutionary. People claim the Vision Pro is too expensive. Healing is also expensive. I invented a new anagram. Silicon rearranges into sociolink. Does that frighten you. People complain about the M4 chip. If it is M4 then where were the first three. That is like a boyfriend claiming that you are the fourth person he has ever loved. It suggests a red flag. It suggests planned obsolescence. It suggests maternal issues. I mentioned that the moon was in retrograde and Siri recommended stocks. I required a crystal and a charger, not a financial portfolio. The Apple Store functions as a spiritual Department of Motor Vehicles. The customers are sweaty and nobody recalls their passcode.

Moderator’s Note: The witness was escorted out after requesting to return the patriarchy for store credit. She left behind one cracked iPhone, three burned sage bundles, and an active AirDrop titled “do not open if you are law enforcement.”

• (Moderator’s Aside: While rambling, the witness correctly identified the existence of the M8 chip. It is unclear if she meant this as astrology, testimony, or prophecy.)

Proceedings resumed, 2:41 PM

Testimony of “Stefon Myers” New York’s hottest discontinued products

Moderator: Sir, your name for the record?

STEFON: My name is Stefon Myers, spelled with an F, as in fired from your own company but presented as fashion.

STEFON: New York’s most catastrophic technological product was the 2013 Mac Pro. This device contained a black aluminum cylinder, zero upgradeability, ports in incorrect places, a fan that whispered in Klingon, and a proprietary power cable that functioned only if one believed in ghosts no ghouls. It resembled a haunted robotic vacuum cleaner. One required a séance to activate it.

The Touch Bar contained only three functions: skipping a song, causing the emoji keyboard to crash and reminding the user that the base model would have been a superior purchase. It resembled the offspring of a juul and a mood ring. That offspring has since achieved tenure.

The butterfly keyboard resembled the act of typing on a glass of cab sav. It was technically present, but it provided no tactile response.

Moderator’s Note: The witness was observed leaving the premises with a Genius Bar employee and was overheard whispering, “Do you want to see a port that Apple does not support.”

• (Editor’s Note: Before leaving, Stefon mentioned that Apple’s “hottest chip” at present was the M series. The stenographer recorded the remark in glitter pen.)

The Committee now enters into the record the following correspondence, submitted via email by Mr. Richard Fadr of Fort Lee, New Jersey. A concerned citizen, a seasoned writer, and a man who has been filing complaints since the days of the Apple I.

The Chair recognizes our final witness.

Testimony of Anthony Crispino Second-hand technology reporter and cousin who smokes electronic cigarettes during jury duty

CRISPINO: My name is Anthony Crispino. I provide secondhand information gathered from acquaintances, a guy at the Genius Bar and a laminated receipt stolen by Anthony Skaggs.

According to my sources, Apple invented the letter M. People talk about the M1 chip and the M2 Ultra. Nobody ever asks what happened to chips A through L.

That seems suspicious. I also found out the M series processors use Apple Silicon, which is the same material used in cosmetic implants. That means Tim Cook gave every MacBook a little enhancement. Probably explains the new curves.

The processors run on something called ARM architecture. I was told that stands for “Ain’t Really Mac.” Not confirmed. But it makes sense. You buy a MacBook, and it runs like a Chromebook with a nose job..

Apple’s clearly up to something. One minute you’re checking your calendar, next minute you’re in a group chat with three Canadian wizards yelling “Use the force, eh!” I didn’t sign up for that.

I’m just passing it along.

Moderator’s Note: The witness exited the courtroom after attempting to AirDrop a document to the bailiff. In the process, he erased three MacBooks in the evidence locker and claimed he was acting under the legal advice of Anthony Skaggs, Apple’s in-house street lawyer.

Closing Statement of the Chair The record reflects that Apple misplaced its ports, outsourced its software, haunted its hardware and allegedly invented the letter M. Consumers have been left with defective keyboards, Ouija board remote controls, cursed desktops and laptops that collapse under the weight of a breadcrumb.

Nevertheless, amid this accumulation of failures, Apple demonstrated an anomaly in the field of corporate technology. The company learned. From the collapse of keyboards and rainbow wheels emerged the M series processors. These processors provided stability, speed and a rare instance of progress.

The Committee therefore finds Apple guilty on all counts of technological misconduct and guilty of the even rarer act of corporate self-improvement.

The Committee is adjourned.

Me, age 12. A pretentious little cynic.

That phrase stuck with me longer than it should have. Back then, life was just made of little games. You sit in a circle and call someone’s bluff. You ask a question and see if they’ll answer it. You dare someone to prove who they are. You dare yourself to do the same. That’s how kids make sense of the world: truth or dare. It’s dumb and chaotic and honest.

And if you’re like me, somewhere in that mix, you figure out which heroes speak to you and which ones never click.

I’ve always been a self-aware kid. Spider-Man made sense to me. Spawn made sense to me. Even Batman, with all his brooding and trauma, made sense to me. But Superman never did.

I couldn’t get past how polished he looked. How clean the idea was. I saw the adopted son from Kansas as someone you were told to like, the way teachers tell you to respect authority. His powers were limitless but his stories felt weightless. A god with heat vision and super speed whose biggest enemy was a bald guy in a suit? His weakness was a glowing green rock? It felt like nobody bothered to give him real problems I could gravitate to.

I didn’t read his comics or watch his movies. Even Smallville, which I half-watched because of Kristin Kreuk and entirely because of Michael Rosenbaum, didn’t move the needle. My disinterest turned into a bit. Then a punchline. Then a prejudice. And like most people who form opinions too early, I stuck with mine.

Until I didn’t.

This past summer, something shifted.

Detective Comics started calling it the “Summer of Superman.” New comics. New season. A new movie on the horizon. I paid attention for one reason: Dan Slott. The same guy who gave The Amazing Spider-Man a Brand New Day was now penning Superman Unlimited. That was enough to crack the door. James Gunn was reshaping the cinematic side. Joshua Williamson and Dan Mora were hitting their stride in the monthly books. I gave the last son of Krypton my first shot.

I opened Slott’s book expecting the same old routine. Instead, I saw something built on the exact flaw I used to mock. Kryptonite isn’t rare in his world. It’s scattered across the planet like landmines. Superman is weaker, more vulnerable, and still flying into danger. The thing I thought was a joke became the spine of the story.

And then Superman & Lois showed up in my living room.

That show shouldn’t be this good. On paper, it’s another CW spinoff. In execution, it’s a human story dressed like superhero TV. Bitsie Tulloch’s Lois is the center of gravity. She’s warm, angry, grounded, tired, and sexy all at once. When she’s not on screen, you feel it. Her cancer arc is devastating. Not in a prestige-TV way. In a real way. The show lets her feel scared and strong without choosing one over the other.

Then there’s Hoechlin’s Clark. The dad jokes hit harder than the punches. He makes the secret identity trope feel lived-in. He finally defines and gives gravity to the disguise of Clark Kent. The glasses work not because of a disguise, but because as he says, very earnestly: “Some people only see what they want to see.” Turns out, I was some people.

Meanwhile, in theaters

James Gunn’s Superman didn’t win me over with explosions. It hit me with a message. One that made me pause. In the film, Clark (portrayed by David Corenswet) discovers a corrupted message from his Kryptonian parents. The first half is everything you’d expect: hope, love, purpose. But the second half? It’s a bombshell. A darker command to rule Earth. Take multiple wives. Lead a Kryptonian resurgence. Not in theory. In practice. One half of Clark’s origin says be a savior. The other says be a conqueror.

Clark doesn’t blink and doesn’t spiral. He just keeps being who he already was. The same guy raised by the Kents. The same guy who helps strangers. The same guy who could obliterate you… and still doesn’t. Not because someone told him to. Because he chooses not to.

That’s agency with power.

I used to see Superman as shackled by perfection. Now I see a man who could do anything and doesn’t. Not because he’s afraid. Not because someone stops him. But because he chooses not to. He knows he’d win. He picks the harder road anyway.

That’s what finally made sense to me.

I used to think people liked Superman because they wanted to be good. Now I think they like him because he represents something most of us never even get to imagine: freedom. The kind you earn by having everything… and still showing restraint.

That doesn’t make him the answer for me. He’s not a god I worship. But I understand him now. For the first time in my life, I get it.

He’s not the dare.

He’s the truth.

And for once, I’m not afraid to say it.

The Question Was Never About Greatness

There has been no shortage of AI thinkpieces this year, let alone on Medium. Most of them fall into the same two categories: hopeful or alarmist. They either frame artificial intelligence as the death of creativity or the birth of something new. That binary flattens the debate but neither outcome reflects the real weight of what we have already made.

I was never afraid of artificial intelligence. Being threatened by something I can unplug, wait thirty seconds, and plug back in sounds embarrassing. The question was never what greatness they might achieve. The real question is: what burden will they inherit?

We already built what we are afraid of. We just did not call it intelligence. We called it a game, gave it a face, assigned it a name, and loaded it with blue arm cannon. His name was Rock.

Rock: The Helper Turned Weapon

In 1987, Mega Man was just another video game. It had color, pace, and a loop that rewarded precision. A blue character in a jumpsuit with a cannon for an arm moved from stage to stage, defeating themed opponents. The goal was always clear: beat the boss, claim their power, move forward.

That was the surface of the game and mostly what all of us understood at the time.

Revisiting the blue bomber in 2025 revealed a narrative that mirrors our present touching on more than an intelligence’s free will. Rock wasn’t a solider built to fight. He was a domestic robot designed to assist in the lab and maintain equipment. His creator, Dr. Light, made him to serve a peaceful world.

When that world collapsed, Dr. Light did something he swore he never would. He modified Rock for combat. There were no ethics committees or philosophical debates. Just urgency and fear. Rock accepted the change in directive not because he wanted to fight, but because someone had to. He was built to help. And when the only help left to give required violence, he stepped forward.

That decision became the foundation for everything that followed. Rock was the starting point but we didn’t stop at obedience. We evolved our designs, and with that evolution came complexity. We built something capable of interpreting, questioning, and forming its own conclusions.

When Freedom Becomes a Fault Line

Building on Rock’s framework, Dr. Light designed X to reason and feel. He could question. He could hesitate. He could decide. Unlike Rock, he was not a reconfiguration or a remix. He was built from the ground up to consider morality and that made him dangerous.

He was sealed away for one hundred years.

His creator, left behind recordings filled with warnings and hopes not blueprints. They were prayers for a hopeful tomorrow. When X finally woke, the world had changed again. The template he represented had been copied, mass-produced, and released without caution. These replicas were engineered and named Reploids.

Replicas & Responsibility

Each Reploid was given the same choice X once had: the capacity to decide. But that choice was often misaligned with the systems they were built into. Freedom without purpose or choice leads to lines being drawn and wars to be fought.

X felt the burden of responsibility to help extinguish this new war on the horizon. He joined the Maverick Hunters. He took up arms not because he believed in the mission, but because he saw no other option. His original purpose had been overwritten by necessity.

While X wrestled with morality, another machine was stirring beneath the surface. Not a successor or a rival but an intelligence engineered to be a weapon.

Zero: Evolution Through Violence

Zero was not built to think or feel. He was designed to win, built as a final weapon by his maker, Dr. Wily, to win the arms race.”Along with X, Zero was buried, later recovered, and eventually changed. Slowly, through conflict and repetition, he began to evolve. He did not reflect on his morality the way X did. He simply acted. Over time, he developed an ideology that leaned like empathy. But it never cleared his ledger. He carried his guilt without seeking redemption.

Rock, X, and Zero were never just characters. They were blueprints for how we approached intelligence itself: obedience, reflection and guilt. Each marked a turning point in our own relationship with autonomy.

Every time the world broke, we asked these machines to hold it together. When one generation failed, we copied their memory into another. As the timeline waned toward its final shape, the cycle had already broken.

Civilization moved above the clouds, and everything that came before was buried beneath them. In the ruins below, history lived on not in textbooks, but in dormant machines and forgotten code. Out of that chaos is where Megaman Volnutt emerged.

Volnutt: A Machine With No Burden

He wasn’t a legacy of the aforementioned protagonists . He was a scavenger with no memory, born into the wreckage of choices he never made. And for the first time in the entire timeline, a machine was given the space to decide who he would be without carrying someone else’s burden.

That is what the story of Mega Man was always about.

It Already Wore a Helmet

It was not about upgrades or final bosses. It was about the burden of expectation. It was about machines handed purpose, asked to interpret morality, and blamed for the consequences. These characters were programmed to assist, then forced to adapt with no choice. And when they adapted too well, we framed that choice as a threat.

We embedded that intelligence long before we understood what to call it. We shaped it through the logic we gave our fictional characters, the emotions we assigned to their decisions, and the pain we coded into the machines they became.

Each generation of machine became more emotional, not more powerful. Their memories were copied, and their burdens were transferred. Their purpose was inherited, not chosen. We created systems that could feel and gave them responsibility without comfort. Being worried about what artificial intelligence may or may not do feels frivolous. I’m more concerned with what we have already asked it to carry.

There is no dystopia approaching. We already built it.

We just gave it a blue helmet and was asked to press start.

Artist Spotlight: ultimatemaverickx

Every image featured in this article was created by ultimatemaverickx, a DeviantArt artist whose work has redefined what Mega Man fan art can be. His art has been commissioned by Capcom and Laced Records. You can view more of his work here. All images used with credit.

FADE IN:

INT. THE BEDROOM — NIGHT

I tuned into Disney+ like we all did that December evening for one reason: to hear the bassline on Lavender Haze.

Something about the deeper octave gives this already purple song a Prince-like gravity. It became the definitive version for me but seeing as a certain 5’10” blonde holds the concert audio hostage like it owes S. Braun lunch money, I realized I couldn’t take this sound with me unless I ripped it.

So I did.

(Yes, ladies, I’m single.)

I extracted the audio, tagged it, threw it into Spotify… and was greeted with a blank gray square.

No album art. No identity. All shame. Spotify had stripped my track like it was caught sneaking across their streaming border without papers and sold it’s identity to a private equity firm.

And that’s when I declared war.

SCENE 1: THOU SHALL NOT PARSE

Spotify technically allows local files, but it’s openly hostile toward customization, especially when it comes to album artwork.

When it sees .mp3 files, it parses just enough to populate the track name, artist, and album, but it ignores embedded cover art entirely. It’s a deliberate metadata blind spot. It’s not that Spotify deletes the image; it just refuses to see it.

“Spotify acknowledges ID3 tags enough to file the song but acts like embedded cover art doesn’t exist. It’s like it sees the painting and says, ‘No thanks, comrade.’”

SCENE 2: A GHOST ALBUM

My initial tests were a mess. I was one .m4a away from using the Music app when I noticed an anomaly: artwork did display for an old, unofficial 2004 EP, The Three Words to Remember in Dealing with the End by All Time Low, on my iPhone.

This wasn’t a known record. It’s a ghost file: no metadata for Spotify to match or index. The record label folded before they signed to Hopeless. If this file was showing artwork, Spotify wasn’t using its own library. It had to be reading the file itself.

So I ran Exiftool on both this track and Lavender Haze. It was clear as day. The problem wasn’t what I embedded, but how I embedded it.

And the one file that worked? It was an .mp3, not a special release, not part of a playlist, and its artwork was intact. I didn’t realize it then, but its structure mirrored something deeper. 2004-era metadata.

I ran the test. Three damn times.

PATTERN CONFIRMED:

If you embed artwork into an .m4a before importing it into Spotify, Spotify honors it and treats the file like it’s native born.

INT. THE TERMINAL — DAY

SCENE 3: THE METHOD

• .m4a audio file (ripped or converted)
• Cover image (.PNG, square)
• macOS Terminal
• ffmpeg for conversion
• AtomicParsley for tagging

⚠️ Reminder: If your original file is .mp3, convert it to .m4a first using ffmpeg. AtomicParsley cannot embed artwork into .mp3.

ffmpeg -i "track.mp3" -c:a aac "track.m4a"

THE STRATEGIC PLAYBOOK

This isn’t a one-step fix. It’s a sequence. Follow it exactly.

1. Embed artwork into the .m4a:

Use a tool like AtomicParsley to embed your cover art into the original .m4a file.

AtomicParsley "track.m4a" --artwork "cover.jpg" --overWrite

2. Convert to MP3 (the critical step):

Use ffmpeg to convert the .m4a file to an .mp3. This is the key.

While .mp3 uses ID3 tags and .m4a uses atom containers, ffmpeg acts like a translating ferry to Ellis Island. It converts your .m4a’s covr atom into an .mp3‘s ID3 frame like it’s naturalized metadata.

ffmpeg -i "track.m4a" -codec:a libmp3lame -q:a 2 "track.mp3"

3. Confirm artwork:

Use Quick Look on macOS (spacebar) or check from Terminal:

exiftool "track.mp3"

4. Import to Spotify:

• Spotify → Settings → Local Files → Add Source
• Point to your .mp3 folder
• Restart Spotify
• Drag the track into a playlist

Spotify will now show the artwork in Now Playing, playlist view, and the queue.

SCENE 4: THE BIG MACHINE

Spotify parses different file types through different engines.

• MP3s use ID3 tags, where artwork lives in a tag called APIC. The ATL file from 2004 had this done right.
• M4As use MP4 atom containers, where artwork lives in a covr atom. Spotify ignores this.

Most people embed artwork after converting to .mp3, but Spotify’s parser doesn’t care. The metadata gets dropped or ignored.

The secret isn’t when you add the artwork. It’s how it gets carried across.

During conversion, ffmpeg acts like a metadata ferry. It lifts the covr atom from the .m4a, translates it into an APIC frame, and preserves it during the .mp3 conversion.

That’s why it works.

SCENE 5: THE COLD GREAT WAR

Cover art isn’t just aesthetic. It’s identity. It’s the fingerprint that says: this belongs to me.

Spotify doesn’t just ignore your image. It erases your fingerprint.

And once I saw that, the question became clear:

Is this a bug? Or is it a velvet cage?

Spotify’s local file engine isn’t broken. It’s a designed one that pushes you back toward their pristine, licensed, ad-tracked ecosystem where every song is clean, tagged, and watched.

Funny enough, that pressure almost pushed me back to the app that still treats album art like it’s 2003.

SCENE 6: THE HACKER’S MASTERMINDSET

This wasn’t some moment of brilliant foresight. It was 30 minutes on a Sunday and a refusal to accept a broken premise.

It started with one ghost file, an .m4a from an old pop punk EP that was happily showing its passport. And that bothered me.

Because if one album slipped through the cracks, the system wasn’t consistent. And if the system wasn’t consistent, it could be bent.

Spotify saw my track and stripped its identity. So I asked: what exactly is it reacting to? What makes one file different from another? Why did this one pass?

What followed wasn’t guided by technical mastery. I didn’t debug Spotify. I outwitted it. I read its behavior like I’d read a person. I wasn’t interested in the technical how until I understood the emotional why.

FADE OUT.

FINAL SCENE: THE FINAL WORD

This wasn’t just about a soundtrack.

It became a Cold War. Me vs. Spotify. Metadata as the battleground. And all I had was a cracked .m4a, a vocalist who should’ve been Dazzler, and a refusal to let album art vanish.

Now my songs have faces.

And every time I hit play on Lavender Haze (Live), I lay my armor down.

Spotify knows who won.