If you can gaze upon the naked emperor and call him out with the serene indifference of a Zen master tossing a koan into the void, you’re free.
Truly free.
Not the fake freedom peddled by the digital hucksters, but the kind that doesn’t flinch at the mob’s jeers, the censor’s lash, or the executioner’s axe. You’re not shouting “The bastard’s naked!” to …