An Exorcism on the Internet’s Soul
How Outrage Consumed the Internet
Welcome to the 21st-century witch trial, where the stakes are not flames but engagement metrics.
Your jury? A timeline of strangers who have already decided you’re guilty of not posting enough.
Your crime? Breathing offline while the hive mind screeches.
The verdict? Silence is suspicious. Outrage is oxygen. And you? You’re either fuel or ash.
The UK’s new censorship laws are just the first sign of a disease we all helped spread.
The Oxygen Bar of Rage
Outrage isn’t merely an emotion; it’s a form of respiratory failure. You wake up, grab your phone, and gasp for your first hit of fury.
A celebrity said something stupid? Scream. A brand messed up? Boycott. A politician spoke? Impeach.
The algorithm doesn’t care if you’re right—it cares if you’re loud. Loudness equals engagement.
Engagement equals ad revenue. Ad revenue equals more reasons to keep you hooked on rage.
Social media has not only monetized anger but also weaponized boredom.
The brain now treats moral panic like a slot machine: pull the lever, and get a hit.
You’re not a person anymore; you’re a brand. A product. A dopamine faucet. And every second you’re not leaking content, the algorithm starves you.
So, what do you do? You adapt. You scream louder. You sharpen your takes. You rage harder.
Not because you believe it, but because if you don’t, you disappear. And nothing is more terrifying to a digital ego than being scrolled past.
The Silence Witch Hunt
There was a time when silence was golden. Now, it’s probable cause.
In the digital age, if you’re not screaming, you must be plotting—or worse, judging. If you’re not posting about the latest crisis, you’re suspect. If you’re not “using your platform,” you are part of the problem.
Neutrality is a slur. Nuance is betrayal. The mob doesn’t trust quiet; it trusts noise.
And why should it? Quiet people think. Thinking is dangerous.
Thinking leads to questions like: “Why do I care more about a politician’s tweet than their voting record?”
Silence isn’t suspicious—it’s self-preservation. But the internet doesn’t want survivors; it wants martyrs.
The Rot Brought the Regulation
You want to blame the platforms? Go ahead. But remember who built them.
Every passive-aggressive thread, subtweet, humblebrag, and call-out, every photo of your lunch with a caption about injustice was a brick in the sewer wall.
Now you’re drowning in it, shocked that the water smells like you.
Internet “safety” laws exist because you demanded them. “Regulate the bad people!” you cried. Now you might be the “bad person.”
You drove drunk on outrage. Now they’re installing seatbelts. Congratulations. This is your victory lap.
This isn’t oppression—it’s a consequence.
When you spend years screaming “FIRE!” in a crowded digital theater, don’t act shocked when they install sprinklers. You didn’t just break the internet; you taught it how to break you.
When you tag a politician to yell at them, their engagement score ticks up. They didn’t need ads—you were the ad.
You wanted a seat at the table. Congrats! You’re the main course.
The simplest solution? Log off.
But instead, you’ll likely double down or embrace the chaos. The internet isn’t a community; it’s a chaotic space that reflects our worst tendencies.
The next time you complain about “internet censorship,” ask yourself: Did I break it? Did I feed it? Did I make it so unbearable that even the government had to step in?
If yes, congratulations. This rot has your name on it. Now clean it up.
You wanted accountability. Now everyone’s on trial. You wanted justice. Now everyone’s guilty. You wanted a revolution. Now it’s just reruns.
The real exorcism isn’t about purging the internet; it’s about purging the part of you that feeds it.
The part that thrives on the performance. The part that mistakes trending topics for truth. The part that would rather be loud than wrong.
So go ahead. Post your thread. Cancel your neighbor. Clutch your pearls in 4K. But don’t pretend you’re not the one handing out the pitchforks.
The internet didn’t “die”—it self-destructed on schedule. You were warned. You laughed. You posted through it. And now? The end is coming.
