Не могу поступаться принципами: A Declaration of Independence

05 Sep 2011

In the two years since the definitional article, The Confederacy of Dipshits has done nothing but grow without bounds, let alone a sense of shame - Panopticus Æternum even got his own university-sponsored print magazine.  A scum-encrusted pond of a few dozen worthless blogs has bloated into a hundreds-strong Exxon Valdez-level stain, spilling over from the leprosarium of MyAnimeList into the speedy thoroughfares of Twitter to spar with “bros” over who’s most cynical and least employable. Though a shallow, substanceless entity, this blob has nonetheless managed to swallow anything resembling editing standards, originality, and quality control procedures, leaving behind only poorly disguised groupthink that hinges on appeals to shared insecurities.  The CoD article was penned on the wings of an optimistic premise that internet authors could be led to excel by example, which in turn hoped for some kernel of good in their ranks worthy of cultivating.  The perspective from a distance of two years is one of utter despair, a hopelessness so thorough and final, it would have Nobuyuki Fukumoto giving head to an Arisaka 99, for anime fandom is rotten at its core, with degenerate dynamics like the Geek Social Fallacies furnishing its founding and sustaining principles.  

In this light, the naivete of the article positing the fandom’s domination by unsavory elements as a treatable condition is trivially apparent upon the realization that the community will never give rise to leaders and gatekeepers capable of taking it in a productive direction.  As it stands, the petty bickering between its two most vocal schools, the “I don’t watch new anime, everything after 1998 sucks” nostalgiamongers and the “all shows should be K-ON in a different setting” pedophiles, will continue to deepen into a proper schism like a quarrel between a moldy antiques gallery and a neon-lit dildo shop.  Since both camps are foremost social groups, any notion of striving for insight or effective communication is doomed to remain a veneer.  After all, if bonding over single-volume manga critiques and season previews is an adequate surrogate for real human interaction, isn’t a genuine pursuit of quality writing and engaging content just needlessly alienating and exclusive?

I don’t think so.

To quote Greg Enemy, I didn’t come here to make friends. I ain’t tryna eat off this shit neither. I spit dope writtens solely for the love of the craft. There’s nothing for me to gain in the Sea of Dipshit’s poisoned waters, with its photography of mayo-smothered french fries by lonely diners, tolerance of obnoxious windbags on account of video game clique politics, asinine podcasts and NicoVideo linkspam. When half-assing is endemic and circlejerking the prime imperative, excellence is the first victim.

Thus, rather than try to pick sides in a tug-of-war between Tim Maughan and Baka-Raptor, I’m cutting the rope. This place is my house, where the real niggas get props and the fake ones get served. I’m gonna ride till the wheels fall off, even if it means rolling one deep.

Step your game up, mufuckas. Welcome to Erf.