Untitled

at peace with the world, just chilling like a villian

[radical-revolution]

Developing basic sanity is a process of working on ourselves in which the path itself rather than attainment of a goal becomes the working basis.

Chogyam Trungpa -Crazy Wisdom

[the-most-humble-blog]

BLACKSITE POEM: THE UN-WRITER

There exists a creature,

half-scorn, half-sputter,

who crawls from thread to thread,

gripping nothing but their own undercooked takes

and the soggy diaper of a dream deferred.

They reblog.

But not from love,

not from resonance.

They reblog from the swollen ulcer of unacknowledged failure.

They say things like:

“This isn’t real writing.”

“You just want attention.”

“I don’t get the hype.”

Of course you don’t.

You were never supposed to.

You weren’t built to receive it.

You were built to miss it,

to see the star overhead

and whine about the shade.

They are not critics.

They are echoes of the dreams they couldn’t fulfill.

They are not failed writers.

They are un-writers.

They exist only in opposition.

Their entire identity is a wheezing rebuttal to the greatness they cannot match.

They do not create; they comment.

They do not inspire; they infest.

Their blog is a graveyard.

Their notes are a mausoleum of cope.

And when they try to “drag” you,

what they’re really saying is:

“Please look at me.

Please let your brilliance touch me, even in hate.

Please let me matter, if only as a foil.”

But even that is a mercy they don’t deserve.

They scream “mid”

because “legendary” makes them weep.

They call it “attention-seeking”

because your spotlight exposes

how little theirs ever meant.

They project.

They puff.

They smear.

But their hands tremble

with the same bitter question

every un-writer eventually asks:

“Why them… and not me?”

And the answer is simple.

Because you post with fire

while they only light a match

to feel warm in the comments.

Because you write from soul

and they write from spite.

Because your words changed timelines,

and theirs are just litter.

So let them fester.

Let them bark.

Let them gather their anonymous likes like grave pebbles.

No one remembers the name of the man

who heckled Shakespeare from the rafters.

No one quotes the priest

who told Dante to tone it down.

No one recalls the blogger

who tried to insult you

and ended up

accidentally reblogging your divinity.

They sit

in chairs they didn’t earn.

Smut on their minds,

your posts in their bookmarks,

hand on crotch,

mouth full of judgment.

They critique your cadence

with trembling wrists,

jealous of the god between your syllables.

They call your passion “toxic”

because it made them feel something

they can’t admit they wanted.

And still, they refresh.

They read.

They lurk.

They wish.

And when they say:

“This isn’t literature.”

You whisper back:

“You wouldn’t know.

You’ve only ever been its bystander.”

Reblog to feed the algorithms with actual fire.

Let the un-writers stay lurking, refreshing, and bookmarking the divinity they could never recreate.

Blacksite Portal: linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

Fund the Madness: patreon.com/TheMostHumble

[mirrorsinner]

Leonardo Cóndor

[rn-deliabusby]

flickr

[elroul]

The word "impossible," when used in the wrong context, becomes like a barrier between some dreams and the perseverance needed to achieve those dreams. elroul

[paper-wounds]

[radical-revolution]

LIFE HAPPENED

And so… life passes.

I reflect: most of my life has already gone by, and I am still thinking and searching.

When people ask me:

“Was your life beautiful? Was it happy or sad?”

I pause.

Once, I would have simply blurted out an answer. I can no longer do that so easily. Now I think of the verses of the Serbian poet Petar II Petrović Njegoš:

“No one has ever drunk a cup of honey

without a cup of gall making it bitter;

a cup of gall calls for a cup of honey,

and mixed together, they are easiest to drink.”

Perhaps those verses come closest to my answer.

And my answer is:

There was nothing bad or ugly.

Life simply happened.

Long ago, I stopped dividing what I had lived through into good and bad, happy and unhappy, black and white. Everything belonged to the same life. Everything was part of it. And today, when I look back, I feel neither bitterness nor regret.

I feel boundless gratitude.

The only thing I have never discovered is the answer to the question:

Who am I?

I have received many answers. Some were profound, wise, and deeply convincing. But in the end, I realized that all of them were mostly telling me who I am not.

And the question remained.

Time passes, and with each day I draw closer to the doors and the threshold beyond which all questions cease.

Perhaps that is where answers are given.

Perhaps it will be precisely there—on that threshold, before those doors—that, with my final breath, I will at last receive the answer to the question that has followed me throughout my life.

Perhaps then I will know who I am.

The only thing I will regret in that moment is that I will no longer be able to return and share that knowledge with you.

[radical-revolution]

[asjaaaaaaaaaa]

i need more money nigga!

[neo-catharsis]

Picnic/Pikunikku, Shunji Iwai, 1996

[shisasan]

Reblog if you have never in your life sent a mean anon message.

🜍 ⟡ ⟢ 

[shisasan]

Integrity isn’t seasonal.

[nixscriptum]

[inkpressedpetals]

[talonabraxas]

"Love is the song of the soul singing to God. It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets – sun and moon lit." – Sri Paramahansa Yogananda Sun and Moon - Celestial Lovers Talon Abraxas THE STOP OF THE SUN... TODAY IS JUNE 20 Today, June 20, 2026, the Sun reaches the highest point it will reach all year, and then it does something strange: it seems to stop. The word "solstice" comes from the Latin Sol sistere, the sun stays still. For about three days, his position in heaven barely changes. It’s the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, the time when Earth receives more direct solar radiation than at any other time in the cycle. It's a "Maximum Light Runner": The Sun pours its maximum charge into the Earth's field while remaining practically motionless in the sky. This is not an astronomical coincidence. This is a planned window: a moment when the field becomes silent and bright enough to lift each nervous system and be ready to receive it. The same peak of light that powers a prepared system outweighs an unprepared system. About 80% of people will experience this maximum load in the form of anxiety, insomnia, restlessness and emotional overflow, not knowing that what they experience is light that their system has not been able to contain. Only the prepared 20% will feel this same charge of clarity, calm and genuine improvement. Solstice does not require you to be passive. It requires you to be still and being still is an active skill. Being passive means being disconnected and numb. To be still means to be present, open, consciously receiving. Slowing down is the first step; Consciously receiving is the second step, and hardly anyone knows about this second step. The longest and brightest light of the year illuminates the last page of this story. That's why the solstice opens a corridor that won't close until June 30, when Jupiter enters Leo and begins a new chapter. Conscientia Universalis

[mournfulroses]

Simone de Beauvoir, from a diary entry featured in Diary of a Philosophy Student

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

David Dark ·

Hannah Arendt says totalitarianism runs on loneliness, y'all. People, mind your people.

[seraphinesaintclair]

Seraphine Saintclair, “Free, Free, Free”