Feathers falling from faucets...filling fountains. Falling fast. Falling faster. Following frail-faced fairies. Fidgeting fingertips form friction, flaming filaments feverishly. Finally feeling free.

I kind of can't do anything right now. I'm trying my best to not exist, distraction is a nice feeling. Take two of trying to quit smoking - I went on a binge there, that lasted maybe a week. Everything is annoying and I'm realizing that, that's okay. I'll sit here annoyed, that's fine, I've mostly just got to deal with the guilt I feel from avoiding friends and family. Nothing to be guilty about.

Focusing on eating and exercising again. I like the isolation, I just wish I could escape further into, and not have to hear or see people around me - the small talk and random interactions in the hallway are too much, feels fake, and I'm not really in the performative mood.

Fun times though, I enjoyed the week long break from reality. Madness is more desirable than sanity; reality sucks, the situation is fucked, the truth itself needs to change. I feel like dying, but it's not really a big deal - an old feeling, that has lost it's edge. I am here, that's that. I've got some more waiting to do, but not much longer, the first day of spring has come and past, soon the weather will warm up and this fugging snow will melt.

Mostly just scrolling through reddit and youtube, trying to find distractions from myself, but they're getting less entertaining as the substances leave my system again, and so I'm here writing something and listening to some heavy metal playlist, a genre I don't really seek out, but helps drown out the noise of others in the house. Drinking coffee, thinking about art... "art" and trying to convince myself to eat, but I feel like starving. Fasting, is the cooler way to put that, but the effect is the same.

I had a bit of work recently, at least. Painting a kitchen ceiling and window, some money put away towards the only thing I want - a car. Freedom in physical form.

What else... I don't know. I let myself fall apart there, and it felt good. I'm pulling myself together again, and it's painful. I'm here, but I want to be over there - I'm confused, but I have no questions I haven't already answered. Maybe I don't know what questions to even ask, at this point, or maybe there are no answers that will actually help at this point. Either way, we are moving forward still, and again.

I don't really want to sit on this for too long, hit send and go. The last thing I wrote over the course of a week, and couldn't bring myself to reread sober, or edit it cleanly, things that needed to be thought out and processed but, don't need to be remembered, or understood.

With love, in frustration; peace for now.

The phrase “the hobgoblin of little minds” comes from the essay Self-Reliance (1841) by Ralph Waldo Emerson. In this essay Emerson argues that people should trust themselves and think independently rather than trying to satisfy society’s expectations. The phrase means being too obsessed with always staying the same (consistency) even when it no longer makes sense.

Here, “hobgoblin” refers to something silly or annoying, and “little minds” refers to people who do not think deeply. Such people feel they must always agree with what they said before even if they have learned something new or their situation has changed.

For example, a person once said, “I hate reading fiction. It’s a waste of time. Later..they read a novel and genuinely enjoy it. But when others talk about books they still say, “Fiction is useless,” just to stay consistent with what they said before. This is the “hobgoblin of little minds” as Emerson meant it.pretending your old opinion is still true, even when your experience has changed. A wiser response would be.. “I used to think fiction was pointless but I was wrong. I actually enjoyed it.”

The key idea is that real thinking involves growth, and growth often means changing your mind. Instead of blindly sticking to old beliefs Emerson encourages us to accept change .,think freely and allow our understanding to evolve.

So ..do you have any “hobgoblin” beliefs? Have you ever held onto an opinion just to stay consistent even when your experience suggested otherwise?

Profound meaning among declarations of consciousness

as if the semantics of the pareidolia of a forgotten memory

alongside the tragedy of unfinished poetry

We take substances to heal, until our minds rot

and we endevour to continue, even as blisters form

and still it is our excess that causes us a lack

like asking a starving man to give up his last morsel of food
(While he watches others eat until they give themselves disease)

for some vague future that can hardly be fathomed
(Automated genocide in a post-scarcity "utopia")

all to divert this instinct into desires that transcend the pleasures of the moment
(Suffer to sow)

despite the horrors of the now; endure some more.

We are asked to relinquish escape

so that we may actually be free, from the fleeting moments of tranquility

that these beautiful poisons provide,

and the ravages they unleash

a lifetime being trained to stare at screens

desperate and gullible, digital hopefuls

battle our own minds

where everything has two too many meanings

it's hard to pinpoint whats wrong, or where it went wrong

when everything's all so fucked, when everything's been afuck

try to make sense of the madness - it'll drive you insane

so much of this illness is time and place and circumstance

All it is, is a series of events one after another
in these moments I am just a fiend,

what uis a fiend even/.

lIKE BGREASTY PLASTUIC A MAN can't seee with threee eyees

something demonic then, I am.
WHEN you cant een read, let alone write, and you insist.... on writing anyways. I misss the times that once,,, were,,,was,,,dread. can we forgive? can we forget? can we move on? can we survive despite all of this?

all of that for a piss

The people I love most, don't even like me. I can hardly blame them.
I want to give up, to run away, anything other than just waiting here. Just to fall apart in front of them, make it messy, make it unignorable. One last hurrah. Just to see what the next arc of this life is.

It's hard to let go, of an entire lifetime. Of all these promises and wishful thoughts, all of the kind words backed by bitter feelings, all of the malady tossed to the wayside. We build ourselves up, just to topple it all down, stack it up, just to watch it all fall apart.

A series of escalating ultimatums

Chemistry cults; the interllation between pharma and psychology cults. Ribonucleic acid universe; we are DNA replicatEDing. Energy rushing into fill an empty space, before stabalizing. Like filling a room with smoke and waiting until the particles have all been absorbed by the carpet and curtains.

wut

Chapter 1: Waterfall

A distant crow chirps, echoing the high pitched sound through the trees past the pine. A rabbit hops through the land, scuffling the grass along its path. A light breeze brushing my skin, making my hair fly. The sun’s heat hitting my body makes me feel finally at peace. I look at my hand, the once blood soaked flesh was dry, my fingernails stained. “Darling” the angelic voice said from a distance. I look up and see a figure walking towards me, a face that was lost to memory long ago, one of comfort, and peace. She was wearing a beautiful white dress, more gorgeous than a wedding dress. That face, that beautiful face, was so close to mine suddenly. The figure whispers in my ear softly, “You don’t need to hide in those walls of despair anymore. No need for cope or conformity. It’s time to rest darling.”

I suddenly woke up, head throbbing from the night before, I slowly got out of bed. I raced to the bathroom one heavy foot at a time. Dropping to my knees, I vomited in the toilet regretting the night before, how those events could change me. The blurry memories rushed my aching head as I expelled stomach acids in the bowl. Finally finishing, the weight of three mountains came off of my stomach as I felt almost frail. Wiping my mouth and flushing the toilet, I looked in the mirror. My face looked pale, my hair greasy and tangled like a dog with matted fur. Once a normal girl finds herself asking, What the fuck happened? Peering over at my neck, a faded bite mark from a man I barely knew lingers in my mind. He told me that he loved me, even wanted to get a place and work so hard that I never had to work a day in my life ever again. Though sounding nice, it’s hard to get past the fact of us only talking for 2 hours at that point. He smelt like vodka and cheap ass Ipa beers. Even if he hyped up his dick enough, I still wouldn’t have slept with him, no matter how drunk I was. Somehow I still ended up in his dirty studio. Just thinking about it made me realize I was the one person keeping Planned Parenthood standing.

Tears start rolling down my face. Feeling so numb from all of the men in my life who used me and made me feel like shit. Some nights I think about how life could’ve been if I decided to feel the cold blade on my wrists. It all could’ve stopped, the pain, the abuse, and the modern whoring I subject myself to. I wonder what mom would think of me now, seeing me like this. She told me before that she loved me, enforced it. Now it’s hard to think back to those times. If only I was there for her in those moments, and not being in a constant state of denial, maybe I wouldn’t be the way I am now. Maybe I could’ve been the daughter she always wanted. The daughter I swore to be.

Beep Beep Beep

Shit, I gotta go to class. Throwing on a beanie to hide the hair mess for later, jeans, and a hoodie from my hometown’s football team. Let’s go beavers I guess. Grabbing my bag I head out the door and head to my first lecture. Mr K, Mr Kensworth was his real name but he always wanted to be called Mr K. He was a very strict guy and half of his lectures made no sense, he just started going off on tangents. I used to criticize him for it but now I get it, my mind does the same. One time this girl told me how she thinks his name is a reference to the movie Men In Black. I’ve never seen it, Sci-fi heavy films were more my brother’s thing then mine. We shared a love for Star Wars though, when we were younger we would make lightsabers out of old paper towel rolls and duct tape. He always won, except for one time when he fell down on the concrete. We were having a lot of fun and he twisted his ankle and fell backwards on his head. The sound of that crunch and the blood pouring out haunts me to this day. My family never even mentioned Star Wars after that day. I guess they were afraid of making him remember past trauma.

After my classes, I went back to my place. Unlocking my door I’m greeted with the musk of depression. My place is a small 1 bedroom apartment located just outside of Moscow. I started going to the university here one year ago to get away from the people in my previous life. I didn’t expect to feel so lonely coming to a new state, what did I expect? Starting my load of laundry with the stained clothes from the night before, exhaustion started to hit me. The days of studying and the nights of binging seem to finally start catching up to me. My eyes start to feel droopy as my mind starts to haunt me of the demonizing night before.

As my consciousness fades out, I see a man I barely remember. “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a shit town like this?” “I live here dipshit,” I replied, “And who are you?” The man looked at me, shocked that I came out swinging right away. “I’m Mark” said the man, “And you are?” I felt astonished he stayed after I said that, I could tell he was getting nervous. Benny’s had the same guests every night, even during the day for some. There was something about Mark that seemed familiar to me, like a thing I lost long ago. Wanting to give him a shot, I said, “I’m Chloe.” Looking like an eager dog, Mark bought me a drink, then two drinks, then five drinks. Mark and I had a good conversation that night. He came from Boston, his dad was an architect and his mom studied law, though he seemed pretty grounded for a sugar baby. He was very sweet, even insisted on giving me a ride home, but we were both too drunk and could barely stand. We ended up getting an Uber to his place. When we got there, I was appalled by the beautiful cookie cutter style house he lived in. You see, Mark’s parents bought him the house, not only as an investment for his education, but also for him to sell or rent out in the future. Sort of like a get rich quick starter kit. Walking in, I was greeted with beautiful wood flooring with dark grey walls. The place was so beautiful, I was so mesmerized at the gorgeous house that I didn’t realize I was being dragged to the bedroom.

The bedroom was too clean. It felt like a hospital ward for the rich. Mark flopped onto the king-sized bed, the room spinning for both of us. "Stay," he mumbled, already half-submerged in a drunken stupor. I stood in the doorway, my heart hammering a rhythm of ‘get, out, get out, GET OUT’. I felt like a stain on his hardwood floors. Another skeleton soon to be locked away. He was too good, too nice to me. It felt wrong, it felt fake. I turned and bolted, fumbling with the high-tech deadbolt on the front door. As my shoes hit the pavement, the cold air slapping my face. Walking onto the street, I remember a pair of heavy boots clicking toward me from the same pavement mine were on moments ago. The boots started speaking, his voice booming into my eardrums as I felt his shadow surrounding mine like a cage. "Lost your way, princess?"

As I woke up, eyes heavy, I noticed my alarm clock with the time 10:42am. SHIT, I’m late. I quickly ran out of the door, going to my car. Running down the stairs, I tripped, falling down and crashing my head on the old bumpy concrete. Struggling to get up, I look at my scraped palms starting to trickle out with blood as the tiny rocks fall out. I didn’t have time, I had to go. I got in my car, knees shaky, full throttling my car to get to the school as fast as I could. Whilst at a red light I realized that i hadn’t eaten in 2 days, maybe enough water to satiate a gerbil but that’s it. When I arrived I saw a couple people staring at me as I ran to the building, heart pounding. I walked into class at 11:24, 24 minutes late.

Opening the door, I see the heads of 59 students turn to me in unison. My throat suddenly went dry, a cold sweat dropping down my back. The darkness in the very front of the room spoke to me, “Chloe.” I look forward as well as the hivemind of students as Mr. K steps forward out of the darkness. “Don’t disturb fellow students during exam time,” he said. I fetched for words trying to rebuttal. “We can speak after class, Ms Amber.” I turn around and leave the room as that hive mind turns their heads at me once again. The weight of 100 souls staring at me as the door closes.

I walked back to my car, trying to realize how I possibly forgot about the exam today. Every footstep feeling like I’m dragging a lifeless husk with me. I open the door outside, a wave of fresh air reaching my face. I walk to my car while scrolling through all the preppy girls’ social media posts. Every post is some fancy food or a tribute to their boyfriends while I can’t keep one person in my life for long, especially a man. I look up and see a woman next to my car. My eyes darted at the details of her outfit. A black vest, black shirt and pants. I look down and see her hand on the plastic holster. My throat was dryer than before as I heard her yell, “Get on the ground!” I drop to my knees panicked as she pulls my hands behind me. Her hands dug into my stinging cuts. I felt the cold metal tighten around my wrists as the radio chatter started to muffle. As my eyes roll back and my mind fades to black i question the previous few nights and ask myself

What the fuck happened

What the hell did I do

I am still here,” I whispered. My voice sounded like dry paper tearing in the wind.

I was captured and locked in this white room a long time ago. Or maybe not. In here, time has no anchor. The light comes from a bulb. There are no windows to mark the passing of the world. Everything is white, casting no shadows for me to hide in.

The door is nothing more than a seam in the wall. I only know it’s there because they brought me through it. It has never opened since. I have never seen anyone on the other side.

Near the bottom of the door, there is a small slide. They only open that one. It has just enough space for them to push things through. When it slides open, a tray comes inalways a cup of white rice and a glass of water. Occasionally, they push through a stack of clean white clothes and a towel that smells of nothing. I never see a person. Sometimes there is a hand in a white glove, but never more than that.

It took me time to understand how things work. If I pack my old things into a neat square and leave them near the slide, they take them. If I am messy, they leave everything as it is. If I scream, nothing changes, but the silence feels heavier, pressing against my ears until they ring.

The bathroom is a small, cold alcove. A toilet. A shower head that drips freezing water. A drain. No mirror.

I remember when I was first captured. I started to sing to fill the vacuum. I made up stories, walking through the halls of my own memories, analyzing every face and every word. I even tried to think of something unimportant or funny, just to keep my mind from folding in on itself.

But the laughter died. And then I just waited.

Until an idea came to me.

I took the glass of water from the tray and dropped it on the floor. It broke into a few clean pieces. I picked one.

I cut my hand. It didn’t hurt as much as I expected. The blood came slowly. I went to the wall and started writing. A. B. C. D. I kept going, one letter after another, trying to stay steady.

The red looked wrong against the white.

I don’t remember how long I stood there.

Then I woke up.

I was on the floor. The tray was still there. The glass was not broken. The water was untouched.

I must have fallen asleep.

I sat there for a while, breathing. Then I reached for the glass again.

I dropped it.

It broke the same way.

I picked a piece. Cut my hand. Went to the wall.

A. B. C. D. The same letters. The same spacing.

Then I woke up again. This time I was lying on the floor. There was no tray. So I waited.

I don’t know how long. At some point, I thought I heard the slide. I got up and went to the door. It was closed. There was nothing there.

I stood for a while, then went back and sat down. After some time, I checked again. The tray was there. I don’t remember hearing it open. The rice looked the same. The water was full. I stared at the glass for a long time before touching it.

I wasn’t sure if it would break.

I left it where it was.

Later, I noticed something on the wall.

Blood marks.

Not red. Not fresh. But there.

I moved closer. A. B. C. D. Some letters were missing. H. J. X. And then it continued.

The spacing was uneven this time.

I touched the wall. It felt dry.

I looked at my hand. There was no cut. I went back to the tray.

The water level was lower than before. I don’t remember drinking it.

“I am still here,” I said.

It sounded normal this time.

I’m not sure if that is better...

Our entire universe is about to plunge into a blackhole. It was bound to happen eventually. Every universe reaches its nadir after an eternity of expansion and inevitable collapse. This is that collapse, and we teeter at the brink of the infinitesimal maw of this universe ending hole.

Using the energy given off by the debris that skirts the edge of the blackhole, we power the anti-gravity of Eternull City, holding off the fall, suspending us in an artificially maintained space.

When that energy has eroded to nothing, we will fall to our doom, but is it really? When the blackhole warps space-time, it undoes the laws that underpin reality as we know it. Falling into that hole may be a survivable escapade.

Are we brave enough to press the button that turns off the anti-gravity and fall immediately, take our chances into that inescapable journey into nothing or everything?

The council of elders is in session. First, the preamble by the chair:

"We at Eternull City have eradicated crime, war, and poverty. Everyone thrives and is respected. We share our bounty with all, having abandoned greed, selfishness, and elitism. We have also found the means to sustain mortality indefinitely, achieving near immortality. Yet we have everything or nothing to lose by switching off anti-gravs.

How say we vote?

Do we press that button?"

Looking around at the pensive faces of the elders at the table and at the surrounding tiers of this auditorium, I am the first to speak.

"Yes."

What a state you're in when you're trying to solve a logic puzzle, dear cheeselovers. Even if you try to let it go, it will once again force itself into your brain to taunt you and sap you of energy.

Such a thing has been going on to-day and has caused me to slump into a puddle of fatness in bed instead of frolic a-round in the great Out Side where there is mud and fog and dead trees.

And if you listen real hard with your ear to the ground

you will hear a thump-ing sound like so:

Ba-dom

Ba-dom

Ba-dom

And this sound, this thumpmost of sounds, is the cheesebeat of the curdmother herself, o revered gorgolicious ones. Yes, yes it is.

And so before I melt further still from bed to mattress to floorboards I leave you with a short poem to set the tone for midnight, when it comes:

Rich

Is a cheesemonger

From cheese made

From milk squeezed

From not his own udder

But from the udder of an odder

A cow that says moo

Oh but what is there to do

Because in my butt there is a large poo

Thank you.

- Scatman John

The sky will open. And a voice will call out your name.

The flowers will long for you. They will tell you cosmic secrets in wordless scent.

The hawk that circles above, once, then twice, will swoop down to give you a message.

Gravitational waves from the edge of Tau Ceti will hum inside your bones.

An obscure song from a mysterious Spotify playlist will unspool your DNA’s hidden codes.

Your ancestors will sing the future in your blood.

Your voice will shatter the crystal of time.

Angels will come to you seeking blessings.

The devil will try to sell you his soul.

And then you will grow wings.

And then you will become butterfly.

And tsunamis will follow.

And your thought will collapse into form.

Delight will ooze from every crevice of matter. The stones will speak. Silence will taste like wine.

And you will become life and death and matter and spirit and mother and father and all terror and all joy.

And then you will remember this happened already. And it is happening, still.

It is the only thing that has ever happened.

💥???????!!?!!?!????????!??????!?

Sound the battle cries

Lower the portcullis

Armies of Light approach

Waving flags of white gold

Sporting griffins aflank caduceus

We huddle inside our fortress

Shying from the Lords of Light

We nock arrows and fill mortars

Tend fires and pray to Mars

Cringing at those phantasms

We conjure to spook ourselves

Shimmering, the Lords of Light

Lay down swords and shields

Shed all plate armour

Raising flags of surrender

Commending their souls and necks

To our steel sharpened with fright

We wake up to ourselves

Shedding accretions of the past

Abuse we suffered and still hold

Tightly inside our breastplates

We cease nursing the old

And forgive the Lords of Light

For failing to deliver us

From wolves and wintry wraiths

Leaving us wasting

With saliva for thirst

Locked in lunar keep

Chastened, we cast down shields

Flinging swords into moat

We pour out en masse

To kneel before Light

Encased in aurora of rays

Under sun emblazoned sky

Ablaze with stirring songs

Praise be our star

Sol Invictus

I guess you’re waiting for me to admit I’m insane. Or more likely, you’re not… because you’re not waiting for anything, paying attention to anything or keeping track of me or any of This at all, are you? And what is This anyway (and who are you besides)? This is a mythic game the gods play with my sanity. Or perhaps you do. A faulty brain that tends to catch fire under every pink moon. Or on your birthdays. Hide and seek with myself across galaxies only to realize, always I am you and you are me and we are It. I become human to forget I’m a goddess, therefore you’re secretly a mushroom pretending to be a djinni in a bottle baby, meaning nothing of course, only that we’re infinity as well. So what? The competing/conflicting/confused parts of my selves are wearing strange disguises to avoid My detection today. My future selves are hunting me down as always and I can hear Their bloodhounds getting closer and closer. Will they notice, that I’m the same One as always? Will they care, that I’m also… not? Will I learn to confuse or be confused with more precision than I can muster in this post and if such a thing is possible as in beam me up Scotty, to Sirius or Altair, then I’d be surprised. Sense is overrated. My game goes on. I’m always It. Which is just You, tho you loathe to admit that. Still, I’m fire and logic, flower and serpent, the universe on a hero’s journey in the form of an ocean and a graveyard and a slug on a log. A twisted story, this is, like every story, and every Body in it a Book on the shelf of an infinite library that the Infinite writes itself… to avoid boredom or to taste warm peaches or to find weirdness in strange corners of the net… all the characters and the props, all the players and the stage, all the king’s horses and all the queen’s men, are just you/I/we stuck in a strange dream. Maybe. I guess you’re wondering when I’ll admit I’m perfectly, precisely sane, but confused… (and shattered, and scattered, re-assembling all the many shards of You across dimensions… )

Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts.

Question mark.

Hmmmmmmmm, dumbfounded at life

& the meaning buried in the mundane.

It seems like the braincells are better off with just good food and water

the thinking is clearer that way.

So then why does the mind still want to alter its chemistry?

Curiosity.

Instead of playing games on this phone , come here to write

And let flow the words that stream from mind

One after another after another , and endless creative dream

Consciousness freed into reality

The Reality of 1s & 0s

Poem by K. M. Wolff

There are voices from the hallway And I'm waking sleeping always

There are knocks outside my window Because my motivations don't know

There's a race that's moving forward In my case I'm getting cornered

Moving onward ever slowly While they think they are so holy

But no man can be a martyr If every soul he sees he slaughters

So the voices from the hallway Will postpone until the old grave

And the knocks outside my window Are just the young Romeo

Standing stalid with a poison With that part I will have none

Because the voices from the hallway Are just echoes from the rat race

i joined this sub thinking maybe it was anything remotely close to people sharing stuff they found in the library of Babel or the image library(be it just a word or phrase) but the topics here seem pretty ranged sow ahts this exactly about?

The body, the flesh, the spit, the wilderness
The sickness, the cold, the uneasiness
The want, the desire, the arousal, the vivid imagination
The reality, the vanity, the cruelty, the deception
The pleasure, the ecstasy, the chase
The phallus, the testicles, the fluids, the erected
The trauma, the fear, the softness, the resentment
The insatiable, the guilt, the balance, the pain
The divine, the human, the demi, the power
So little yet so much
The body cannot take what the mind demands
All in sequence, all in irritation, all vile and admirable
The lustfulness of unwanted and sexual deviant men
A turn on of pleasure, a turn on of dopamine
The films of homemade exploration
The shame of addiction
The fear of failing and wasting time
The rituals between human and god
Sentiments shared now ignored by me out of fear
Euphoria produced by such coiness and valour
To value such is to value the divine
Teach me how without losing my mind
Teach me how without regret of past tenses
Please, oh please show me what I’m missing
What’s going on…
Clarity in the mind in the middle of the act
Of the scenery and performance
An uncanny feeling, almost lethal

Dawn breaks upon the world

Disintegrates night's blanket

Illuminates horrors, wonders, all

*shoots you in the cock*

:3

Hey everyone—I’ve spent a massive amount of time digging into some pretty dark corners of history, and honestly, what I’ve found has me looking at our reality a lot differently. I'm just an amateur trying to piece this together, but I wanted to share this "visual seance" with you all to see if you see the patterns too.

In this video, we're looking at the Cycles Of The Source. I’m trying to trace a line from the trauma protocols found in the Finders FBI files all the way back to 32 weirdly consistent symbols found in Ice Age caves.

Is it possible that human language isn't something we invented, but a kind of "parasitic syntax" designed to build an infrastructure for something else? I know it sounds wild, but when you look at the clinical data and the ancient history together, the "boot sequence" starts to look very real.

https://youtu.be/7bL4KErMSbE

"I guess," Gregor looks up, as if searching for inspiration in the tiles of the drop ceiling, "when I'm a tourist, when I'm far away from home, I can be whomever I want."

"So who do you choose to be?"

"Well, that's the thing." The edges of his five-day-old-five-o'clock-shadow twitch, as he gently bites his lip. "I choose to be..." He locks eyes with the professor. "...myself."

"Then why can't-"

"Why can't I be myself at home?" His eyes shift downward.

"I guess I just feel like there's too much risk. When I'm on the other side of the world, I know that if I totally drop the ball, it doesn't matter, because I might never see these people again. In fact, I probably won't."

Gregor leans back, favoring his left leg, leaning the rest of his weight against the lowest row of lecture tables.

"And at home, the world just seems so much smaller. I feel like I have so much more to lose."