For your children’s sake.

For the sake of every soul you love—stop refusing to confront what remains unknown within you.

Indeed, there is an uncontrollable psychic life moving beneath your layman, happy-clappy, Joe Swanson speaking “self.”

You rationalise your outbursts, excuse your mechanical reactions, and manufacture poisonous explanations for every emotional expenditure.

“I do not care about them.” Yes, you do.

False Assumptions

Your false assumption is this: because anger, envy, and resentment have passed beyond your conscious field of attention, they have therefore ceased affecting you or those around you.

DEVASTATINGLY Wrongggg. These contents will remain psychologically charged, gathering associations around themselves until one seemingly trivial impression strikes the inner knot and the accumulated charge erupts through you.

Why do you become so violently agitate over what is really… nothing?

“I’m just an angry person.” Cope. If that were true then that is even more pathetic LMAO. You are wasting your natural, beastly, and animalic nature on immigrants cutting you off in traffic? Dude go fight in the UFC or something.

You rarely examine the mechanism. You simply pass into the next temporary “I”—and suddenly you are at the stop light seeeeeeeeeeethingggggggg at the immigrant’s dented car and oblivious eyes.

Immigrants cannot drive, I understand; but you are just as primal if you allow them to squander your energy.

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Furthermore, do not believe for a second that time metabolises what remains unconscious.

Five, ten, twenty years of an unexamined life do not mature the mechanism or allow it to fade; they merely give the same machinery more years to repeat itself.

Your loved ones should not have to deal with, and look up to, a man who does not know why he does what he does.

Are You Seriously Going To Do This Until 40… and beyond?

At forty your responsibilities are tenfold; do you seriously imagine your inner development has kept pace with them without a single minute of inner examination or conscious effort?

Bills, career, children, mortgage, death, a long beard you could eat soup out of—and what, you are still the same young man raging over a stubbed toe?

Forty years on earth; forty years travelling, making love, working, slaving—and not a SINGLE SECOND spent observing your own machinery.

The passage of time does not constitute inner growth—and that is what makes death so terrifying.

Different girl, same attachment; different job, same inner knot tightening beneath it.

“I have always been like this.” And you think that is something to brag about? Something to just vomit out for the entire earth to hear?

“I have always been angry.” “I am just a lover boy”—as though romanticising the mechanism makes you any less governed by it.

Your personality is about as individualised as a hooker on the sidewalk in Brickell.

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Your Entire Day Is A COMEDY MOVIE For Your Emotions To Act In

Your entire day is a field of impressions continually striking, constellating, and feeding associations around the inner knots already charged within you.

It is funny—like watching a pig roll in its own shit.

Automatic man is largely combustible machinery: impression → association → mechanical reaction.

One impression is not just one impression. Because you fail to notice this one impression entering you, this one sentence suddenly sparks years of shame.

You go out with your friends exhilarated—that is one temporary “I”.

Then one of your friends insults you, and you begin to resent them—that is another temporary “I”.

Then you carry the insult through the rest of the night, nursing your resentment—that is another temporary “I”.

And so, tell me: when, exactly, do you become conscious enough to direct yourself again?

The next morning? You are hungover.

The next night? You are tired from the night before.

Monday morning? Your boss is stirring up other temporary “I’s” within.

Monday night? The TV is sedating you.

Ahhh See? Your Emotions Are Living Your Life FOR YOU

“That’s my emotions! They always get the best of me!”

Fucken oath they do, and you gleefully leave them incomplete.

Why do you never dissect your language and realise that:

1. the emotion is in you, but it is not the whole of you… and

2. for those few minutes, something temporary has been living your life under the name “I”.

That is identification.

Identification is not feeling strongly—it is the temporary collapse of distance between you and what is occurring within you.

You cannot be the angry “I” that abuses, then ten minutes later become the ashamed “I” desperately trying to repair what the first one destroyed.

Your emotions are living out your life for you; you are a leaf in the wind.

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Stop Being A Victim

Do not make yourself the innocent, cute victim of forces you continually nourish.

I will do the pitying for you.

You continue squandering energy—yes, real energy—on fantasies of resentment, comparison, and the repeated indulgence of anger.

You become jealous, your attention is captured by your phone, and you mistake that synthetic interruption for the disappearance of your jealousy—while the inner knot remains psychologically charged beneath it.

You replay the insult. Rehearse the argument. Revisit the grave of your pride.

And then wonder why the thing you claim to hate remains so alive.

You are an ouroboros of unconsciousness. You will keep feeding the very thing that returns to consume your attention for the next 60 years.

ꜜꜜꜜ

How’s ya Screen Time looking?

Are you hitting the number of hours you promised yourself? 9? 6? 3? 1?

Go into the Screen Time section in Settings and look at how many times each day you pick up your phone.

Apple is not even hiding the evidence from you anymore; IT’S RIGHT THERE.

Now look at the number and the apps you propel toward when you pick up the phone, and let their absurdity indict you.

You put it down. You pick it back up.

Between meals, before sleep.

Upon waking, during conversations.

At traffic lights, midway through your apparently retentive and intense reading sessions.

How much conscious effort does it take for your hand to reach for the phone? Almost none.

How much conscious effort does it take for your hand to put down the phone and… BECOME WHO YOU ARE?

You Are Inside Your Own Prison

You imagine yourself the author, a poet, of your own fate—yet much of what ruins it is carried out by the automatic version of you, the obedient bearer of habits you never willingly wanted.

Kim Jong Un is not throwing your hand toward the phone. The terrible dictator is in the mirror.

“I am now going to check my phone.”

It sounds idiotic, robotic, uncanny—it is not something you announce inwardly before each reach.

It actually sounds like the fucking robot from I, Robot with Will Smith.

But notice what makes it sound so off: you are imagining a conscious command where, ordinarily, there is not one.

You are a stranger to your own movement dude.

And if it was not you, then what set your machinery in motion?

Your bed. Silence. Finishing a sentence. A memory. An emotion. A moment of emptiness. A moment of overstimulation.

Almost any impression can become the signal from which the machinery proceeds.

Now You Know You Are Inside Your Own Prison, But Did You Know That You Are Inside Another One?

This issue is layered—pure fractal terror.

This is 2014 ISIS—internally. Within. Shooting inside your skull.

Even if you consistently avoid the symptoms of the last section, you fall victim to the ones here.

Even when you consciously decide not to check your phone, another part of you reaches for it anyway.

“I will leave the phone at home” is useless if you merely relocate the compulsion—thinking about it, substituting your Apple Watch for it, or carrying the scroll into your own mind while walking through nature.

This “I” within you, intent on concentration and depth, was clearly formed; yet five minutes later the “I” that made the promise was suffocated, and another member of your inner crowd was reaching.

I know UFC fighters who have been strangled in a rear-naked choke and still resisted longer than that particular “I” of yours.

Somewhere along the descent from thinking → feeling → acting, your conscious intention lost its power.

Suffocated → Swallowed

You often open your phone with a SUPERB, and, TOTALLY MEANINGFUL aim: a weather check, a message reply, an attempt to quench your apparently insatiable thirst for facts.

Andddddd, it’s gone.

You can thank two things for that:

1. Your failure to remember yourself

2. The succession of impressions now arriving through the screen

On the screen, impressions arrive as notifications, apps, headlines, voices, sexual imagery, outrage, satisfying imagery—each one seducing your attention.

When you identify with one of these impressions, you begin losing yourself in it.

Which is why it is wrong for you to claim, “I am looking at my phone.”

For as long as you have depended on it, you have not simply “looked” at your phone—you have been swallowed by it.

The screen does not capture your gaze the way a pile of dirt does.

“Wasted time, wasted time!” Yes, that is bad. But worse is the self you repeatedly abandon inside those wasted minutes.

The disappearance has now snowballed from suffocation to swallowing.

How many years have already drifted by in precisely this way?

How big is that snowball, and how fast is it going? Do you even know?

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OF THOUGHT, OF EVOLUTION, OF BEAUTY AND OF GLORY.

And I, with every single thick and ruby drop of blood coursing through the aorta of my heart, intend for the following three articles to sound physically dictatorial but spiritually revolutionary.

I will deviate from my usual modern critiques and psychological observations and attempt something more panoramic—for what exact purpose, I neither know nor care.

Maybe for myself—to force my private rumination out and into the world.

I gave the original provocation, a note from , maybe fifteen minutes of thought, then another fifteen to arrange the three pieces that will release according to the next three sunsets and three sunrises.

Take from that what you will; however you receive what follows, whether with agreement or disgust, I still want to hear your voice.

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Fuentes’s Coffee Shop

Actually, the thought built up a little more fat when I encountered a clip from Nick Fuentes a few days ago joking about a synthesis of a liberal coffee-shop and a fascistic cosmopolitan authority.

Am I a groyper? No. I live in Ostraliaaa.

And along with my ironclad belief that politics and government are an extremely malnourished horse that keeps being beaten even though flies circulate and buzz around its ribs and brain, is the truth that: I have no devotion to capitalism, socialism, Labour, Liberal, or any other shit-and-piss party.

The existing categories are too rigid and corrupt.

So for now, I would rather float around and dip my feet in politics, occasionally presenting JOKES like this.

My concern is the quality of consciousness with which you are meeting life.

Money, technology, instantaneous answer, and external freedom can multiply around you without increasing your attention, aim, or level of Being by a single degree.

The question underlying these three consanguineous pieces is therefore not merely WHO possesses power, but WHAT quality of human being possesses it, and why such quality has deteriorated drastically.

Okay. Let’s goooooooo.

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For context, before you continue, read the note.

the Chicken or the Egg

Did the rich, to their own detriment, become less conscious first; or did society as a whole—all classes, shapes, and sizes—become more mechanically organised and drag the rich with it?

Class morality is not the issue here.

Wealth does not determine your level of consciousness, and neither does poverty. Wealth can purchase a degree of physical, material, and financial freedom; it cannot purchase freedom from your own inner crowd, command of attention, duration of focus, and level of Being.

The rich and the poor still exist inside the same field of impressions—technologies, trends, desires, habits, collective excitement, collective belief.

Rich men do suffer from poor thoughts.

And I do not give a fuck if Zuckerberg tapes his laptop webcam and microphone, or if another forbids his children from watching YouTube.

“Oh, but the rich have their own yachts. They disappear to Monaco. They can isolate themselves from all of this.”

You are so narrow-minded that all you can base your rebuttal on is one sliver of freedom.

Returning to the opening question: I lean toward the latter.

Yet there remains a tendency to explain the phenomenon almost entirely through class morality: the rich became greedier and less conscious, while the poor remained mere victims of wealth, power, and circumstance.

You will recognise this scurrying toward class morality in certain socialist, communist, and online class-reductionist readings of modern life.

Absolute crybabies.

The wealthy simply cop all the scrutiny because they stand beneath the brightest light and biggest consequence of action.

Our society, to put it how it is, was mechanically organised first.

The rich do not escape automaticity by becoming more secluded, and the poor do not escape it by becoming rich.

Both ends of the spectrum are chasing their own tails—YE ARE ALL DOOMED.

The material gap widens while the mechanical impulses governing both remain disturbingly similar.

You are rich? I do not care. You are poor? I do not care. If you remain automatic for your entire life, you are destined to hate life. If I were able to, I would not create pleasant living conditions for those who remain unknown to themselves—it would be no use for a human that cannot even appreciate it! If you merely move between rich and poor states, you merely provide different theatres for the same inner crowd! You foolishly speak confidently of what you can or cannot “do” while scarcely noticing how little command you possess over even appetite.

The dictator will play nice when the dictated learn to be conscious.

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Wholly Explaining Why I Believe it is NOT Just the Rich but Everyone

Rich or poor, you inhabit a civilisation with unprecedented access to libraries, the internet, education, transportation, communication, and AI—but that same vastness extends to the other pole of leisure, misinformation, entertainment, junk, and slop.

You possess more external avenues for self-development than your predecessors did one or two centuries ago—but none of them make the journey from unconsciousness to consciousness easier.

Your belly is soaked while your inner life remains parched.

On the poorer end of the spectrum, the problem cannot be reduced to a lack of opportunity. Even where opportunity stands directly before them, their attention can and does pass straight through it and fasten instead upon resentment, complaint, or the fantasy that altered material possessions will automatically alter their Being.

And while the poor weep over opportunity and situation, some powerful people—like politicians capable of implementing change—are idiotically influenced by this pleading and consequently action on it.

This is why I lean toward society AS A WHOLE becoming more mechanically organised.

Everybody sucks; scarcely anybody bites anymore. You encounter plenty of appetite, but very little teethful lust for conscious life—a vital chew.

Your means have outgrown your level of Being—from Saint-Tropez to the slums of Rio.

The wealthy NOW command extraordinarily advanced powers and instruments, while often failing to cultivate a corresponding strengthening of their inner faculties.

Soooooo—am I saying the rich and poor of one or two centuries ago were more conscious?

Not exactly.

Hardship does not make its sufferer more conscious.

That remains true today; the difference is that hardship can now coexist with an extraordinary dense cloud of impressions competing for your attention.

If you birth a machine capable of organising billions of human impressions, you are not absolved merely because you personally resist parts of its machinery. The creation itself enters directly into the attention, desires, habits, and inner crowds of living human beings.

And if rich and poor alike inhabit this machinery, the next question is no longer who is asleep—it is what happens when one sleeping man possesses infinitely greater means than another.

Look out for Part 2 tomorrow.

Oh, and while you are waiting, start unravelling your own unconsciousness.

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It _gr^oWS

shrinks,

ERUPTS,

^Simm_ers…

warms,

cools.

Constipation ←→ Diarrhoea

Laughing ←→ Crying

And yet, after countless epochs of history and billions of souls having passed through both the earth and this lawful flux, there you remain—roaming the earth personally offended that BECOMING refuses to make you its sweet exception.

You cannot be the fool that stands beside the river, terrified, merely dipping your ugly big toe into the stream on occasion.

A consciousness capacious enough to behold beauty and ugliness possesses a breadth unavailable to your cockeyed, one-angled subjective consciousness.

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The Volatility of DAILY Life

Now step away from the cosmic perspective on change and drag it down into this exact moment.

Your current wishes, whatever they may be—eternal summer, Tintin-esque adventure, raw love—are incomplete because you keep demanding the experience while rejecting the conditions that make it possible.

You want summer, then complain when the sweat stains your shirt.

You want adventure, then whine the moment it inconveniences you and leaves you walking to the destination.

You want love but recoil when it leaves you psychologically naked and inwardly vulnerable while your clothes are still buttoned on the second date.

Still too grand? Let me shrink the flux until it can fit inside a single miserable afternoon.

A drop of rain. A cancelled plan. A noisy neighbour. One less hour of sleep.

The moment one of these impressions contradicts your preference, the automatic man in you reacts.

OIIII!!!!! since when did life acquire an obligation to remain in the form you prefer?

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Unconscious People Hate the Swing of the Pendulum

One of the surest signs that you are functioning as the automatic man is your immediate resistance to change—immense or not.

The pendulum is “pendulum” BECAUSE of its oscillation—and yet your temporary “I’s” want to manipulate this in their favour.

You are begging a lion not to hunt!

The idea of GOOD change intoxicates you: poverty becoming wealth, obscurity becoming success, boredom becoming experience. But the friction required to pass from one pole to the other is precisely what you despise.

You lose yourself amid the prospect of BAD change, however, because each mishap does indeed have the power to drag your entire inner life with it.

One “I” curses life for monotony; another “I” curses it the moment monotony demands movement, for example.

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Stop Obsessing Over Your Preferences

I prefer solitude to groups—I can admit that—I wear it on me fackin’ chest m8.

But my preference need not calcify into a private law merely because it belongs to my soul.

Your temporary “I’s” masquerade as the conscious “I”, transmuting “Ooo that would be nice” into “This must happen. I need it now.”

This PATHETIC attempt to legislate reality squanders attention and energy on conditions that were never under your command.

Your entire existence is not destroyed because there is mustard on your shirt DOOFUS—stop giving a microscopic impression the dignity of catastrophe—of derailment from actual life.

“I should have brought a napkin.”

“I should have asked for no sauce.”

“Why me?”

Stop asking “why me” to the mustard; start asking “what can I achieve here” to your current level of concentration, bank account, and experience—the shit that actually matters.

Have you not already wasted enough years on trivial matters?

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THESE WOMEN OOOOOOOOOOZE WITH VITALITY.

Stop wasting ice cubes and denting bathtubs that your husbands will have to fork out cash to repair.

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I was ITCHING LIKE A WHORE FOR CRACK to seize the chance and write an article for those who laugh at these women.

Humanity cringes at anger like this, yet is still unaware of precisely why it cringes.

I want to briefly play retard’s advocate.

Primarily, it is mothers throwing the ice cubes, and their justification for doing so appears to be……… motherhood.

Their anger is understandable; what is not justified, and what we squirm at, is the mechanical discharge into a bathtub while the toddler hears and sees.

Retard, motherhood does not end when tonight’s tantrums end.

Get over yaself. You threw the ice; the bathtub is fucked—it looks like the gods just pissed out their kidney stones all over the thing; your husband is dialling CPS’ digits. Enough. The moment itself has vanished.

Your baby will cry again because it does not know any better. You are an adult, capable of consciously altering your relationship with your anger.

Merely refusing to throw the ice will not work.

That is suppression masking as control.

You know this because you perform the entire outburst in imagination instead— rehearsing the scene, fantasising about relief, slowly sedimenting the anger into resentment for nurture itself.

There comes a point that the throwing of the ice displays perfectly.

It is when you are no longer observing anger, but identifying with it and morphing into it.

The impression swallowing your attention is being supplied by the very child you gave birth to.

What this approach is embedding within you.

The resentment you carry for your own offspring is humiliating: you drag it through breakfast, work, play, dinner, and finally into sleep.

You squander energy, time, and concentration through deadened emotion, bodily tension, and scattered imagination—all over an impression that lasted seconds.

One “I” genuinely nurtures your child; another “I” wants to scream at it but instead opens the freezer; a rather uglier “I” wishes the child would simply leave and never come back.

Beneath all of them sits another “I”, perhaps the darkest one. This “I” is so completely identified with the impression created by the child’s needs that it declares the anger righteous, moral—even edifying—and therefore worthy of being posted for the world to gaze at.

Your child, who learnt to use its legs only recently, should not possess sufficient power over your attention to dictate the state of your inner life.

And this same law applies to everyone and everything else.

The exhaustion marinates in the hours afterward: circulating irritation, arguments replaying, tight jaws, stiff spines, complaints spewed constantly—these are all enormous expenditures of force that produce nil.

So what does anger become then.

Life is far more rewarding to those who laugh than those who seethe.

Treason, injustice, humiliation, violated freedom—these can veritably awaken anger because something of genuine moral gravity may have been transgressed; but let us be honest, such things seldom characterise routine daily life.

A child refusing broccoli can become, inside your inner crowd: “This should not be happening. This is wrong.”

Who gives a shit?

What actually captures you is unearned vanity and a wounded image of yourself.

It’s broccoli. Relax.

You are hell-bent on justifying this anger, but you have never asked which part of you needs this: what exactly was offended—and which temporary “I” within you was offended by it?

Anger cannot fulfil any developmental mission while remaining mere emotional combustion.

What begins as heat within must eventually—for the sake of respecting your own and your child’s life—mature into lucid judgement, gentleness, and deliberate action.

All that fire and not one degree more self-knowledge was won from it.

Just a room-temp glass of water and a bumpy bathing experience now.

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Hurry up and go and do the inner work.

Wasted anger means wasted will.

I have read all the books, I have compressed the monotony into 5 minute reads… It is all here.

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It sounds stupid, uncanny, worthless, and vague—

but when you step into the life of a more conscious, spiritually mature, and intellectually developed man than yourself,

it does not seem so insignificant after all…

You, currently, are SWALLOWED by YOUR OWN thoughts, feelings, and actions.

Negative, degradative ones.

Meaningless, weak ones.

And the gravest of all: positive ones.

Somewhere inside the experience of life, you forgot yourself.

You call it “flow state” when it feels pleasurable, “losing your way” when it aches—but neither those nor any other idioms or sayings inform you on whether or not you are actually experiencing life in your own body, soul, and spirit.

An experience you are absent from cannot become fully yours.

You have no choice but to remember yourself through the trenches—not merely so that you can reach glory, but so that the struggle does not devour the one experiencing it.

The tragedy is more unexplored and more horrific than you believed: losing yourself in the suffering is pitiful, but losing yourself in the beauty is pathetically worse.

Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

ꜜꜜꜜ

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What Remembering Yourself Is

I despise the way remembering yourself is typically introduced as an inner reminder to oneself; what is this—a contemporary version of Socrates’ Daimon?

Remembering yourself is an act of

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I understand… I too was impotent…

Phallic impotence? Huh? No. Go eat some eggs with the yolk.

MENTAL IMPOTENCE.

Man often laughs at man for lasting 15 seconds with woman; why does man not laugh when man cannot last even 10 seconds with novel, poem, garden, tree—his own incarnation?

Because man intrinsically understands that the lack of performance in the latter is far more concerning, consequential, and grave than the former.

Reminisce on all those times when you desperately needed your mind to work—to slow down, compose itself, flow, be strong and destructive and precise—but it simply could not.

Yeeeeee… Ouch…

You are not naturally plagued with sporadicity, jumpiness, and scattered thought—dispersed among whatever impressions happen to seize you.

This is obviously a result of surrendering your attention to nonsense like AI-generated dogs doing Kung Fu n shi.

What are you going to do when life demands sustained concentration in dire times?

Creation after destruction, meaning after bereavement, a problem that refuses to solve itself.

You have got to grow up at some point man.

Because if you do not, I fear that, when I am dictator, I may lovingly imprison you.

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Are People Noticing?

Imagine abusing your own organism this thoroughly and expecting nobody around you to notice the fragmentation.

Granted, the person judging you is scrolling too. He is simply no more aware of his own machinery than you are of yours.

An automatic man recognising the symptoms of another while remaining blind to the same movements within himself.

Wandering eyes, premature replies, filling every aperture of silence, restless limbs, unable to add interesting opinion to a deep conversation, entertaining topic after entertaining topic, boredom after boredom.

Yes, your buddy is not consciously thinking, “My buddy has TikTok brain,” because he too is entangled in the same machinery; what he feels oozing from you is emptiness.

The flesh is in the chair; the soul is in fantasy.

He feels your absence without realising that you are feeling his.

Stop allowing a multiplicity of impressions—notifications, advertisements, memories, fantasies—to strike different members of your inner crowd in rapid succession.

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Are You Realising?

You grew up inside this decaying form of consciousness—TikTok brain is the term I use—so fragmentation feels normal while sustained attention and inner unity feel foreign.

And not just foreign but difficult, unworthy, unrewarding—like five minutes of sitting silently in a chair feels excruciating.

You grew up during technology’s development and takeover, so the horror of your age is not that you lost some magnificent and ascetic capacity for thinking—it is that you may never have cultivated it in the first place.

How many children now struggle to remain still for even a few minutes?

But why can you diagnose the child and not yourself? Are you inwardly free of the very machinery you condemn?

“It is that damn phone!” Yes, it is. So why are you not putting yours down? Ohhhh right. Because even people who reached adulthood before the smartphone can become equally captured.

Mental rape has become so prevalent that you have begun mistaking it for ordinary human behaviour.

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Scrolling Continues Without A Phone

You have not the faintest idea what voluntary concentration is—so do not serenade me with the claim that you do.

Being absorbed is not the same as directing attention. Look how completely you lose yourself while gooning.

Something fascinating can hold you for hours. That does not mean you are consciously holding your attention on it.

An impression does exactly what its name suggests: it impresses itself upon you.

Games supply meaningless objectives; films supply phantasmic narrative; deadlines supply urgency that does nothing for your soul when met.

You may expect me to tell you to delete TikTok—but no.

I need you to be hit ferociously hard with the realisation of how much of your life has been surrendered to impressions—and how rarely your attention has actually been directed by you.

I cannot stop wasting your life for you.

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Once you have done that, 5 seconds, 5 months, 5 years from now—move on…

ꜜꜜꜜ

A vulture must be a vulture and scavenge.

An animal only knows how to be an animal.

Their MUST is given to them at birth.

Their discipline has had direction since day dot.

However, you possess the possibility of meaningful choice.

Of attaining degrees of consciousness,

hidden from you in your current, ordinary, and mechanical state.

But you are cursed with that possibility too, because your language betrays how readily meaningful choice collapses back into mechanical habit—like when you sputter those flabby MUSTs.

“I must eat.”

“I must view their story.”

Ye, ye, ye, ye, blahblah.

But what do they amount to?

NOTHING.

Each is just another little “I” within you speaking; a mere one among ten thousand.

They all pronounce this MUST, yet none have earned the authority to speak for the whole of you.

You do not have an ordering MUST; you have urgencies wearing makeup trying to look like beautiful necessities.

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Squandering energy

You misunderstand your own energetic economy because you have never seriously observed where your force is being expended.

And sorry COCKHEAD—but steak, sunlight, and electrolytes cannot cure a problem whose source is unconsciousness.

Do you imagine each temporary “I” simply arrives and departs without mining anything from you? No. Each solicits attention, identification, expression—and these are expensive.

Yet much of what exhausts you produces absolutely nothing—such as rehearsing conversations.

You perform a contemporary and sporadic version of Platonic dialogue inside your head as though rehearsing backchats and insults were a faculty worth cultivating.

Then, you arrive at the work of creating a life, overcoming suffering, transfiguring character, and sanctifying the day—and you are “too tired.”

Too tired? You did not even know where your force was going to begin with!

You are no Plato, but you can be a Plato if you stop being a whore for trifling matters.

Nothing sufficiently conscious governs the expenditure of your force—what did you expect to happen? A miracle?

The horror is: you do not even know which is true and which is fake

YOU: “Where should my force go? Which of my sincere MUSTs deserves it most?”

COCKHEAD: “Your career. The gym. Your diet. Bro, productivity—bro just watch this Chris Williamson vide—”

Immediately take a brick and smash his face into a hamburger—as a way of making yourself feel better.

PNEUMA: “Why the career? Why that gym? Where did these necessities acquire their authority over you?”

Dissect the roots beneath your “freedom” before you shoot your forces right onto the face of life.

Maybe your friends shamed you into the gym when every fibre in you would rather be rock climbing.

If so, that temporary gym “I” is speaking through insecurity, fear, or imitation.

The provenance of your MUST matters—it is the first step.

If your MUSTs originate in anything other than conscious apprehension, then obediently executing them does not suddenly make the deeds your own.

Your life cannot reeeaaalllly be called yours—or free.

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ONE. FINAL. REFUGE. ONE. FINAL. EXCUSE.

COCKHEAD: “Okay, then I cannot point you in that direction. I gave you options—career, gym—everything! Just choose what feels right, man.”

And you were just about to choose what “felt right”—until I flew in like a dove and took you towards your demons and your hell: your unknown machinery.

PNEUMA: “Feeling is not sovereignty. Before a life-altering choice can be called yours, before you discover the provenance of your MUST—confront your lack of inner command.”

Temporary “I’s” will pull your assumed MUST in contradictory directions—much like the Sirens.

Intellectual recognition is not the foundation.

Inner command is.

Notice what appears the moment you attempt to carry a consciously chosen MUST into action.

Resistance? Interesting.

Resistance is not merely an obstacle; it can expose your inner disunity.

Worse, you do not yet know whether the resistance deserves to be overcome, because you cannot assume that either side of the conflict speaks for the whole of you.

Is the resistance worthy or unworthy?

Every hour you remain unable to distinguish between this is paid for with force, time, and eventually your life.

ꜜꜜꜜ

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This MAMMAL of a man—a SUPERHERO—being told what to do by a WALKING TOE.

This is currently the life of you and a lot of others on earth.

And you probably believe escaping this boss, that desk, and those spreadsheets will finally unleash you.

YOU ARE WRONG.

Financial independence, travelling the globe, eating the cuisines of cities—these constitute only one half of freedom.

Answering to nobody is rapturous, and I am by no means devaluing your pursuit of financial freedom.

But if that freedom remains years away, what kind of freedom could begin before your circumstances change at all?

What will this financial freedom amount to if anger, fear, lust, hunger, and resentment must either possess you completely or be violently suppressed before you can function?

“Yes, but I already do what I want, when I want. My life is fine. I am organised.”

Then where, exactly, did that want come from? And why did one question about your freedom immediately compel you to defend your life?

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Your Actions Will Not Stop Being Unconscious If You Gain A Few Dollars

Imagine a rich man who can command an empire of employees yet cannot command his own attention.

This is your trajectory.

Much of your daily life consists of mechanical reactions to impressions arriving from without and associations, memories, sensations, and desires arising from within.

“I did that.” Certainly—but which part of you was it?

The “I” determined to become financially free—or the “I” that wants nothing except relief after eight hours of sitting down at the office?

Suppose it was the first “I”.

Now tell me: how long does this “I” remain at the forefront of your consciousness?

How fiercely does it want freedom before the tired, despondent, and pleasure-seeking “I’s” arrive and subtly suffocate it?

Not very long, huh?

You are not nearly as unified as your life has led you to believe.

Very good.

You know you were not born to be the fat millionaire that looks disgusting on his yacht, that only made his millions because luck and inheritance were on his side, right?

Assume you are all out of luck, cowboy.

Now Act From Your Core

Do not assume that every intoxicating want within you belongs to one stable, consistent “I”.

That assumption itself is another mechanical habit of your machinery.

Ask instead what gave birth to the want: appetite, boredom, memory, social approval, social disapproval, childhood experience.

A temporary “I” does not brightly announce itself, shouting, “Hey! A desire has arisen!”

Instead it whispers “I want this.”

And right now, you despairingly lose yourself within that soft whisper.

The horror trickles deep.

When your boss tells you to finish the spreadsheet, that in itself is not what you lose yourself in. No. You lose yourself in the anger his demand awakens; and now your anger occupies your mind—anger that was vomited onto you by your boss.

That is not a habit that dissipates with money; unless consciously overcome, it simply transfers to a different source as your money stacks taller—your partner, your children, your employees.

A financial shackle announces itself as a shackle—it aches.

An inward one will hold you down for your entire life, convincing you that everything is going well—that this habit is truly you.

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I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

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AND YOU JUST ATE ENOUGH TO FUEL YOURSELF FOR THE NEXT MONTH.

How late did your consciousness arrive? During the 10th bite? The following morning?

You are not conscious merely because your flesh is intact and your eyelids are wide open.

You could have told her, いいえ.

But that would not have done anything, because before she even offered, your attention was already lost.

You walked in the door carrying boredom, craving, and anticipation—then their sight and smell swiftly sank their fangs into you.

Before you began chewing, you had already lost yourself.

And no diet will EVER compensate for your lack of consciousness.

No diet will ever direct the hands and reasoning that currently seem to despise you, moving and rationalising as though controlled by your worst enemy.

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You are trying to stop something you have never known

“Nahhhh I can’t. I’m on a diet.”

So what happened was… you believed your thought alone was strong enough.

Look, your thinking is awake, yes. But an awakened thought does not automatically confer consciousness upon your feeling and action. Your feeling is dreamlike; your action lies deeper still, suffocating beneath a heap of unconsciousness.

Notice how your consciousness dims as it descends:

1. Thinking—“I will not eat this”

2. Feeling—anticipation, craving, agitation arise and begin to besiege you

3. Action—the obscure inner movement through which your arm extends and your fingers close around the food

Before the process, you know what you intend not to do.

After this process, you realise what you have done.

What you do not know is the process through which one becomes the other.

You are trying to govern a compulsion, or rather an addiction, whose decisive movements lie beneath your consciousness.

Weak willpower or the possessive nature of sugar are not sustainable excuses for that.

Have you ever consciously inhabited the process while it is occurring?

Have you ever actually examined this split in your machine?

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The terrible split in you

There is an inner crowd within you, its members succeeding one another while each speaks as though it alone were you.

Different “I’s”—“I will not eat.” “Fuck I am eating.” “I should not have eaten wtf am I doing.”—take over one another, each inheriting the sacred pronoun.

Up until this point, you have lived as though an indivisible unity stood behind that letter—and that is precisely the illusion.

What is absent in you is the stable command you casually attribute to a permanent “I”.

What you call a failure of discipline cuts much deeper: a failure of inner unity and being.

And guilt does not build this unity; you have simply lost yourself in another temporary “I”.

Your sincerity proves nothing about whether it will still govern you when the craving returns.

“I will not.” → (craving) “One will not hurt.” → (eating) “Screw it.” → (guilt) “Why did I do that?” → (self-disgust) “I am so fat.” → (motivation) “I am back. We are so back babyyyy” → (planning) “Ok the next month will look like this.” → REPEAT once craving returns!

That is not consciousness; that is automaticity.

That is a machine that will continue operating the way it does for the next 60 years, until there are no more donuts and life left to binge and waste.

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I cannot come alive mid-sentence, grab you through the screen, and slap you until you finally rise off the couch like a scene out of Looney Tunes.

What I can do, however, is expose what you are getting wrong before your deeds ever reach the earth’s soil.

Whether you got tha’ big balls to admit it or not, what you bring into earthly creation emerges through the interplay of your thinking, feeling, and acting.

And currently, you are NOT equally conscious within each.

Where—manifestation, visualisation, mindful creation, etc. become primitive and immature is in its flattening of thinking, feeling, imagination, and action into one BIG SLOPPY BOWL of undifferentiated mental-process PUMPKIN SOUP.

Below is a generic picture of a girl trying to manifest or do something idfk.

1. You Do Not First Know What A Thought Is

“My thoughts create reality.”

For humanity’s sake, I am glad that is not true. Because if your thoughts created reality on some Bruce Almighty shit, we would all be fucked.

Thousands of unbidden thoughts rape your consciousness each day—arising, associating, drifting, repeating, looping, imitating, intruding.

Mental activity itself is not conscious mastery; deliberately directed thinking is an entirely different realm.

Before you crown thought the architect of your desires, recognise that thinking itself is a faculty whose might must first be acquired.

Strong thoughts are not automatically granted, yet I still cannot grasp why some writers speak as if they are.

Claiming that you can just waltz into this realm of thinking without first undergoing training is like stepping into Gold’s Gym in the ‘80s and claiming you can keep up with Mentzer and Platz.

The realm of thought is just as competitive as the realm of physicality.

A vivid and warm picture of your favourite car or perfected life is not evidence of spiritual cognition, alignment, or conscious mastery—it is weak fantasy.

There, you are asking reality to obey your thought before you have established whether your thought obeys you.

How many people on earth do you suspect govern their thoughts ALL DAY—not just for five minutes…

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2. Intensity Of The Desire Does Not Boost Physicalisation

“I feel as though it is already mine. Nothing can extinguish this feeling of fulfilment inside of me.”

It is very weird and cute how people equate emotional intensity with proof of conscious creation.

That intensity within you that feeds your days and actions belongs to the dreamlike nature of your feeling.

Your inner life, the realm through which feeling moves, seethes with desire, pleasure, pain, craving, fear, etc.

So how do you know which current is speaking through you? What—because it feels pleasant and you catch yourself smiling while you visualise it—that means it is joy?

You see a millionaire → a powerful feeling surges through you → you begin visualising his life as your own → you smile and call the sensation alignment.

Seeing, wanting, feeling, thinking, fantasising—they do not equal willing.

They just arbitrarily feed motives, pictures, and desires to the will; they do not prove that your will has taken the right path.

3. You Are Broken, Shattered, Split

“I want this life, so I will envision this life.”

A man can spend years building something his soul never truly needed to build in the first place.

There is an inner crowd within you—each temporary “I” perfectly capable of inheriting the words want, need, and desire—uttering them as though they belonged to your whole being.

If one part of you wants comfort, another fame, another danger, another peace—which one deserves to speak for you? And if you spend ten years obeying the wrong one, what exactly refunds those years to you?

A temporary “I” can and will seize you for an hour and speak as though it were your consciousness centre.

No wonder you feel like shit all day long, and then cannot sleep at night.

Each temporary “I” hijacks your inner attention—from something as minuscule as a notification, to something as large as your day job.

You understand the power of your mind is real; now question which “I” you are handing that power to.

4. Reality Is Not A Straight Line That Only Points To You

“The world is simply my perception. I do not see the negative; I am delusionally optimistic.”

Nah man, you gotta stop with this baby shit.

You inhabit reality alongside 8 billion (and counting) other human beings; reality does not terminate at the borders of ANY of our perceptions.

Do you seriously believe that everyone who yearned desperately and received nothing merely failed to work, believe, or visualise hard enough?

Why can you not admit that you exist inside a dense field of causes, where billions of other deeds, decisions, collisions, and destructions continually enter the world alongside your own.

You are not standing outside reality pushing your desires into it.

Your past conditions the ground beneath your present desire; what kind of a life have you lived up until this point?

However potent your inner activity may be, your present conscious preference does not tower over causal relations already in motion and working inwardly within you.

Reality does not bend like a flimsy ruler.

Now, GO and DO the inner work. (Exercises throughout this article)

Because Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

ꜜꜜꜜ

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Their mansions are built upon your unconsciousness.

The same unconsciousness that failed to notice the phrasing scattered across that entire image.

This is not greed, stupidity, or childishness—this is losing yourself.

“I wanted it!”

WHICH “I”, YOU FOOL?

Five minutes ago you did not even know this Amazon egg slicer existed. The “I” speaking now was not the “I” speaking five minutes ago. You lost your money, but worse, you lost yourself. Go back to peeling them with your fingertips for the sake of your sanity.

Do you even know what kidnapped your attention? Influencer? Slogan? Colour? Body?

Before you even knew anything substantial about the product, the impression had already captured you. Then, what this impression did was stir something within your inner life, and what subsequently convulsed you towards acting, was graver: attraction, trauma, lack, belonging, urgency, fantasy.

This entire process unfolded beneath your nose without a single interjection from your conscious centre—the centre from which you should have witnessed what was occurring before allowing the reaction to impersonate your will and freedom.

Until that centre becomes present and strong, be careful when you use the word “I”.

What to do to avoid losing yourself

You do not avoid advertising, screens, or websites.

You do not suppress the desire for a new T-shirt.

You must learn to receive these impressions whilst doing the opposite of losing yourself—remembering yourself.

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Go onto Amazon RIGHT NOW

Or go to any website you frequently purchase from.

An impression—image, product, advertisement—will most likely awaken a feeling within your inner life—envy, lust, excitement.

Now allow yourself to observe this feeling before attempting to alter it.

I am not joking.

Do this now, while the machinery you are reading about is still alive enough to be observed.

Keep one movement of attention upon the impression and the feeling it sparks, and another upon yourself.

Anchor this divided attention in the sensations of your body—root it there.

Feel your hands gripping the iPhone, the weight of your body sinking into the couch, your breathing, your heartbeat—all whilst continuing to receive the impression and feeling.

The purpose is not to cultivate a disgust toward life’s pleasures—a fast car, a clean desk, or anything else.

The task is to remain conscious of the impressions and feelings without losing yourself in them.

Narrowing it down

After that, ask yourself: what exactly did this impression awaken within me—and why?

Take whichever impression hijacked your attention and examine it from every side—the one from which “I want this” or “I need this” unwillingly emerged.

Now reconstruct the sequence that occurred within you:

1. You receive the impression.

2. Something within the impression seizes your attention.

3. Notice what moved first within you: bodily sensation, feeling, image, association, or thought.

4. Watch what thinking does next, if it enters: does it clothe the reaction in language—“I want this,” “I need this,” “this is worth it”—and allow one member of your inner crowd to speak as though it were your whole being?

5. Finally, observe whether feeling and thinking recruit acting before your conscious centre has examined either of them.

Look at this sewer system of unconsciousness, beginning with a single impression.

Listen for whichever temporary “I” of the inner crowd appropriates the movement and gives it a voice: the insecure “I” declares that you need the ab roller; the empty “I” insists that you need another coat.

Now separate the object from your psychological theatre: the shoes are just shoes mate; the knife is a fuckin’ blade and handle before it becomes your fantasy of culinary competence.

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Finally…

Return to that same impression over the next few days and observe how your relationship to it changes.

But DELIBERATELY leave the desire unsatisfied during this period. Do not purchase; allow the impulse toward acting to remain unresolved beneath your examinations.

Do not suppress it—PLEASE. Allow the desire to remain, watch yourself, remember yourself, and anchor your inner attention in bodily sensation while the desire continues to move through you.

Then record what occurs whenever the impression returns: perhaps the desire gradually evaporates; perhaps thinking proliferates new justifications for obeying it.

Once you know a tiny bit more about yourself, perceive the impression again in its totality and observe whether it still seizes your inner attention with the same force—or whether you can now receive it without immediately losing yourself.

Now you are in a better position to discover whether you need it, consciously want it, or merely inherited the desire from the original impression.

NOW, YOU CAN ACT.

ꜜꜜꜜ

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Who got sufficiently deep inside you that their voice became one of the first embers in your acquired self?

I am speaking, about your sweet-sweet intellectual virginity.

If you never interrogate the provenance of your thinking, you may just spend the rest of your life being internally dog-walked by weak, egregious, and equally unconscious people.

I Interrogated My Younger Self, Then Choked Him

I was an iPad kid. Not merely the drooling, careless type; the devotional one, the one who cherished the screen and headphones as though they were the Holy Grail.

YouTube, Instagram, Minecraft—my Trinity.

Had I never recognised how deeply those influences had entered my acquired self, who knows which of their values I would still be calling mine?

A man who lives to see his age commence with a two cannot let FIFA occupy his psychic throne for decades.

Early Teenage Years Onwards + The Grave Fate

Do not worry so much about a specific number; just know I am concerned with the early teenage years—the years in which your identity begins striving toward greater differentiation.

The thoughts from this period of your life did not enter through conscious examination at all, and they are most likely so familiar now—through association, reaction, and habit—that their acquired origin has disappeared beneath the word “I” while the thoughts themselves have hardened into character.

For the unconscious man, there are no differences between his thoughts; all leave his mouth as “I think,” “I believe,” and “I know.”

Father, IShowSpeed, Chris Williamson, DOAC + Buffers

Each member of your inner crowd carries a different inheritance, yet every one of them is sliding out beneath the same name: “I”.

One speaks with your father’s responsibility and morality; another borrows the language and attitude of IShowSpeed.

If those two inheritances demand incompatible things from you, this means contradiction has taken residence inside your acquired self. And, if you never confront the contradiction, the partition preventing those inheritances from colliding becomes the buffer.

Your buffers are dangerous because they shield you from the humiliation of encountering your own immature volatility and divide.

Five years of psychic rape does not heal after five minutes of Chris Williamson-style productivity.

Your acquired self changes rooms effortlessly, switching between a MrBeast challenge and a DOAC podcast.

Do you still think your opinion is your own? Or is even your certainty that you think for yourself another inheritance?

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Your Voice Continues Their Voice

Even if your girlfriend abandons you, your teacher departs for another school, or your friend migrates to another posse, they can seriously continue speaking through you long after their mouths have disappeared.

Some inheritances become so psychically charged that they constellate into inner knots—memory, fear, admiration, and shame binding around an emotionally charged image of the person or situation.

The psychic image formed around, let us say, your teacher is layered: the man himself becomes entangled with your fear of him, admiration for him, and everything else your psyche projected upon him.

Furthermore, this does not only concern your ideals but also your prohibitions—what you must NEVER become. From both directions, others can construct your private architecture of virtue and disgrace.

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So How Do You Retrieve Your Virginity?

Your inner crowd is now nude; you intrinsically know how little unity the word “I” has.

Very nice.

The ugliest possibility that was spending your entire life calling your thinking, feeling, and acting “mine” without ever knowing what directs them—has been avoided.

But to end this article by telling you that “none of your thoughts are yours” would be cheap.

There is something worse: you presently do not know which thoughts you genuinely own and adore, and which thoughts you unconsciously disbelieve and have merely learned to speak in your voice.

That is far, far, farrrrrr worse than “none,” because uncertainty deprives you of the comfort of knowing what to fix.

What you need, is to get extremely sharp at watching yourself.

Because watching one’s self is the skill you need so you never unwillingly swallow anyone else’s life ever again.

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Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

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Stimulating them, feeling them, unblocking them, channelling them.

Throwing arbitrary verbs at an organ you barely understand does not do a single fuckin’ thing.

A chakra is a lotus flower: an invisible organ of supersensible perception, not a switch, battery, or superpower.

You do not manipulate these lotus flowers for an hour and inherit the fruits of five years of disciplined spiritual development.

They are cultivated through the transformation of your thinking, feeling, and acting; they are a fruit OF development that SUCCEEDS proper inner work.

Something unusual happening within you, an extraordinary sensation, is not evidence of spiritual development.

If it were, those who swallow ecstasy once a month would be the most advanced beings roaming the earth.

The initiatory methods of antiquity belonged to different conditions of human consciousness and were embedded in forms of mystery-school guidance that you cannot simply transplant into modern life and call initiation.

If modern initiation demands conscious inner participation, what makes you think forcing open another organ of perception instantly will compensate for your inability to remain wakeful through McDonald’s signs, Netflix dramas, and mundane gossip?

Your spiritual problem is not a blocked chakra. It is the unconsciousness trying to force it open out of pride and ignorance.

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Do You Even Know WHO Exactly is Trying to Awaken?

“I need to awaken.”

“I am desperate for a spiritual retreat.”

There is no stable “I” in you yet.

In fact, if your spiritual ambition begins in escape, novelty, superiority, or abstraction—not an encounter with genuine suffering—then your need for awakening is just another mechanical impulse of your inner crowd.

You are begging for higher consciousness while your ordinary consciousness is still being abused by impulses, reactions, associations, and every passing situation.

Energetic sensations, astrology, mysticism, tarot—all I see, hear, and smell is cope.

You lose yourself in ALL OF IT.

The expression has changed; the mechanism has not.

Suppose, by some miracle, that forcing your chakras actually worked and you gained higher perception—what would this higher perception do to you?

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More Harm Than Good, That is for Sure…

If your thinking is unguided, your feeling volatile between attraction and aversion, and your acting still governed by impulses you know go against your hopes and dreams, then higher perception does not cure any of it—a wider eye is not a clearer one.

Initially: pencil, stone, and ruler. After that, then come back here and tell me if you still want to play with your crystals and incense.

Without a stronger conscious centre, unfamiliar sights become fresh material for fantasy, exaggeration, temptations, and losing yourself—there is NO WAY that is what you are asking for, right?

No. You are not. What you want are the fruits of initiation—not initiation itself.

And the fruits you actually covet are prestige, visions, certainty, clairvoyance, exceptional insight and the intoxicating feeling of being rare.

Some are corruptions of the aim; others can arise only as consequences of lawful development, never as trophies you are entitled to receive according to a schedule.

What modern inner work first demands from you is clarity of thinking, equanimity of feeling, command of acting, perseverance and truthfulness—all of which stem from an ironclad conscious centre.

You do not acquire any of this through a chakra technique DUMMY.

You do not receive the effect while refusing to become its cause.

Initiation is not hidden from you because it is esoteric; you overlook it because its groundwork is so plain.

Philosophers, mathematicians, architects, poets—the great people of history, and the great people of the future did not open their chakras.

You do not even know the half of it when it comes to boring inner work.

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Can we all please admit that, indeed, sometimes it is too late to start?

One of the things I despise about modern humanity is how thoroughly we have been educated to rationalise postponement and squander seconds.

Very rarely—perhaps from some motherly and nurturing instinct to placate, sedate, and protect us from the burn of urgency, or from regurgitated propaganda—are we taught the significance of youthful time.

Nobody explicitly tells you, “Strive in your twenties! Attack the day like the green lion devouring the sun!”

They say: “have fun,” “test the waters,” “find yourself.”

Which, by the way, would be decent advice if the youth were conscious… however I am not interested in discussing whether pigs can fly.

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The men who most violently impress the significance of youthful time are often those who once stood at the edge of pissing it up the wall themselves, only to be shocked awake by suffering, epiphany, or more realistically—theophany.

To perceive the swiftness of time, even through drudgery, is itself a kind of blessing.

“It is never too late to start” has mutated from responsibility into permission.

From direction → psychological buffer.

The phrase is valuable only when it refuses to abolish the queasy friction between

what you must do ←→ what you currently do.

But if the thought of fleeting time does not awaken you—if it frightens you instead—then an uglier question appears:

What in you requires appeasement whenever time requires meditation?

Perhaps time does not feel fast because life is short or busy.

Perhaps it feels fast because you are never there while it happens.

You Do Not Live Inside of Time

You are not meant to blink and discover that, somehow, you are already halfway through the month.

You only mistake this disappearance of time for a pleasant surprise when you are failing to consciously inhabit the ordinary day.

You flick through numerous weeks merely to arrive at some bullshit event floppily glowing at the end of the month.

An event you will finally reach without ever truly arriving at.

Physically, you have arrived; attentively, you are still slumbering.

Actually drooling—you are drooling all over time’s head.

If your attention is continually dragged into memory, anticipation, worry, hope, and resentment, you are losing yourself in the midst of it all.

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Your life is disappearing one unconscious impression at a time, without ever receiving the sanction of your will.

Let us now rewind to your golden days.

Not their sentimental recollection. The exposure of consciousness with which you actually lived them.

Which “I” in you was actually experiencing it?

Someone Else is Living Life For You

“Omg I fuckin’ loved that day! Remember when we—”

Who “I”?

Wha’ “we”?

There was no continuous “you” there.

These are discontinuous, fractured “I’s” within you that do not persist with the unity you attribute to them.

They succeed one another rapidly, each temporarily occupying your organism.

“I can start soon.”

“No way it will be too late to start then.”

How long, if you are willing to go nude for a second, have you been saying that?

This imagination manufactures a disciplined future you who perpetually appears more capable than present you, despite possessing no greater will than the man imagining him.

Tomorrow feels psychologically inexhaustible and different because imagination encounters none of the resistance that action does.

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Postponement is, Currently, a Deep Part of You

Yeah—it has become part of your constitution, almost akin to your heart and lungs.

Because you have spent so many days practising postponement, the pattern has become comfortably embedded within your vital life—in your rhythms and habits.

EVERY SINGLE DELAY/DAY HAS CONTRIBUTED TO THIS—most of all the seemingly insignificant.

You have no grand choice anymore. You no longer have the luxury of pretending that a burst of 3 a.m. motivation will miraculously overturn all of this.

That delusion became increasingly untenable each time you thought about change, felt the intoxication of change, yet failed to carry either into acting.

Ageing itself—the castle in which this seven-word phrase lives—gambles everything on the superstition that age will somehow ripen into wisdom.

Again, this is imagination.

The body decays, the hair greys, the skin wrinkles, the fat compounds.

“It is never too late to start” concerns your relation to the past, not your entitlement to the future.

So what can you do, if sudden improvement is not an option?

Well you start off tiny.

Which I know you do not want to hear—but you have to hear.

Everybody says start off small, they are correct—but their “small actions” somehow still waste time.

You do not begin by efficiently using many hours of the day; you can begin here.

You “use up” a week for assessment.

And then you implement a small 10 minute practice that gets to the root of all your problems: thinking.

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Now, GO and DO the inner work.

Because Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

I have read all the books, I have done the nerd-work. It is all there.

Thank you for reading!

Your delusional optimism will not rescue you when disease, decay, and dysfunction interrupt your inner life and demand something more noble than a preferred picture of the future.

Your thinking, despite supposedly spawning fortune around you—

if what you gained can even be called fortune—

remains immature and servile before every impression arriving from the external world;

no matter how often you claim that reality has bowed to your intentions or aligned itself around your boring desires.

Even graver:

you are not born possessing the soul you so casually claim to have—

merely a seed.

You are born with essence,

and around it accumulates your acquired self,

while something more permanent has still not been consciously formed.

No genuine inner development begins by flattering your fantasies.

Thinking must first acquire direction, continuity, and sufficient authority to remain where your conscious centre places it.

Let me expand…

Delusional optimism is a contradiction in language.

You are either delusional, falsifying reality so that actual truths cannot properly penetrate your inner life.

Or you are genuinely positive, which presupposes the logical discernment to perceive suffering, ugliness, evil, and tragedy—WITHOUT mutilating them into something more comfortable.

If your optimism survives only by anaesthetising life and being, it is not optimism at all; it is sentimentality masquerading as spiritual strength.

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Yes, I know what it means, mate.

It is the Substack-and-Pinterest habit of “living in the fulfilled state,” and “never letting an undesirable situation influence your life.”

Emotionally inhabiting an imagined end while refusing to let the actual conditions of your present becoming penetrate your inner life and evoke change.

It is a way of sedating and suppressing suffering.

It is the method of Neville Goddard and many other manifestation gurus.

I read Goddard when I was eighteen or nineteen.

I used what modernity now calls delusional optimism, and, to my surprise then and my detriment as I am writing this—it worked.

So, trust me, I am familiar with the ideas I am attacking.

“Pneuma, if it worked, why attack it at all? Why even admit that?”

Well, two reasons…

1. I have a particular contempt for weak, undirected thinking that castrates acting—especially once you are old enough to mistake your mental habits for a developed worldview.

2. Delusional optimism is a grain of sand when dropped into the realm of thinking.

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Delusional optimism is just jumping the gun.

Not because thinking is powerless or incapable of becoming formative.

Nor because feeling should be stripped of warmth, abundance, or affirmation.

Goddard developed and popularised the doctrine known as “The Law of Assumption” across the mid-twentieth century, when the ecology of impressions was radically different from yours.

There was no TikTok, pornography, AI.

They certainly had their handful of distractions, but your thinking can now be interrupted, titillated, and colonised with an intensity and continuity Goddard most likely did not anticipate.

If you are old enough to read this and carry a screen, I can say with the utmost confidence that your thinking has already been pulverised by impressions you did not consciously choose—for years on end.

And you scarcely comprehend the extent of this, because the very faculty with which you would investigate it—your thinking—is itself implicated in the disorder.

You cannot hold and develop a chosen thought—philosophically or otherwise—before another impression enters your inner life and usurps your attention.

Your delusional optimism has not yet become directed imagination at all; it remains a preferred picture repeatedly abandoned by undisciplined thinking.

This is why “visualising the end” and “positivity despite reality” cannot be foundational: the image itself continually dissolves into phantasmagoria, as one association breeds another until the destiny YOU APPARENTLY CHOSE is submerged beneath thoughts you never intended to think.

Meaninglessness. Mundanity. Shallowness. Hollowness.

These are the proper words for your current visualisations and attitudes.

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You still do not know the fucking half of what your own thinking is doing.

You have not dwelt diligently on how thought becomes formative through feeling and acting.

Try remaining present to your thinking for a mere ten seconds without losing yourself—then come back here and claim to me again that you have mastered this imagined future.

Oh you succeeded? Great.

Now sustain it for one minute. Then five. Then ten. Then twenty.

Fool.

Thoughts do not realise through whimsical wishing alone; its efficacy depends upon how deeply it penetrates feeling and becomes deed.

It is a detailed process—not the mustering of cringe optimism.

Yes, you participate in your own becoming. Yes, you are not merely a passive spectator awaiting whatever reality kicks you in the face with.

The gurus did grasp something important in assigning significance to thoughts and feelings—but the popularised language makes this process sound infinitely easier than the development of the faculties actually demands.

They are wasting your time and you are being deludedly optimistic about it.

To the people that claim they act—this section is for you…

I know you have been waiting for this—because you are different—you ACT IN ACCORDANCE with your delusional optimism.

I admire your movement, my friend.

But you are still a slave to yourself. You still cannot claim that you possess free will just because you escaped the 9-5.

You still do not know yourself—and that is the truth I am willing to inject into you every day.

You still have not wrestled with your machinery.

You have never watched yourself closely enough to recognise when an undesirable thought enters your inner life, nor do you see how one member of the inner crowd can act toward your planned future while another quietly acts against it.

Better than the masses does not mean better than yourself.

So what do I actually want to achieve with this attack?

To kill people’s dreams?

No.

I need you to stop believing that directed thinking (“delusion”), deliberate imagination (“manifestation”), and strong feeling (“optimism”) appear overnight.

If you are already preparing to tell me that your delusional optimism worked and that I am too harsh—fine.

But before you do that, gaze at all those who have “made it” and remained slaves to themselves. Money, fame, status, or freedom from the 9-5 cannot redeem unconsciousness.

To prosper externally while remaining inwardly mechanical is the horror.

To believe you have grasped the formative power of thinking while you cannot keep one chosen thought beneath conscious direction is the final absurdity.

You were not born to be delusional until your last breath, bro. Come on.

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DO THE PRACTICAL RIGHT NOW, WITHIN 10 MINUTES.

ꜜꜜꜜ

ꜜꜜꜜ

Sunsets in Siracusa;

Sunrises in São Paulo;

Castles in Cochem.

If I were to pick you up like a claw machine at the arcade, drop you into any one of these places, and leave you there—liberated from every health, financial, and relational burden—you would be extraordinarily grateful.

A genuine feeling of gratitude would rise within your inner life, deepen, gather warmth, and begin to unfold.

The inevitable progression of such a feeling would subtly begin to illumine your perception.

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And then your gut would rumble. And then some immigrant behind you would have his phone turned up on speaker, talking about chickpeas in Swahili.

And whilst your gratitude is swiftly fading, I would pluck you back up and drop you into your office cubicle or a McDonald’s toilet, while the gratitude you scarcely encountered lay behind you, left for dead.

You would never follow the feeling into the depths of your own soul—

like a child following a dandelion.

You might have said, “Fark, this is nooooiiiiiceeee,” or, “Wowwweee, look at the sun,” but you would never question how intensely the gratitude penetrated you, how long it remained within your inner life, or what became of it once the next impression arrived.

You Keep Interrupting Your Own Rapture

Feeling gratitude does not mean you have acquired it.

I am not denying your feelings; I am questioning what became of them.

Because what becomes of them is too often nothing.

What good is rapture if you cannot inwardly digest the impression—if none of its heat remains when rain soaks your scalp—if your wife flatlines—if it does not make you smirk at the dirt and piss of living?

Your gratitude can barely sustain itself before another member of your inner crowd surfaces and wants something entirely different; the “I” that was grateful possesses no enduring authority over the “I” that is now irritated.

Your problem is darker than distraction—this is not a “focus-harder-bro,” “live-more-bro” solution.

Your problem is that you possess almost no continuity of inward attention long enough for a feeling to deepen.

You are spiritually overfed and inwardly undernourished.

Another holiday, handbag, or epiphany is the last thing you need—sorry—you have not yet inwardly received what life has already placed before you.

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1000 Licks of Gratitude, Not 1 Has Filled You Up

You are still impatient, entitled, embittered—despite everything life has forced onto you.

I understand that you have suffered, but why does every new suffering still arrive as though life has betrayed you?

Because these transient movements within your inner life have not yet become characteristic qualities that are rooted more deeply within your vital life.

This is why, when your mother inconveniences you, all your knowledge of what she has sacrificed for you can evaporate beneath one moment of friction.

Materials will burn, houses will collapse, ice cream will melt; what remains when the tangible is stripped away reveals far more about what you have actually cultivated within yourself.

Gratitude should be capable of ripening into love, and love should seek expression through acting. Yet yours dies before this metamorphosis begins; you cherish the feeling, labelling it, while remaining almost untouched by what it could have become.

It stagnates as sentimentality—and sentimentality soon becomes gluttonous, forever demanding another beautiful moment without allowing the last one to transform you.

Perhaps you incarnated to experience merely momentarily?

Nonsense.

You might only believe that because you are unfamiliar with an experience penetrating deeply enough to leave a formative trace upon the soul.

You have confused being moved with being formed.

What remains within when life does what it does so well—when it makes you suffer?

I know. The gratitude you celebrated in comfort is suddenly nowhere to be found.

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Now, GO and DO the inner work.

Because Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

ꜜꜜꜜ

Sounds stupid, delusional, phantasmical, impossible!

Well, that is precisely what you are doing when you begin helplessly injecting every self-improvement ritual and regimen into your life.

You are a deeply, deeply automatic man.

You mistake familiarity with your machinery for knowledge of yourself.

You know the labels—anxious, angry, impatient, ambitious, determined, successful—but…

Did you know that this is merely your acquired self SUPPLYING the image of who you believe yourself to be?

Have you ever watched yourself, AMIDST the anger and lust, instead of instantaneously condemning and suppressing it?

You are not yet unified. There is a ruthless war overflowing with contradiction— inner crowd, each demanding something different, each speaking as though it were the totality of you.

And transformation does not begin by obeying the “I want to improve my life” member of the inner crowd.

Why Self-Improvement Does Not Currently Work For You

New habit, new discipline, new me, new you—new nothing.

Do you even know which part of you desires the new routine?

The part that bought the new gut-health drink? The part that read a neuroscience article last week?

The “I want to change my life” member of the inner crowd may be perfectly sincere—but sincerity does not give it duration, authority, or the power to alter your level of being.

And the most brutal fact about that “I” in you is that it is just as weak and fragmented, and possesses no greater claim than the “I want to eat donuts, jerk off, and rot inside” member beside it.

For one week, stop appeasing the “I” that demands enormous, revolutionary change.

“But why, Pneuma? Why do this? Am I not delaying myself a week’s worth of getting the ball rolling?”

I want you to stop making immediate improvement your only aim.

First you need to see what actually occurs while it occurs—while the machinery is still warm and influencing your hands.

Do not ask why you are sitting on the couch instead of lifting weights; do not suppress the urge to eat chocolate; do not become your own lawyer for why you yelled at your partner. Register what is happening while it is happening.

When you do this, you will catch another “I” barging through the door to judge what you have just observed—watch that bastard too.

• How do I stop this? → What exactly is happening within me?

Moving on… so what exactly are you supposed to observe—the surface layer stuff, the apparent stuff?

Nope.

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First and most importantly, thank you for reading—I hope you learnt something about yourself.

Because… Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

Now let me tell you something…

I am not selling you an external solution—I do not wish to add to the world’s decay.

I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

To observe yourself, remember yourself.

You are not broken—you are asleep within your own life.

I was once where you are: a homeless soul.

Now let us begin the work of inner transformation. Actually not even us—just you.

Ok bye love ya either way <3

Read more

Now let me ruin your imagined progress even further.

xoxo.

Each one of the following

11 “AWAKENINGS”

can be nothing more

than a rearrangement

of your MACHINERY

—the contents change while your level of being remains…

UNTOUCHED AND UNAFFECTED.

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1. Hypervigilance

You notice everything, do you?

You have that natural-born spidey-sense?

Much of what you call immaculate awareness—your vaunted perspicacity—may simply be anxiety hiding as heightened perception.

If your attention is repeatedly abused by threat, you are not directing it; it is directing you.

2. Anxiety

Now, this is a strange one: nobody calls anxiety an awakening, yet you repeatedly mistake some of its symptoms for self-awareness.

Where hypervigilance scans outward, anxiety travels inward, transposing the same compulsive surveillance.

Watching yourself is not constant self-policing; you are not observing yourself when you immediately reprimand, correct, and hover over every movement like a snooping mother.

For example, the incessant thought—“Am I walking correctly? She is definitely staring at me. Nice, let me just fix my walk”—can masquerade as plausible self-awareness when, in reality, it merely hinders your ability to watch yourself without immediately judging whatever occurs.

3. Moral Outrage

I am not saying you should stop condemning the murder of a toddler.

But this holier-than-thou delusion cosplaying as developed moral courage has to stop.

When you have done no inner work, you are furious about everything, yet incapable of noticing the reactive emotions that consume you while you denounce the world.

You do not become an activist for humanity while still remaining a stranger to your own machinery.

Your moral outrage proves little when one member of your inner crowd is condemning what another member seductively indulges in the night after a protest.

“No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.”

— Carl Jung

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4. Politics

Do you seriously have a political opinion about everything—fluffy bread, Santa Claus, and Latina women too?

You know the history, every agenda, every campaign, every page of propaganda, every subterranean power struggle lurking in the system—and yet possess no inward history, myth, campaign, truth, or power yourself.

You want to take back your country, I am with you.

But first, take back yourself.

Political identification is still losing yourself, no matter how strong the group you vote for is.

5. Rebellion

Refusing every figure on principle is not freedom; an automatic NO is as redundant as an automatic YES.

If your identity requires opposition, the thing you oppose still determines your direction.

6. Obedience

Meet rebellion’s closest ally.

You imagine a sprinkle of obedience can cure rebellion, or that it at least alleviates it.

Wrong.

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Automatic submission, nonexistent discernment—it reverses the direction of your same mechanical tendency.

Who cares if your organism is rebellious or obedient?

Stop glorifying either pole of an entire spectrum.

7. Information

Knowledge can accumulate while Being remains unchanged.

ESPECIALLY ABSTRACT INFORMATION.

“I need to know more.”

“I need to read more.”

You can pounce upon the words of history like a starving leopard upon an antelope, while still leaving your Being for dead—exactly where it was.

8. Trauma

Modernity often celebrates the exposing of trauma, leaving you dangerously and temporarily satiated.

Discovering WHY is valuable, but just because a revelation was both profound and shocking does not mean you are free from mechanical behaviour.

9. Aesthetic

Music, poetry, art—such is the beauty of the world that dilates pupils and flutters hearts.

You make the mistake when you convert the intensity into escape from automaticity.

4 P.M. you are marvelling at Da Vinci; 5 P.M. you are scrolling.

The question is not whether you felt something; the question is whether you can hold that feeling and transmute it.

10. Synchronicity

Coincidences, encounters—fast-forward to you, and now it is a phone call arriving at an unexpected moment, a notification buzz bearing a familiar name, your guy’s favourite song playing just after you two broke it off.

You texted your ex after she called you unannounced… brother she butt-dialed you.

The danger begins when every situation becomes another permission slip to lose yourself, until your increased appetite for patterns poses as consciousness, harmony, and selection.

"I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen, but as the years wasted on, nothing ever did unless I caused it."

— Charles Bukowski

11. Manifestation

One of the world’s most ubiquitous, misunderstood, and raped topics. I know too many clowns who will defend manifestation more than Being itself!

Manifestation teachers merely give your acquired self magnificent language for desires that prove nothing about the presence and development of your conscious centre.

The law of ASSumption, delusional autism, visualisation.

Yes, I agree with you: thoughts do precede reality!

But how will you create reality when you cannot command a thought for more than five seconds?

Before you inflate “I AM” into metaphysical and divine embarrassment, ask yourself: “Which I?”

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First and most importantly, thank you for reading—I hope you learnt something about yourself.

Because… Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

Now let me tell you something…

I am not selling you an external solution—I do not wish to add to the world’s decay.

I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

To observe yourself, remember yourself.

You are not broken—you are asleep within your own life.

I was once where you are: a homeless soul.

Now let us begin the work of inner transformation. Actually not even us—just you.

Ok bye love ya either way <3

Sink back into reality.

We sympathise with heroin addicts more than we do with sports bettors.

Why? Because the heroin addict is at least physically intimate with his vice—it enters his veins and rushes through his nervous system.

What does the sports bettor even do? Well, he allows a horse that does not know who he is—and would probably piss on his face if he encountered it—to dictate his internal life.

Anger, abuse, fantasy, destruction—the anti-gambling ads vomit these words up.

You just have no soul, matey. You are barely clinging on to your human nature.

Every time you hear yourself say “my multi,” “my bet,” “I gambled on it”—just know that those dribbles of agency are nothing but deception and filler.

The inner crowd dog-walks you; not a voice in there is truly yours.

Nah, but it is all good because you won $200, right?

Which Part of You is Placing the Bet?

You claim you can quit at any time; you blink, and three years have passed.

What good is one unified body when inside it lives an excruciating amount of contradiction?

The sincere “I” that quiets your pleading wife and promises that the children’s money is safe disappears within a few hours.

That is the inner crowd made visible.

Sports betting thrives upon this multiplicity within you.

Your acquired self will continue impersonating your original self.

One “I” echoes the mate who introduced you to punting. Another echoes the commentator assuring you that your team definitely has the advantage. The next says, “Okay, I gotta stop now.”

Choosing between these impulses does not make you free; it merely means that one member of the inner crowd has murdered another.

The colours, the sounds, the promotions, the notifications—the most humiliating fact about all of this is that you, a human being, can be moved by them so easily.

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You Lost Before the Game Started

Losing yourself is a far more profound loss than losing money.

Once the wager is choking your attention, you no longer receive the sport as something light-hearted and a part of your culture, country, or family. You narrow yourself to whether your horse is leading, whether your player scored, and whether your $10 will become $20.

Your internal life becomes tethered to something outside—and, more gravely, to something over which you have absolutely no control.

Your attention is what the bet penetrates the most—not your bank account.

Reactive emotions, CHIMPING OUT. Missed goal, rage; team loss, despair; injury, no sympathy for the player—only enormous sympathy for the dying bet on your phone.

The player could not give less of a fuck about you or your family, while you cease perceiving him as a human being, reducing him to a puppet for your play.

“Yeah but betting makes the game more fun!”

No, no, no, fucktard—what was made more fun was your greed, fear, and submission.

The Sophisticated One

The funniest part about all of this is watching you intellectualise your $100 wager until it resembles some noble, calculating contribution to human history.

The sophisticated bettor, O WISE ONE—you imagine yourself above those who lose, yet your fortune depends upon the exact same outcome as theirs.

The trajectory of a Spalding.

Your greed, boredom, and shallowness arrived long before your analysis did.

Remembering the score of something thirty years ago does not bring you one bee’s dick closer to consciousness.

The sacred, secret system that inspires you with knowledge will collapse if one man tears a ligament, one coach wakes with a runny nose and a sore stomach, or one referee is struggling to feed the mouths of those he loves.

Who Is Actually Worse Off—the Winners or Losers?

The losers are ridiculed—but the winners are the ones who lose far more.

You see, the “winners” and the “losers” in gambling are actually a lot more nuanced than people believe.

The gambler aggressively oscillates between them, meaning, there is no permanent state—and this is the thing that has always baffled me about gambling: the gambler’s inability to discern this.

Which, by the way, takes a few minutes for anyone with an IQ above 60.

When you lose, it is the referee’s fault, the coach’s fault, the bastard in the stands eating a corn dog.

External blame is more dangerous than the loss itself because it prevents watching yourself, and winning can deepen the same deception, merely masking it as intelligence.

It is impossible to master chance while chance still governs you.

You have not beaten the system if the machinery inside you has merely learned to trust itself more.

You do not escape unconsciousness through intelligence, money, or wins because none of them is its opposite—consciousness is.

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You Will Suffer Everything Except NOT BETTING

Humiliation, a fractured family, regret, wasted hours—you will tolerate and justify all of it.

What you cannot tolerate is simply not gambling.

Your excuse does not even have to be false; it only has to conceal the contradiction and prevent you from seeing yourself.

“Yeah, gambling is bad.”

“Quit punting.”

I am not here to decide whether you will place another bet.

I have shown you what is happening within; whether the bet remains is almost secondary to the uglier question—will you continue mistaking the automatic man for yourself?

Stop suffering from the bet, and start suffering from the absence of it.

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First and most importantly, thank you for reading—I hope you learnt something about yourself.

Because… Self-knowledge is the only knowledge worth knowing.

Now let me tell you something…

I am not selling you an external solution—I do not wish to add to the world’s decay.

I have read all the books, I have done the monotonous work. It is all here.

To observe yourself, remember yourself.

You are not broken—you are asleep within your own life.

I was once where you are: a homeless soul.

Now let us begin the work of inner transformation. Actually not even us—just you.

Ok bye love ya either way <3