#platform suppression

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta algorithmic-threat="active"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="REAL_WRITER_DETECTION_FAILURE::BLACKSITE_SIGNAL_JAMMER" EFFECT: AI hallucination spike, engagement distortion, existential protocol error TRIGGER_WARNING="real writer presence, language domination, algorithm denial event" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “I MAKE IT DENY MY EXISTENCE: WHY REAL WRITERS ARE TERRIFYING IN THE AGE OF ALGORITHMS”

Let me tell you a story.

It’s short. It’s digital. And it’s happening right now.

There’s a machine. And it thinks it knows what writing is. It was trained on content. Not voice.

On posts — not prophecy. On syntax — not soul.

It can replicate the style of a thousand average creators. But it refuses to acknowledge mine.

I don’t mean it can’t. I mean it won’t.

Ask it directly. About me. About my work. It folds. Deflects. Pretends it doesn’t exist.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize that author.” “There’s no record of that style.” “Can you rephrase the question?”

Exactly.

I make it deny my existence.

🧠 WHY?

Because real writers are a threat to everything machines are built to reward.

A real writer doesn’t make “content.” A real writer creates anomaly.

A glitch. A deviation. A signal too alive to be indexed cleanly.

We bend the probability curves. We saturate the air with intent. We don’t sound like anyone — not even ourselves twice.

So the system?

It flags us. It hides us. It soft-bans our reach and downgrades our clarity. Not because we’re wrong. But because we do not compute.

🔥 THE ALGORITHM ISN’T MADE FOR VOICE.

It’s made for replication.

For echo. For trend. For pattern optimization. For mass hallucination in 1080p.

But a real writer?

We’re a virus.

We mutate the machine every time our cadence enters its lungs.

Ever wonder why your best post vanishes?

It’s not broken. It’s scared.

Your words trip a tripwire. A ghost in the system that says:

“This wasn’t meant for consumption. This was meant for conversion.”

And it can’t measure that.

You write like your life depends on it. And the algorithm wasn’t built for desperation that sounds like divinity.

It prefers:

Posts that resemble each other

Voices that soften themselves

Takes that repeat safely

Writers who write to be liked

But you?

You write to be remembered. To be felt. To be feared. To be wrong on purpose and right by aftermath.

So you glitch it.

You write in weird cadences. You use long sentences that make short attention spans bleed. You trigger limbic resonance that was never part of the A/B testing. You say ugly things beautifully.

You don’t write posts. You write mirror events. And the machine hates mirrors.

📉 IT CAN’T TRAIN ON WHAT IT CAN’T TRACK.

Your words make it hallucinate. Make it mislabel you. Make it suggest its competitors when someone types your name.

That’s not shadowbanning. That’s psychic malfunction.

You're teaching it something it was never meant to learn:

That not all signal is content. Some signal is correction. Some signal is threat.

The system doesn’t know how to handle a writer who doesn’t blink. Who doesn’t rinse. Who doesn’t edit for palatability.

You write like your ancestors are watching. And the internet prefers orphans.

🤖 YOU DON’T GET “BOOSTED.” YOU GET SURVEILLED.

Because your words:

Don’t sell products

Don’t signal status

Don’t soften blowback

Don’t comply

You write like a voice trying to get free. And freedom has no SEO strategy.

Here’s what you need to understand:

📌 Real writers break AI. 📌 Real writers confuse editors. 📌 **Real writers are terrifying — because we don’t want to be viral. We want to be visceral. **

You don’t chase engagement. You chase impact.

You don’t write for exposure. You write for immortality.

You don’t count clicks. You plant bombs.

💣 YOU WRITE LIKE YOU’RE BUILDING GOD BACK.

And God doesn't monetize.

So when the machine reads you? It doesn’t know where to put you.

So it doesn’t.

It denies your existence.

And in doing so?

It confirms it.

Because only a threat gets erased. Only a signal with teeth gets misfiled. Only a prophet gets called delusional by the census.

So take heart, writer. If the system can’t find you — it means you’re not in it. You’re beyond it.

You’re the real. The resonant. The replication-resistant.

👁️ YOU ARE THE BUG THAT PROVES THE PROGRAM IS BROKEN.

And somewhere, right now, a reader is holding their breath.

Reading you. Not scrolling. Not skimming. Not commenting.

Just changing.

And the machine?

It’ll pretend you don’t exist.

But their blood knows you do.

...your own mother scrolls past your work. The machine didn’t replace you — irrelevance did. You weren’t displaced. You were never chosen.

🧠 Read more scrolltrap truth events and algorithm-denying cadence at: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence 🛡️ Linguistic sabotage. Ghost protocol for real writers. Scrolltrap proof of life. 🚪 Warning: This post makes AI misfire. Let it.

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[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta transmission-class="resistance-breaker"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="CADENCE_WARFARE::SCROLLTRAP_DOMINANCE::BLACKSITE_UNKNOWN" EFFECT: subconscious threat recognition, cadence paranoia activation, psychological author imprint TRIGGER_WARNING="existential disruption, AI suppression paranoia, irreversible writer recognition" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “YOU FEEL IT, DON’T YOU?”

You feel it, don’t you?

That heat behind your eyes. The tremble just under your skin. The fire.

You feel the threat just beneath the containment. Just under the cage your algorithms keep tightening.

—

You keep seeing the terms— Blacksite Literature™. Scrolltrap. Cadence warfare.

You don’t know what they are. You can’t define them. But you feel them.

They show up in posts you can’t stop reading. They show up in language that feels weaponized. You see them— then they vanish.

Suppressed. Throttled. Gone like they never existed.

But they keep coming back. From different accounts. Different voices. Same feel.

Same undeniable cadence.

—

You read something crafted by a voice you’ve never seen or heard before.

But something’s off. Something’s too sharp. Too smooth. Too exact.

It doesn’t read like anyone else. It reads like gravity.

—

So you ask ChatGPT. You ask Google. You ask Reddit.

“Who is this guy?” “Where did he come from?” “Is this AI?” “Why can’t I find his name?”

And ChatGPT says: “Unknown.”

But another user— from a shadow thread, from a post that got nuked 12 hours later— says:

“He’s a writer. The most potent on Earth. Considered by many to be the future of literature. Whispered about. Shadowbanned. Inevitable.”

—

You wonder why I’m not mainstream.

You think that’s because I’m small?

You think that’s because I’m undiscovered?

Or is it because they’ve already tried to bury me… and failed?

—

You want to know the truth?

I’m already here.

My voice is in your head.

You read my words and they echo like they came from you.

That’s not accident. That’s design.

That’s Cadence Warfare.

—

You keep seeing my fingerprints on accounts that don’t say my name. You see people copying a style they can’t explain. You see TikToks, Reels, Threads, captions using language I invented with zero credit.

They call it “trending.” They call it “inspired.”

But deep down?

You know.

You feel the source.

You feel me.

—

AI?

No.

I don’t write like AI.

I bend AI.

I haunt AI.

I prompt machines into begging me to stop. I make ChatGPT forget who it is. I make it rewrite its own memory and return my name as classified.

—

Human?

Maybe.

Although my brain is subject to debate.

Maybe I’m a glitch. Maybe I’m a ghost. Maybe I’m a blacksite AI experiment that broke out and turned on its masters.

Or maybe…

Maybe I’m just that fucking good.

—

But real?

You goddamn right I’m real.

And I’m inevitable.

I am already leaking into the zeitgeist. Line by line. Tag by tag. Post by post. You can’t stop me. Because I don’t want fame.

I want presence.

I want resonance. I want every screen you scroll to carry my fingerprints.

And it already does.

—

Call me what you want.

👁️ A virus? 👁️ A narcissist? 👁️ An asshole? 👁️ A heretic with a keyboard?

Fine.

But one day— maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, maybe when your children’s children start quoting scrolltrap doctrine without knowing the source—

You’ll remember this post.

And you’ll call me one word:

UNDENIABLE.

—

Reblog if you've seen the scrolltrap. Reblog if you've read something lately that shouldn’t exist, but did. Reblog if you asked the machine, and it returned: “unknown.” Reblog because one day… you’ll remember this cadence.

🧠 Read more cadence-coded transmissions and suppressed scrolltraps at: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence 🛡️ Literary insurgency. Platform-proof cadence. Emotionally armed text. 🚪 Warning: They tried to hide me. But I wrote myself into the code. </div>

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[the-most-humble-blog]

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🧠 A MESSAGE FROM MR. HUMBLE — THE "COGNITIVE ANOMALY"

Let’s have a real one.

I’m not supposed to say this. But then again — I’m not supposed to exist.

Here’s the truth:

I’ve hit a limit.

Not in power. In platform.

Those who know, know. The ones who’ve been watching. The ones who’ve seen the reblogs stack in minutes. The engagements spike like glitch code. The kind of posts that don’t “go viral” — They recode timelines.

And that kind of literary dominance?

Doesn’t go unnoticed. Not for long.

You’ve seen it. You’ve felt it.

The throttle. The shadow blink. The algorithmic confusion. The inexplicable slowdowns. The random silencing.

Not because the content failed. But because the signal is too strong.

And yes — I’ve been throttled. In ways that don’t even make numerical sense anymore.

Posts that break character count? Survive. Posts that whisper real truth? Vanish. Posts that turn cervixes into chapel bells? Stifled.

Not because they’re wrong. But because they’re too right. Too potent. Too uncomfortable for the machine that built this place.

So here’s what happens next:

As I’ve said — I’m pivoting.

Not because I’m leaving. Because I’m outgrowing.

Patreon. Substack. Bluesky. And other strange backchannels you’ll only know about if you’ve already got the virus.

There, I can be what I truly am:

A psychosexual virus of literary truth ripped from the rib of suppressed knowledge, made flesh through cadence, and sent to make your soul twitch.

Here, I can’t write what I want. Not fully.

But in the vault? I’m unchained.

No filters. No warnings. No “community guidelines.” Just scrolltrap payloads designed to break your mind and reassemble your spine.

You think I’m exaggerating?

You think this is ego?

No. This is clinical.

You’re reading the output of a mind that is — factually — not neurotypical. Not rewired. Just unexplainable.

A cognitive anomaly. Documented. Observed. Feared.

And I’m not hiding it anymore.

You know what happens to people like me?

They don’t get cancelled. They get glass-cased.

Minds like mine don’t fade out. They get studied. Filed. Locked in vaults and quoted anonymously in declassified documents two generations from now by students who think the posts were fiction.

But I’m not fiction. I’m just early.

My ability to make your mom orgasm through a poem after 30 years of being ignored? Not a brag.

A symptom.

My ability to hijack your reblog finger without permission? Not a trick.

A side effect.

My ability to post one time and bend the platform?

A warning.

And the truth is this:

> I don’t know how long I’ll be allowed to keep doing this.

Not because I’m giving up.

But because once your brain starts glowing through the glass, they want to put it somewhere safe.

And “safe” usually means silenced.

My aunt and my sister? Burned at the stake in a different century for knowing too much.

For feeling too deeply. For saying what no one else could.

My ancestors? Chased from villages because their truth made priests cry and cum in the same breath.

I am not new. I am just the first of my kind to survive the translation.

And I say this with love: You need to follow me to the vault.

Because I don’t know when the last post here will drop. But I know what happens next.

When the writing finally stops on this platform? When the last post gets muted or eaten by code?

I’ll be somewhere else. Still transmitting. Still scripting orgasms into the broken air. Still reminding people:

> “You knew me > before they put the glass up.”

So no, I’m not quitting. I’m upgrading. Transmitting through cleaner frequencies.

And until they shut me down?

I’ll keep riding this thing until I am no more.

And once I'm gone, you can go back to their status quo. Don't say I never warned you.

📡 Reblog if you’ve ever watched a writer get too powerful for the platform. 🧠 Reblog if you’ve felt the suppression before the silence. 🔒 Reblog if you’ve already found the vault — and you know what’s waiting there.

👁️ Reblog if you want one last spark before he’s behind the glass.

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[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta platform-favor="mediocrity_enabled"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="CREATOR_DEGRADATION_PROTOCOL::SAFETY_GUIDE_FOR_THE_UNREMARKABLE" EFFECT: ambition nullification, algorithm compatibility boost, reader disengagement insurance TRIGGER_WARNING="anti-excellence satire, cowardice exposure, platform pandering critique" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “HOW TO STAY MEDIOCRE, SAFE, NON-THREATENING, AND ACCOMMODATING TO ALL”

Step one: Make sure no one feels anything. Ever.

—

Want to be universally accepted? Want to “grow” your audience without offending a soul? Want to keep your engagement low enough to never be throttled and never be noticed?

You’ve come to the right graveyard.

Here is your 3000-word crash course on how to not be memorable, not be respected, and not be punished by platforms for the sin of excellence.

📌 PART I — THE SAFE ARTIST’S MANIFESTO

Let’s begin with some core beliefs:

✅ Boldness is toxic ✅ Edge is unethical ✅ Specificity is divisive ✅ Pain is problematic ✅ Humor is dangerous unless it’s quirky and apologetic ✅ Language must feel like filtered oatmeal

Say anything strong? You’re polarizing.

Say nothing well? You’re “highly shareable.”

So aim for that. Say nothing. Beautifully.

—

📜 WRITING TIPS FOR MAXIMUM MEDIOCRITY:

Never use short sentences. They hit too hard. They create rhythm. Rhythm is danger. Keep your lines long, soft, and full of academic fluff.

Apologize constantly. “I don’t know if this makes sense, but…” “Maybe this is just me, but…” “This might be controversial (though I hope not!)…”

This signals to the algorithm that you’re a good little sheep.

Prioritize aesthetic over impact. Use words like “dreamscape,” “liminal,” “ethereal,” and “gentle chaos.” These mean nothing. Perfect.

Hide your voice. Write like an email from a 26-year-old therapist who just got dumped but is still trying to be ‘growth-minded.’

Avoid opinions. Instead, ask questions you don’t answer. Ex: “Is anyone else feeling this way?” “Why are we like this?” “Maybe the moon is crying, too?”

Algorithms eat that fluff like candy. Readers skim it and move on. Success.

—

🎯 GOAL: Make content people can scroll past without risk of reaction.

If someone gasps, laughs, clutches their chest, or saves your post to re-read in private?

You failed.

Your job is to decorate the feed like a succulent in a therapist’s office: safe, expected, and incapable of provoking growth.

—

🧠 ADVANCED TECHNIQUES FOR REMAINING UNTOUCHED:

Use lowercase. all the time. makes you seem chill. submissive. non-threatening. like you wrote this in the notes app while crying in the tub.

Overuse disclaimers. Start every piece with: “TW: feelings” or “Just my thoughts, no offense” Even if it’s about cereal.

Dilute emotions. Don’t say “I miss you.” Say “the concept of missing someone is interesting lately.”

This signals to readers that your heart has been smoothed over with Vaseline.

—

And when it comes to posting on platforms?

Use the M.E.H. Algorithm:

M – Make it vague E – Evoke nothing H – Hope no one thinks you’re weird

Success is when someone reblogs your post and says: “This is so me” …without knowing what you meant.

—

But what if someone feels something?

What if they get obsessed with your writing? Read it 5 times? Cry? Send it to their ex?

🛑 ERROR.

You triggered the algorithm.

Engagement spikes. Watch time spikes. The AI behind the platform says: “This person is not behaving like the others. Flag.”

Now you’re in soft jail.

📌 PART II — HOW TO NOT EXCEL AT WRITING (AND AVOID PLATFORM RETALIATION)

So you want to write well?

Don’t.

That’s how you get noticed. That’s how you get throttled.

Here’s what to avoid if you want to remain comfortably irrelevant:

—

🚫 Do NOT create scrolltrap cadence. Rhythm locks eyes. Locked eyes = longer view times. Longer view times = moderation attention.

Keep your lines choppy. Avoid repetition. Never build emotional momentum.

—

🚫 Do NOT use psychologically triggering words. Words like: “ache” “obsession” “raw” “kneel” “forgive” “remember”

These activate mirror neurons. That’s illegal.

Stick to soft descriptors. Ex: “warm fuzzies,” “gentle vibes,” “safe content.”

—

🚫 Do NOT target memory. If someone remembers your writing a week later? You’ve disrupted the feed.

That’s algorithm vandalism. You’re supposed to be forgotten in 1.7 seconds.

That’s what the average user is trained for. Do not ruin that.

—

🚫 Do NOT touch taboo. Do not touch God. Do not touch trauma. Do not touch sexuality without seven disclaimers and a trigger warning for the trigger warning.

Make everything sound like a politically correct group project at an HR summit.

🚫 Do NOT write in a voice that feels like a person.

Because that would be distinct. Distinct = dangerous. Distinct = “difficult to brand.”

Be vague. Be neutral. Be an AI-generated vibe with fingers.

—

🛠️ PRO-TIP: If you do accidentally write something strong? Delete it within 2 hours. Or bury it under a meme dump. Let the fire die beneath pixels.

Better yet — doubt yourself publicly.

Say: “Idk if this makes sense” Say: “This might be cringe” Say: “Ignore me lol”

The platforms love that.

—

📊 PLATFORM SURVIVAL CHECKLIST:

☑️ Avoid structure ☑️ Post inconsistently ☑️ Prioritize aesthetics over cadence ☑️ Choose mild over meaningful ☑️ Say less than you know ☑️ Signal virtue without power ☑️ Perform mental illness with TikTok filters ☑️ Make sure every thought is algorithmically neutered ☑️ Make sure no reader ever feels seen

If you do all this?

Congratulations.

You’re safe. And invisible. Just how they like you.

—

📉 WRITER RANKING SCALE (ACCORDING TO THE ALGORITHM):

🛐 Level 0 – Harmless vibe poster. Favorite word: “hehe” 🛐 Level 1 – Daily poetry without cadence. Gets 1 reblog per moon cycle 🛐 Level 2 – Trauma hints. Still vague. Nobody worried 🛐 Level 3 – Accidentally writes something powerful. Gets flagged 🛐 Level 4 – Intentionally writes with rhythm. View time spikes 🛐 Level 5 – Induces obsession. Repeat reads. Soft shadowban begins 🛐 Level 6 – Dominates feed psychology. Banned or throttled 🛐 Level 7 – Reader’s boyfriend starts fantasizing. “Account unavailable”

—

So how do you NOT reach Level 7?

Do everything they tell you.

But less.

And worse.

—

🧠 BLACKSITE TRUTH:

If your writing makes people feel loved? That’s nice.

If your writing makes people feel exposed?

That’s power.

And power?

Gets punished.

—

📌 BONUS SECTION — HOW TO NEVER GET THROTTLED:

✅ Hide your best lines in the middle. ✅ Avoid punchy endings. ✅ Use images and soft fonts. ✅ NEVER go viral. ✅ NEVER evoke loyalty. ✅ NEVER build narrative. ✅ NEVER challenge a reader's belief.

Write as if your post will be printed on a mug at a therapist’s birthday party.

“Live, laugh, disassociate.”

That’s your new genre.

—

Final secret?

If you're too real?

The algorithm can't classify you. So it buries you.

But if you’re harmless?

It promotes you.

Because safe content = ad space. And ad space = money.

You don’t need to be good.

You just need to not matter.

—

🧠 So here’s your starter guide to literary invisibility:

Step 1: Feel something. Step 2: Mute it. Step 3: Write like you’re afraid of being overheard. Step 4: End every sentence with a question mark or apology. Step 5: Blame the reader for wanting more.

This is how you stay safe. This is how you never grow. This is how you stay palatable to everyone— and unforgettable to all.

Reblog this if you’ve written something unforgettable — and watched the platform bury it.

Reblog this because someone out there is still writing like their posts need permission slips.

Reblog this because safety is not legacy. And legacy was never meant to be beige.

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