Always Out There

The internet is forever.

Which is not always a good thing. That “Harlem Shake” video you made with your “punk rock acapella group” in college? It’s still out there. As is that comment you left on that vegan enchiladas recipe, stating that, “This would better with bacon, lol.” What else: the album of “politically-conscious trip-hop” that you made for no other reason beyond the fact that your computer came with Garageband is still hanging out on Bandcamp and Spotify.

Heck, just go onto Facebook, and you’ll see some status from years ago in your “memories” that reads, “You know what’s crazy? No matter where we go, there’s always molten rock far beneath us!” Or worse, if it’s really old: “is thinking about how crazy it is that, no matter where we go, there’s always molten rock far beneath us!” Because it was from that weird time when all statuses were sentences that started with your name. Remember that? Yikes.

But then, there are also ways in which the internet’s forever-ness is good.

Like when someone you’ve fallen out of touch with comments on a photo from forever ago that you’re both tagged in and you end up reconnecting. Or when you get pinged because someone read a post from your long dormant blog, and apparently it helped them through some hard times.

Or, hypothetically speaking, let’s say you made a game. And let’s say it’s a multiplayer game where everyone is a crew member of a space ship, tasked with things to do throughout its many rooms. Only, one or more of these so-called crew members are actually imposters, hell bent on killing and/or sabotaging everyone and everything. And so you need to figure out who’s good and who’s bad via occasional meetings. And let’s say you release this game in 2018. You know, a time when everyone can leave their houses and socialize in person at bars and restaurants and the like. A time unlike, for example, 2020, when an easy-to-play online game available for both PC and iOS would be the perfect thing to bring distant family members and friends together. Only, the initial release date doesn’t matter. People will just dig it up two years later because it’s still just out there, totally available.

That’s another totally hypothetical example of when it’s a good thing that the internet is forever.

Imposter Syndrome by Fishbiscuit

The question is not, who is Fishbiscuit? The question is: what is fishbiscuit? Are they a trustworthy crew member of the ship that is life, going about tasks such as designing tees, working on their art skills, and teaching English as a second language to middle schoolers? Or are they an imposter, lurking in a nearby vent, waiting for the perfect time to pop up and kill us… with humor? Hmmm. It’s too hard to say. Let’s skip this vote and do a little bit more research by checking out Fishbiscuit’s various online homes. Here are the links: Website, Facebook, Etsy store, Twitter, and Instagram.

Always Out There

The internet is forever.

Which is not always a good thing. That “Harlem Shake” video you made with your “punk rock acapella group” in college? It’s still out there. As is that comment you left on that vegan enchiladas recipe, stating that, “This would better with bacon, lol.” What else: the album of “politically-conscious trip-hop” that you made for no other reason beyond the fact that your computer came with Garageband is still hanging out on Bandcamp and Spotify.

Heck, just go onto Facebook, and you’ll see some status from years ago in your “memories” that reads, “You know what’s crazy? No matter where we go, there’s always molten rock far beneath us!” Or worse, if it’s really old: “is thinking about how crazy it is that, no matter where we go, there’s always molten rock far beneath us!” Because it was from that weird time when all statuses were sentences that started with your name. Remember that? Yikes.

But then, there are also ways in which the internet’s forever-ness is good.

Like when someone you’ve fallen out of touch with comments on a photo from forever ago that you’re both tagged in and you end up reconnecting. Or when you get pinged because someone read a post from your long dormant blog, and apparently it helped them through some hard times.

Or, hypothetically speaking, let’s say you made a game. And let’s say it’s a multiplayer game where everyone is a crew member of a space ship, tasked with things to do throughout its many rooms. Only, one or more of these so-called crew members are actually imposters, hell bent on killing and/or sabotaging everyone and everything. And so you need to figure out who’s good and who’s bad via occasional meetings. And let’s say you release this game in 2018. You know, a time when everyone can leave their houses and socialize in person at bars and restaurants and the like. A time unlike, for example, 2020, when an easy-to-play online game available for both PC and iOS would be the perfect thing to bring distant family members and friends together. Only, the initial release date doesn’t matter. People will just dig it up two years later because it’s still just out there, totally available.

That’s another totally hypothetical example of when it’s a good thing that the internet is forever.

Your imposter strategy: