Through the morass of half-dead vegetation, this litfag sees: stagnation. There in the dusk lies an eager quagmire. At the bottom are libs and their media, eternally bubbling up the gases of their decay. They like it there. They’re right at home.
Occasionally the arm of some pathetic normie reaches up, half believing it craves rescue. Then sinks down once more, because it is okay with his environment after all.
Along the edges sit the anons, some despondent, half-heartedly reaching out to grab a semi-redpilled NPC. Others are working harder than ever. Vigilant, they await another drop from (You)-know who.
(You)-know-who sits in their enclave, far from the groans of the languishers. They are safe, well-fed, playing a game they certainly will win – whatever ultimately habbens. Feed the quicksand. String us along. Puhleeze, doitQ.
The stench owns us. “Forgot how to play,” Q said (posts 563, 828). They might have done better to force us into the fresh air, away from the rot and lies. Make us MARCH, like real men, forward. Leave the losers behind to confront the filth for themselves. Go forward and build something new, something better.
But that would require something more on Q’s part. And ours.
What happened last spring? Something changed. I don’t know what. The plan changed. What part it left us with, left us with disappointment and thousands of priceless memes that impacted little.
We can stay glued here to the swamp or we could restructure to make a better use of our combined skills. We need to go forward. If Q+ doesn’t get the justice part over and done with, and then carry POTUS’ plans for our future forward, we’ll have to do that part ourselves. Why do we wait for them?
We’ve built our own morass. It’s a tangled web of dumps, posts, archives, graphics, videos and frustrated hopes, inaccessible and unusable to all but the most experienced channer.
Time for us to put our peckers down and go to work. We can further reflect when we’ve accomplished something for ourselves. The world is not getting what we have.