What Do I Even Talk About Anymore
When it was announced that Cohost was shutting down, there was a push towards people making their own websites instead of migrating to other, worse social media sites. And I see the argument—cohost showed us that the internet didn't have to be a constant stream of slop that made us angry, so why not take that idea further? Do away with social media altogether and instead make a network of personal websites. It'll be like Mega Man Battle Network, sans the soul of your brother as a virtual pet.
I absolutely was not gonna do that, though. Mostly because it's just going to be a lot of effort that even I wouldn't appreciate, and partly because this version of the internet wasn't the one I grew up on. To quote one of my last Cohost posts:
I think realistically though if I make a website to join other chostfies in the rss thing I'll just end up leaving it to rot after finishing the layout. I didn't grow up in the era of personal websites—my childhood was spent on forums and making newgrounds reviews, and in my teens social media as we know it just became a part of life. This is the truth of the zoomer. I kinda want to be a part of it, though, to indulge in the nostalgia of something I've never actually experienced. so that's why I'm gonna replay hypnospace outlaw,
The fact that I'm not even entirely sure what an rss feed is speaks to how different my nostalgic view of the "old internet" is. And I'm skeptical of any movement driven by nostalgia, even if this one is benign and well-intentioned, because even if you succeed it wouldn't look like the way you imagined it.
...Not that I don't see the appeal to the idea of making your own little corner of the internet, though, which is why I'm compromising by making a blog instead.
The main problem is that I don't know what I want to talk about. It's embarrassing to say, but I've been trying to write this damn first blog post for nearly ten days now. Here's an excerpt from the previous draft:
I’ve felt that I’ve been losing my voice recently. I suppose this has always been a problem for me. At a base level, I’ve never been talkative, and people always complain that I speak too softly or chew through my words, like balls of cloth have been permanently sewn to the roof of my mouth. I wasn’t gifted with a silver tongue or a rapid-fire wit, or really the basic eloquence to allow me to explain myself without stumbling through my own words, so in most situations I just sit quietly and listen. Part of why I write is to talk when I could not.
Why so melodramatic? I keep a daily journal and all of my entries sound like that, so I guess what I wrote with a fountain pen seeped into the keyboard's circuitry. Instead of ironic detachment it's melancholia, which while certainly imbued with emotion, is just another way to put a veil on my real feelings. I guess that wouldn't be so bad if you, the reader, like reading about the mild grievances in my life like they're About to Kill Me, but I do find it kind of embarrassing since it's so chuuni.
I guess we'll see how this endeavor will turn out. This might even be the last entry. Let's all hope not!
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