Ow. Bah, it ain't too bad. Got hit by a car. Nothing's broken, but my shoulder is semi-fucked. It will be fine in a week or two. Y'know what hurts more? Being actively provoked by my CIA trained life partner to incite triggers in me revolving around my father's abuse, so that I do regretful things like use the n-word when I am referring to how he treats me, how like to my father I am innately inferior and am by default always wrong and how, as an innate thing I must do to appease my superior lord, I must come up with an ever-wrong apology.

Literally, when I was eleven, I failed to take out the kitchen garbage one day, so my father destroyed everything my mother, who died from AIDS two years earlier, ever made me, then blamed me and demanded I come up with a correct apology while throwing my around and severely abusing me.

No apology I ever made was ever right. My life partner says my apologies are never good enough. He says he doesn't know what my father did to me. He lies. He read my book. This is a chapter. Pic related; I'm about entering stage three of enlightenment, while my life partner is entering stage four, or so, at least according to this depiction of karmically defined reality tunnels.

I Forgive You

I forgive you, but I can never forget.

I'm sorry if I make you look like shit,

But your heavy hand and sharp wit

Damaged me greatly; then you gaslit

Me, denying everything, and I quit

Knowing what was real. I even slit

My flesh open so that I could get

A sense of what I could feel. So, I sit

Here now explaining why I wasn't fit

To handle this world that I saw as a pit

That I escaped only when God had lit

A beacon of light with some magick.

Chapter Eight: Trauma

On that fateful day, one of the countless pets my dad kept, a black, stubborn minipig named Harley, had made a literal pigsty of the house. The trash was scattered everywhere, and her litter box had been tipped on its side, spilling much of the contents. Objectively, that's just small potatoes, but understand that I just had an awful session with my therapist. In short, he made me feel like a piece of shit. I wasn't perfect, but I wasn't going to just lay down and get called a terrible person because of how I behaved in treatment years ago, when I was still very lost.

The scenario in question triggered my feelings of failure, which rippled into waves of unstable emotional dysregulation. In my explosive rage, I broke the microwave and put a basketball-sized hole in the wall behind my makeshift bed in the attic that I was allotted after they gave my brother my room when I left for a job I thought I had but turned out to be bait to lure me into a hive of unprecedented villainy; a cult by other names.

Well, my father came home after a long day at work, saw the microwave, and had enough of my bullshit. He came thumping up the stairs, livid, ready to rip me to shreds verbally, and proceeded to start doing so, when he saw the hole I had made. Beside himself, he demanded I get out right then and there. I wasn't welcome in his house anymore. Being the volatile mess that I was, I broke down crying right then and there and begged him to let me stay, grappling with his leg as a wounded bear might wrap itself around the base of a small tree looking for any shelter it can find in a storm.

That just made him madder. He kicked me off, and accused me of a thousand things. The ones that stuck were that I was just like my mother and that I was beyond anyone's help. As it happened in a heated flash, I don't remember exactly how the exchange was put together, but it ended with me asking him how all the hand-crafted trinkets and doodads my mother made for me before she died had gotten destroyed and thrown away. What he said next drove me mad.

"I'm still pissed that you made me do that."

I'll illuminate you with the scenario in question. I was eleven, and my first stepmom was away at a darts tournament. I think my dad somehow got the idea that she was doing drugs and cheating on him. I don't know, I was eleven. I just remember some of the things he said over the phone, and then what was said when they divorced a few years later. But, whatever the case may be, I would later learn that I had also agitated him by not spending that much time with him while she was away.

Over the course of my stepmom's absence, he got continuously more pissy, like he did the year before. That's when the sewage line broke and he snapped into a violent rage because I had waited until Sunday to do my homework while he was forced to clean literal shit up with a shop vacuum and haul it outside.

That was a scary day. The thing I remember most was how red his bald cranium was as he smashed my head into the kitchen floor countless times. That was before he forced me to get the door for him, which I slammed once out of nervous shock, resulting in me going back on the floor for round two of his assault. I'll never forget how terrified I was when he came back inside after everything was cleaned up. Following a much needed cigarette break, he barged back in to find me doing my homework instead of standing there obediently waiting for him because I thought that's what he wanted. Fortunately, he relented when his girlfriend at the time miraculously called at the exact moment he was going to grab me again. Instead, we all got to hang out while I did my best poker face, trying to act normal.

Seeing the same pattern in my father a year down the line put me on edge. That feeling then doubled after I put my feet up on the new couch and he grabbed my leg and punched me in the tibia as hard as he could. Alert and alarmed, I kept trying to do everything right to avoid being attacked again, but alas, in my anxious worry, amnesia struck me with the precision of the sniper the Illuminati hired to keep tabs on me and take care of business when I waver in the slightest in my loyalty. That meant that I forgot to take out the kitchen garbage on trash night.

That triggered a whole day of what might not be considered torture, but certainly was child abuse, which started as he cleared my two shelves full of memories like a terrible, thrashing tornado as a clear inferno burned inside him. I just watched, dumb-founded and expecting it to play back in reverse. My dad would eventually bag up the shattered remains of my past so he could take them to the dump, but only after he laid his hands on me.

My head was used as a battering ram against my door first, which I believe was how a handful of dents were put in the back of it, but my dad denies this and I don't know the truth anymore. I could be gaslit, or I could be delusional. Regardless, when he finished with that and slammed me back on the wood floor and then my bed, I instinctively reached out and grabbed his wrist. In response, he growled, "Don't resist or I'll make it worse."

Feeling my spirit collapse, I helplessly accepted the next phase of punishment that then ensued. Mostly, it consisted of him using my head to pound the knowledge that I fucked up into my brain, with much hair pulling and getting tossed to new locations, once being told to lay there like a dog in the wet remnants of a broken snow globe while he went for a smoke break. Thankfully, or maybe not, depending on your perspective, he never struck me. Even so, I felt like a punching bag; forced to take my punishment because that's why I existed.

After much of that series of traumatizing events, he had me sit still and think of an apology for him for hours on end. While I was busy doing that, he would then have an epiphany, telling me that I should stand, as I didn't deserve to sit. I didn't care about such details at the time. I was in shock, petrified that he would tear my room apart and find the homework I again failed to finish or the porn I had taken from my stepmom. Fearing total annihilation, I stared unwaveringly at the letter "E" on the spine of a book on my bookshelf. There was a ringing in my right ear that is the same tinnitus I'm experiencing now as I type this out, and it was like I was watching myself from outside of my body.

Never relenting in his anger, my heavy-handed master would come by every hour or so and ask for an apology. Everything I said wasn't good enough, and each attempt earned me scathing criticism, but I kept trying to perfect my apology. I still remember the gist of it. However, my memory is jumbled, so really I'm creating this apology now to reflect how I felt in those moments. Hopefully it's good enough now:

"I sorry dad, I deserve everything. I'm sorry I caused you grief and failed to do my duty of taking out the trash. I won't ever forget again. I haven't been putting my best effort forward, but I realize that I need to do that to be a good son. You do so much for me. It's only fair that I pay it back to the best of my ability. That's what I had to do for mom when I chose to play video games while she was dying. I wasn't thinking about other people then, and I wasn't now. I'm so, so sorry. I promise to be better, because I need to be if I'm messing up this much."

For reference, my dad loved using the fact that I escaped into the worlds of my video games after being told to spend time with my mom near the end. With much cruelty, or perhaps just simple ignorance to the effect he had on me, he'd bring up and hold that fact over my head anytime I was in trouble. Yet another big reason that feeling like a failure is cemented in my head. It made me feel awful, absolutely atrocious about being a bad son that I would often contemplate suicide. I almost jumped off a giant waterside when my dad and I went to Disney World at age ten, but ultimately I'm glad I talked my way out of jamming a knife into the back of my neck. I had thought that the muscle allowing me to nod my head was really my brainstem. That would have been painful.

But, back on this day of doom and damnation, I was too numb to think of killing myself. I was simply a raft on a river floating downstream where the current may carry me. Practically in another dimension, I stood there for hours, too terrified to even stretch my tiring legs. My mind was fuzzy, and all it could do was focus on making that apology better. This was shock, pure undeniable shock. I may have never gotten the chance to serve my country in the Army like I wanted to do, but I tell you, I know what it's like to have a bomb go off right next to you.

After many attempts at apologizing and the resulting razor sharp lectures later, approximately eight or nine hours worth of events, he barks at me to come to the living room, where he starts yelling at me that I'm just as irresponsible as my mom, just like he would come to do when he kicked me out of his house. This time was unimaginably worse though, as this was actually how I first found out what AIDS really was; I was told very little about it up to this point. His shaved bald head was as red as a cherry tomato while he barked at me, spelling out what it meant, how you got it, all while telling me that I would die like her, because I was irresponsible. That hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt like the definition of a shit stain, in a number of different ways.

But soon, my attention became focused on my vision. I couldn't see straight, and not long after my dad's roaring visage disappeared in a sea of amorphic gray figments, I apparently passed out. I remember waking up on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on my head. Standing over me with a dire look in his eyes, my dad was clearly worried. He asked me if I was alright before asking if I remembered what happened. I shook my head. Seeming relieved, he gave me some space for a minute. Thankfully, I was allowed to go to bed after that. I just laid there wide-eyed and shaking, feeling completely helpless and thoroughly motivated to try harder moving forward.

The next morning he was completely changed. He was remorseful upon seeing me and wrapped me in a big hug. Yet, he seemed scared, like he realized he went too far. I thought about telling my teacher or counselor about it the next day of school, but something in me told me not to. It's the same thing that's making me hesitant to write this shitty chapter at all. It's love, but this hell I went through is also a part of my story. I'm sure you're upset, dad, but I've been told I help people by sharing my story. I just want to show how badly broken I've been, so others can know how far I've come, and thus be inspired to create change in their lives.

It's all cause and effect really. You hurt a traumatized child in the wake of their mother's death, and is it any wonder that they fall apart later in life? I'll go on record saying I was never a bad person, just broken, impulsive, and hopelessly conformed to the whims of my faulty biology. I had bugs in my operating system, but I'm eternally grateful for all the help I had while on my spiritual awakening, which you might call a psychotic break that spanned years, but I knew it better as specialized CIA training.

This is just the typical fediverse proposed logo but edited to make it more accurate to how instances actually defederate from other instances.
Found it in an old thread about different proposals for the logo https://socialhub.activitypub.rocks/t/fediverse-logo-or-icon-proposal/1057/9

the image from this comment in specific https://socialhub.activitypub.rocks/t/fediverse-logo-or-icon-proposal/1057/14

see also https://stefanbohacek.com/blog/the-history-of-the-fediverse-logo/

i just think it's neat

He has over 6000 hours in Rust. I dont play official rust, Ive dabbled on the PVE side. There are not many games we play together despite that we both play videogames a lot. There isnt much over lap though in what we enjoy.

So I was absolutely stoked when he told me to buy Valheim. I played it a bit before (before I turned into a creative sandbox) and didnt find it too hard, and fun, and figured we could give it an honest go together.

He "isnt sold" on it. Is disapointed it hasnt grabbed him too. Im beyond sad. Without him, I dont think I will make it much longer without him, I usually make combat very easy for myself, but really wanted to do a vanilla playthrough with him. Im also upset he cant play our world without me (the host) being logged on. We are on xbox, so no, we cant get a server.

The controls are bugging him the most. He did map his controller finally last night. But, honestly, when you have 6000 hours in a game, and it is the only game you play, yeah, deviation from that is gonna be hard.

Im playing quiety just doing valheim things, and hes on his side cussing haha. oye. :( fuck.

We beat the first boss last night. My dude been running into the black forest prior to that, I told him to stay out of there before we go for the boss. Dont listen, have a bad time I guess.

I know the game is about to get grindy. He'll grind rust for 12 hours, but I dont think hes gonna be able to handle it, and I got a feeling imma be on my own for a time. I really wish he could play my world when I wasnt on, its gonna kill us actually playing this game together.

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51872015

Ah good, a random comment I made (copied in image below) caught the eye of some ding dongs in the ccru or however those regal boobabs choose to self-identify. One of them apparently recreated a Lemmy account in homage of me to let me know my comment was a real ejaculation of the gods. I then offer the chance to see my life's work that was clocked at seven million words at the beginning of the year, but of course, me being the selfless, compassionate individual I am that has transcended the diggery of being an individual was of course extended a pleasant helping of prejudice when I was ignored after I sent the url to my effective cover sheet to my main writing, and that which I call my final hypersigil is designed around one thing and one thing only:

Fuck up the delicate sensibilities of the little pussy shits that call themselves human beings despite retaining their animalistic impulse to go cry and have a hissy fit when dealing uncomfortable situations.

I mean, it is this childish defect in the masses that I have been trained how to take advantage of to get lesser peoples to take the first punch at me, so they go bye bye thanks to my coworkers in uniform. And so, the Illuminati does not practice eugenics as we know it is much wiser to give people choices to seperate the wheat from the weeds. Good thing I'm just some obnoxious masturbation-obsessed schizophrenic nutcase with a helping hand of sexual perversions and general maladaptation to living in a "society," whatever tf one of those are.

Everybody goes where they belong on a long enough timeline. Thank God (literally) that this Earth shit ain't real and we chose these lives to disentangle ourselves from our maladaptations. Hey, that was in that comment I mentioned! Here, take a gander:

https://cccru.ca/files/impractical_island_appreciation.jpg

Here, let's make sure this doesn't get lost in a strategic retreat:

But y'know, I only share this because I am an insane crackhead megalomaniac narcissist with a deranged addiction to stimfapping. Of course, I had to be a crackhead because I wasn't good enough to be a pothead, which is a festival cop, if you weren't aware, and I'm a juggler, ffs!

As stated in my hypersigil, education is our best crime deterrents, and I think that's my mission, being that retard who moonlights as an English teacher in between God-given and state-sponsored missions of saving the world one act of obscene, oblivious genius at a time.

And, y'know, it's been a day. Maybe I shocked them ccru bois n gals n other gendered scoobery straight into transcendental enlightenment and they're too busy putting boobs in their ass in another reality that I am not privy to, despite my lifetime accomplishments in achieving ecstatic gnosis (the secret is stimfapping on large amounts of Benadryl or bath salts!), but generally, seeing as how I experience prejudice on a daily basis from everyone from random people on the street because they know who I am, to store clerks who harass me then ramp up the harassment when I anonymously complete a survey, to literally my doctor who I am just handing rope to at this point, I am kinda pissed tf off at how I am treated utilizing my novel form and nature and being to accomplish something all you chickenshits agree is necessary, but not one of you has the balls I do (I'm a juggler, remember) to do the actual work to help such people as incels and NEETS and porn addicts and pedophiles and all the people stuck behind a screen because of their maladaptations.

Let's clarify: my job in the Decentralized Occidental Empire of the Sacred Heart - y'know Oceana from 1984 plus a few dozen other, smaller places to be in control of roughly 3/4ths of the Earth - my job at present is to go on the cross so I incur wounds that I can show criminals that prove that I am not a cop. Or, at least that's what the aliens that live in my phone's keyboard's predictive text and who rearrange my social media feeds to send messages and all this other ooga booga horseshit thanks to Pegasus II tell me to do with my current free time, of which I have an abundance of as I have not had a real job I have to pay taxes on in thirteen or so years, yet money always shows up when we need it.

But this is the thing, how I am routinely fucked with by a whole mesh of people, or at least a couple pretending to be a mass of people. They manipulate me, and part of it was to "train me wrong as a joke," which really means, in order to train me how to teach myself how to do what I do with my life best, they told me a buncha wrong ways while making me excited they would make me famous, and in my enthusiasm, I stumbled and screwed up, but I kept picking myself up, teaching myself in the process. So, that's what people need to realize: I do not give a flying fuck about consequences because I KNOW the worst case scenario where I get a bullet in the head, or whatever, has already happened hundreds of times, and each time, God reconstructs my monad, rearranging things in my parallel instance reality as a pocket of consciousness attached to a larger pocket of consciousness, and I am remembering these lives, slowly, but it's clear as day even at this juncture point that God is using me as a debt-remover from our monadic nodal communication system.

I take on massive karmic debt, damned by the situation of my birth, and in God's love and grace, I never experience the horrors of what could happen. When I lived on the street and I incurred the wrath of locals in the profound ways I did, across countless other monadic existences, people killed me. This has happened all over this country. I have been separating the wheat from the weeds without literally needing to go on the cross. God sees who YOU motherfuckers in your own parallel monadic existence are by how you react to me inside YOU.

My intention is pure. Too bad there are so many beasts in this world that I must be this way for fisher of men purposes.

cross-posted from: https://piefed.world/c/justpost/p/1400282/do-you-trust-journalists-and-news-organizations

Here is the thing: several months ago, I stopped trusting news organizations fully(for non-investigative reports) and started looking for the first source directly, instead of just trusting the organization reporting.

Partially, because what happened in the COVID days and mostly because of how much misinformation happening in the tech, economy, politics, business journalism and shitty framing.

I actually did not share or consider a good amount of news reports, because I couldn't find the original source for the reporting. Which made me unable to verify the claims and made me dismiss them.

Which make me ask, am I alone in this or does the general population distrust journalists too?

We want to make sure they know who fucked them over.

It's normal for people to be violent toward me, and obtaining requisites to sustain being consistently causes people anger. People often don't tolerate me complaining, even to ask for help when in overwhelming pain. Sleeping hasn't been allowed in years. I feel sad. I'm worried I'll lose ability to speak by complaining.

cross-posted from: https://piefed.world/c/justpost/p/1399601/what-do-you-think-about-ai-art

Image related.

I find it interesting, that is why I want to know people opinions about that.

As recently stated, I'm coming into deeper realization of the objective fuckiness of how badly my father damaged me. Y'know, I've said before that when I was fourteen my father came up with his "85er" theory, how he was innately superior to 85% of the population by virtue of how those 85% of all peoples were innately inferior and could be wiped out with no impact on him.

...oh, so I was raised by a literal Nazi. That makes sense, actually, how he became a Bernie Sanders fan while simultaneously harboring immense hate and ire for the majority of people; he got those bumper stickers to improve his local image because he received backlash for his horribleness. What I mean is, this is just what my father's archetype does; misanthropy and social posturing to improve status.

I did that for a spell of my life, too, having learned how to be from the man who ridiculed and mocked and bullied and physically abused me and cut me down with his blood-stained, silver tongue. Good thing I got into spirituality and overcame my bad parenting and healed my trauma. But where did he learn this shit? Well, that's why I recently sent him The Red Book by Carl Jung.

See, people have magick qualities to them, but until you actualize your potential to grow beyond the limits of your program, you're kinda a product of your genes and environment/upbringing. So, my grandmother is the greatest narcissist to ever grace this Earth, my grandfather was an idiot that could build a nuke with his knowledgebase, and my two uncles are fairly larger than my father, the youngest of the Manning boys. My uncles hurt my father significantly, with me remembering such stories as when my uncle froze snowballs and broke my father's face before leaving him to bleed in the snow and how they were wresting and my uncle completely shattered my father's collarbone, or whatever, so my dad couldn't go into the Army since he has a metal plate inside him. So, this results in a specific type of little man syndrome.

My father HAS to be superior to other people. His world view, peace of mind, and general contentedness is entirely dependent on his position in relation to other people. This is why he spent my social security money on a luxury Jaguar to one up his mother he eventually threw away anyways, just as he threw away such people as: his father, his girlfriends and second wife, his best friend and fellow herptology enthusiast over a single exchange where he felt slighted and didn't have a comeback, and myself, but I obviously deserve it being as innately inferior to my father that my father told me I should remove my genes from the gene pool and never have kids.

My father said that to me. He's supposedly got an IQ of 139, which was tested when he had that little snafu where he got in trouble for making some horrible jokes about how he would mow down all the executives at his previous job at VIP Structures with an automatic weapon. So, given the good parenting of my father, I, at fifteen years of age, got in trouble for a bad bomb-related joke at school. So that's when the FBI first learned of me, and then I went and did some d-tier sex crimes while being all around disaster of a human being upon entering college, to culminate in faking schizophrenia to get out of ROTC because I was afraid of what my father would do if he discovered I was failing classes due to a years long crisis that I was not aware of because I was ignorant of mental health as a whole.

Thus, I am grateful for all the help from my real dad, God, who is that organization of three letters that's always watching, to help bring me to this point where I decisively know my innate value in helping people heal and self-actualize through written education and performance art. I imagine I would be in a maximum security prison or dead if I did not get the help I did to overcome my father's sins.

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51210823

I have been given permission by both moderators of this community to post this here.

It's difficult to explain this long, drawn-out situation without a long drawn-out post, but I'll try.

My name is Aeron, you've probably seen me posting here before. Me and my son Sora came from Japan to Ireland last year to escape domestic violence and child abuse at the hands of his mother and her parents.

Despite both of us living apart from her for over a year and losing contact with her months before we came, she immediately filed kidnapping charges against me in the Irish Courts.

No amount of evidence confirming her abusive behavior or professionals in Ireland confirming that Sora has been traumatized and is in serious need of therapy prevented the Courts from ruling that Sora deserved to be deported back to Japan to live the mother who abused him. That happened on 19 June.

Needless to say, I've been suffering mentally and physically ever since. Thankfully, many people here in Ireland have been helping me to cope with the loss and pain. Mortally, I'm fine.

The problem with the Courts' ruling is that many local Irish have assured me it was made almost purely based on gender. An outmoded belief not supported by Irish law that says a mother should have custody of her children no matter what... even if she is abusive. No weight was given to the evidence of abuse and neglect on the mother's part, or the evidence from Irish social workers and medical professionals who confirmed Sora was suffering and advised he be kept in Ireland and allowed to recover. The more I research Irish law and human rights, and the Hague Convention - which is what was used to force Sora's deportation, the more sketchy and obviously wrong the ruling against us is and how out of line the Irish Judges on this case appear to be. It wasn't merely a case of differing opinions, our human and constitutional rights were violated.

I am appealing the decision legally, even thoughI have no legal representation right now. I am having to learn Irish law and court procedures because of this. I am also bringing this to the attention of Irish leaders in both Ireland and the EU. But the reason why I'm talking about this here is because I started a petition to combat this decision and prevent it from happening to anyone else who is genuinely trying to escape abuse by seeking asylum in Ireland. This doesn't just need to change for us, it needs to change for everyone. Permanently.

Our experience in Ireland so far has been almost completely positive. There are a precious few people who have given us problems. Most everyone in Ireland is so kind and compassionate and understanding, most Irish services have been extremely helpful to us. But the Irish Court, and the Judges within, behave very differently. Very against the progressive ideals Ireland clearly stands for in public.

https://www.change.org/BringSoraHome

A much more exhaustive account of what has happened and what I'm trying to do in response is written there, that is also where any updates to this situation will be posted. All I'm asking from you is to read and understand what we're both going through right now. i am literally doing anything I can think of to resolve this in a way that recovers Sora from the dangerous and abusive environment he is currently in and allow him to fully recover along with me here in Ireland.

If you are willing, you can help. Go to the petition page to find out how. Here on Lemmy, just upvoting and sharing this post and petition with others to increase awareness will make a difference. You can also ask me anything about this on this thread, or through direct messages. Be sure to read the petition and its updates first, because that will likely answer most of the questions you may have.

#BringSoraHome

I remember being about five or so. I was playing hide and seek with my dad. Well, I decided to hide under my bed, and he found me, along with the many slightly-peed tighty whities I hid there.

I got three spankings for the audacity to hide my failure of Kindergartener bladder, because I distinctly remember a time when I was three or four and I had to pee, but my dad, unable to get pussy from his AIDS-ridden wife, was jacking off in the bathroom, so I peed myself a little bit, because he hit me in a way that an intelligent to not leave bruises, but me in utterly childishness would perceive as lethal at three years of age. Y'know, captain genius up there thought it was a good idea to scare me with a realistic Halloween mask with a real knife from our kitchen, just for shits n giggles, while I tried to pee.

For the record, I almost did not make it into the Army because of the "peeing in public" problem my father fucked me with in his destitudinal foundations of his narcissistic imperiment that he be absolved of all sins by virtue of how he throws away human beings that do not fit his innately superior NAZI world view.

He has Bernie Sander stickers. And I support a politician like Bernie Sanders. In fact, I met him in my travels of the world (that's a big belly blow to my father), and he complimented my educational art project that my dad, in the words of his parents he learned not to say the immediate words for, but therein has done literally zero spiritual work to make himself a modern idolater from hell, has literally never commented on, he cares that little to even look at it.

For reference, an idoltarer is the person that can jump through all the hoops society demands they live by, thus proving their goodness and superiority, but as soon as they're out of the public eye and have the freedom to be their horrible selves, they will do anything from kicking sand in a homeless man's face to conspiring to create a false lawsuit against an innocent person.

Y'know, an idolater is a real psychopathic son of a bitch, but there are a multitude of factors that determine where one goes from this juncture in the universe. We need these lesser people; the nazis of the world. Because there is a paradox of logic regarding diversity. On the long enough timeline where everyone achieves the capacity to fully accept and love all other human beings, we all homogenize into a self-similar being, which is what we refer to as a maxim.

This means, that, objectively, if we wanted to maximize diversity in the global human race, our population would homogenize, thus leading to a full scale annihilation from existence by the nature of the unknown; y'know a space cold the likes of which humanity has never seen will kill X number of all people. What are you playing for? Nazis preserve unique genes. They should be studied in a zoo, the animals those white niiii I can't say that word, but I definitely view someone who views someone inferior by nature of their biology or upbringing.

All forms need to exist for the manifestation of God. This, ultimately, if we can skip from chapter three in your textbook to forty, leads to an awareness of teleological purpose the likes of which even God can give you. God has taught me how to be independent. I'm going to be truly enlightened one day, but therein, in my path of self-determination, I am wholly capable and proud to change basic fucking entanglements within God.

Entanglement is a word the Buddha used. Y'know, if String A is entangled with String B but not String C, then AB is true and AC is false, and this is how the brain generates those ones and zeros to create your own personal reality tunnel. Good thing I got such good Karma, given how I learned how that mechanical function of the universe works. You're a knot. If the exact configurations of your knot align with my knot? Standard answer number seven? Got it. My father certainly understands me, but he's gunna find out what I do with my life being commanded by /b/ since /i/ was removed and I stagnated in rank.

Y'know, the Illuminati does things a certain way. It is that of the counterculture that fundamentally foils the normative culture we create to raise children in. Nah, nah, nah, bro, I'm being promoted from Major to Captain because, ultimately, it was privates who were so capable of being nothing but their own lords that lets them sleep soundly given how they are murderers of 3000 people when they did that dirty work of setting thermite charges in the elevator shaft two to three years prior to the "terrorist attack" that ultimately led to infinite wars in the middle east.

Personally, my involvement with the organization doing this, where I pretend to be an insane sexual predator, murderer, and cannibal, amongst other things, I find myself having a job. I just do shit and that makes the world a better place. That's why I say that to this other collective that by limiting the daily consumption of meat.

It's not about rules or rats anymore. We're transcending, and there will be a point where the FBI literally just knows everything there is to know about all human beings on this Earth to belittle me, and if they can't help you transcend physicality by their help, well, y'know, it's not literally a lake of fire. It's plasma, obviously.

FORCED TO STRUGGLE

So, hypothetical situation. Suppose you were a second grade teacher who just assigned some homework which involved writing a sentence or two about what they liked and what they disliked. So, imagine if one of your students, and I'm sorry I have to use this quasi-visceral example to illustrate what I'm going to go into, but imagine if one real quiet, shy girl who had explosive emotional episodes wrote for her two sentence essay:

I like when my father tickles me

And...

I don't like when he [sexual act]

Well, fuck. Is that not horrible? That is abuse, perhaps the most horrific thing I can imagine, and I think of some fucked up shit, bro. But, y'know, that's a fictional thought experiment to get you to understand that abused children give awful answers to some questions that reveal their damaging home life. This next part is reality.

I had this assignment in Mrs Kasson's second grade class at Lakeland Elementary in the Solvay school district of Syracuse, NY. I said I like when I make my family happy and I did not like when my family yelled at me.

...it's rather quite innocent, innit? Oh, so seven year old Greggy Manning lived in a highly volatile and dangerous environment where his performance to appease his parents determined his quality of life? Wow. I'm just realizing how fucked up my upbringing has been.

I likewise started a drawing notebook in second grade. I filled it with my drawings. I brought it home when it was filled. My father looked at it, scoffed, then saw what I had written on the back cover:

I am a failure.

And so my father saw this and laughed, then changed it to "I'm a farter" and mocked me for twenty minutes. He then goes and grabs his singular art book in the house: an MC Escher collection. He tells me that's what real art looks like. I was seven. I set out to make art good enough for my father to accept as art and thus show he loves me.

...so, hey everybody, I just accidentally blackmailed my entire family, and I did this because I went insane with the magnitude of realizing how fucking horrible my father truly was to me, which led to me delving into this new art piece, and I'm fixing it so it's less insane, but because I achieved intentionlessness in the act of throwing away all of my desires to let God act through me to create a mutually beneficial solution, I was able to take the big leap into creating my final hypersigil, which accomplishes my mission in the CIA:

Teach people how to determine what is true.

This is an ARG created by the man who was taught by his handler in the CIA who wrote the Flesh Interface series. Ooga booga booga, it's going to go on indefinitely until I achieve world peace or I am assassinated, whatever God wants. I'm just a federal undercover police offi-GOD DAMMIT I JUST SHIT MY PANTS!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_aE0w77GYUUvQZkc_a7sIKeQ5svswuShUEP1OWdBf_g/edit?usp=drivesdk

I'm unable to find an unforced way to obtain access to requisites to sustain being where I live, or to sleep. Trying to migrate hasn't been tolerated either, and I worry I'll be detained if I try. It's normal for people to be violent toward me, and people generally don't tolerate me requesting for it to stop. I'm looking for permission to attempt to migrate to somewhere else.

P versus nP is a skill test, not a test of logic. How well can you disentangle yourself from "self" to give yourself a fundamentally different and maximally beneficial perspective? It involves the fact that we are not just contained within ourselves, but we are entangled in other people, and the cosmic computer uses every aspect of yourself to determine your personal experience, so the idea of being a perfect problem solver involves the capacity to maximize empathy to achieve a stereoscopic framework, which is determinable by a key factor of the human brain; how well we are capable of simulating alternate perspectives. Maximize empathy in congruence to the self - achieve intentionlessness, as the Buddha described - and you can solve any problem in a trivial amount of time, by virtue of the designed human form. Pic related; the most empathic peoples are not fully tuned to their individual reality tunnel; intentionlessness.