Glen Kenner

I collect crumbs of your digital self. Email addresses. Names if you provide them. Subscription status. What you click. What you ignore. The basic breadcrumb trail Substack leaves for newsletter creators to find their way back to relevance.

Your data lives on Substack's servers. I don't sell it. I don't trade it. I don't whisper it into the ears of corporations hungry to know your purchasing habits. But Substack might. Read their privacy policy too. They hold the real keys to this kingdom.

Sometimes I'll send surveys asking questions about your broken places. Your answers remain between us unless I specifically request permission to share anonymized versions. Your secrets are safe with me. I have enough of my own to carry.

You can unsubscribe anytime. The data relationship ends. Digital death with no funeral. Your ghost remains in the system but fades with time.

For questions about your data or to request deletion, email me directly. I'll respond when the weight of existence allows. Usually within 72 hours.

By subscribing you accept these terms. Not because they're fair but because this is how the internet works now. We surrender pieces of ourselves to connect with strangers. A strange bargain we've all agreed to without reading the fine print.

Digital Breadcrumbs

Your data sits naked in corporate vaults

I never asked to be its guardian

But here we are

Two strangers connected by pixels

And invisible tracking codes

I won't sell your shadows

But servers remember everything we touch