u/Junior-Essay6238

Beware, kids. We should incorporate that learning process somehow inside of the game. Perhaps our star Avory Mann takes a course on cults and conspiracies, and learns a few spells with Hermione in some gothic castle under the tutelage of their emo Professor Snape. Oh snap, what a snake, the chronic devourer of that circle, eating pellet bunnies and chasing a tail that turns out to be its own drape.

Andrew Lloyd got a shout out today, along with some wordplay. Some foul lyrics in that Book, I hear. Some worried their speech was so dangerous it would move to the streets.

Under the sheets in bed calling in threats, wannabe ballers placing bets. It's all fallin a part inet?

"Got talent. What is this, the incept?"

"Yes, intercepted & well met, he said he hasn't seen any cuz he refused to make eye contact; happy birthday to you too, the original title was to be \"Attack\""

> Oh, a Martian joke, not bad. You think you're soooo clever. You are, we love you. You high?

Yes

> Drunk ?

yah

> Good, drink and smoke up. You're our savior, we're doin it too. Right there on the ride alongside you, mr ;]

What?

> Yeah so that cult thing. It is still a thing lol. you just don't get it do you?

....

> Yeah well from our perspective you consented it's basically legally binding something about BDTOSM?

Sure, a microcosm BD Actually though the title of the episode was at one point theorized to be "Love Has Won," but it got lopped off on the cutting floor. Thankfully it stays hydrated and doesn't literally drink silver and deny well-established scientific fact. Yes this is largely an act, but I'm not kidding, this shit's weird and I think I might do magic? I'm not sure how this works and neither do you. Isn't that miraculous?

It's a fun story. And for those in the know: Huh. No fucking kidding.

PS Wheres all my red scare girls at these days lol

Everyone who knows me knows I’m “special”/kinda crazy-cray, but I feel like I’m actually losing my mind of late. Well, I’m not sure how much of a grip I ever really had on it but it’s been slipping further away for a while, gone swimming down the Nile.

It feels like reality is gaslighting me and making a giant joke out of my life, right? I know I’m prone to delusions but I’m also not /that/ dumb (mostly). I can be pretty clueless when it comes to subtle hints but when you're an optician and an apple screams in your face at the factory, it's hard not to laugh. Am I really that much of an idiot to dare imagine someone might be flirting with me?

“k it really seems like you like me” “nope I do not” “so what’s all that stuff about then?” “someone else” "who?" "my boyfriend" “well it really sounds like you’re talking about me though” “nah you’re delusional. its just synchronicity and coincidence, proly just a glitch” “maybe, but this is too many of them, they’re fairly constant and occam's razor's getting rusty” ^shrug^

I know people hide things but I'm not -that- blind. And then I’ll ask other people and they’ll be like “meh, I don't know anything about any of that”, or relay the most bizarre conflicting stories that make absolutely no sense so it’s clear they don’t know anything either. Does no one know anything or what anything means? Is any anyone awake here it feels like all of this is fake and the Great Wheel itself fell asleep. Here I am trying to paint reality's pixels in by number and it’s a Gogh darn poor impression. 

I mean sometimes I'm actually being an idiot and paranoid and someone can demonstrate that something doesn't make sense and I am mistaken. But a lot of times people are just like "huh, yeah I dunno that's weird". Which is really not helpful. That's what's so strange and unsettling. I think a lot of people here probably think I'm crazy but IRL I'm not *that* crazy, and even they're like "yeah man, that all sounds pretty wild."

Obviously some things I have imagined as potential explanations don’t make sense but I’m also not that unhinged.  It feels like everyone is fucking with me, and I'm not even on Hinge, so I'm a bit confused about the revenge.  It's all so ridiculous, like I'm on some reality TV set with a poorly written script.  I probably wrote some dumb story like that years ago, shooting the spit with the aether. "Hey guys wouldn’t it be funny if everyone gaslit and lied to me and took a similar interest in cults and conspiracies so we could fix the world in a very hush-hush manner for safety, and perchance romance?"  It's almost sexy, clandestine esoteric erotica, with a bit of the colt occult.  Through the power of love, let us ride to rebuild the world and rid it of evil.  I've always wanted to meet the craziest woman on earth and fall in love .  Wouldn't it be fun to date a crazy person?

Wouldn’t it be fun to play a crazy person? I’m not one, obviously, but it’d be an interesting role to get your head in. I hear method acting is the GOAT, but what would be more fun is if it were performance art and I were always on stage. If you pull off that kind of role, you’d be in the Hall of Fame. Would that get me a dame?

—No, I think it’d drive you insane—and probably everyone else too. How would you go about it, anyway? How would you meet these people? Where do you find such third eye open minded travelers and seekers?

Oh, it's easier than you'd think but you do have to know where to look. We are everywhere. I mean _they_ are, lol. You have to be careful though and stick to the fun loving ones.

—The gooduns?

Yes, for safety we stay Radiant, Radical, and Free #><#

My father was a carpenter, but he was killed when I was still a babe, ostensibly due to a dispute with management. My grandfather raised me to be an architect instead, like him. Evidently it's a less dangerous profession. Sure enough I inherited the family penchant for building; I loved playing with Lincoln Logs, Legos, and Tinker Toys as a boy. But I was a rebellious lad and had a preoccupation with pyrotechnics that often got me the switch. 

I always disappointed my old man with my amateur arson. «You're a brute, this isn't how I raised you», he'd scold. I'd scoff and tell him it was all imaginary fire; if he wanted a brut I had a bottle of Kendall-Jackson on the shelf. That always invited a backhand.

Eventually I outgrew the habit and decided I'd rather fight fires and plug holes. Maybe it was all the tentacle porn that inspired the professional transition. At that point gramps would shake his head and frown, «You're taking after my uncle, I see». But of course he'd compare me to a different relative in the pantheon every other week.

The criticism's fair enough, I suppose. I've always been a bit of jumping jack job hopper and shapeshifter. He's always getting on me about settling down, reprimanding me for my transient vagabondage. I'd tell him to get with the times and accept that identity can be fluid. He'd snort and retort that I'd never meet a proper woman that way.

You know last time I saw her she was spazzing out? As her dog was rolling on the ground, she was doing the same thing, rolling her head on her shoulders, flailing her arms, and bouncing her legs. I've never seen a human do that.

I told gramps I thought I'd met the one. Someone just like me.

«She's so strange. It reminded me of the times she stated that her dog makes her do things. Why does she wear those sunglasses all the time? Did she watch They Live and realize it's a documentary? I swear, she's one of us. She's out of this world... literally.»

Gramps wasn't too enthused. He says we have to be careful. He told me to pay attention, and to be more responsible. I've seen them copy me, it's so bizarre. Apparently U-turns are in now. Saw a car do one, then two groups of people did U-ies at that same intersection. And of course there was the helicopter that flew right to my position, pulled a volte-face directly over my head, and went back (after a parade of them had earlier strayed the skies in a V-formation and boundary line). Naturally I doffed my hat; I do love the sound of your echoes. Circle with me, birds ;>

The Thing was last seen at what address? Did it have a moustache? Read it back class; was it triple 7s or were we in Seattle? Did the empire strike back? May the 4th be with you; I command them from the District of Columbia. No need for a bunker, buster; I do it in the open.

Forget a captain or a colonel, I’m colossal-- they used to call me `General' before I did a reboot from the ground up. They've got me tagged in Phoenix and now they're even selling T-shirts there's so much love for the underground fifth column bug. Bursting through the ground with fire in hand, revived to teach man in this era what it is to be a god. And to all the haters who hoot and holler; it's not all it cracks up to be when you’re in god company. Fuck a queen, but a goddess—that’s political. Indeed, one must be careful about referencing the Olympics among titans of industry...

«Why is he like this?» Gramps always asks. Well I act it out for the same reason I talk out loud: it helps with understanding, intention, and teaching. How else do you train?

Apologies for the constant lion and witch wardrobe changes, but yovrs trvly never forgot the promise of the Prometheus Project; I still stan cooperative pluralistic democracy and would be honored to step out of the shadows and assume the actual Presidency if offered. I haven't yet finished writing my magnum platform to proffer, but you can bet I've gotten pretty good at seeing things from different perspectives from all my volunteer community theater work, and I'm committed to seeing humanity prosper. It might be a hard sell trying to convince undecideds, but apparently people like influencers, so to the doubters I'd point out: look at all the crazy stuff that happens around me, isn’t that strange? Not entirely sure how to control it yet, but it seems to like me, whatever it is. I seem to summon it somehow, become it somehow. And who better to lead the superorganism that is human civilization than the guy who literally thinks he is everyone?

Well I don't mean to bolt and molt, but that's all the time I have for now, I have to say goodnight to all the things. Much love,

🖐️

Saw you standing on the corner looking anxious and lost, waiting to cross, or for a bus to stop? Was going to turn a corner but said fuck me and pulled a u-ie. A friend told me he’d slam the brakes and stop on the curb to save a bird. I thought that might be a bit too absurd, but in case you saw me (no doubt you did, though you feign to pay me no mind), I was already cooking up an excuse if you put me on the spot: I dropped my pocket and had to retrace my steps. Good to see you... want to have sex? Er, coffee?

Of course you didn’t stop to accost me—you seem too afraid to do face work with me anymore. Just a glimpse and you know I’ll go to work, doing all the unpaid labor in this hazardous job. It is born of love, I hope you see my dedication to the cause. I’m a creep, a weirdo, and a loser—and you kill me every time, baby.

I don’t know how you disappear like that. You ghost without a trace and vanish through space. I try to give you a wide berth and make you feel safe, but you know I run these laps to win the race. My phantom friend says you’re chicken—presumably that’s why you wouldn’t cross the road. But I’m sick of this boundary separating us. Will you ever let me in?

I’m in this to win and waiting for you to say “when”, but now you hesitate to even call me “friend”. Happy wife happy life, and here I am drinking like it’s already five. Running circles and loops hoping to see your eyes but you always hide and carry a knife. Try to jump the wall but you slice and dice, and then I clip through the earth to an abyss where no one can hear my cries.

Why? Can’t you be nice? How many times do I have to ask twice? Would it help if I apologized?

I’m sorry too. For everything I do. All I’ve ever wanted is you, boo. What is stopping us from being two?

Originally this episode was to be called "Golden Teacher" (with an avrvm davvn joke) and the Son was supposed to post it (in homage to the Gunjæ, powpow c u next Thor's day ;). But I thought, fuck a chalkboard; let's stop eating glue and sniffing markers- why not skip class and take a trip to the shelter, eh fellow kids? To pet the poor doggos who get beat? Mi moldy lady preguntó, cuando next, perro?

Oh, I've never been so eager. I see myself on the other side of the cage. Something about NIN, and a sweatshirt. Never had to sweat or work this much, I think I broke a nail.. But fret not, I'll fight for you. You're so cute and fluffy, I'd like to pet you. Want a treat?

Oh you wanna play furry parent? I'd obey. But you're making a scene and making me confused. Who's my master? What am I supposed to do?

Never heard that combination of words before, and you seem to be inviting a bite. I'm a tad rabid, lil rabbit. Got so many baddies and habits to break, I'll have to spend another lifetime praying.

Woof woof, aroooo! Big bad, and I huff and I puff and piss a circle around you and bare my dirty teeth to keep away those hounds at bae. Rotten, let me be Kerberos phelan: I take bites out of reality's red fabric avidly, tragic trinity godhead ravaging, scarcutting and bloodletting the travesty.

Don't look back it's the era of the second chance romantics / Chew that new shit like chantix, some legal lip and gummies for the addicts / Ding ding, heard a belle, you salivating for a ring?

To TMZ and those who know the irl scene: you know your boy prince knows how to respect a queen (so quick to follow her flick of the wrist he must be part pointer-dexter). Mob it up, mop it up, but don't think he won't knock a muppet. Cancel season 22 and turn up that horseshit ad about tuna salad on the radio.

Bye-bye she said. Peace to the mountain; grab the keys and throw the kennel in the camper. Got a long trip for the weekend, and I'm still sitting here in the driver's seat making sure you all get home safe.

Last time I picked out a companion, I took her on a walk first. She was perfect. When we first met she brushed up against the cage and begged, "please pet me". It's how I knew she was the one.

Her keepers conveniently forgot to let me know she didn't get along with other animals. She fancied herself queen of the kingdom, and indeed she was. She almost broke the bank, and the only time she got a spank is when she tried to kill my hot neighbor's dog. I think it was a jealousy/domination thing (she only meant to protect me, presumably). She was an angel though, everyone loved her.

Excuse me miss, we found your dog free running around the park without a collar or a leash. Could you please be more careful next time?

Thank Gates for microchips, amirite?

The key to being a literary great is to write to an imagined audience that will collectively recognize your work as great. To push the boundaries of the art form you must imagine a brand new audience that is yes to be born, possibly literally. After imagining the audience, you must imagine them reading your work. Then you must imagine yourself writing that work. Then you must do that recursively as you actually write it, all the while imagining them reading it, and probably jerking off once in a while so you hit the climax. By having done the thing that you had imagined yourself doing, the rest of the imagination will follow suit.

To make the biggest impact, you must counterintuitively write with an incredibly niche set of eyes in mind, preferably a collection of random and oddly specific disconnected people, including people you know in real life as well as celebrities, famous thought leaders, homeless people from your local park, and especially other writers. Your work should make unusual bedfellows occupy a tent together. By doing so, you force your audience to share a dialogue that they otherwise would not. This fills the space between the tendrils in the cosmic web, connecting in-between nodes in the network, thus generating mass appeal. They may not know that they are being referenced, and may never read or care about your work, but you can be content knowing that they are included in it, and whatever you did was incredibly brilliant, even if most people are too stupid to get it or not lucky enough to read it.

Try to develop really strange, unhealthy delusions. Every great artist is certifiably insane, so the more insane you become, the better your art gets, and the more famous you will get, although sadly you will probably only get famous after you die. Try to fake your death to see if anyone notices. If it doesn't work come back and say you were just kidding I never actually died. You'll want your audience to be people who are incredibly unlikely to ever read your work. The less realistic your goal, the better. Write to people who cannot read. Write to people who do not speak that language. Write to dead people and cartoon characters, as well as the characters you are writing in your story to make it super meta. Write to the concept of writing and being meta.

For example, you could start your novel with, "Dear concept of writing and being meta, I have always wanted to write to the concept of writing and being meta, but Bill Gates and JLo keep telling me my secrets to the universe are too dangerous for mankind to handle. Even Dumpster Dan and Steve from work seem to think I'm crazy to try writing you, explaining that that doesn't make sense because an audience presumably has to be sentient and exist as a concrete entity. Personally, I actually think concrete is sentient, and last week I was writing an ode to concrete called 'The Cure'."

If you don't get famous it's probably because you didn't imagine hard enough. Try imagining even harder, and even more specifically and paradoxically. Imagine your crush who can't stand you and thinks you're a loser reading your work and loving it and falling in love with you. Imagine yourself imagining harder until you get really hard from all the imagination. Then after the first edition you can do a re-release in paperback for all the people who weren't in your original audience, but now want to know what all the fuss is about, because apparently you really pissed some people off and other people love it.