Gaius Julius Mygdonius carved his own survival narrative into stone in 1st-century Ravenna, and modern readers treat it as triumph. But his inscription exists precisely because the overwhelming majority of enslaved people in Rome left no written record—we study the exception and call it evidence of the system.
The things you thought you owned are being systematically converted into things you're merely permitted to use, and the conversion is accelerating across every medium simultaneously.
A Gaius Julius Mygdonius carved his story into stone because it was the only way to ensure ownership of his own narrative across time. Now we're watching the inverse: platforms, studios, and manufacturers are reclaiming narrative ownership at scale—what you read, watch, play, and compute is increasingly a licensed experience, not a possession. The mechanisms are different (Sony stops pressing discs, Apple redesigns to lock in services, Broadcom weaponizes software licensing, Alamo Drafthouse becomes gatekeeper for unwanted films), but the direction is identical.