I wrote a blog post a while back about how to get into the PA school of your choice.
There are replies you may not give. There are comments you may not make.
There are truths you may not tell, in the world of public relations, for the public are fickle, and behave as a mob. A mob in all its feral, brutal depravity, lacking any and all of the qualities we laud upon humanity that allow us to feel so smug over all of the hapless animals that we raise ourselves over.
And we are all, whether we admit it or not in public, under strict censorship of the mob. Even admitting that the mob censors our thoughts and feelings and the expression thereof is risky.
The mob may notice. Some parts of the internet glory in the mob. Even mentioning 4chan is risky. Our own blog is mercilessly and ruthlessly moderated with a low-orbit ion cannon.
But let me talk to you about the dark side of indie public relations a bit. They are easily dealt with on your own bit of the internet. Quite often you let them ramble on, and they spool out more than enough rope to hang themselves, and as often as not, a bunch of fans will come whaling in on them.
Trolls are more problematic elsewhere.
When a troll starts to spout shit on some high-profile and influential site on the internet, you have a problem. If it was just some random argument on some random site between a couple of random usernames… who cares?
Who gives a crap?
This was very big news to emoji enthusiasts. It should be pretty big news for you, as well. We are all increasingly talking to each other through screens. January Have you ever seen an old photo of yourself and been embarrassed at the way you looked? Did we actually dress like that? We did. And we had no idea how silly we looked. Remember in high school when you were reading Shakespeare and the professor was making you do way more than just read?You were having to study the prose, the context, the definition for intpinse. But also, each of his plays were (usually, I think?) categorized into either comedies, histories, or tragedies.
And all is well. That is not true.
You are not a very nice person. By which I mean, independent game developers get more nasty shit from gamers than they get praise. Right now you are preparing to lecture me about how I talk to customers, or how I deserve to be broke and unsucessful.
I wonder just how many other creative industries have to deal with customers like this. Then again, maybe all of them do.
I just make games, so I happen to know about the games side of things. Maybe a musician can chime in and tell me how shitty people can be. The internet hates you. Were I being politically correct right now and toeing the party line I would instantly disagree with myself.
Do not argue with the trolls! You make yourself look bad! Look at fucking Phil Fish! Look at what happened to him! Poor Phil, we say. He meant well but he lost his cool.
He let the internet bring out his naughty, bad side. The side that spoke what he actually thought and felt. Look what the internet did to him! If only Phil had kept his mouth shut, we say. Phil Fish, you fucking told them what you thought.The Death of the Moth, and Other Essays, by Virginia Woolf, free ebook.
Essay on “My First Day at School” Complete Essay for Class 10, Class 12 and Graduation and other classes. The Melians then tried to persuade the Athenians to halt their invasion.
They argued morality – that it would be wrong to attack a neutral nation, and should Athens lose the war the Spartans would show no mercy to Athens due . The Death of the Moth. Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy-blossom which the commonest yellow-underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us.
By Lt Daniel Furseth. Today, I stopped caring about my fellow man. I stopped caring about my community, my neighbors, and those I serve.
I stopped caring today because a once noble profession has become despised, hated, distrusted, and mostly unwanted. Big Stories I Had a Stroke at On New Year's Eve , a clot blocked one half of my brain from the other.
My reality would never be the same again.