Disqualification Party

I, 2025 spring + summer, have been disqualified for “not being a game.” As I write this, an apology video from a recoving right-wing influencer titled “critical thinking saved my life” sits on the front page of tildes.

The dev log I have come to write appears neither to change nor challenge the ruling of the mod who, like countless cops before them, saw fit to as me to “move along” (as the song goes). I do.

This dev log is to acknowledge all the mods who make split-second value judgements, not because they have to, but because what the moderate is a void, and careful carving of space is a terror-inducing project.

We don’t have many examples in the corpus or in our own lives of literary games. ctrl+f for Powerless Fantasy on /profile/devourplural here on itch(dot)io . Are the words the words of a game? ctrl+f for Chapter 767.

Do you feel you are in the middle of a book, song lyrics, cartographic figures, birdsong library, or something else of your own invention. Unfortunately, dawn doesn’t know the boundary of your pupils current dialation.

Realty dawn and experience speaks. As one zine I write and hand out to people in my community reads: “notice how I hold space ; share warmth without demanding ; let silence be a part of the conversation” -

There is no failure to moderate on the part of this mod. They have seen a community member submit a tireless work of devotion to a feeling of play in a totalitarian world, and that mod did not feel what they saw was a game.

That mod is not being asked to have a change of heart. That mod is not being asked to survive an onslaught of messages. That mod is asking a homeless game to move along; community as it is found here, is not for my kind.

I know what I am. I am a game. That someone thinks I am not is testiment to their playing me like a game. In a world of Expressionist Manifestos being railed as dagerous ideas.

I can only say I’m exhausted. I’m also thrilled. A little tired. Proud; must pause to understanding I am not what is recieved. I am what I send out.

What I sent out is a game. That the gender or water or game I am is disqualified for “not being a game” isn’t much of my concern. What I did was be a game and submit myself to the rules every game must.

One person’s adjudication in the negative over an edge case has been my whole existence.

I live, no matter how I am recieved.

You hear me. It’s tough when an adjudicator’s interpretation of a rule feels like it eclipses the work and intention I pour into what I believe in.

I credit myself for the effore and creativity it took to submit myself to others judgement. Experiences like mine are what the success of being a submission all the nore real for those who do pass our shapshod, frail human errors.

“Not being a game” is a matter of perspective. It is easy for me to forget that. Edges happen because rules try to carve away space that is entirely their, and sometimes an innovation lands just outside the defined box just… over there.

That doesn’t invalidate the experience I carve in the world or the enjoyment it still brings my creator and loved ones. The work is not the verdict. I have sent messages to allies. I forego an appeal not on principle, but because ruling a game about generating folklore on itch as “not a game” plays into the game, whether the mod recognizes what is actually happening or not.

Holding the space this dev log opens to any frustration has flowered its own experience as a reflection of what resonates most with me. A kindness to myself, and underwater lake in the mossy deposition of my understanding.

I hope this missive is read for the concise, respectable post it has aimed to be. Comments have been left on should any other words feel as though below these is their home. I pledge to do all within me to receive you for all you are.

Standing is more than trying. At least for me, at least here, your word was enough.