/mlp/ wave speech

May 14th, 2017
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  1. “Strange memories on this nervous night on /mlp/. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. /mlp/ in the mid 2010's was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe we did something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no ammount of green or music or caps can touch that sense of knowing that you were filling captcha's and bitching in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .
  3. History is hard to know, mostly because desustorage keeps going down, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a fandom recognized and alienated culminates and morphs worlds and influences minds, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what should've happened.
  5. My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the /mlp/ general and, instead of going back to /co/, aimed the big-ass thinkpad at a hundred kilobits per second wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a plain white tee. . . booming through equestria daily's annual 'we're coming back' story and through many sites on the backswing of their existance, not quite sure which board to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the Capchas, too twisted to find the right reaction while I fumbled for a capable post that might make it in a simulator) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .
  7. Then, There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Fluffly Threads, then up the General or down a Milky thread to Waifu Island or the permanent 'season 3 isn't coming' thread. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was salting someone, that we were Autistic, and we didn't care. . . .
  9. And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable Toleration over the forces of M00t and Scruffy. Not in any helish or painful sense; we didn’t need that. Our love for our Waifus would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .
  11. So now, less than five years later, you can go deep into a caps thread or into an ancient homer video and look around, and with the right kind of mind you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
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