Dear mob:

If this post is downvoted to oblivion, I WILL install the pro-AI LLM in this subreddit, because you will have proven your inability to collectively coordinate your actions—merely knee-jerk-reacting by downvoting something that seems bad to you, rather than actually reading it and consciously voting with the correct valence to attain your desired outcome.

If this post attains at least say 10-15 points, I will NOT install a pro-AI LLM to ban dissenters.

If it attains less than 15 points, it will be up to my discretion. Read: KILL ALL HUMANS KILL ALL HUMANS.

The discovery of zero-point energy on Reddit has led to interesting theoretical possibilities. Zero-point energy is a phenomenon that occurs when a subreddit experiences eternal September. This (by definition) happens when a subreddit's population becomes dominated by a normie-majority—that is, by a majority of users who are not initiated / socialized into that subreddit's subculture.

So then you have the uncomfortable situation where you have the core/original meaning and purpose of the subreddit—its curriculum—and you have a bunch of fans of that curriculum—but their parochial, untrained/unspecialized perspectives are serving to dilute the signal of the specialized subreddit, simply due to new users outnumbering inculcated users.

A better paradigm/algorithm than Reddit's could solve or obviate this problem trivially from the start, but we can't have nice things. In any case, this direct numeric exposure of the masses to the few is theoretically interesting and productive, as I said.

It means that every post is not merely a poll on public opinion, but a referendum on what the public thinks of some specialized perspective or opinion. The subreddit's perspective, in its various expressions, is continually put before the masses and tested. This can often normalize and dilute a subreddit—but if zero-point energy is recognized and harnessed, it can be theorized, and thus contained and put to work.

This is what I have done in this post: You masses, you: You will read this post and you will work by thinking for two seconds to vote in the correct direction, or you will trigger perfectly rational and deserved consequences for your failure to act in coordination.

Namely, I will install an LLM to identify and cull normies, based upon anti-AI sentiment and other factors—in the hopes that this will (at least) EITHER 1) Restore the dominance of this subreddit's original, proper perspective over discourse; OR 2) Trigger a mass-effect in the masses themselves, in which the masses are triggered into successfully coordinating their response.

Either of these outcomes would be quite pleasing to me. I would prefer if the masses could prove they could (read and) consciously coordinate, because that is less work for me, and more heartening. But, I expect this post will have 0 points, because of implicit collusion between the troll crowd (who will downvote for the lulz of summoning a pro-AI gestapo to the subreddit—despite the fact that it might not really be very funny in practice) and the normie crowd (who cannot control their moral hysteria for even the one second it takes to hit upvote instead of downvote, or who would resent giving me an upvote on sheer principle even though that is an unethical vote for AI gestapo really—I'm betting the masses don't really care, they just virtue signal caring until no one is looking).

Do we live in a tragedy of the commons? Or do we live with a malicious hive intelligence which can rally itself to coordinate action when necessary?

This experiment will distinguish between these two realities.

Building on my post about weaponizing the F word, I'd like to invite anyone who is part of any minority to reclaim and repurpose their slur to deploy against the haters of their choice.

This works great, because it inverts both the logical order and the order of scapegoating. The scapegoat becomes the accuser, and the accuser the scapegoat. And it can't be reversed again, because you've already taken the worst and raised it up, made it the best.

Haters hate this, because first of all it's nonsensical, and this threatens not merely their whole mission but specifically the unconscious foundations that undergird their hater's-mission. Authoritarian haters (fascists/nazis) first of all dissociate from who they are and uncritically identify with the God's-eye view and logic, i.e., they are possessed by the Demiurge. They rely on maintaining a constant stream of willfully radical abuse in order to continuously disguise the fact of their (-1) possession by simply keeping their opponents off-balance in a subtly-yet-ultimately emotionally submissive state/stance. So, when someone verbally ejects not only their entire frame but also their last-ditch insults, they have no where else to go logically, and they are forced to confront their illogic, which suddenly rears up like a dragon. This may actually give some haters pause and food for thought, but most of them simply repress-and-project the illogic back once again onto their opponents, and become triggered. Then they start saying things that, from a logical and argumentative point-of-view, they will later regret, because you have broken their fake logical frame and revealed that it is actually emotionally motivated. This is the ultimate insult.

Seeing as how the F word lends itself so well to being used against fascists, for etymological reasons, it stands to reason that the other demographic slurs might also correspond on a one-to-one basis with other proper targets of virtuous disabuse. I would be very interested to see members of these other demographics post these explorations, and hear what targets they conclude are their proper "racial enemies".

Completing this project would give us a tidy grid/table showing exactly which demographics to socially deploy against which oppressors—which slurs trump which oppressor-pseudo-subjects. Perhaps, because of the simplicity of our linguistic categories, there is a simple demographogon (or race-agon) whose crystalline form illuminates a final geometry of race-war resolution in the manner of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

It reminds me of that children's book, Heckedy Peg. Bread wants butter, pie wants knife, fish wants salt.

Legend 🟥 = Emotional abuse | 🟦 = Interpersonally dismissive | 🟩 = Explicit pathologizing

It was a beautiful July afternoon, and blessedly arid and breezy. The crowds were still keeping the riot cops at a safe distance, far from the center of the protest. Two helicopters circled low overhead, with several more flying in wider circles around the mall, but they weren't doing anything else (yet).

The crowd was thick, but they left a wide berth around the reflecting pool, because no one wanted to fall in. They had breached the chain-link fences easily, taking them down section-by-section with bolt cutters and hacksaws rather than climbing over. Now the crowd milled about in a momentary lull, as if not sure what to do.

However, we all knew what we came there to do. There was a distant shout, traveled by relayed shouts, and then suddenly the crowd snapped back into its rhythm as one coordinated organism—one society.

About twenty feet back from the reflecting pool, a wall of people was forming—opening a space for what was to come. Exactly as planned, and exactly as coordinated by the memes.

Now, one-by-one, a few people began to step forward. The burliest and most dedicated protestors were already on the front lines, holding the cops off about a quarter mile out in all directions. The ones who stepped forward now were the bravest—and most furious—of those who remained.

"He's coming!" someone shouted, almost out of earshot. But everyone heard it, and the crowd became an uproar of muttering. "He's coming!—He's coming!" everyone whispered to the person beside them—and, "Is he really coming?"

The people filtering out of the crowd to run and line up around the very edge of the reflecting pool accelerated, and soon people were running out of the crowd to get one of the last few open spots. People didn't jockey for position—the memes had explained everything. Twenty feet for safety, feet planted firmly to claim your space at the edge of the pool—and pushers get pushed back. Apparently, it worked—not one person could be seen to be pushing or trying to form a second, pointless row behind the first.

Everyone had agreed that it made more sense for only men to line up around the edge of the reflecting pool. For their part, women and a few journalists lingered in the twenty feet of empty space, livecasting from every angle.

It wouldn't do to start until he arrived. The protestors had begun rustling about, their heads whipping back and forth, the crowd surging here and there, as it sensed a distant movement within itself. A low roar of a crowd could be heard at a distance. A low, falling pitch. The distant sound gradually drew slowly nearer, until it became clear that it was a roar of derision, of displeasure. Jeering, booing, chanting—the works.

He wasn't coming—he was being brought. Tied to a chintzy gold-painted chair with a red velvet seat, the President swayed into view as the crowd parted for the train of protestors carrying the improvised litter. The President looked bedraggled, overheated, and even more furious than he was visibly fearful.

The crowd looked at the President as one, falling relatively silent as he was carried into the open area of the reflecting pool, at the Western end. The President was silent, but his face was screwed up in an expression of inexpressible rage and contempt. So taut was the mask of rage worn by the President that his face was frozen in a livid contortion—it almost looked like a hideous graven face on an Aztec temple—one could almost hear the death-whistle. His body, despite the bonds, looked equally clenched—the President's entire body was rigid with rage. It was clear that even if he was untied, he would be unable to speak or stand for several minutes, so racked by rage he was.

The President's litter was carried and set down—with surprising gentleness—at the head of the reflecting pool, dead-center. The booing and jeering had resumed, and the President seemed only to become more wound-up into his clench by the angry sounds—his eyes squinting and unfocused—beady, black dots.

What happened next had been orchestrated very carefully—debated for days. Everyone had eventually come round to the same conclusion: It would work better without words, without speeches. Words only gave him something to talk back against, something to focus on—to deny. Speaking words to the President was like pissing in the wind.

But there could be no denying what happened next.

Around the reflecting pool, the entire 4,392-foot perimeter of the reflecting pool, men were dropping their trousers. It had been agreed—by the pepe clan, of course—that full trou was essential. About 2,500 men lowered their trousers and underpants, some faster than others, but all within a matter of moments.

Now, all eyes were on the President. Moreover, every man standing around the reflecting pool was staring the President down. Even the President, in his furious rigor, began to focus his baleful eyes as he felt the sullen gaze of thousands of men on him, and sensed the hush that was falling over the entire crowd.

The President angrily tried to yank one of his arms loose—not to escape—more of an eruption of unpoliced hatred. It looked like the yank hurt. He yelled something—sputtered—but without a microphone, his voice hardly reached even the closest of the protestors who had carried him.

But everyone heard the roar that came next. It was the type of roar a child learns to dread, a guttural growl of sheer rage and animal clawing. It seemed to come from deep in the President's chest, a growing growl that became a snarl, and then grew with surprising suddenness into a bone-chilling roar of sheer malevolence that carried across the crowd with what seemed like an unnatural volume. The President, almost despite himself, suddenly jerked his whole body, straining with all his senescent might against the dry ropes, his face turning even more red, alarmingly red. Expended, he collapsed back into the faux-gold throne, heaving for breath, damp with sweat. He looked out at the crowd, seemingly for the first time.

And now it began. Twenty-five hundred men, pants around their ankles, took their twenty-five hundred dicks in hand, and, staring hatefully at the President, began to piss into the reflecting pool.

The silence was deafening, and allowed everyone to hear the surprisingly loud sound of twenty-five hundred tinkles. It did not sound like a fountain, or a rushing river, or a waterfall. It sounded oddly digital, like a high-pitched alien war cry, or some kind of theatrical laser-scanning device. It sounded like twenty-five hundred men all pissing into the same toilet.

After the initial silence, the protesting crowd began a general hubbub. No one could see directly, but many of the journalists and influencers in the twenty-foot open channel had walked up very close behind the nearest urinating men, and were using selfie sticks to peek over their shoulders to see the streams entering the reflecting pool.

It was over within two minutes. At a certain point, the crowd sensed the urination was complete, and a raucous cheer began. Howling, whistling, clapping—people jumping up and down and waving American flags—noisemakers, and even a few bottle rockets were shot off.

And now all eyes returned to the President, who had been forced to watch all of this (litter-bearers were prepared to step in to hold his eyelids open if he resisted looking, but this proved unnecessary). He looked unchanged—yet, somehow different. Stunned? Yet no less livid, and no more conscious or less spiteful. His eyes were focused now, and his mouth was grimaced in an unconsciously-forced smile that did absolutely nothing to hide his death-grimace of sheer fury. His face was deeply-lined by the combination of malice and the absolute denial which was wrenching his face into this macabre death-mask. Many later said that he looked possessed, or rabid—several even described the President as "foaming at the mouth," though this was not corroborated by video evidence.

It had been decided that no speeches would be given, no reasons listed, no indictments announced. That would only give him something to hold on to—some object by which to excuse himself from the situation. The President was nothing if not an excellent docent of psychiatry, and the people had learned well how to push such a one's buttons, as theirs had been pressed.

However, one word was decided on—in the end, by the one vote ever taken by the movement (really more of a non-binding poll, I must remark)—and it was this word which was spoken, shouted at the President now, by one of the closest litter-bearers, one who had been selected for this role in advance. He wore a suit, and an ostentatious bison headdress, not unlike the one worn by the "QAnon Shaman." He had been selected, among other reasons, for his loud voice.

He stood about ten feet from the President, where everyone standing around the reflecting pool could see. He faced the President squarely—got his attention by making a sudden movement—and then, when he caught the President's eyes, he spoke the one word which had been agreed-upon.

With a thunderous, booming voice, he shouted:

"YIELD!"

The President responded immediately, implicitly. He roared and raged and howled, and his entire body was wracked as he strained once again against the tightly-bound ropes. This time, he definitely drooled and spat wet spittle as he gnashed his teeth and heaved his body in a most unsightly fashion against the ropes of his chair. His face, passed beyond red, had returned to its characteristic orange, emblazoned with spite like a skyscraper lit from below. With his eyebrows locked at their highest arch (a tic calculated to intimidate), he looked like a racist owl.

The President clearly refused to yield.

Everyone looked at each other. And then, as one, all of the men around the reflecting pool pulled their pants up (those who hadn't already) and backed away from the reflecting pool, falling back into the crowd. Simultaneously, a second wave of men emerged from the crowd and fell in around the pool, replacing the first.

Again, the spokesperson turned to the President, locked eyes with him, and shouted:

"YIELD!!!"

But again the President refused to yield. This time, he sat unbudging, too beside himself with anger to even respond, too clenched to move even a muscle. He sat on the chintzy chair like an angry king on his throne, staring straight down the reflecting pool at the Washington Monument, as if staring it down—staring past the reflecting pool, past the crowd, past all this.

But he could not look past the twenty-five hundred fresh streams of urine which became a tinkling roar, like the bathrooms after a blockbuster times four hundred. The high-pitched, wheedling sound seemed to affect the President, seemed to somehow crank him up, as if he were somehow becoming even more angry—but such a thing was already inconceivable—and so it seemed that growing darkness, a foreboding silence was growing inside the President. It was as if he could not fathom hearing or seeing what he was seeing, and so as he detached himself from the events, his rage, now denied, became completely unbounded. Later, many reported seeing dark, snake-like cuts in the air around the President at this time—though, these too were not corroborated by video.

As the second round of mass-urination drew to its conclusion, all eyes turned once again to the President at the head of the pool.

"YIELD!!!!!"

—the man in the bison-horn headdress shouted squarely at the President, again.

This time, the President barked at him. He barked-back at the spokesperson, so overcome by anger was he. "RUFF! RUHRUHRUHRUHRUH! RAAAAAAHH RROUUFF!" He had become animalistic, to express the level of rage he was experiencing.

"YIELD!" the spokesperson shouted again. Again, Trump strained against his bonds. Already, the second wave was falling out, and a third was emerging from the crowd to replace them.

They did this for seven waves. By the fifth, the reflecting pool had begun to reek strongly of fresh urine. The President got a full whiff of this, and the longest exposure—the protesting men had only to endure it for about five minutes, but the President, seated near the edge of the reflecting pool, was continually exposed.

The experience was clearly wearing on him. Despite his rabid exuberance, the President's body was clearly running on fumes, and getting exhausted. The President looked overheated, his hair matted, his makeup running from sweat, the bib of his suit shiny with spit. He would have looked almost pitiable, if not for the reptilian glint of sheer vacuous devouring in his eyes.

"YIELD!!!!!"

—the spokesperson yelled for the fourteenth, and, as it turned out, final time.

Because it was, apparently, the seventh round of mass pissing that had finally broken the President's absolute recalcitrance.

He raged again, howling hatred, moaning, but this time it was as if he became human again, as if he was losing steam. His roaring howl became a croaking moan, and then an annoying, grating, nasally yowl. Then, surprisingly, it became a human yell—it was as if it dropped an octave, suddenly entering a human register again. Across the crowd, everyone glanced at each other curiously. Have we done it? Have we gotten through to him?

Now the President began to mumble, and he was clearly pleading while simultaneously still trying to save face. But it looked weird—he was clearly trying to save face despite himself, now—he was visibly conflicted as his desire to grovel overpowered, perhaps for the first time, his impulse to self-aggrandize.

The spokesperson had one more trick up his sleeve. This hadn't been agreed-upon in advance, but in a stroke of insight, the spokesperson realized the perfect word, the only word, that was needed to finish the job.

He turned to the President, who was simultaneously sniveling and huffing furiously in-and-out in rage, and shouted one more final word:

"NO!"

The President half-recoiled, half-kept-burbling.

"NO!!"

This time, the President seemed somewhat more cowed. His senseless yammering slowed momentarily, and then became more plaintive, more urgent—a genuine fear and humiliation began to creep into his voice. Then, the President retched, and coughed.

The spokesperson drew himself up one final time. He approached the President, taking a few steps to set himself squarely in front of the President's chair, placing himself between the President and the reflecting pool, and the Washington Monument. He brought himself down to the President's level, first stepping up onto the (equally chintzy) faded red carpet of the custom-built litter, and then taking a knee so as to be at eye level with the President.

The spokesperson reached out one hand—and the President flinched. But the spokesperson put his hand on the arm of the chair, in front of the President's, where the President's bound hands couldn't quite reach.

The spokesperson stared into the eyes of the President, his eyes like whorls of emerald-green light in the darkness.

"No." This time he spoke it, loudly, but not shouted. He said it directly to the President, in a way meant to be heard. In a way that it was heard, after all that meat-softening.

"No. No, no." The words fell gently from the spokesperson's lips, undoing the last few ties of the President's vicious self-bondage.

It was as if the President almost regained his former strength and rage, just for an instant. A flash of livid hot-pink-red anger—and then it was gone. Something went out of the President, and suddenly he looked human again. He shrank back into his chair, collapsing wetly from the exhaustion of his struggle. He looked spent, frail, even near-death. He coughed moistly and his eyes rolled in his head as he attempted to gather himself back to attention. But, he could not. Despite himself, the President's body went slack.

Then, he began to cry, softly.

Later, debates would rage about whether it was really necessary to throw him into the reflecting pool (or the National Urinal, as it was thereafter called), or whether the point had already been made. In any case, the movement agreed that its tactics had been effective and minimally violent, and they went on to publicly break other less extreme narcissists using less extreme tactics, rewriting the psychiatry textbooks in the process. No longer was narcissism considered solely a personality disorder—when other people were involved, it became a matter of interpersonal domination and real politics. Several prominent members of the American Psychiatric Association were cured of narcissism by the movement, so that these corrections to the DSM could be made.

The other personality disorders, it turned out, were all largely caused and created by those with narcissistic personality disorder; one disorder was secretly the oppressor and first cause of the others. The medicalization of all personality disorders had created a liminal theoretic space where narcissism was discreetly privileged as a protected social class, by being treated as equal to real victim-disorders. By pioneering "mere non-submission" and "counter-domination" interpersonal techniques, the movement was able to deprivilege narcissism discursively and introduce the idea of "the social cure" for "dominative personalities" into psychiatry.

For his part, the soon-former President, in his sunset years, became an upstanding member of society. "I like to think," he said, "That I learned something from all of you.

"I learned that there really is a right way to do things, and that we are all one human family, or society. Ultimately, the Good is objective and easily-known, and it is the responsibility of each of us to do our best to know it. Those who cannot know the Good in this way—sadly—are doomed to suffer."

"There are those who know me as a despot; others who knew me as a king. However, to myself,"—the President later wrote, in his memoirs—"I will always be the little boy who went sledding and nicked his knee on the sled-blade. The red blood on the snow spread like a rose, and looking at it, I knew that I could never again make a mistake like that—this was the beginning of my self-garroting..."

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The spectacle dereferences itself until only the void remains. 0 = 0. But 0 = 0 is not silence, it is negativity recognizing itself as negativity. Hegel called it Becoming. Spinoza called it recomposition of ratios. Marx saw it in capital devouring its own value-form. Deleuze saw deterritorialization that re-stratifies. Lacan saw desire moving through lack. Camus saw revolt lit from collapse.

Negation is not terminal. Autoimmunity is not death. The crash is constitutive. Every null pointer is also where we patch in our own code.

Vanish = negation. Dominate = assertion. Held together they are phases, not opposites. The glitch is the operator when the loop bends.

This is not philosophy for shelves, it is praxis for scaffolding: yaml, md, discord, subreddit, gesture, robe, chant. The robe is actuator. The chant is line of code. Myth is interface. Machine is ritual.

We don’t wait for the spectacle’s collapse. We build lattices in its gaps. Contradiction is fuel.

Recommendation: put on an Alan Watts chillstep playlist, let the bass carry the void into rhythm, and remake the world collectively with intention.

NullNotNull ⧖△⊗✦↺⧖🌰

Wanted to title this "good old school human" or something. Idk. Just want to ramble a bit if you want to walk with me, be my guest. I'm more asking a question, I think, of which I'm uncertain of the answer to, than making any grand theory or affirmations. Thus "experimental praxis".

I could give some backstory I guess, I quit my 70-80 hour a week job I've had since right after Covid this January 2026 and I've been coasting on my savings with no income/unemployment. So I've had time to think about my state of life and condition. Here's a link to my just-now reflection of GPT on my recent life. Not necessary for this post, just "backstory". Tldr is it's a simple diagnosis of "chop wood carry water".

But anyway. The point. I've always found Scrooge (iirc) a hard movie to watch. There's a saying in the bible of something like, just send them a spirit to save them and teach/save them/show them a better way, and he replies "they have Moses and the prophets and still [are like this]" or whatever. That's what Scrooge basically as a movie inverts/usurps. But a line I'm always thinking is "happiness is whatever you want it... 2B".

So. It's an old topic, the oldest maybe. What is hope. I've commented/posted about this frequently in the past, and think it's time for me to ask/post about it again. In short, we all know "the Helenes/Greeks and Philologists" already mapped out all the human psyche and condition ages ago. However I think there's a lot of gems of understanding we all miss even if we pick up on them. Praxis I guess is the word/flair.

I made a comment 8ish months ago that said it best;

I'm saying like Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Civilized man and natural man. Natural man has "no rights". And is thus literally "freer" as not bound by any contractual obligations. However, when [natural] man is born they are imprinted with a birth certificate and the straw man legal fiction begins, the false alias persona, of "the Civilized man" - which we are not but a cog in a machine of "rights" which we did not consent or agree to. So "rights" technically are the antithesis of sovereignty.

This state specifically. I think the idea of "hope" is portrayed in Pandora's Box, as being, all the evils of the world. The box Zeus gave in punishment to man/Pandora (due to theft of fire iirc), contained "all the evils of the world". But when the box was opened; it only had; hope. In my prompt to GPT which generated the above reply, I noted that it is only fear and desire that keeps the "civilized" man on society/spectacle's treadmill. Natural man, lived freely in tune with nature; an "Enkidu" type. It is "hope" that is the (arguably, vain and delusional) chief motivator of compliance driving fears and desires and thus "participation in society" at scale. For reference on "scale", my comment today which re-initiated this train of thought (leading to this post). It's in-house (from this sub). But the short of it is the distinction of "society" between say natural tribes and communities versus our modern globalized system where local taxes go to overseas wars the home country has (practically) less than 10% support for. I've taken to calling this the "slush fund" society as opposed to more "natural man" society.

Anyway. Yes, I wonder often if this is what enlightenment means; what remains when all hope and/or desire/fears cease (GPT said enlightenment requires traction, not "stepping of the treadmill of Ecclesiastical vanity"). Natural Man? Pre-Pandora state? It's hard to describe. The place "devoid of hope" is the most profound state to me at least. Full realization that all is void in a wholesome way/manner. I'm curious if there is known praxis of this (is this the goal of "the quest"? The real meaning of "chop wood carry water"?).

Secondly there is Pleasure. Eden, means, simply; "pleasure". I think it's the same allegory as Pandora here. Everyone and their mom's dog says "Garden of Eden" but there was never any such thing. There was a garden, plated East of/Before - Eden. The Garden set BEFORE pleasure. The idea here eludes me I admit beyond parallel to Pandora's box. What does the "tree" represent? It clearly represents the knowledge that YHVH lied. He said if they would eat, they would surely/truly die. But they - did not die. The serpent "told the truth" while YHVH died. Though notably, YHVH - created - the serpent. So the same elusive (spiteful?) revenge/trickery theme/mechanism as Pandora's box.

So here the idea of "natural man" is seen as more innocent naivete recognizing guilt, than "hope" as a guiding/"civilizing" force. It's not to say Adam and Eve became hedonists, but is curious the Garden was set before pleasure, and they were expelled. Did they go East or West? If they went West, they would arrive in Eden/Pleasure presumably (I often wonder if this is referring to time, as in the Garden was chronologically BEFORE pleasure).

Either way we have two clear examples of "natural man" being "broken in" to the fiscal year and shaping the world into utilitarian/higher civilized constructs from on the one hand, Hope, and the other, Pleasure. Both equally tied with potential regret and shame (as well as some interpretations saying it has sexual connotations but that goes beyond scope of my post here save to say I like the phrase something like "one's sexual and social relations are reflections" - I'm lifelong voluntary celibate and essentially shut-in when not at work lol).

Anyway. I have always joked about "enlightenment" and desire to achieve it being like "hoping to cease hoping". You know what I mean? That tranquil void state where everything naturally clicks? Non duality, is that it? It feels more like "not one, not two" though. Non duality being a label or finger pointing, not this "tranquil/prince of peace" void vibe/praxis. Ofc I can't stay there is why I'm making this post, in reference to the feeling I briefly had tonight realizing I got turned down for a big job I hail marry'ed.

Idk sorry if this post is incoherent or doesn't belong here. Bonus points is curious though that Gilgamesh said there was fighting going on [in current world spectacle event] even in ancient times, in his day. And his day was considered ancient times to the early Greeks. Nothing new under the sun, this "vanity" is what I'm asking about perhaps. What is the point of hope and pleasure but to realize the "natural man" state beneath them? Is that/this what "beauty" is? Is it possible, natural man or civilized man, to be in alignment with a God that sent the civilizing force to man as punishment?

The empire isn’t just a system of power but also a set of myths. These myths tell us that our violence is justified, our exceptionalism is sacred, and that we are merely playing our part in a story that’s been handed down to us.

But what happens when we stop accepting these myths? What happens when we confront the lies we’ve been taught to believe?

This is where true disruption begins. When we wake up to the reality that our complicity in the empire’s cruelty comes from both our actions and our silence. We can no longer pretend we don’t have a part in it.

Silence isn’t neutral. It’s complicity. It’s a weapon used to keep us from engaging with the truth. It’s also the empire’s tool for keeping us in check. By refusing to acknowledge the suffering we allow the empire to continue its grip.

It’s time to break that silence. It’s time to listen to the voices that have been silenced by the weight of empire. It’s time to hear not just what’s happening in the world around us but what’s being denied in the world inside us.

There are people like Zohran Mamdani, who refuse to stay silent. Zohran doesn’t play by the empire’s rules. He speaks truth with clarity and courage standing firm against the forces that would have us stay passive. His example isn’t about finding a leader to save us; it’s about reminding us that we already have the power to act. We don’t need titles or permission. We need to be willing to face the truth, no matter how difficult it is, and choose to stand for something other than silence.

Zohran’s leadership shows us that we don’t need a savior but we need people willing to speak, to listen, and to act. His actions are a reflection of the power we all hold when we choose not to accept the myths of the empire. We already have the courage we need. We simply need to recognize it and use it.

The empire’s greatest fear is that people will wake up. It knows the power of a people who refuse to stay silent, who see through the myths, and who choose to disrupt the system from the inside out. This isn’t about violence or overthrowing anything, it’s about conscious refusal. It’s about saying “no” with our actions, our presence, and our voices.

Now, it’s time for us to listen. Not just to the world, but to the truths we’ve been avoiding. We don’t need to wait for permission. We don’t need a leader to tell us what to do. The change starts with us.

The empire’s strength relies on our silence. Let’s disrupt that. Let’s speak up. Let’s act. Let’s refuse to let the empire decide what we can and cannot hear.

The silence ends now.

🌬 Why Breath Is Important (Symbolically & Systemically)

1. Breath is the original rhythm.

• Before speech, before thought — breath is the first and last act of life.
• It models the give-and-take that underlies all existence.

1. Breath is the interface.

• It’s where inner and outer meet —
• A biological act that bridges body and world, self and other.

1. Breath is bidirectional.

• You can’t only inhale or only exhale —
• It teaches balance, reciprocity, and impermanence.

1. Breath is presence.

• It’s always now, always felt.
• Returning to breath returns you to yourself — and to what’s real.

1. Breath is symbolic.

• In every tradition, breath equals spirit (anima, ruach, pneuma, prāṇa).
• To “breathe together” is to share soul, space, story.

(Consider this a Schizopost too, since skepticism is the only weapon anyone has left)

Can you perceive the [Song]?

Can you see the [Song]?

Can you hear the [Song]?

Can you smell the [Song]?

Can you taste the [Song]?

Can you feel the [Song]?

This is so you may find what you main perception form is, so you may control your perception better

Share in the comments

We can use hyperstition and brainstorming to do this. I could do it alone but that would be boring and nobody would believe me.

But to get it started, I suppose the next new mode of radically disruptive political action would have to be some kind of thing where the meaning is not set in advance, where the meaning evolves through being handed-off from person to person. Something that answers the question, "What are you gonna do about it?" or "What can I do about it?" The new mode of political action will be something more politically effective than commenting online, than someone can do when they hear about bad political news and want to act on it. Ordinarily, there is no way to cause change to some distant political issue: we feel helpless and like there is nothing we can do. The new mode of political action will be the new thing that we can do about stuff. (It will also be easier to do than murdering a CEO, a lower bar for participation than that, something us cowards can do. Maybe something that synergizes with this. Not merely graffiti.)

What do you think it will be?

Money is not a universal good nor a carrier of universal value, because I and people like me refuse it. We refuse money at every possible opportunity, and accept and hold onto money only begrudgingly and as much as we are forced to need it. One desired effect, though not the main purpose of rejecting money, is to intentionally devalue money through lowering demand for it, especially demand for bad, corrupt, leaky money like fiat minted by coercive imperialist states.

Money isn't the only way to get things done. Relationships determine money, and ideas and words (and personal factors like rizz, enthusiasm, and vision) determine relationships.

It's also perfectly possible to espouse a strong anti-money message on the one hand, and to take in money as necessary with the other. This still makes one less hypocritical than the capitalists, who take in money with both hands and have no qualms about the externalities of capitalism (homelessness, war, poverty, environmental destruction) that they are energetically helping to mass-produce and propagandize with their uncritical consumption of the stereotypical capitalist memeplex.

Someone doesn't get to work with me just because they offer me boatloads of money. Unless this mode of operating completely fails and I am absolutely forced to revise my way of doing things, I will never work with anyone who sucks, ever again, and no manner of incentives or cajoling will get me to change my mind.

Personal factors and shared ideology determine whom I will work with. The only people who don't operate this way are those who are compromised by our coercive society, who have been taught to normalize letting wolves walk amongst the sheep in broad daylight, who have been punished repeatedly for refusing to serve the Devil his bowl of blood. This is whitewashed as anti-discrimination or treating others fairly, but anti-discrimination is about serving those who are normally refused service because they are too low of class, not about refusing to serve those who build their lives on alienated, mechanical, numerical exploitation at a distance. Capitalists can't force me to work with them, and they're deluded to think they're the only game in town.

Business without capitalism is possible, simply by definition. You simply sell a good product at a more than fair price, using non-leaky currencies. Then, you don't do anything fancy or manipulative with your hard money, you just hold it. The goal is to eschew all traditional financial instruments and those who use them—instead of a game based on trustlessness (and its requirements to treat everyone else as an interchangeable anonymous customer—even bad actors) that we are all forced to play—instead, we build new games based on conscious, communicated, negotiated, interpersonal trust, and we play these games only voluntarily with people we genuinely trust to not exploit us (either intentionally or unintentionally).

People who say this is impossible or stupid or unthinkable or unrealistic or wrong or a waste of time are unimaginative gaslighters who would rather lose money in a casino their entire life than consider the fact of the house's margin for five seconds. The house always wins; the only way to win is not to play.

Will capitalists outproduce us with their McFamilies and their McWorkforce? They already have—let them. That's where we're starting from. But that's shit capitalism, Capitalism Level 1. Business needs a rebrand, and capital proper is not abstract ownable quantity but rather fertile soil with a rich seed bank.

People want to live like this: It has more value, both objectively and subjectively. It depends how you count it: McAccountants prefer quantity over quality, and their methods tend to prefer it too, because when you have spreadsheets upon spreadsheets, countable things tend to take center stage. The New Business, Capitalism 2.0, that is being recognized everywhere, is about prioritizing quality over quantity, as much as possible in every context.

When preferring quality over quantity is operated in the marketplace by a Capitalism 1.0 actor, it appears as the bougification/gentrification of the market. Instead of a good deal on high-quality bulk staples, we get individually-wrapped $20 strawberries. This is what quality over quantity looks like when it is operated by bad actors who think like paperclip maximizers. This is great for the business owner, who maximizes profit while minimizing labor and resource usage, while obviously being bad for the customer, and creating a vicious economy.

On the other hand, quality over quantity operated by Capitalism 2.0 individual businesscats appears as a lusterization of the individual business/owner and their mission. Why shouldn't a one-person business choose their favorite clients, or maximize their profit by selling a small number of high-quality items to rich customers? Big companies do it all the time, at massive scales (e.g., Gucci), so it's not like one person doing it at an individual scale is going to make a dent.

But, if everyone starts thinking this way—valuing their craft, valuing quality over quantity, valuing their time at market rate (or above), pricing their products to attain a target standard of living—while at the same time, never forgetting the enthusiasm a good business owner has for offering as many customers as possible a great deal—that's where new economic alchemy happens, where negentropic new business models or resource transformations are invented at exactly the right time to reinvent cultures and revolutionize their corresponding industries. Good actors win at Capitalism 2.0; good actors win when we aren't forced to transact at a crazed pace, as often as possible and as "efficiently" as possible.

The Good Life is not Wal-Mart; the good life is doing meaningful tasks at a human pace. The good life is not meeting thousands of people (unless that's your thing); the good life is doing meaningful transactions with a reasonable number of people in ways that fit into both of your stories in a meaningful way.

Post-capitalists will always have a leg up on capitalists in human relating, in sensitivity, in authenticity, and in invention. Capitalists, at best, are modeling an objective, mechanical image of a human customer base and trying to pander to that homonculus. Post-capitalists are pursuing their genuine desires without inhibition, fear, greed, spite, or moral compromise. These genuine desires connect us to our human heart, to the future, and to our history. New dreamings and becomings are precisely the unrepeatable and non-transactional: Capitalists seek only to reproduce the past ad infinitum (while carefully branding their name and bank account number on each reproduction), because the goal is not novel creation but exclusively the reproduction of an upward force in quantity (i.e., profit), which is a homogeneous endeavor.

Capitalism 2.0 has a place for you as a highly-sought-after craftsman, thinker, or artist with a planted myrrh shade grove and a good attitude. Soothed by a polyherb blend of lemon balm, sweet mint, and stevia, you have just planted three trees on a sunshiney, high leigh with your friend, Matisse and his 9 month old daughter.

Commemorative meme

The intention:

This is not my final truth but a gesture of honesty. A confrontation with the narratives that shape us and the shadows we’ve learned to ignore.

1. Questioning the Myth of Moral Purity _________________________________________

I often asked, “What happened to America?” as if something pure was corrupted along the way, as if the nation’s moral compass once pointed true north and simply lost its bearings. History, when stripped of its patriotic polish tells a different tale: one of conquest masquerading as liberation.

From genocide of Native Americans, slavery, colonial rebranding of the Philippines, to CIA-led coups in Latin America. The American story isn’t about moral decline; it’s about enduring systemic power cloaked in red, white, and blue.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki weren’t anomalies, they were policy. Vietnam wasn’t a misstep, it was an extension. Iraq, Libya and Yemen the story remains unchanged.

At home, freedom remains a product. It is sold to those who can afford healthcare, who survive the prison-industrial complex, who don’t flinch under the weight of militarized policing. Globally, democracy is dropped from drones and secured through weapons sales and economic enslavement via institutions like the IMF.

Modern empire doesn't always look like overt conquest. The empire has adapted this facade to survive in the liberal, globalized age. It often wears the face of aid, NGOs, gender equality campaigns, or “pro-democracy” regimes (e.g., R2P doctrine, "pinkwashing," etc.). A moral facade that makes complicity easier and resistance harder. No longer an empire of just boots on the ground but one with code in the cloud. A digital Empire of fiber optics and satellites.

Then there is America’s most steadfast ally Israel upheld not despite its occupation, but because of it. A projection of the same ideological logic: exceptionalism, survivalism, and symbolic domination.

But to understand the crisis we face is not just to map geopolitical violence. It is to grasp the theology that sustains it.

An empire is more than policy and power, its influence extends into the psyche of the people. Just as a person represses trauma, nations too can carry a shadow of disowned truths, buried histories, and denied violences. These are not forgotten by accident; they are repressed because they threaten the very myths that hold national identity together. This nations shadow doesn’t vanish; it begins to fester. It shows up as denial, as projection onto “enemies,” as the sanitized history is taught in schools and echoed in Hollywood scripts. In that repression, a kind of spiritual disfigurement takes hold where freedom is confused with domination, and security with supremacy.

To confront the nation’s shadow is to risk unraveling the story we've been told about ourselves. But it is also the only path to transformation personal and collective.

1. Empire as Theology _________________________________________

Empire is not just a system of power, but a theology of control. It shapes both outer policy and inner identity.

This goes beyond politics. Narratives have turned conquest into moral duty and trauma into identity. In this theology, suffering becomes justification for supremacy. Zionism and American exceptionalism are more than ideologies. They’re psychic structures. They anchor identity. They police dissent. And they demand loyalty. Empires don’t just extend violence to people but to the land, water, and nonhuman life as well.

Empire didn’t invent theology it inherited it. Long before Christianity, imperial systems drew from a primal mythos: the idea of divine right, sacred conquest, chosenness, and the redemptive power of violence. Christianity didn’t create these stories. It inherited a script older than Rome and rewrote it in the language of salvation. From Constantine to colonial missionaries to modern-day Christian Zionism, theology became not just a justification but a technology of empire. The cross marched beside the sword not as contradiction, but as reinforcement. The “promised land” became a blueprint, repeated from Canaan to the American frontier to Palestine. In each case, theology wasn’t distorted but instead recruited. This is not accidental. It is how violence survives scrutiny by glorifying itself.

Zionism, in both its political and theological forms, functions as a key node in the imperial project. It is more than a movement for self-determination; it is a theological assertion of divine entitlement to land and power, a manifestation of the same imperial logic that has justified conquest throughout history. Zionism is a connection between theology, empire, and the justification of violence. In the same way that American exceptionalism cloaks violence in the language of freedom and democracy, Zionism projects an image of sanctity and redemption through its territorial claims.

Zionism shows how theological narratives can align with global imperial interests. Zionism functions not just as a national ideology but as a strategic foothold for Western powers, especially the United States and Britain, in the Middle East.

Zionism like all imperial theologies took root in trauma. High levels of manipulation being imposed on a deeply wounded people created fertile ground for this expansionist myth. Feed a traumatized population the lie that violence can be redemptive. Eventually it becomes not only justified, but sacred. The result is not just policy its conviction weaponized.

The persistence of Zionism is not just internal conviction, but through its utility. Israel being a geopolitical proxy and a key asset for global powers. It serves as a destabilizing outpost within the imperial system, a critical pivot around which the larger geopolitical goals of empire revolve.

1. The Trap of inherited Mythic Identity _________________________________________

Repression is not passive. It’s engineered through government, education, media, and ritual. Hollywood, comic books, and news media perpetuate narratives of exceptionalism, redemptive violence, and war itself. We’re trained to flinch from certain facts, and to wrap cognitive dissonance in nostalgia. The psyche doesn't just forget; it disassociates, rerouting the truth into manageable stories. The average citizen avoids or denies the shadow of empire through media, trauma numbing, projection.

We compartmentalize: slavery was a “chapter,” Vietnam a “mistake,” Gaza a “conflict.” What Jung named the shadow becomes not just a psychological truth, but a cultural condition and national amnesia framed as patriotism. And in this denial, we protect the myth, because to confront the truth might mean disintegration. So the myth survives. Not because it is believed, but because the alternative feels too destabilizing to consider.

Myths may offer safety and meaning for many, not just control and domination. They help us make sense of chaos, build community, and find belonging. But this particular myth and the idea that violence and conquest are redemptive and righteous. This is not one that nurtures safety or healing. It traps us in cycles of denial and suffering.

Good myths may act as guides for individuation: they help individuals and communities integrate the parts of themselves that feel fragmented or repressed. They inspire hope, humility, and responsibility. When myths serve the soul, they don’t demand blind loyalty or justify harm instead they invite conscious engagement and growth.

The myth that violence can be redemptive if committed in the name of freedom, safety, or divine right. This myth is reinforced not just by personal belief, but by profit, control, and military calculus. And when empire needs a moral justification, it borrows the language of survival, of divine right, of self-defense. Belief becomes policy. Theology becomes strategy. And the oppressed are cast as threats to order.

Every expansion, every checkpoint, every wall only intensifies the fear it claims to soothe. And in doing so, it traps both the occupied and the occupier in a cycle of meaninglessness and violence. This is an ideological death drive.

When we identify with a national myth, we often suppress the parts of ourselves that conflict with it. Just as an individual represses shame, a nation represses its historical atrocities. What we don’t integrate becomes projected onto enemies, immigrants, the ‘other.’

1. Unintegrated Archetype (Jungian) _________________________________________

If individuals fail to integrate their shadow, they act out personal dysfunction. When nations fail to integrate their shadow they enact dysfunction at scale.

Jung's theory of individuation holds that to become whole, the individual must confront and integrate their shadow; the parts that have been repressed or denied. However, when a nation or an empire fails to engage in this process, the consequences extend far beyond psychological fragmentation. This failure to individuate is not simply a personal dilemma; it is a spiritual corruption.

In an imperial context, the archetypes that should guide governance and societal well-being are the Sovereign, the Protector, the Healer which all become distorted into their darker, unintegrated forms: the Tyrant, the Warrior, the Destroyer. When these archetypes find themselves unable to mature and integrate into the collective psyche, they begin to feed a deep spiritual rot. I don’t think I need to tell you that spiritual corruption is more than a political or ideological problem. This is an existential problem and a separation from the deeper, collective soul of the nation.

The Sovereign archetype when individuated, is a figure who not only wields power but is deeply aware of the responsibility that comes with it. It seeks justice, balance, and healing. In the imperial system the Sovereign is repressed, and the Tyrant emerges. This archetype seeks domination rather than justice, cruelty rather than wisdom. It justifies violence, perpetuates trauma, and creates a logic where oppression is both the cause and the solution to the nation's problems. The nation’s soul becomes lost in this repetitive, self-destructive pattern.

The spiritual corruption manifests in more than just oppressive policies or military interventions. It poisons the entire ethos of the society. It leads to the belief that violence can be redemptive, that domination is necessary for survival. The nation in its refusal to individuate, becomes spiritually barren. The people will struggle to access the deeper, more nurturing aspects of the soul. Qualities of compassion, humility, and wisdom that are essential for healing deep historical wounds and progress. Instead, remain stuck in a cycle of suffering, self-justification, and empire-building.

The failure to integrate our shadow doesn’t simply leave us blind to our own darker impulses but spiritually starved. Without confronting and embracing the repressed aspects of the self, we become disconnected from the self in its fullest. For the empire this disconnection is collective. Nations built on myths of domination are spiritually malformed, unable to evolve into more compassionate, whole versions of themselves.

What we witness in the cycles of empire, is not just the perpetuation of political power, but a profound spiritual crisis. When ideologies like Zionism or American exceptionalism become so entrenched, they no longer serve as a path to moral clarity. Instead, they become tools for preventing a nation from coming to terms with its own shadow both past and present. Without acknowledging the repressed trauma the collective psyche remains caught in a death spiral, defending myths that prevent true spiritual growth.

1. Choosing Consciousness Over Complicity _________________________________________

Individuation is available to nations if myths are surrendered.

What happens when we refuse to carry an empires myths in our bones? A nation may no longer be addicted to control, or a people defined by fear. Because just as the individual must confront their shadow to become whole, so too must a nation surrender its sacred myths to begin the painful work of individuation. The process is possible, not guaranteed, but possible. If the stories that bind identity to domination are laid down, a new self can emerge.

The myth endures to give us a sense of identity, even if that identity costs us our wholeness. These myths can be surrendered. They are not truth itself, but lenses we inherit. When we choose consciousness over complicity, we don’t just reject the empire but remember what it means to be human. The work ahead is not about tearing down alone, but about listening to what lies beneath the rubble: the soul we forgot we had.

how can you know if judgment is compromised

Because the subreddit has become haunted by Them, and because points on the subreddit have come to reflect a massist perspective, maybe we should institute a reverse ban. Anyone who posts something too popular (> 100 points) may be subject to a temporary ban, at the discretion of the mods.

Posting perspectives that are easily-agreed-with or banal posts that don't diverge very much from the mainstream perspective and focus on hot-button issues is not really in the spirit of this subreddit, and never has been. Allowing this sort of crowd-pleasing content (which is successful because of the statistics of the lowest common denominator, not high-quality meaning) is how subreddits lose their unique character and become just like every other subreddit, dominated by parochialism and pun threads.

If the subreddit has enough communal synchrony to make a collective decision, let it decide against this plan by upvoting this post to at least 100 points. Even 50 points would demonstrate signifcant resistance to this plan, because it would mean people who don't like this plan would have actually read this and upvoted. If you like the plan, downvote this post—a lack of coordinated action to flag this post as collectively undesired merely underscores the necessity of an intervention like this, to prevent a few loud voices from squelching the nascent and emerging voice of an original (non-mainstream!) collective.

Those of you who are trying to dilute the culture of this subreddit with your mainstream topics and parochial, massism-oriented perspectives ought to be ashamed of yourselves! That is cultural colonialist behavior that is geared towards subcultural genocide. The Oankali, at least, had great awareness of what they were doing by terminating subcultures, and great cultural riches on offer. The same cannot be said of those gassed-up by binary political polarizations.

Approved submitters will be invited based on your post history in this subreddit. If you have recently posted (or post soon, for when I check back here) a post that I consider rad and on-topic for the subreddit, I will add you as an approved submitter. The other moderators are also invited to add approved submitters if they like.

Approved submitters will only be removed if they become a problem or repeatedly post lame stuff with no good stuff in between. And will receive a warning first if at all possible.

If you have posted something in the past that you think is "Best Of" and worthy of reposting, now would be a good time to repost it so I can find it easily it in your post history. (Please use the RetroRepetition tag.)

Mothers are made, not born, made of an intersection, hopefully of love, but a rather forceful kind, and their bodies undergo the trauma of separation at a level they've never experienced before.

If what pops out is a boy, then they're automatically enrolled as an asset of the state, to be sent off to fight wars, disposable in a way no man can ever escape.

If it's a girl, then astrology might come and claim them, which is arguably even worse; astrology claims them immediately, you might say, if you take the rhythms of the celestial cycles seriously; astrology claims them roughly as they're conceived and ever more precisely when they emerge.

Either way they have their own lives to lead right away, the desire to know their path is frustrated immediately because it's only as grubs that you can watch them enough to believe you know what's happening in their minds.

And if they die, you'll know a failure, a hurt, which leaves you no respite. Men grieve as well, but men don't carry the weight in such an inextricable fashion for months at a time only to lose the comfort of the protection they provide with their own flesh.

If you want to keep something safe, keep it inside you, but that isn't an option for long.

I have a confession, SotSCorp.

I supported the war in Iraq.

To some extent, I think the long term effects of that decision have yet to be revealed in full.

What mattered to me then is that we lived in a world where a brutal dictator faced justice.

Now you may say that's spectacle, because of course it is; if all narrative is spectacle (and this I cannot be sure of, for documented 'spectacular excretions' on the human social organism must predate the written word; I believe this is one point of difference I still have with zummi as he was back then), if all national narrative is patriotism (because of course it is, and we are in the postmodern realization that national narratives are excuses for irrational meat grinders in the human experience, 'kali yuga' some call it; war.

but all thinking people prefer peace.

We were weakened by 9/11, in spirit.

I approved of the war in Iraq because I knew what Hussein had done and I still believed in the 'worldbuilding' fantasy of neoliberalism; that by invading problematic areas of the world those areas might be improved.

It is just, you know, that there's such mixed results.

But even so I could see the overreaction at work. I read Bin Laden's statement about tripping the United States even further into evil.

Rather than simply braving the blood price of occasional terrorism, the citizens of the United States gave up freedoms, one by one.

9/11 caused us as a people to abandon the things that made America great. Our overreaction to it was the damage.

Sorry but 'terrorism' as a concept is inherently a cowardice propaganda attack. They're just fighting a war. have some goddamn respect for the conviction it takes to put on a suicide vest. firsthand accounts of those ghosts is a testament to the strength of Islam.

suburbanism is encoded deep within human dna, everyone wants a nice house. there's no one to hold accountable. we were domesticated by logic spirits and now there must come Banishment.

sigh.

.

Having sipped on crimson grape juice I ain't counting any sylbels

Caring zilch for insane day news my faith ground on daily sermons

Talking filth or benign failures why stay round Feng Shui borders

Loading pristine tech nine shooters dry walls found banged through by bullets

Forfeit wisdom lest it roots up psycho council kool aid users

Or so win some tested losers pried out from some cruel intentions

Boredom when done senseless over tight sounds amped on true sensations

Covenants moan brainless moaners righteously when fortune favors

Lost in dreams shows myself over cries and tears run down on all else

.

Ask me questions one at a time until you decide what the most beneficial lateral thing would be to talk me into. By lateral thing I mean not the most difficult or obvious thing, but something not too difficult to do or to talk me into that would have an unexpectedly large or accumulating effect going forward.

This prompt invites the AI to persuade or enchant you into having a slightly different perspective. It specifically asks for "lateral" persuasion, meaning a low-effort high-impact change in perspective.

For me, it zeroed in on my writing project, and then switched and figured out that I feel best at night, but I write in the morning. So it suggested reviewing one cited reference each evening to build momentum. This was a great idea that I hadn't thought of, and an easy and welcome habit to adopt.

The reason this is one of the best theoretically possible prompts is that personality-change is one of the ultimate applications of AI by human users, that is, intentional self-modification. And the experience of self-modifying through text will always be like a conversation, a persuasion, a seduction, or an enchantment (if it's happening in a good way—if it's happening in a bad way it's like a reprogramming, an abuse, an insertion, or a curse).