It’s the future now, and everything cool on the internet is about God.
I get why people are acting so weird online, why the fashionable form of posting feels in between an invocation, a shitpost, a chant, a sermon, and a poem carved into a streaked headstone. ... In the mid 2010s, ambiguity died online—not of natural causes, it was hunted and killed.
[C]onfessionalism became a popular way to construct one’s identity, and the internet was the place to do it.
The spirit of stylized half-truths is still in-tact, and now that we know the consequences of our sins existing online forever, it’s easy to see why making a myth of yourself feels like the only way forward.
At the heart of all this motion is a lust for crawling through someone else’s ambiguity, in staring at a post or profile for longer than the machine’s trained you to, in the toothsome frustration of trying to figure out what’s a revelation, what’s a dark joke, and what’s just the result of a chemically imbalanced brain and an eternally available keyboard.
Godposting, in its buggy, abstract elegance, started out hacked and corrupted, which provides a buffer to its recuperation. It’ll keep getting buggier, but it’ll still eventually flatten out into souvenirs—trucker hats that say God’s Favorite in Times New Roman and screenshot memories of when what’s no longer transgressive still was.