trying a new thing where i say out loud to myself "oh, wow, that person needs to relax" when i see inconsequential scorchingly stupid takes phrased argumentatively instead of even rising to the bait of putting it into words to complain abt on a locked twitter. no progress to report so far. but one day i will fix my entire brain & heart in this manner until i don't even care when people are really wrong like just incredibly wrong about stuff that doesn't matter even when they're really wrong about it. one day? i will be the relaxed one actually & i will be so relaxed i won't even notice when other people have to relax
On the one hand, I really like how Cohost doesn't seem to have the sort of compulsive vitriol that defines Twitter: the dunking, the call-outs, the construing of these as good, the feeling of having to perform a public good by doing either of those even when it's not clear that it actually accomplishes much beyond boosting the site's metrics. Whether Cohost's culture is a product of good moderation or of de-emphasizing the need for engagement that produces these things, I'm not entirely sure. But on the other hand, a part of me does wonder what kind of amazing snapbacks we could come up with using inline CSS. Imagine reblogging somebody's lengthy poorly thought-out screed just so you could slap a dancing Mr. Gus on top of it and tell them, "Get Gus'd, idiot."
An example, courtesy of the Frogress bar post that's been floating around the timeline of late. And because this doesn't play nicely with a tiny bit of text, here's the script to BioShock Infinite for me to Gus all over:
Comstock: "The seed of the prophet shall sit the throne, and drown in flame the mountains of man." But the archangel revealed something else. "Beware, Prophet. Beware the False Shepherd, Booker DeWitt...for he shall be as a wall between her and destiny."
Elizabeth: Why?
Comstock: DeWitt, I'm a fool. I've sent mighty armies to stop you; I've rained fire on you from above. I did all of that to keep you from her, when all I needed to do was tell her the truth. Ask him, child. Ask him what happened to your finger. Ask DeWitt.
Elizabeth: Let go of me...
Comstock: Ask him! Ask the False Shepherd! Tell her! Tell her, False Shepherd. Tell her the truth!
Elizabeth: My hand! Please let go!
Comstock: Tell her about her finger!
[He separates the two.]
Booker: She's your daughter, you son of a bitch! And you abandoned her! Was it worth it? Huh? Did you get what you wanted? Tell me! Tell me!
Elizabeth: Booker!
Comstock: It...is...finished.
I just now remembered BioShock Infinite's tenth anniversary happened recently.
