u/Vhalor_Arvi

Being able to run does not mean you are running optimally.

Just because society functions does not mean it is functioning optimally.

Suppose that, somewhere on Earth, right now, one person truly discovered a way to make the world better—a way to bring society closer to an optimal state.

Would anyone listen to him?

Would his life change at all?

There are two fundamentally different possibilities.

If the method were short enough and simple enough to understand at a glance, perhaps it would have a chance.

But the truth is usually closer to the second possibility.

What if the idea were long?

What if every part depended on another part, and understanding the conclusion required following the entire chain of thought?

Would anyone really be willing to read something like that if it were written by someone nobody knew?

Viremont lived in a small town in the western United States.

He came from a single-parent family. His mother was disabled and often in poor health, and he had a younger sister. Life was difficult, so he started working at a young age.

He worked hard at school because he needed to keep his education going. He even read his notes while eating.

After school, he would immediately take a bus for nearly ten minutes to a Hawaiian-style restaurant where he worked.

His job in the kitchen was repetitive: chopping vegetables, preparing ingredients, and doing the same small tasks over and over again.

It was tedious.

And perhaps because it was so tedious, Viremont gradually learned to enjoy thinking while his hands were busy.

One day, while chopping vegetables, he began thinking about something he had never really questioned before.

The subconscious.

From there, his thoughts slowly developed into an original framework.

His most important realization concerned consciousness.

He began to wonder whether consciousness actually controlled anything at all.

We cannot see a control center inside the brain. We experience thoughts, sensations, images, and the world around us, but nowhere inside our conscious experience do we encounter a little operator sitting behind the controls and directly controlling the body.

Viremont compared consciousness to the window of a car.

Through a window, you can see the outside world.

But you cannot see the steering wheel or the person actually driving the car.

Perhaps, he thought, consciousness was the window.

And perhaps the actual driver was the subconscious.

But then another question appeared.

Why would the brain need to present information as consciousness in the first place?

Why not simply receive information and act on it directly?

Viremont's answer was surprisingly simple.

He thought that when many electrical signals appeared together, they might naturally form the images and experiences that we perceive as consciousness.

Thinking, however, seemed to function like a bridge.

The brain could use what appeared inside the "window" to make decisions, but if previous thoughts were never placed into that window, there would be nothing from which the next thought could develop.

He also noticed something more obvious.

The subconscious controlled things that conscious will could not simply turn off: heartbeat, breathing, and countless other processes.

These were things a human being did not have to learn consciously.

A newborn did not need to study how to breathe.

If it could not breathe, it would die.

So Viremont wondered whether there had to be something deeper than conscious thought—another layer of the subconscious that existed before deliberate reasoning.

Then he began wondering about laughter.

Why did humans laugh?

Laughter did not seem necessary for survival in the obvious sense, yet practically everyone did it.

This led him to what he called the supply level.

Perhaps the body disliked energy being supplied for something that suddenly turned out to be unnecessary.

Something could appear confusing for a moment, demanding mental effort, only for the brain to suddenly realize that it made sense.

Perhaps the brain had already allocated energy toward solving the problem.

Then, suddenly, there was no problem to solve.

Maybe laughter was one way the body dealt with that surplus.

Perhaps it was even a mechanism encouraging the efficient use of distributed energy—a mechanism that had ultimately become useful for survival.

Then he turned to emotion.

Did emotions really exist?

Pain seemed similar to color.

Or perhaps anything consciously perceived was similar in this respect: it existed as an experience simply because it appeared within consciousness.

Pain existed in experience.

But the urge to escape pain seemed different.

It was a command from the body—a biological impulse compelling the body to withdraw, shout, run, or protect itself.

Viremont discovered something that fascinated him.

If he deliberately relaxed his body, the pain did not necessarily disappear.

It simply became more like a color.

Something present.

Something unpleasant, perhaps, but not automatically accompanied by the same overwhelming urge to escape.

The instinctive resistance was difficult to eliminate completely. But once the demand to withdraw weakened, the sensation itself felt much more like a color—something that was simply there.

Crying, he thought, might be one way the body redirected attention and made suffering easier to bear.

All of these ideas felt precious to him.

Surely, he sometimes thought, people would want to hear them.

Perhaps Viremont would eventually publish them.

Perhaps he would become known for them.

Perhaps people would respect him.

But there was a problem.

He had no time.

He could not even properly organize what he had discovered.

His ideas existed in scattered electronic documents, written at different times and in different places, with almost no structure.

Then winter came.

And Viremont began questioning physics.

What exactly was a force?

Was it some invisible, almost magical thing capable of moving objects?

Was gravity such a thing?

And what was time?

Was there really a river of time flowing through the universe, pushing everything forward?

If so, how did the universe know when to update everything?

Was there some kind of clock somewhere?

And if there was, how could the universe use it to know exactly how quickly everything was supposed to move?

Did the universe itself have a mind?

Viremont knew that anything might be possible when one reached the edge of the unknown.

But he preferred inference to fantasy.

Fantasy could begin anywhere.

Inference had to begin with something real.

Even if an inference turned out to be wrong, it had at least started from an observation.

It usually contained at least one more piece of reality than pure fantasy did, because it began with things or phenomena that could actually be observed.

So Viremont developed a strange principle:

I hate a reality of magic. I seek a world of wood and stone.

He began imagining a universe in which there were no magical forces at all.

Gravity and magnetism would not be mysterious powers.

They would be consequences of physical interactions.

Perhaps extremely small particles filled the universe.

Perhaps rotating matter created something like vortices.

Perhaps these tiny particles could enter the gaps between atoms, causing certain regions to have a higher density of interactions and therefore more opportunities for impact.

At the most fundamental level, every microscopic contact might produce a different result.

Yet the rules governing those contacts could remain fixed.

And if the foundations were fixed, then the enormous complexity of the visible universe could emerge from them.

Perhaps that was why things could appear regular on a larger scale.

But another question remained.

Why did the universe have rules at all?

Viremont had rejected invisible magical forces.

He had rejected the idea of a cosmic river of time.

But he could not explain why reality had regularity.

Eventually, he realized something that seemed almost embarrassingly simple.

Everything that existed was real.

A person lying was real.

An apple falling was real.

A strange event was real simply because it happened.

The universe did not need to make sense to human beings.

Even if the universe had the shape of an apple, that would still be reality.

The universe did not owe humanity an explanation.

It did not need to accommodate human intuition.

Still, Viremont continued to believe that simpler foundations were more likely to describe reality.

A fundamental rule capable of explaining everything seemed more satisfying to him than a universe containing an enormous invisible clock whose operation itself would require another explanation.

From there, he began applying his physical framework to questions such as wave-particle duality, quantum entanglement, and spin.

His ideas were incomplete.

Some were probably wrong.

But he kept thinking.

Then spring arrived.

His notes were still a mess.

For a while, Viremont thought there was nothing left to think about.

Then he began thinking about society.

He had started with a simple question.

If humans wanted to achieve practical immortality in the modern world, what would they need?

They would have to overcome accidental death through an extremely reliable system of prevention.

They would have to overcome aging, disease, organ failure, and countless other biological problems.

Eventually, humanity would need an extraordinary understanding of genetics.

That would require enormous amounts of genetic data.

It would require artificial intelligence.

And it would require millions, perhaps billions, of people working together.

Viremont believed that if humanity coordinated its efforts, practical immortality might arrive far sooner than people expected.

But there was an obvious obstacle.

People were exhausted.

Too many people spent most of their lives working.

So Viremont began thinking about how to reduce the amount of work required from each person.

And from there came another idea:

An ideal society.

Remove what does not need to be there.

If someone wants to become a doctor, why should that person necessarily have to spend years learning subjects unrelated to what they actually need?

Why should a student who wants to become a doctor be required to spend so much time studying mathematics, history, physical education, language, or art in high school?

Some of these subjects might be valuable, but Viremont questioned whether every person needed to spend so much time on every subject.

He wanted to remove unnecessary complexity.

He wanted to use artificial intelligence.

Viremont even wondered whether machines could be designed to enjoy work.

If emotion was, as his earlier theories suggested, partly the interaction between subjective experience and bodily mechanisms, then perhaps the experience of wanting or not wanting something could itself be engineered.

Suppose someone told you that everything you currently considered pleasurable—such as eating—was actually painful, while everything you considered painful—such as an injury—was actually pleasurable.

Would you want to be corrected?

If a machine could simply experience work as rewarding, perhaps it would never need to rebel.

Technology required innovation.

But Viremont did not believe in "geniuses" as an exclusive category of human being.

If someone genuinely wanted to do something and worked toward it, perhaps almost anyone could accomplish something extraordinary.

After all, very few people ever stopped to ask why an apple falls, and then thought deeply about the question.

Perhaps if they had, many of them would eventually have reached interesting conclusions.

If someone learned mechanics through effort, they could become capable of understanding and practicing mechanics.

Viremont did not think intelligence was a fixed wall.

He thought what people called intelligence often came from the richness of their experience and understanding.

Anyone could think.

Usain Bolt could run.

And so could you.

You might never run as fast as Usain Bolt.

But the existence of his ability did not prove that running was an ability reserved for a different species of human.

Viremont also imagined a future in which work was distributed according to ability, interest, and necessity.

Perhaps within a few years, people could live dramatically longer.

Perhaps everyone could work less than two hours a day.

Perhaps people could work for one day and rest for two.

But then came another problem.

If money disappeared as the primary reason to work, why would anyone work at all?

That was when Viremont developed what he called the Many Like You Principle.

Most human beings were remarkably similar.

People avoided pain.

They disliked cold.

They moved toward warmth.

They enjoyed pleasure.

And among hundreds of millions of people, there had to be enormous numbers of people whose preferences were almost identical to yours.

Suppose you decided not to work.

Many other people would probably make the same decision.

Perhaps, eventually, everyone would.

Then who would produce the food?

Who would maintain technology?

Who would create entertainment?

Who would provide medicine?

The system would collapse.

But people already worked for something they would receive later.

That was essentially what today's society demonstrated through money.

Human beings were capable of sacrificing the present for a future benefit.

If people had to work for far fewer hours in an ideal society, they would probably find work much easier to accept.

That was Viremont's vision.

A society in which everyone could live comfortably.

A society in which work was lighter.

A society in which technological progress accelerated.

A society in which human beings might eventually defeat aging and accidental death.

And if human life could become effectively unlimited, then so could the amount of happiness, experience, and purpose a person could potentially pursue.

Wasn't the pursuit of happiness one of the purposes of life?

To Viremont, immortality meant unlimited opportunities to fulfill those purposes.

Viremont also developed ideas about discipline—ways to stop procrastinating and ways to act even when motivation disappeared.

He also developed a principle for moving toward success:

Change equals chance.

If you never change anything, the result cannot change.

Changing something does not guarantee success.

But refusing to change guarantees that the result will remain the same.

Therefore, changing something is the only way to create a possibility of success.

Summer arrived.

Viremont made a major decision.

He quit his job.

He wanted to organize his ideas and publish them.

He wanted his theories about society to reach the world as soon as possible.

At first, he published his ideas as written documents on multiple platforms.

None of them received any views.

He began to think that perhaps written ideas were simply too boring for strangers to discover.

So he created a YouTube channel.

He edited everything on an old, inadequate phone.

The device lagged constantly.

Video editing was painfully slow.

He could not afford anything better.

He had already spent months thinking about these ideas.

Now he spent months trying to turn them into something other people could actually understand.

He went to sleep around midnight.

He woke at seven every morning.

By August, he realized that the series of videos he had created was not good enough.

So he remade them.

He removed unnecessary explanations.

He deleted repetition.

He cut away anything that did not contribute to the main idea.

After several months of practice, the videos became surprisingly good considering the equipment he had.

On September 20, Viremont finally published his Mind Note and Physics Note.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

Zero views.

Perhaps, he thought, people simply did not know they existed.

So he published the Society Note as well.

Still nothing.

Then he discovered something even more discouraging.

YouTube was barely showing his thumbnails to anyone.

There was no audience rejecting his ideas.

There was almost no audience at all.

University was approaching.

He knew that once school began, he would have to work while studying.

His major would be demanding.

His free time would disappear.

He had only a few days left.

So he tried short videos.

They barely reached anyone either.

He considered creating another channel and re-uploading the videos because his current account was not showing them to anyone, no matter how many times he tried to upload new content.

But his phone had very little storage left, and most of his old videos had already been deleted.

He considered making one channel go viral and using it to bring attention to the other.

But going viral was extremely difficult.

And then university began.

The time he had once used for his ideas was gone.

Now he had classes.

Work.

Studying.

Food was becoming a serious problem.

He depended heavily on food banks simply to get through the week.

But had Viremont abandoned his ideas?

No.

He knew something that was both comforting and painful.

His ideas had not been rejected.

They had simply been unseen.

From Wednesday through Friday, Viremont was devastated.

He went to class.

He worked.

He studied and cried while studying.

He kept going.

For three days, he did not try anything new.

Not because he had given up.

Because he genuinely could not think of another way forward.

So he poured his energy into the things that had once seemed secondary.

School.

Work.

Survival.

Then he thought of something.

Maybe he could use money to give YouTube a chance to actually show his videos and thumbnails to people.

But he had almost no money.

He was already struggling to afford food.

So he searched for sponsorship opportunities.

He spent an hour less sleeping and carefully submitted his ideas to a grant platform.

The review could take at least a month.

There would be heavy competition.

And Viremont knew that thousands upon thousands of people died every day.

Every day humanity delayed moving toward immortality was another day in which countless people would die.

He wanted humanity to move forward sooner.

But there was nothing he could do except wait.

So on Sunday, he decided not to work.

He decided not to eat.

Instead, he wrote down his story.

A short story about a young man whose ideas had already been completed, yet had barely been seen by anyone.

Then he published it on the internet.

His name was Viremont Thalor.

His work had existed for a long time.

The world simply had not noticed.

His YouTube channel was called Viremon Arvi.

His ideas were already out there.

This short story was another attempt to make them visible.

And the author of this story was Viremont Thalor himself.

Thank you to everyone who made it this far.

The truth is simple:

Even a good idea may never be seen by the world.

The reason I am reaching out is simple: I want to share this story and, hopefully, bring some attention to the ideas behind it.

If anyone has the means and believes these ideas are worth giving a chance, I would be deeply grateful for your support.

Any financial support I receive will be used specifically to promote the YouTube videos and give these ideas an opportunity to reach people.

Perhaps they will be rejected.

Perhaps they will be criticized.

Perhaps they will change nothing.

But at least they will have been seen.

And sometimes, being seen is the first chance an idea has to change anything.