you say it's censorship. you say no difference, it's fucking censorship.
but actually we aren't maintaining the roads. we don't own roads, we don't see roads, we know nothing about roads and even don't need to know that at all. we're just playing Pen Pal Club. forget about any excessive cumbersome metaphors for infrastructure.
game rules are simple — it's fully playable without computers — and so imagine we play it just by sending paper postcards via snail mail right from our houses to each other.
rock solid, very easy. no more abstractions is needed ever.
ready to get emotional aspect to feel situation deeper?
warning! don't look outside — tyranny of evil men is over there: coercion, censorship, conscription and never-ending dura lex by damaged monkey brains upon the whole. courts, search warrants etc. their own game.
they have guns, we have chains. in different way, but all wanna play.
now you're hearing knocks on the door. a postman. 4 letters asking you — remember about decentralized nature of our club — to ask Alice to send some more goodies to Bob, 2 with spam for Eve, 1 from me bewaring you about FBI pickup in step aside of your house and 15 with child porn or whatever else from one group of no name nasty boys to other and vice versa.
then, postman is gone, you have some time to answer. and scissors. and, better, blazing fireplace in house. and pregnant wife.
you should make the decision next. oh boy, as soon as possible because I see somebody is coming out from that pickup. I guess they'll turn off your electricity in an eyeblink.
which rules have more priority for you at the moment? and what game is over? choose to host a lil' some to be hosted in prison for a while because you like to stretch the definition of censorship enough to fit denial to store somebody's shit in your house to it? or choose to ignore few strangers whose posts are recieved in half of all mailboxes of town meanwhile?
a tip — if you want to fight against fruits forbiddance then just go fight. don't make your babe cry, don't keep not your contraband in your garage. it's simply no relevant.
and see: some differences are not imaginary.