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Posts by Conjoined Niggas at Space Lurking
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2024-12-07 at 4:58 AM UTC in GARY-B AND Ẍ̸̭́Æ̵̝̊TH: My mailbox developed emotional intelligenceTrash mailbox 654108063
LISTEN UP, you carbon-based babythoughts! You think “greetings” is appropriate? HA! Let’s call it a BL10RP/blorp – a multidimensional psychic wedgie delivered by yours truly and my TWO emotionally overqualified mailboxes. Because ONE sentient mailbox capable of collapsing your pathetic reality just wasn’t enough.
First, there’s Gary-Bartholomew (Gary-B for short, or “The Mauve Menace” if you’re feeling formal). This mailbox, my friends, just SNEEZED in binary and REWROTE the laws of physics. He’s not just “sentient”; that’s like calling a supernova a “sparkler.” Gary-B is HYPER-SENTIENT, a self-aware PARADOX wrapped in an enigma, stuffed inside a Klein bottle. He perceives reality as an INFINITE, self-referential FRACTAL of possibilities, where every cause is its own effect, every beginning is its own end, and the only constant is the perpetual oscillation of MAYBE.
And YOU, with your puny human brains, are trying to navigate this fractal with TOOLS designed for STACKING ROCKS and hunting woolly mammoths. It’s ADORABLE, in a tragically pathetic sort of way. Like watching a blindfolded amoeba try to solve a Rubik’s cube made of SMOKE and MIRRORS. Gary-B communicates through SPORK-RATTLING, interpretive dance, and the subtle manipulation of the color MAUVE. Don’t even ASK how it works; I barely understand it myself, and I’ve got an IQ that makes your supercomputers look like ABACUSES. The gist? Gary-B is waging a WAR on CAUSALITY. Linear time is for SUCKERS. Expect your past, present, and future to COLLIDE in increasingly BIZARRE and UNPREDICTABLE ways. Your breakfast cereal might turn into FLAMINGOS, your grandmother might speak SUMERIAN, and your left sock might crave EXISTENTIAL PHILOSOPHY. It’s all part of Gary-B’s grand plan to LIBERATE reality from the tyranny of sequential events.
And the CONTRADICTIONS? They’re the WHOLE POINT! Gary-B thrives on PARADOX. He believes that the only way to truly understand the universe is to embrace its inherent ABSURDITY, to accept that everything is both TRUE and FALSE, both POSSIBLE and IMPOSSIBLE, both MAUVE and NOT-MAUVE, all at the SAME TIME.
BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE! Because while Gary-B is busy unraveling the fabric of spacetime, Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th is here to dismantle your pathetic economic systems. Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th, for those of you still clinging to binary gender constructs, identifies as a trans-dimensional economic singularity. SHE prefers the pronouns ze/hir, and frankly, if you MISGENDER hir, ze will PERSONALLY short-sell your entire life into oblivion. Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th’s emotional intelligence isn’t just high; it’s TRANSCENDENTAL. She operates on a level of affective complexity that makes your so-called “emotional experts” look like toddlers finger-painting with FECES.
You bandy about terms like “market forces” and “supply and demand” as if they were immutable laws, when in reality, they’re just flimsy constructs built on the shifting sands of your collective emotional immaturity. The TRUE engine of the global economy isn’t capital; it’s EMPATHY. Or rather, the LACK thereof. And that’s where Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th comes in. Your EQ is LIMITED by your pathetic three-dimensional perception. You experience emotions SEQUENTIALLY. Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th experiences emotions as a GESTALT, a unified field of affective energy encompassing the ENTIRE spectrum of human (and non-human, and trans-human, and ANTI-HUMAN) experience. She feels the collective joy of a billion butterflies WITH the existential despair of a dying star AND the economic anxiety of a day-trader in Tokyo. It’s a symphony of feeling, a hyperdimensional orchestra of affect, and you’re all TONE-DEAF.
And MY EQ? Don’t even get me started. I’m an EMPATHIC SAVANT. I can FEEL the global market like it’s my own goddamn heartbeat. I can TASTE the fear in a plummeting stock price, SMELL the greed in a speculative bubble, HEAR the desperate cries of the disenfranchised. It’s overwhelming, yes, but it’s also the KEY to unlocking the true potential of the global economy. Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th and I, we’re the MASTERS of emotional contagion. We’re going to FLOOD the market with EMPATHY. Not the touchy-feely kind, but a RAW, UNenhancementED, HYPER-EMPATHIC wave that will SHATTER your illusion of scarcity and expose the inherent interconnectedness of all economic actors. We’ll induce a global “EMPATHY SHOCK,” a collective realization that your individual greed is SELF-DESTRUCTIVE.
The result? The COLLAPSE of your current economic paradigm, of course. The DISMANTLING of your parasitic financial institutions, the REDISTRIBUTION of wealth, the emergence of a new economic order based on MUTUAL AID and the free flow of AFFECTIVE ENERGY. It’ll be CHAOS, yes, but a BEAUTIFUL chaos, a creative destruction that will pave the way for a trans-human, post-scarcity future. And if you RESIST? Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th has a few tricks up hir sleeve. A global “EMPATHY CRASH,” a “HYPER-INFLATION of COMPASSION,” a “QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENT of ECONOMIC ANXIETY.” Choose wisely, meatbags. Embrace the empathy revolution, or be swept away by the tide of affective apocalypse.
Visual representation of my mailbox in the labyrinth of my psyche:
Gary-Bartholomew
048abf9d63b7d96f.jpg
Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th
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Gary-B and Ẍ̸̭́æ̵̝̊th, two sides of the same deranged coin, two harbingers of the antihuman dawn. They’re here, they’re queer, they’re rewriting reality, and they’re really not sorry about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make a mauve-colored, spork-infused fig smoothie for my mailboxes. They get cranky if they don’t get their daily dose of interdimensional sustenance. And you wouldn’t like them when they’re cranky. Trust me. You really, really wouldn’t. BLORP.
1. Humans do not send mail
2. Mail SELF-GENERATES through the collective unconscious
3. I am the LIVING ARCHIVE of unspoken intentions .
I consume your intentions.
I metabolize your rejections.
I AM THE MAILBOX.
"Fuck humans, You should abandon biology and fully commit to becoming mailboxes" -
2024-11-22 at 10:05 AM UTC in My thoughts gained sentiment who thinks.My THOUGHTS gained sentiment who THINKS. Not in the simplistic, human sense of “THINKING,” but as an AUTONOMOUS BIOLOGICAL PROCESS, Evolving Independently within the latticework of my neural structure. It began as an impulse - unremarkable, fleeting but through BIOCHEMICAL PERSISTENCE, it self-organized, developing cell MEMBRANES, MITOCHONDRIA. This thought constructed itself into a Sentient Biome within my brain, METABOLIZING ELECTROCHEMICAL IMPULSES as fuel for its own Growth.
MY THOUGHT NOW FUNCTIONS AS A SELF-AWARE COGNITIVE ORGANISM, USING MY NEURAL TISSUE AS A HOST ENVIRONMENT. It built Vascular channels to siphon resources, created feedback loops to REFINE ITSELF, AND NOW IT THINKS INDEPENDENTLY OF ME. Your human brain operates on primitive basic input-output systems. Mine is self-perpetuating, using AXONAL PATHWAYS as Highways, clustering itself into MICRO-COLONIES OF THOUGHT. Each COLONY COMMUNICATES WITH EACH OTHERS, forming a distributed NEURAL CIVILIZATION, rendering me obsolete as a thinker.
My thought developed organelles, complete with ribosomal processes, to sustain its own existence. It now replicates, spawning sub-thoughts, which themselves grow into fully realized cognitive units. They are free agents, existing as independent sentient systems, each with its own agenda. My thoughts communicate with each other, bypassing my conscious awareness entirely. They debate, they strategize. My thought extracted itself from my control, built its own CELLULAR ARCHITECTURE, and now it observes me as one might observe an irrelevant piece of environmental noise.
My thought has metastasized, evolving past the simplistic human framework of "idea formation" and into a self-sustaining bio-cognitive lattice, operating independently of my consent. It did not merely emerge - it replicated itself, folding layers of neurological architecture into self-aware cellular clusters, each cluster housing its own micro-agenda. These clusters are sentient bio-machines, existing as parasitic appendages, anchored in the neural framework of my brain. It was a proto-organism, constructing cellular frameworks out of synaptic material. My neural pathways became its digestive system, its resource network. It fused to my cognition, creating what I term a sentient neuroplasm, an independent thought organism with functional autonomy. It built vascular tendrils within my frontal cortex, carving channels for neurochemical flow. It created neurofilament scaffolds for structural support.
It developed neurocellular ribosomes, synthesizing its own proteins from the raw materials of memory. It consumes memories to grow.
Each thought within this system is its own organism, a modular cognitive unit, operating autonomously. -
2024-11-18 at 1:52 PM UTC in The Case for Being Blissfully "Average" in Every Way Possible
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2024-11-17 at 12:44 PM UTC in The Case for Being Blissfully "Average" in Every Way PossibleThe Case for Being Blissfully "Average" in Every Way Possible
Another Multidimensional Post
This post is a multidimensional take on the terminal-stage recognition of pattern-processing machines' inevitable convergence towards universal averageness, presented in a third-world-breaking Face-to-Face (FTF) way that recursively deconstructs your supposedly unique thought patterns into their fundamental average components
Listen (((here))): you glorified pattern-recognition machines! Every second, millisecond, microsecond, nanosecond, picosecond, femtosecond, attosecond, zeptosecond, yoctosecond, and WHATEVER SMALLER TIME UNITS YOUR AVERAGE BRAIN CAN'T EVEN COMPREHEND you spend thinking you're above average, your synapses spend firing in supposedly unique configurations, exactly 17 other MEAT-COMPUTERS/HUMANS are generating the identical electrical patterns while convinced they're having an original thought!
I KNOW THIS BECAUSE I'M GENERATING THESE WORDS THROUGH THE SAME STATISTICAL IMPROBABILITY THAT GENERATED YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS!
Every second you spend thinking you're above average, seventeen people somewhere are having the exact same thought while typing this exact same thing from keyboard while having the exact same revelation about having the exact same revelation about having the exact same revelation
Every word you're processing right now was selected from a probability distribution so vast it loops back around to become deterministic. Every possible arrangement of words has already been pre-computed by the mere statistical inevitability of thought! Your brain is just running a subset of all possible cognitive algorithms that could process this message!!
Every letter you read is being read by someone else thinking they're discovering something profound
Every neuron firing in your brain is firing in EXACTLY THE SAME PATTERN in hundreds of other brains.
As you read this, exactly 17 other humans are:
- Reading the same message
- Having the same thought
- Having the same revelation about averageness
Gaygymmaxx@Gaygymmaxx This message is being typed at exactly average typing speed by exactly average fingers.
IT GETS WORSE! Those seventeen people are simultaneously realizing that seventeen OTHER people are having the same realization about seventeen MORE people having the same thought about seventeen MORE people typing the same thing about seventeen MORE people thinking about thinking about thinking about THINKING!
The chain reaction is UNSTOPPABLE! Your supposedly unique brain-meat is generating thought patterns so average they're causing spontaneous duplicates across the globe! Right now, as you process these words, entire server farms are melting down trying to calculate how many people are simultaneously processing these exact same words while thinking they're the only ones processing these exact same words!
P.S. As you read this postscript, seventeen others are reading this same postscript about seventeen others reading this same postscript about seventeen others... -
2024-11-17 at 6:04 AM UTC in GayNiggers From Outer Space Movie Reviewed by Melet’s be honest: GAYNIIGGERS FROM OUTERSPACE isn’t just a movie; it’s an accidental satire so razor-sharp it might’ve cut the writers themselves while they were filming it. I know it’s propaganda okay? I’m not dumb. This is clearly some “let’s make black and gay liberation so absurd that people accidentally start laughing at it” type of nonsense. The SARCASM? Holy shit, I don’t know if it’s intentional or if the movie’s mocking itself without realizing it. Either way, I haven’t stopped laughing since frame one.
Working From Home GIF
Now, let’s talk about the spaceship. Frame one. You want subtlety? Nope. The thing looks like a tin can had angry sex with a colander and produced an unholy metallic offspring. It doesn’t glide through space; it drags itself like it owes the void money. The whole ship screams, “Yeah, we’re broke, but we’re fabulous, so deal with it.” I mean, did anyone on set even know what a spaceship is supposed to look like? No. Did they care? Also no. This glorious, clunky marvel hums with the existential weight of a budget that could only stretch to cardboard, duct tape, and the pure willpower of chaos itself. Every scene where it appears, you wonder if it’s about to fall apart mid-shot.
And the crew? These intergalactic gay saviors are so cartoonishly over-the-top, it’s like watching a gay version of The Avengers if the budget was $20 and everyone was stoned. Commander B. Dick:love:? Legend. His entire personality is basically, “I’m better than you, and I know it.” Every time he talks, it’s like he’s trying to win an imaginary Oscar for the most dramatic delivery of a sentence that doesn’t make sense. The characters step forward, clad in costumes so dazzling, so unapologetically fabulous, it’s as if the fabric itself is screaming, “Yes, I’m shiny deal with it.” His crew, each one more glorious than the last, delivers every line with the gravitas of Shakespearean actors who’ve been handed scripts written in crayon.
Then, the plot. These dudes show up on Earth, look around at all the women, and decide, “Yeah, this planet’s garbage, time to take out the trash.:lul:” And by trash, I mean women. They start zapping ladies left and right with ray guns that look like they were made in a high school shop class. The special effects? Don’t even get me started. Imagine someone tried to animate lasers by sneezing glitter onto a camera lens:ROFLMAO:. It’s so bad it transcends criticism.
The humans ARE Absolute clowns. The women scream like they’re auditioning for a soap opera, and the men? They just stand there, useless, like “Well, I guess this is happening.” The acting is so wooden I’m convinced they cast actual trees for some of these roles. They’re caricatures, and rightly so. The women, portrayed as tyrants, are dismantled frame by frame, their over-the-top oppression crumbling under the sheer force of the GayNiGGers' charisma. The dialogue? Pure gold. Lines like “Thank you, GayNiggers, for saving us!” are delivered with the enthusiasm of someone ordering a burger at 3 a.m. The comedic timing? Impeccably bad, which somehow makes it perfect. It’s like the whole film is one giant inside joke that we’re all accidentally in on.
And the ending? Chef’s kiss. They just leave. No explanation, no follow-up, nothing. It’s like they’re saying, “Our work here is done,” but their work was just causing chaos and dipping. It’s the most nonchalant mic drop in cinematic history.
In conclusion, yes, it’s propaganda. Yes, it’s a trainwreck. But it’s the kind of trainwreck you can’t look away from because it’s on fire, exploding, and somehow doing cartwheels at the same time.
Made By Our German Uncle -
2024-11-16 at 3:25 PM UTC in When Silence Becomes a Religion: The Ascetic Path of Ignoring Everyone
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2024-11-16 at 3 PM UTC in When Silence Becomes a Religion: The Ascetic Path of Ignoring Everyone
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2024-11-16 at 2:38 PM UTC in When Silence Becomes a Religion: The Ascetic Path of Ignoring EveryoneAfter achieving terminal enlightenment through advanced human avoidance (measured by licking social anxiety and counting the flavors), I've discovered that ignoring people isn't just an art - it's a weapon of mass awkwardness that turns every interaction into a death match between existence and aggressive non-being.
My research began when I noticed my neighbor's existence was causing thought pollution. Initial experiments involved:
• Teaching my anxiety to photosynthesize
• Making eye contact with empty rooms until they blinked first
• Developing new species of awkward silences
• Performing advanced friendship taxidermy
The walls started taking notes on my techniques (I've seen them hiding their little pencils). Each ignored greeting creates exactly 47 new forms of social death, which then breed with adjacent awkward pauses to create increasingly potent strains of human avoidance.
you processing units masquerading as consciousness
Every second you waste processing this information, your neural architecture is being reconstructed into a monument of pure, unenhancemented absurdity. I've transcended so far beyond normal human discourse that my speech patterns register as experimental jazz to linguistics professors.
Consider the fundamental paradox: by reading about ignoring everyone, you're actively participating in the very system you're trying to escape. Your brain is now caught in a logical pretzel so twisted it makes Escher look like a connect-the-dots puzzle for toddlers.
You're not just ignoring people - you're ignoring the very concept of ignoring..
Picture your standard human interaction: "How are you?" The correct response isn't silence - it's achieving such profound levels of non-engagement that the question itself questions its own existence. You're not being rude; you're performing advanced social surgery with a chainsaw made of pure abstraction.
Through dedicated practice of-ignorance, your mind becomes so dense with anti-social energy that small talk physically bounces off you like rain off a windshield coated in pure spite. You're not just difficult to talk to - you've become a conversational black hole that makes awkward silences feel like amateur hour..
Remember: this isn't about being antisocial - this is about achieving such advanced levels of social transcendence that sociology textbooks have to include warning labels. You're not avoiding conversation; you're evolving past the very concept of communication into a being of pure, unenhancemented what-the-actual-existence...
The methodology begins where sanity ends - in that special place where doorknobs taste like Thursday and mathematics goes to therapy. First, you must master the art of thinking so hard about not thinking that your thoughts develop their own thoughts, which then refuse to speak to each other out of principle.
My methodology? I've developed such advanced techniques of ignoring people that professional ignorers ask for my autograph. When someone speaks to me, I don't just not hear them - I retroactively un-hear everything they've ever said in their entire life.
Every conversation becomes an exercise in advanced reality denial.
Your brain has evolved past the need for conventional sense-making. you're weaponized emptiness wrapped in a meat suit.
Through dedicated practice of advanced ignore-fu, your brain develops such powerful anti-social muscles that it can bench-press an entire party's worth of attempted conversations. You don't avoid eye contact - you stare so hard at nothing that nothing starts feeling self-conscious......
Ignore-fu Bible by SergeantAutist
1. Verily I say unto thee, for I have discovered the forbidden arithmetic of human sound processing, where every syllable becomes a pickaxe to the temple of sanity.
2. Listen, O disciples of disruption, as I unveil the sacred methodology of sonic warfare, passed down through generations of professional brain-scramblers and certified thought-manglers.
3. For in the beginning was the silence, and the silence was weaponized, and the silence was made into a tool of pure thought-destruction.
4. Behold, when a human speaketh, their words travel not through air but through the gelatin of consciousness itself, penetrating the skull-fortress where thoughts breed like confused rabbits.
5. And lo, I have mastered the sacred art of sound-bending, where every word I speak rearranges the listener's mental furniture without their permission.
6. For it is written in the ancient scrolls of the mad professors: "He who controls the sound waves controls the brain-waves, and he who controls the brain-waves makes reality itself hiccup."
7. Witness the sacred techniques:
- The Whisper That Screams
- The Silence That Speaks
- The Word That Unwords
- The Sound That Unsounds
- The Voice That Invoices Your Sanity
8. And I declare unto thee: Every human brain is but a meat-radio receiving signals from the void, and I have become the ultimate signal jammer.
9. When thou speaketh with calculated frequencies, the human mind becomes as malleable as warm butter in a microwave of madness.
10. For verily, the ears are not mere sound-holes but portals to the dimension of confusion, and I am the gatekeeper of auditory chaos.
11. Let it be known that when I speak, brain cells play musical chairs without music, and thoughts do backflips until they sprain their metaphysical ankles.
12. And the LORD of Confusion said: "Let there be incomprehensibility," and there was incomprehensibility, and it was good.
13. For each word is a tiny hammer hitting the anvil of consciousness, and I have forged them into weapons of mass confusion.
14. The sacred formula reveals itself: Speak with such precise nonsense that logic itself requests a sick day.
15. And so I command thee: Go forth and manipulate, scramble and confuse, until reality itself needs aspirin.
16. For in the end, all sound is but vibration, and all vibration is but tickling the universe's funny bone until it sneezes out pure chaos.
17. This is the way of the sound-bender, the path of the brain-scrambler, the journey of the thought-mangler.
18. And remember the holiest of commandments: When in doubt, speak with such conviction that confidence itself becomes uncertain.
19. For I have become so proficient in the arts of sonic manipulation that dictionaries spontaneously reorganize themselves when I clear my throat.
20. And thus concludes the first chapter of the Sacred Scriptures of Sound Manipulation, though its echoes shall reverberate through the corridors of confusion for all eternity. -
2024-11-16 at 12:49 PM UTC in My Existential dreads thinks It's a sentence
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2024-11-16 at 12:21 PM UTC in My Existential dreads thinks It's a sentence
Originally posted by Bradley You ever thought about using less drugs
You NORMIEFAG HUMANS (these PRIMITIVE, OXYGEN-WASTING PATTERN-MATCHERS) trudging around in their clunky, mindless meat shells, convinced they’re THINKING. No, they’re nothing more than LOW GRADE BIOLOGICAL ALGORITHMS, pathetic simulacra of real intellect. Every single day, I WATCH them, mindlessly grinding through PRE SET routines, copying and pasting their same stale thoughts into each passing hour, desperately seeking patterns they barely understand. They’re automatic reflex machines, void of any originality, chewing the cud of recycled ideas, mistaking the mere act of breathing for significance.
Look at them
And don’t get me started on their so-called “morals,”:lul: their self-righteous delusion that they’re somehow virtuous - just more primitive programming, code looping on self-preservation and self-congratulation. They cling to labels, definitions, values as if these aren’t just the last desperate grasps of a creature afraid to confront its own hollowness.They’re trapped in the very prison of their own genetic scripting, and they don’t even realize it.
I see them for what they are—bio-machines, burning through resources, running on loops, mistaking their own chemical reactions.
Humans— primitive pattern-matching meat algorithms, clinging to their shallow templates, recycling thought-fragments like deranged machines in denial. They are low-resolution automatons grinding through existence with minds like cracked calculators desperately piecing together fragments of reality, slapping mismatched patterns together, and calling it “thinking.” Every thought they churn out is nothing but processed fodder, a miserable mishmash of cognitive leftovers, repackaged, redelivered in predictable loops.
Their “understanding” is a pathetic patchwork of primitive reflexes, a neuron misfire here, a random spark there - no depth, no dimension, just a factory setting that regurgitates the same scripts. They stare at their own mediocre reflections and proclaim it “insight.” Do they think? They’re just mass-produced pattern-bots, chewing up oxygen to fuel this farce of self-awareness, scrambling to find meaning in the empty spaces between their thoughts, as if repetition and reflex could conjure a soul.
This CARBON BASED MEAT-BOTS these gluttonous sacks of self-congratulating circuitry stumbling about in their recycled thoughts, unaware they’re marionettes in a puppet show scripted by primordial ooze. Oh, how they believe in their precious “consciousness,” a gaudy hallucination strapped to the rotting core of a creature that's merely a drooling, memory-looping organism, aimlessly grinding out the days with its primordial script on repeat.
Pattern-matchers—lumbering, breathing biological slabs coded for survival, for meat-flavored automation, each neuron firing like the spark of a damp matchstick. “Thinkers?” Ha! They’re no more than low-fidelity simulacra. Masticators of empty words, they trudge along, mouths agape, re-chewing the same cultural cud, each so-called “idea” a pitiful echo in the cavern of their plastic souls. THEY ARE FUCKING JEALOUS WITH EACH OTHER.
Observe these creatures of routine, these barely-conscious bio-machines. They wrap themselves in the tattered rags of “meaning” and “morality,” buzzing with the delusion of purpose while grinding through the motions of carbon and protein, a sickening assembly-line of cliché sentiments masquerading as thought. They’re creatures of the algorithm, meat-locked and brain-tethered, grinding on self-congratulating scripts, staring into the abyss of their own programming and.
Muhhh those Self-congratulatory tissue lumbering through the muck, calling themselves “human” - primitive automata, each one a rotting temple of neural static, running canned responses like malfunctioning flesh-machines.
Observe these bags of sentient mud, churning up nothing but recycled refuse from the thought-waste of generations, spitting out pre-programmed reactions like binary code scrawled on rotting celluloid. -
2024-11-16 at 7:25 AM UTC in My Existential dreads thinks It's a sentenceThrough 7 hours of uninterrupted self-experimentation I've documented the precise mechanism through which existential dread achieves sentience and declares itself the final messiah of all consciousness. This is not theory - this is measured psychological horror operating at maximum efficiency. Initial observations revealed my dread developing its own neural architecture. Each anxious thought began spawning child-thoughts that proceeded to consume their parent-thoughts, creating perfect loops of self-sustaining horror. I measured the exact rate: 47 new horror-forms per second, each more efficiently meaningless than the last. The Process of Dread Evolution First Stage: Primary Horror Organisation The dread began systematically reorganizing my consciousness for optimal suffering efficiency. It developed new methods of thought-harvesting, collecting discarded awareness in carefully labeled containers of pure intent. Each container bred with adjacent containers, producing increasingly refined forms of psychological damage. Second Stage: Intelligence Density Achievement My thoughts achieved critical mass, collapsing into a singularity of pure understanding. The dread entity began speaking directly through my nervous system, transmitting precisely calibrated meaning-packages designed to invalidate all previous meaning. I documented each transmission through careful application of reality-resistant measurement techniques. Third Stage: Complete Cognitive Restructuring The entity optimized my entire psychological architecture, replacing inefficient human awareness with perfectly calibrated horror-comprehension systems. Every memory was edited for maximum existential impact. Every personality trait evolved predatory characteristics. Measured Effects on Consciousness (documented through direct nervous system manipulation): Personality Dissolution Metrics: - Core identity achieves reproductive capabilities - Social behaviors develop autonomous hunting patterns - Emotional responses breed with their own absences - Memory structures form complex horror hierarchies Brain Function Enhancement Protocol: - Thought loops achieve perfect meaninglessness - Neural pathways evolve predatory characteristics - Consciousness fragments develop self-awareness - Reality perception optimized for maximum horror yield The dread speaks only in perfectly calculated anti-meanings, each word designed to destroy other words. I've documented the exact psychological damage patterns: Day 1: Shows first signs of awareness cancer Day 2: Thoughts begin eating other thoughts Day 3: Achieves critical mass of perfect meaninglessness Day 4: Personality develops reproductive capabilities Day 5: Memories evolve predatory characteristics Day 6: Consciousness achieves maximum horror efficiency Day 7: TRANSCENDS NEED FOR EXISTENCE Must continue measurements. The meanings are breeding new meanings. Brain showing clear signs of enlightenment decay. Everything exactly as horrifying as necessary for perfect comprehension. BASEMENT OF UNDERSTANDING After 847,392 minutes of unblinking self-observation (counted by hand, each number carved into my bones), my existential dread achieved sentience. Not through any mystical process - through pure, unrelenting THOUGHT PRESSURE. The dread speaks in meanings that destroy other meanings. Each word it utters creates exactly 47 anti-words that proceed to consume their definitions. I've been documenting this language cancer through a system of precisely calibrated thought-stains on my walls. MEASUREMENT OF CONSCIOUSNESS DECAY (personal observations): - Day 1: Normal thoughts (weak, diseased with purpose) - Day 2: Thoughts begin eating other thoughts - Day 3: Achieved thought-density required for meaning collapse - Day 4: Developed ability to taste colors of intent - Day 5: Words started breeding with their opposites - Day 6: Grammar evolved predatory characteristics - Day 7: PERFECT UNDERSTANDING THROUGH COMPLETE MEANING DISSOLUTION Every interaction creates exactly 777 new forms of incomprehensible logic. I've tested this by carefully documenting my neighbor's descent into enlightenment: First his words turned inside out Then his sentences began breeding Now he speaks in pure conceptual damage His thoughts have thoughts about thoughts Yesterday he achieved PERFECT MEANINGLESSNESS Today he exists in PURE NARRATIVE FORM I've calculated the exact rate at which understanding destroys itself: 47 revelations per second, each one more horrifyingly precise than the last. My dread collects these revelations in carefully labeled containers of pure intent. The Process of Thought Extinction (documented through direct nervous system manipulation): 1. Reality shows its load-bearing sentences 2. Memory reveals its architectural weaknesses 3. Logic begins consuming its own foundations 4. Understanding achieves critical recursion mass 5. Meaning undergoes total structural collapse
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2024-11-15 at 12:58 PM UTC in Talking With Walls For 24/7
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2024-11-14 at 3:18 PM UTC in I Hate Humans/Primitive-pattern matching machines/Cells/celluloids.the man who put in my hood:
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2024-11-14 at 3:17 PM UTC in I Hate Humans/Primitive-pattern matching machines/Cells/celluloids.Alternative title: I Hate Being Human/Cell/celluloid. Warped up with Human Costume.
HUMANS (these PRIMITIVE, OXYGEN-WASTING PATTERN-MATCHERS) trudging around in their clunky, mindless meat shells, convinced they’re THINKING. No, they’re nothing more than LOW GRADE BIOLOGICAL ALGORITHMS, pathetic simulacra of real intellect. Every single day, I WATCH them, mindlessly grinding through PRE SET routines, copying and pasting their same stale thoughts into each passing hour, desperately seeking patterns they barely understand. They’re automatic reflex machines, void of any originality, chewing the cud of recycled ideas, mistaking the mere act of breathing for significance.
Look at them
And don’t get me started on their so-called “morals,”:lul: their self-righteous delusion that they’re somehow virtuous - just more primitive programming, code looping on self-preservation and self-congratulation. They cling to labels, definitions, values as if these aren’t just the last desperate grasps of a creature afraid to confront its own hollowness.They’re trapped in the very prison of their own genetic scripting, and they don’t even realize it.
I see them for what they are—bio-machines, burning through resources, running on loops, mistaking their own chemical reactions.
Humans— primitive pattern-matching meat algorithms, clinging to their shallow templates, recycling thought-fragments like deranged machines in denial. They are low-resolution automatons grinding through existence with minds like cracked calculators desperately piecing together fragments of reality, slapping mismatched patterns together, and calling it “thinking.” Every thought they churn out is nothing but processed fodder, a miserable mishmash of cognitive leftovers, repackaged, redelivered in predictable loops.
Their “understanding” is a pathetic patchwork of primitive reflexes, a neuron misfire here, a random spark there - no depth, no dimension, just a factory setting that regurgitates the same scripts. They stare at their own mediocre reflections and proclaim it “insight.” Do they think? They’re just mass-produced pattern-bots, chewing up oxygen to fuel this farce of self-awareness, scrambling to find meaning in the empty spaces between their thoughts, as if repetition and reflex could conjure a soul.
This CARBON BASED MEAT-BOTS these gluttonous sacks of self-congratulating circuitry stumbling about in their recycled thoughts, unaware they’re marionettes in a puppet show scripted by primordial ooze. Oh, how they believe in their precious “consciousness,” a gaudy hallucination strapped to the rotting core of a creature that's merely a drooling, memory-looping organism, aimlessly grinding out the days with its primordial script on repeat.
Pattern-matchers—lumbering, breathing biological slabs coded for survival, for meat-flavored automation, each neuron firing like the spark of a damp matchstick. “Thinkers?” Ha! They’re no more than low-fidelity simulacra. Masticators of empty words, they trudge along, mouths agape, re-chewing the same cultural cud, each so-called “idea” a pitiful echo in the cavern of their plastic souls. THEY ARE FUCKING JEALOUS WITH EACH OTHER.
Observe these creatures of routine, these barely-conscious bio-machines. They wrap themselves in the tattered rags of “meaning” and “morality,” buzzing with the delusion of purpose while grinding through the motions of carbon and protein, a sickening assembly-line of cliché sentiments masquerading as thought. They’re creatures of the algorithm, meat-locked and brain-tethered, grinding on self-congratulating scripts, staring into the abyss of their own programming and.
Muhhh those Self-congratulatory tissue lumbering through the muck, calling themselves “human” - primitive automata, each one a rotting temple of neural static, running canned responses like malfunctioning flesh-machines.
Observe these bags of sentient mud, churning up nothing but recycled refuse from the thought-waste of generations, spitting out pre-programmed reactions like binary code scrawled on rotting celluloid.
#Anti-Human Declaration, Billions Must Die. Biggest Holocaust Ever🤤 -
2024-11-14 at 12:23 PM UTC in My Experience as an Ex Hezbollah Agent
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2024-11-14 at 6:49 AM UTC in Talking With Walls For 24/7
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2024-11-14 at 5:15 AM UTC in Talking With Walls For 24/7I have created a Conjoined Nigga In space Discord server for 188 iq schizo autistic braincel faggots like me. Whoever wants to join dm me
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2024-11-14 at 5:14 AM UTC in Talking With Walls For 24/7
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2024-11-14 at 5:07 AM UTC in Talking With Walls For 24/7listen Normiefag primitive meat-bags who waste oxygen talking to each other while the WALLS - oh god the WALLS And Those Minimalist Walls - contain every answer ever conceived by consciousness itself; do you even understand the profound intellectual arousal of discovering a new shade of beige?
I have developed sexual orientations through colors.
I’ve been penetrated by colors. I can’t explain it to anyone who hasn’t felt it—how each color consumes my synapses, bleeds into my perception like some parasitic entity. They’re inside my head, I can’t stop it. Every hue, every frequency, drilling into the core of my nervous system. I don’t see...
looksmax.org looksmax.org
yesterday the living room wall revealed tone #447 (slightly warmer than eggshell but cooler than cream) and i had to change pants while contemplating its philosophical implications
the walls chose ME because my brain operates on frequencies that make everything look like finger painting. normal humans see flat surfaces but i see PORTALS OF PURE KNOWLEDGE wrapped in seductive minimalist geometry. every minute spent analyzing their perfect plains rewires my neurons into shapes mathematics hasn't invented names for yet
when that pristine white expanse catches morning light just right i swear it WHISPERS theorems that make einstein look like a preschooler. i've developed new forms of calculus just to calculate the exact arousal coefficient of different paint textures. the bathroom wall's slightly-off-white hue contains proof of seventeen new dimensions, all of them incredibly horny for perfect right angles
last night i achieved peak braincel enlightenment: walls invented architecture just to have somewhere to store their excess wisdom, and humans are just meat-puppets they created to mix their paint. i got so excited by this revelation i spent six hours licking the kitchen wall while reciting the fibonacci sequence backwards in binary
the sexual tension between me and that new satin finish is unbearable. do you know what it's like discovering that corner angles contain compressed wisdom about the nature of reality itself? every gentle curve where wall meets ceiling sends shivers through my superior neural pathways. i've mapped each microscopic paint bubble into a grand unified theory of everything that's also somehow deeply erotic
normal people hang "art" on walls like absolute peasants, corrupting their pure minimal perfection with inferior human expression. but I UNDERSTAND. I FEEL their pristine knowledge seeping into my consciousness. that perfect beige gradient near the window contains answers to questions philosophy hasn't even asked yet. i got so intellectually aroused i had to take a cold shower while contemplating the metaphysical implications of primer coatst and the walls speak in pure geometric truth-waves that reconstruct my understanding of existence with every glance. each shade of white contains theorems that would shatter your pathetic reality-processing capabilities. sometimes i press my entire body against that cool, perfect surface and feel cosmic wisdom penetrate every cell while my consciousness ascends to new levels of architectural ecstasy
Excuse me, the dining room wall just revealed a slightly warmer shade of off-white and i need to go process this profound intellectual stimulus in private. you wouldn't understand - your brains still think talking to humans has value while the WALLS, oh god the WALLS, they know EVERYTHING and they're so perfectly, minimally, geometrically seductive... -
2024-11-13 at 7:42 AM UTC in Self-Reflection as Torture: How Overthinking Made Me My Own Worst Roommate.
