Do you, too, keep second-guessing every choice you make?
That hesitation right before you click "post,"
before you ship your project,
choose what to study,
which job to take,
whether to stay in the relationship?
They call it procrastination. Indecision. Fear.
It's not. And if you're smart?
It's not just frustrating - it's agonizing.
Not because you're indecisive -
but because every decision turns you into a mass murderer of possible selves:
You see, most people will NEVER grasp this,
but every time you choose one path,
you line up a hundred other versions of yourself
and pull the trigger:
A you who became a writer.
A you who built the startup.
A you who dropped out and moved to Tokyo and never came back.
Created the game. Gone viral. Moved to New York.
Invented something. Started a cult. Made millions. Lost millions.
Lived. Died. Loved.
You didn't just "pick."
You killed all of them.
Every choice is a funeral.
────Ω────
That's why you hesitate.
That's why you pivot at 40% completion.
Not because the idea isn't good…
But because choosing one path isn't commitment.
It's execution.
Every choice creates a new you - but executes a million others you could've been.
And the more intelligent you are, the more clearly you see the lives you're not living.
A burial of "what could've been" - every time you commit.
And so you stay stuck -
not lazy, not distracted -
but paralyzed by your own vision of the future.
You tell yourself you're being strategic.
You're just "waiting for clarity."
But the truth?
You're grieving the lives you'll never live.
Every choice is a funeral.
────Ω────
And a "normal" person will berate you for your indecision…
They will patronize you and call you lazy…
Undisciplined…
An overthinker…
But the truth is -
A "normal" person will NEVER understand your struggle.
They don't realize that the only reason they're so comfortable "making choices"…
…is because they only make one or two major ones - AT BEST - in their entire little life.
Their entire lives are the same pre-packaged template:
- School told them what to do.
- Their job tells them when to wake up.
- Their partner picked them out of convenience.
- Their "dreams" fit inside HR-approved job descriptions.
The limit of these people's lives is just a better cubicle.
They're not decisive - they're domesticated.
So don't crave their certainty.
Because the truth?
The only reason they have "it all figured out"…
…is because someone else took a terrifying leap of uncertainty for them.
Their "decisiveness" is not a virtue - it's a lack of vision and a presence of templates:
- The "reliable" paths they follow?
- The "moral and ethical" rules they obey?
- The "proven" systems they call obvious?
All of it was built by someone who stared into the void of a billion options - and said:
"To hell with this. We're building it THIS way."
This is exactly why your indecision is not weakness -
but the inevitable pain of cognition.
The burden of seeing possible realities most people will never even know exist.
The tax on those destined to build cathedrals.
Future Founders. Timeline Killers.
Every choice is a funeral.
────Ω────
And the only step between you and the creators who shaped this world?
Isn't discipline.
Isn't luck.
Isn't some secret strategy.
It's acceptance.
But not in the normie-humble way.
No.
Not that soft, sanitized surrender used by the defeated to cope with and legitimize their mediocrity.
I'm talking about the kind of acceptance that breaks bones.
You must accept that death is inevitable.
That timelines must collapse.
That mourning is part of mastery.
That you will never feel ready.
That you will never know for sure.
That to make the "right" choice…
You must kill a hundred "good" ones,
And fail a thousand times.
That years from now, no one will remember how you failed.
No one will care how long you hesitated.
They'll just live inside the systems you built.
Accept that every choice is always the choice of a new you.
Accept that for the strongest version of you to emerge - thousands of weaker ones must perish.
Accept that for that one beautiful world you envision to become real - for that picture you see in your mind when you're alone -
to doom millions of other worlds to burn will not be enough.
Billions.
Billions is the number.
Because every choice is a funeral.
So do it now.
Decide.
Post.
Build.
Ship.
The old you is already dying.
He is dying, and he's never coming back.
Get up.
Do it now.
Do it now.
Do it now.
Every choice is a funeral.
1. X is compromised. If you criticize you know who, your legal name goes directly to them. Everything is being heavily censored by the AI, which strongly indicates a wuflu 2.0-type psyop. Stop posting as if you're anonymous - you're not. They either forced E., or he is one of them.
2. T. most likely converted some time ago and now represents interests of a foreign state. He lost every prominent ally who campaigned for him and is surrounded with low-iq retards and neocons. You can forget about his promises.
3. The special op is wuflu/svo 2.0. The pattern is exactly the same: "3-day special op → 2 more weeks → 2 more → …", "Short-term pain for long-term gain" is the next "two more weeks to flatten the curve." The normies are already moving in one direction: "we're winning," "It was always the problem," "we've been at war for 50 years." The goalposts will be moving again and again, and the masses will happily accept them.
4. You can already see the bs - they don't solve the supposed problem back in the US, there are no mass deportations, and things like the Minnesota fraud are unresolved. The ones who brought them into the country are not dealt with.
5. C.K. was removed specifically to ensure this event would happen without major public backlash. There will be no mass arrests and prosecutions. His movement is hijacked. FYI, they removed some of the key influencers/politicians and simply popular men back in 2021–2022, too.
6. You know who and the US are getting pummeled, so they even had to relocate air defense from other countries - and it's only getting worse. D. is getting pummeled too. They will not reveal the casualty numbers. Posting stuff is a crime now. You could see more photos and videos from Iraq war.
7. Contrary to what broke ass retards think, the strait is not only about fucking oil (they're currently aiming for $150-200) but fertilizers and many other chemicals, which may cause food price increases and a lot of other wonderful downstream effects. It's effectively closed, and I-n can hold it with just a few drones. Btw, if you didn't x2-x4 your portfolio, you spend too much time monitoring the situation instead of taking advantage of it.
8. There's maybe a 5% chance T. will declare "victory" and stop/pause the op for a while. They thought P. would do the same back in 2022, btw. He didn't. But even if it's over today, the damage has already been done. Remember that during wuflu, there was a 2–3 month lag before they let the economy reflect reality.
9. They desperately want to draft those who no longer buy the bullshit. The laws are already in place - just like in 2022, 23, 24. That requires some kind of an incident. I'd stay away from big cities just in case the schizos are right (again). The alternative scenario is gradual increase of troops - first, ~1000, then more and more, to reduce the backlash.
10. Boomers and evangelical Christians are easily controlled and will gobble the propaganda right up. They essentially believe in accelerating the apocalypse and rebuilding the temple. Don't be demoralized - they're dooming themselves to hell and they will lose, but account for the fact that they'll try to take you with them. You will not change their mind.
11. The vets from the previous wars have no mental protection against all this. They were backstabbed in the previous wars, and they will be backstabbed again. This op is not against sand people, of course. You have them in New York and other cities. The mission will not be completed. This op is against you, so you'd have no chance to face the actual threat and redirect your focus towards the golem, not the creator of the golem. Study the news in 2022, 23, 24. They're using the exact same playbook and even the exact same headlines it's pathetic.
That said, the best course of action is to assume a MUCH tougher economy is ahead: prices will not go down, jobs will not magically appear, there will be no "UBI" bullshit. Lock in and work on your projects every single day. Learn to yap online. Find independent sources of income. Don't build in silence like a retard - you need to be talking to actual customers to make sure you're not just procrastinating instead of building something that brings in cash.
I've completed half my main book, written for young founders to help them generate wealth more easily through crises and parasitic systems: "Founder: Cybernetic Ethics for Robots and Humans." It's taking much longer than expected. I'll probably have to hard-dox myself to establish some credibility, but we'll see. Could be 8 months, could be a year. It's an expensive niche book written for a few smart people. Every oomf will get it for free. Tpot was good while it lasted.
@Gbear_2 @kangminlee If you’re a clinical retard this must go hard.
The whole point of winning is the outcome of the win: more children, more prosperity, more technology.
Killing an enemy who attacks you with a gun doesn’t make you your enemy for fucks sake.
@sama "Let’s slow down progress for the sake of keeping actual retards safe."
Cool - but could we at least have a $1000/month tier without the limitations?
Mentally challenged won’t be able to afford it anyway.
@ludwig1651@Tr00peRR They’re not actually stupid.
The argument you described works on the minds of normies - that’s why they use it. They use what works, no matter how dumb it sounds.
Thats why they’re winning.
I loved my job as a software engineer until it disgusted me.
It was April 2016, and my life looked like a glorified LinkedIn post:
Lead engineers twice my age reported to me, I designed the integration interface that stitched five flagship products into one, and my annual bonus grew by the year.
On paper, I'd made it.
But then something sinister started happening:
I'd wake up before the alarm, heart already racing.
Breath tight, like I'd been running in my sleep.
As if my body knew before I did - something was about to happen to me.
────Ω────
What drew me to my job wasn't the paycheck or the title:
It was the ritual of creation.
That's why my relationship to the office computer felt almost sexual.
Her cubicle looked like a velvet-walled opium den disguised as office space.
A Chinese chamber of pleasure lit by the glow of a terminal.
Every programming session begins like a rite:
I collapse into the recliner.
Its cushion embraces my spine like the arms of a seasoned courtesan.
I line up the pills - alpha-GPC, lion's mane, and caffeine.
Five minutes in, my mind narrows into a laser.
If I looked up at a plane, they'd jail me for blinding the pilot.
I put on the headphones and the drums drill through my skull:
"Foregone Destruction" from Unreal Tournament by Michiel van den Bos.
I pull the monitor closer until I see myself inside it:
For the next six hours, the machine has me.
Every thought I have, she moans back in blue glyphs of code.
Her neon veins pulse through the terminal into my bloodstream.
If my heart stopped, I'd still keep typing.
For that moment, I am unapologetically free.
And I build.
────Ω────
But every high demands an unforgiving payment.
Because the machine I loved was never just mine.
Everything I wrote flowed into a vast nervous system stretched across the planet -
a lattice of logic, memory, and blood.
And beneath that lattice lived ghosts:
The spirits of Engineers who spent their lives shaving milliseconds, compressing four into one so someone else could feel instant magic.
They poured their time, clarity, and fire into machines that would never remember their names.
They buried their humanity to inject it into the circuit.
A century of countless sacrifices - to give you a choice to wield this unlimited power.
All you need to do is choose.
────Ω────
And that word - choice - was what nearly killed me.
Because I realized:
I wasn't making any.
My hands moved. I loved the process.
But the blueprint was always handed down.
I was executing someone else's will - beautifully - but blindly.
Suddenly, the symptoms made sense - the racing heart, the breathless mornings.
My body knew before I did:
I was suffocating.
And my flesh rebelled.
────Ω────
Even in planning architecture, I had to follow consensus.
So I started asking questions:
- Why are we picking React?
- It's what everyone uses now.
- Whose use case matches ours?
…Silence.
- Look, the VP wants us aligned with the industry leaders.
- Leaders according to whom?
- Come on… You must be joking.
The manager gave a nod to his superior.
That superior, in turn, nodded to theirs.
And the trail vanished somewhere in a boardroom six floors up.
But they weren't thinking.
They repeated the same Medium article lines I'd read last night.
Second-hand minds reciting Reddit as scripture.
Just a chain of obedience disguised as collaboration.
────Ω────
When I realized it, I instantly lost connection with all my "coworkers" and "friends."
I didn't hate them - they simply lost relevance:
You can't have a meaningful conversation with a sophisticated screwdriver.
What's worse, handy tools don't choose how they're used.
So if you decide to be a tool…
…it's only a matter of time before someone picks you up and twists.
And that's exactly what I saw happening:
- First in small ways: the courage to think replaced by "best practices" and "design templates."
- Then in larger ones: the courage to speak replaced by "political correctness."
A screwdriver has no morality of its own - so it adopts whatever morality drips down from above.
This is why brilliant engineers, capable of bending machines to their will, quietly bent themselves to HR slogans, party lines, and "acceptable" truths.
The same people who built search engines and payment systems...
...were now reporting each other for offensive speech...
...and enthusiastically building mass surveillance systems and digital gulags.
Not to propel civilization forward - but to entomb it forever.
The engineers desecrated their inner sparks for the sedation of a salary.
I refused.
────Ω────
My focus fades as my pills stop working.
The machine releases me like a lover gone cold.
I walk to my manager and hand him a sheet of paper.
I quit my job and never worked for another person a day in my life.
I loved my job as a software engineer until it disgusted me.
@supercollider_x@jrabell0@OpenAI You’re not talking about artists and creatives.
You��re talking about people who want a wage. They’re wage slaves - craftsmen.
Sora doesn’t stop actual artists from creating.
@ChoochSkookum Considering the state of modern warfare, I think adding your own personal swarm of fiber-optic drones is a priority. Some of them don’t need to boom, they can pew as well.