i want the net to feel like this again - both the vibe and when this was even made. perhaps even earlier

comedy

maybe it’s the removal of all social engineering in social networking that’s really getting to me. no call or response, no engagement or rage baiting. no stream of content to wade through. blank slate. online psychosis. it’s an incentive to freely post with no obligation. absolutely bonkers

they’re arguing over the validity of only watching children’s cartoons without engaging with anything else on the former bird app

the main draw of this platform for me is honestly the lack of invasive, or, rather, any advertising. as soon as i see one single meme infested mcd ad i’m scorch earthing it all

cannot wait to spend every waking moment like this again until i have to ask ranch or cool ranch

me whenever i hear media literacy

“The spectacle presents itself as a vast inaccessible reality that can never be questioned. Its sole message is: 'What appears is good; what is good appears.' The passive acceptance it demands is already effectively imposed by its monopoly of appearances.”

honestly i get her deal. thoughts of an amber world in a plastic one, ready to wipe the slate clean with blinding nostalgia. yet our present is so corrupted and commingled with nostalgia we’re already lost to the past. no wonder she’s smoking up a chimney.

dedicating a post in my stream of conscious debut on here for expressing, again, my absolute disdain for brat summer

basically my overall presence here as I periodically connect synapses towards people - how shall my online personae reflect the oedipal trap of my human meat vessel?

i’m rhizomatic joe cool. it is now this very moment that i bluntly state i am possibly losing my mind

butterfly ended being the perfect icon for this service, as i have metamorphosed into the worst best version of myself for the modern zeitgeist - recognizing my overall growing affability towards others, yet recognizing the disdain towards everyone. basically i loathed every moment of “brat summer”.

“what’s up” as i emerge from another simulacra, another spectacle, as i vacantly recall tony soprano on what self knowledge has done for him, as i stumble upon another dirge of infinite content, hoping it is the last