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[...] There is a reason right-wing trolling is more effective than its left-wing equivalent: trolling that harnesses the power of taboo—the most ancient, retrograde, collectively unconscious stuff of sex, the family, the species—is more effective than trolling toward enlightenment. And to indulge a taboo thought can be exhilarating. It mimics the emotional response we have to the accepted forms of political awakening: having the scales fall from your eyes or your consciousness raised. Hence the pervasiveness of the red-pill metaphor. The red pill, from the Matrix films, has come to represent a kind of political choice: to “awaken” to the far-right vision of reality, and refuse to sleep in a liberal, blue-pill, sham reality. The seduction of the red pill is, in many cases, the seduction of taboo.
hmmm don't know if i fully agree with this - left-wing trolling can be pretty good too. but i like the red pill comparison
But trolls also make a mistake: they believe there is truth in taboo thoughts because they appear taboo. When they see that their statements are seen as dangerous—that black people are stupid, bad, or unworthy, or that men are more persecuted than women—they confuse liberal society’s attempts to suppress such thoughts with evidence of their truth. [...]
Having cast himself as an outsider and underdog during the campaign, Trump struggles with this new reality. He still tweets about the legitimacy of his election and about being attacked by a malicious press. Long after no woman in this country can get an abortion and the coastlines are flooded and the forests burned to the ground, the trolls will be online, hunting for women to call feminazis and for tree huggers and snowflakes to make fun of, because the trolls couldn’t face the fact that power was on their side.
If I had to make my own analogy, I’d say grieving is like being a lemon that someone has taken a zester to. “Ouch,” says the lemon. The lemon’s skin is raw. But the air grows a bit more fragrant and life appears fresh and vivid amid the pain.
The more meaningful your life is, the less happy it’s possible to be. That’s what I’ve been thinking lately. The more you occupy yourself with the Big Stuff—the tragic, the political, Life and Death and Truth—the less whimsical you can be, the less frivolous. Of course, that’s not how I felt when my life was simpler. Before I was carrying this weight around. Before my entire life changed. When my life was simple, I craved tragedy. I didn’t want happiness, I wanted sadness I could sublimate. I wanted things to happen that would give my life purpose and direction. This is not what my husband would say. He would say, “Duty to others is a relief. Your life should not be your own.” His love language is acts of service. Also, he has not yet suffered the death of a parent. Now that my mother is dead and my baby is born I know that hard stuff is actually hard.