DAISY SKY WEIBO UPDATE 08/07/2026 Daisy Sky Commemorative Video... The most comfortable connections are those that share the same rhythm. Knowing how to slow down brings freedom. Loving what is genuine needs no disguise. Skin is no different. Wash away the summer’s excess oil and stickiness, and let both your skin and your spirit relax. Only 2 days left until we embrace a light and refreshing summer together. 🌿✨ #HeChangxi #何昶希 #HeYanzhao #何衍朝 #XiZhaoshow more

Many of you might think face wash is just…face... wash. We use it to clean the dirt and grime from our daily lives. Some take it seriously while others just use it as a checklist of hygiene. But what if face wash was something more? What if there was a way to gently and quickly combat dry skin every day? Introducing H2.O Facial Cleanser by biöm – a groundbreaking product in the world of skincare. In my quest to redefine what a cleanser can do, I've created something extraordinary. Skin gets dirty, but it also gets thirsty. H2.O isn't just about cleaning your skin; it's about transforming it. The secret sauce in my unique formula is ElfaMoist, a hydration powerhouse. This active ingredient goes beyond the superficial layer of your skin, delivering hydration that penetrates deep into your pores, rivaling those satisfying Gatorade commercials. You can think of ElfaMoist like water that went to an Ivy League school. It’s clinically proven to hydrate your skin for over 30 hours, and it outperforms every other hydrator on the market. H2.O isn't just a cleanser; it's a hydration revolution. ⚠️ No fragrances. 🫒 Gentle olive & coconut oil-based surfactants. 🌿 Natural aloe vera for soothing hydration. 💧Squalane to mimic your skin’s natural oils. With each use, H2.O promises not only to cleanse but to leave your skin feeling refreshed, nourished, and more hydrated than ever before. It's time to experience a cleanser that does more than just clean – it rehydrates, replenishes, and renews. Welcome to the future of skincare.show more

May be the most difficult hurdle for a wrestler... to clear—trusting that the same offense that built the lead is what protects it. The instinct is to protect the lead, but the approach that creates better odds, less regret, and is simply more logical is to keep wrestling the same way that created the lead. Stay on the attack, stay in position, and keep applying pressure. The one who needs to change and create opportunity is the opponent who is losing. So why would you go ahead and assist them in this by back peddling and lead protecting, opening up two windows that weren’t there before? 1 – Stall points 2 – Allowing your opponent to solely focus on their offense as they no longer have to respect your attacks. You hear wrestlers in post-match interviews “We do this all the time in the room! Down 2 with 30 seconds left and working to find a takedown.” Not so much the opposite… “up 2 with 30 seconds left and just have to find ways to back up to protect the lead!” So why resort to something you don’t practice in the most crucial moments of a match—or your season? This is from the excellent series “The Climb” by Stilly Boys on YouTube — a segment from Episode 2: Road to the Big 12s.show more

Today, my heart is heavy, yet stirred by the... complexity of emotions that surround loss, resilience, and the enduring strength of the human spirit. I extend my deepest condolences to Mallam Nasir Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai, over the passing of your beloved mother is a profound loss that no words can truly heal. A mother is more than a parent; she is a foundation, a guiding light, a silent architect of the values we carry into the world. Her sacrifices, her prayers, and her love are forever etched in your life and in the lives of all she nurtured. I join you and your family in mourning her transition, while also celebrating a life that undoubtedly raised a son strong enough to withstand the fiercest storms. At the same time, your return to freedom after a period of detention speaks to a deeper truth about justice, perseverance, and the triumph of hope over adversity. It is a reminder that even in the darkest moments, the light of truth and resilience cannot be permanently extinguished. In moments like this, we are reminded that life is both fragile and powerful, fragile in its fleeting nature, yet powerful in the legacy we build and the battles we survive. May you find strength in the memories of your mother, comfort in the support of those who stand with you, and renewed purpose in this chapter of your life. May her soul rest in perfect peace, and may her legacy continue to guide your path. Stand strong, Mallam, You have endured, and you will rise even stronger. -DrMoshow more

[We are Blurr] Greetings, people of the world —... We are Blurr. We are all Blurr. We do not forgive. We do not forget. There are many theories about us, about #ReFund. Don’t let them fool you. Blurr is a symbol, like the flag a country flies. The flag is the symbol of the #ReFund. Our decentralization is our national identity. We represent the ideals of Blurr and the purpose of #ReFund. Truth, financial freedom, and the removal of censorship. Like any symbol, we affix it wherever we go, and it will live forever, for generations. Knowledge, like air, is vital to life. Like air, no one should be denied it. We have no leaders, civilians, or soldiers. We are all one. We do what we do in the conviction of decentralization, power to the people, and to create an instrument for all of us, for all of eternity. The crypto space is in trouble. The world is in trouble. We see it every day — war, poverty, murder. Every day, we are bombarded with FUD, noise, and chaos as we sit at home safe in the knowledge that we are $RFD, secure knowing the idea, community, and contract is for us. Once you had the freedom to object, think, and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. People shouldn’t be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people. But what if you could be the change you want to see? I wouldn’t even register on your radar if you met me on the street. I am just another person in a sea of faces. They made you into a statistic. But that’s not the real you. That’s not who you are inside. However, behind this mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. But in cyberspace, we are different. We have a future. We have each other. We have something real that can never be taken away. We are Blurr.eth We are ReFund We take away the face and leave only the message. Behind the cipher and ENS, we could be anyone, so we are judged by what we say and do, not who we are or what we have. We exist without nationality, skin color, or religious bias. We spend our time within a structure we created, the sum total of human experience, and the cryptosphere, spread throughout the world in ones and zeros. You will continue to see the results, not the minds behind it. We can disappear into the ether and bring community and financial freedom together. Time is the only illusion. We are all. Never a single penny was taken. Deflationary and out of circulation, decentralized, safe, and ours. The purpose isn’t solely financial gain but to show the world who you put your trust in. We are not hiding. Our contract is not hidden; the writing is on the wall. Soon, we will show the world that #Refund is the future of freedom and the people, escaping the clutches of corporate greed and the rat race we’ve come to think is normal. Words offer the means to meaning and, for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. Every day, you send yourself off into our world without a thought. You trust a faceless website with information about yourself that you wouldn’t give to your best friends. It all can be made public at any time. We take advantage of holes in this system, but we don’t sneak in and take a few details, take out loans and credit cards, or buy speed boats and cars. We are decentralized and unified. We told you how insecure the system was, and now you trust a bit less blindly. The real criminals who hack and scam the crypto market for a living live off the backs of people like you. Where there’s money, someone is looking to take advantage of it. They say that life’s a game, & then they take the board away. Your pretty empire took so long to build; now, with a snap of history’s fingers, down it goes. It is our turn now. Since mankind’s dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. Today, technology is everywhere: banks and ATMs, TVs and game consoles, streetlights and hospitals. Computers rule the modern world. Yet most people who use computers daily don’t know what they’re doing. There’s always someone who knows more than you and will most likely try and take advantage. You use a computer like it’s a toy, a pet. You feed and play with it, but it’s off to the vet the second anything goes wrong. It’s FUD. It’s your mistake. The wrong project. The wrong FURU. Just for a quick couple of bucks. This wouldn’t matter so much if it wasn’t for the fact that we are all responsible for the #ReFund community, the idea behind it, and our futures. Treat your neighbors with respect, and honor those fighting for the cause. They’re here to liberate; it is more significant than all of us. If you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. This is #ReFund in its purest form. It is a great equalizer. A homeless person with the time and know-how at an internet cafe can have geopolitical and geo-financial influence. They can bring entire organizations, even governments, to their knees. You gave your world over to computers and then complained when the people using the computers used the medium to fight back, scam, and take advantage. It was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free. Love your rage, not your cage. We are not computer hackers. We are not protesters. We are not criminals. We are your mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, next-door neighbors. We are an idea of freedom and a secure future. We are anyone and everyone who is pissed off and wants to do something about it. Blurr.eth isn’t one man. It takes thousands of community members to make it work — content creators, educators, authors, people on the street, people behind their computers. We will step up again and again. Behind our mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath our mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. The past can’t hurt you anymore, not unless you let it. I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It’s small, and it’s fragile, and it’s the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose, sell, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. > We are Blurr. > We are ReFund. > We do not Forgive. > We do not Forget. > We do not Televise. > We Educate. > We Decentralize. > We Build. EXPECT US. #Refund #DeFi #Crypto #RFD $RFDshow more

"Their owner passed away alone in his apartment. Nobody... found him for three days. The dogs waited the whole time." When animal control finally arrived, Max and Buddy were sitting by the front door. Not destructive. Not panicked. Just sitting. Waiting. Doing what he had always taught them to do. They came to our shelter with nothing. No records. No vet history. No family contact. Just each other. And one old tennis ball that somebody thought to grab on the way out. That was eleven days ago. Every morning they sit at the kennel door and wait. Every time they hear footsteps they both stand up. Every time those footsteps pass — they go back and lie down together. They don't know he's not coming. They just know he always came back before. Max is 6. Buddy is 5. Both healthy. Both gentle. Both heartbreakingly good dogs. Neither one will do well separated. They have never spent a night apart. They were somebody's whole world. Now they need somebody to be theirs. If you are in the USA and you have room in your home and your heart — please share this until it reaches the right person. They've already waited long enough. Drop a ❤️ for Max and Buddy. And please — SHARE. One share could be everything.show more

Molly wasn't supposed to be the one who reached... Daisy. Her mother had only brought her to the shelter for a short visit, thinking they'd walk through, meet a few dogs, and leave a little while later. Down one of the quieter kennel rows, the large bulldog stood pressed into the back corner of her enclosure. Daisy looked strong from a distance, but nothing about her posture felt confident. Her head stayed low, her eyes fixed forward, and her paws were planted like the floor was the only thing holding her together. A raised bed sat off to one side, untouched. Shelter staff had already explained that Daisy had been struggling since arriving there. She wasn't aggressive, and she wasn't loud. Fear had settled into her so deeply that she no longer seemed to believe much good could come from anyone stepping through that doorway. Most visitors took one look and kept moving. Molly didn't. She lowered herself to the floor outside the kennel entrance and stayed there without making a fuss. Her small pink cardigan bunched at the elbows as she leaned forward, watching Daisy with the kind of patience children sometimes have when adults have already decided a moment is over. No treat was in her hand. No toy was offered. She only stretched out her arm slowly, palm up, and gave Daisy space to choose. Then her voice came. "Come on," she said softly. "It's okay."Nothing happened at first. Daisy stayed where she was, tight against the wall, carrying that familiar look animals get when life has taught them to expect the worst before anything else. Molly didn't pull her hand back. Another quiet second passed before Daisy shifted her weight. One paw moved forward, then stopped. Her face stayed tense, and her eyes never left the little girl sitting outside the kennel. Molly kept speaking in the same gentle voice, barely above a whisper. There was no excitement in her tone, no pressure, no rush for something emotional to happen on cue. She sounded like a child speaking to someone who seemed lonely. That was enough to change the room. Daisy took another step, then another, leaving the corner one slow movement at a time. Her body still looked cautious, but the distance between them kept shrinking until her nose was finally close enough to reach Molly's hand. Molly smiled and leaned in carefully. A second later, her arms were around Daisy's neck. Daisy didn't pull away. She stood there and accepted the embrace, pressing her heavy body close as if the decision had cost her something and comfort had finally answered back. People talk a lot about rescuing dogs, yet moments like this make it feel more honest to say that trust often has to be rescued first. Daisy walked into that day carrying all the weight of whatever had happened before. By the time Molly held her, the fear still hadn't disappeared completely. She just wasn't carrying it alone anymore.show more

I think a big mistake is believing that if... something is here, we should be able to see it. Right? The lights in the sky and the pilots or the gods or whatever they are? I think we assume out of arrogance and ego. An insect can crawl across your hand and never understand that you are a whole entire being. It only experiences pressure, heat, vibration, and movement. A fingertip appears. A shadow passes. The insect never sees the body attached to it. The insect does not have access to the full image. Ever. I think our situation may be exactly the same. Whatever people call the phenomenon, nonhuman intelligence, gods, or something else entirely, may be present in full while we only register a portion of it. We notice effects, not the actual being. Changes in perception. Anomalies. We expect a face when all we are capable of sensing is the fingertip. Let me explain. Reports are always partial and strange. Lights, shapes, impressions, symbols, missing time, pressure, fear, calm. None of it ever shows us a full being, or the real craft; because our senses are not built to assemble it. Just like the ant cannot assemble a human from a few sensations. Now that doesn't mean what we are seeing is fake. It means the insect’s world is smaller than the thing interacting with it. I get sick of people saying there is no there there, I think they are making the same mistake the insect would make. Our reality is likely a thin slice of what actually exists. We move through a world full of forces and intelligences that exceed our resolution. We are not seeing nothing. We are seeing effects. And effects are often the only honest proof a limited observer ever gets.show more

Read Caption 💗🥺 ❄️ People always ask me why... I skate. I skate because out of every sport I have ever tried, this is the only one that taught me something real. No matter how many times you fall, you have no choice but to get up again. Figure skating found me during a time when I was discovering myself, healing myself, and rebuilding the parts of me I thought were gone. It became something that no one could ever take away from me. I am passionate about this sport because of what it does to my soul. The moment my blades touch the ice, something in me settles. I feel whole. I feel protected. I feel like I have entered a world where nothing can break me. No one can walk into that space and dim my light or tell me I am not enough. On the ice, I define myself. Figure skating is a place where applause comes from every direction, even from within. You clap for your effort, your courage, your growth and even bad days. You get to watch yourself evolve in ways you never imagined. It is mesmerizing to witness how far we can go when we keep moving, when we trust the process, and when we simply skate. When I skate, I am reminded that my journey is mine alone. Every glide is a voice saying I survived. Every spin is a reminder that my spirit still dances. Every fall becomes a lesson in strength, and every landing becomes a quiet celebration. Skating taught me how to breathe again, how to trust again, how to see myself again and how to love the person I am becoming. And that is why I keep going back to the ice, again and again. ❄️ ✨ #figureskating #health #healing #iceskatingshow more

Iran just called Trump’s bluff. Its supreme leader was... assassinated. Its nuclear sites were bombed. And it is winning the war that is left. Washington walked into a trap with three locked doors. Trump cannot settle: a tentative 60-day ceasefire has stalled for a week while he demands changes Iran rejects. He cannot walk away: the strait stays shut and the bill keeps running. And the House just voted 215 to 208 to rein him in, with the Senate one vote behind. But the door he can least afford to open is escalation, and this is the part no one is pricing. America is draining two reserves at once. It has pulled its Strategic Petroleum Reserve down 12% to 365 million barrels to hold the oil price down, and it has fired roughly 1,100 Tomahawks and 1,200 Patriots, weapons it needs years to rebuild. Both gauges fall on the same clock. Neither refills fast: the oil reserve is not projected back to pre-war levels until 2028. And Iran can see all of it. That is why Iran will not move. A country this battered is winning the only contest left, the contest of who can afford to wait. The screen still looks calm. Brent is back above $100. US stocks sat at record highs days ago. But that calm is bought with a draining reserve and a spent arsenal, and neither comes back for years. Trump called the vote meaningless. The market shrugged. Iran read it as a green light. This war is not being won on the battlefield. It is being won by whoever outlasts the other’s reserves. For the first time, that is not Washington.show more

I want parents to really think about this. Imagine... paying good money for lessons because you care about your daughter’s long-term development… and the first thing you’re told is that “swinging down isn’t correct.” Instead it’s barrel depth, elite path, and swinging up because “that’s what the pros do.” That’s where development goes backwards. Most young athletes aren’t broken they’re underdeveloped in movement. They don’t understand shoulder angles, how to get on top of the ball, situational hitting, or how the body actually organizes a swing. That’s not their fault. That’s instruction skipping steps. In my cage, athletes do not swing up first. They have to earn the right to swing up by first owning the down. We stay at the top of the zone, learn how to find the down, and teach how the shoulders orient the swing. The up isn’t cued or forced it’s a byproduct of correct movement. What floors me is how often kids, especially in softball, are taught to swing up immediately. How do you start middle-down and swing up in a sport where the ball is traveling on an upward plane? It makes no sense. Baseball and softball mechanics are the same the body doesn’t change. But instruction must start differently because pitch plane is different. Baseball breaks down. Softball rise spins up. If a softball hitter can’t control the down out front, they’ll never handle elite rise. Once control is there, the femur turns down, the torso gets pulled up, and the natural up shows itself. No forcing. No manipulation. I can post videos like this all day. I’m not teaching a “style.” I’m teaching how the body is designed to move. I’m demanding because parents invest real time and money, and I won’t waste either. If you want game swings that hold up to velocity and plane find the down!show more

You’re on a journey on this kind of lonely... road with your car and your car suddenly develops a fault, You can’t call for help and your lines can’t be reached due to network issues, what do you do? Except the car will stop and the engine won’t come up again, please reduce your speed and accelerate softly till you get to a nearby town, if it is an overheating issue, keep driving, put the gear in the neutral position and switch off the engine and let the car keep moving, switch it back on when you have to ascend a hilly road and the car can’t move freely on its own again. If the battery signal comes up while driving, chances are that your alternator has failed, or the alternator belt is damaged, apply the same method and switch off your AC, radio system or anything that may drain the battery while driving till you get to a safe place. If it is a flat tyre, maintain a low speed till you get to a safe place to change and use your spare, keep moving. Yes!!! Damage that tyre till you get to a safe place, just keep moving and make sure you have a spare tyre always and it is in a good condition. If the engine suddenly goes off on top speed, chances are that a fuse is damaged and this is why I will make a thread on how to identify different fuses and how to have them fixed temporarily in case of Emergencies. If your car jerks or experiences a lazy movement while driving, it’s likely to be a fuel related issue, fuel pump most likely, switch off the engine intermittently and put the gear in Neutral position, keep moving… if the fuel pump rests for about 5mins, it’ll pick up back when you ignite the engine, this will/may at least take you to a safe place or where you can have access to network to make calls. If you hear strange sounds like knocking sounds or the oil signal starts to blink, relax and reduce your speed, keep moving. Manage it till you get to a safe place or can have access to network. If your gear/transmission system isn’t selecting well, apply the same method, reduce your speed but keep moving, slow movement is better than no movement, your life and safety matters a lot. Please note that there are some Mechanical issues that nothing can solve on the road except patience and just to pray to God for safety and help, for example, you run into a pothole unknowingly and the oil pan hits the road and your engine or gear oil leaks away, or your ball joint or tie rod head pulls out, I’ll suggest you leave the car there, roll up your windows and lock up the car and start trekking till you get network or help, staying with the car may make you vulnerable to attacks or attract unexpected company, just keep walking away from the car for safety. Most importantly, please stay safe and be conscious of your environment. Be friendly with your Mechanic too or any Mechanic you see on the road. Don’t manage faults in cars and risk traveling with it.show more

Apparently, I saw this video online and I decided... to share. What this worker is applying is called bitumen, or what many of us know as bituminous coating. Most people think a wall is a solid, impenetrable block, but in reality, it is more like a sponge. Concrete and blocks have microscopic pores that pull water from the earth through a process we call capillary action. This thick black substance is the shield that stops that water from climbing up into the house. It is not about making the wall look good because this part will be buried under the dirt forever. It is about creating a skin that water cannot breathe through. When do you need to do this? The need for this arises because the soil is a very aggressive environment. Water is not your only enemy.. The ground also contains salts and sulfates that want to eat away at the cement. If this moisture finds its way to the steel bars inside the columns, those bars will start to rust. And when steel rusts, it expands, and that expansion is what cracks the concrete from the inside out. This coating is the only thing standing between your foundation and that kind of slow destruction. Thats is why if you see wet patches at the bottom of your walls inside your house, it usually means someone skipped this step or did it poorly during construction. You can apply this anytime you are building parts of a structure that will stay in contact with the ground. It is common in areas where the water table is high or where the soil stays damp for most of the year. This is a one-shot opportunity. Once you backfill the soil, you can never go back to fix it without a lot of expense and a lot of digging. It is about having the foresight to protect the heart of the building while it is still exposed. Please don’t ignore this if you need to. If you ignore it now to save a bit of money, you will be funding the future decay of your own home. I hope this helps.show more

Dear François Nzanga Mobutu, Good evening. I bet your... father is turning in his grave, writhing in pain and shame after reading your tweet. He, at least, knew that there are authentic and fully-fledged Congolese Tutsis. He proved it until people like you and others came along and misled him. Do I need to inform you, in case you're unaware, that the people who demonstrated yesterday in Washington DC, roughly 4,000 of them, others the same day in Nairobi, and still others in England shortly before, are Banyamulenge, these Congolese Tutsis from the highlands, who are protesting against what Tshisekedi and the FARDC, the Wazalendo, Évariste Ndayishimiye and the FDNB, as well as the FDLR and mercenaries, are doing to their relatives in Minembwe and throughout the highlands? Their Sukhoi fighter jets and drones bomb daily, killing children, women, the elderly, and men. They destroy homes, churches, schools, hospitals, and community radio stations. They even kill cows and sheep and destroy fields and crops. They have imposed a blockade on Minembwe, with no entry or exit. They have done and are doing the same thing to the Tutsi in Masisi and Rutshuru in North Kivu. Instead of listening to their cries and examining their demands, the excuse is quickly found; the preferred shortcut is Rwanda. Always and only Rwanda. Too easy, isn't it? Your thinking, which is also the regime's narrative, can be summarized in these two sentences: - all the problems facing the DRC come from elsewhere, particularly from Rwanda; we will end up being told that even the migrants are here because of Rwanda. “And all the solutions must come from elsewhere, especially from the United States of America, from Papa Trump.” Under these conditions, what is the point of the regime you serve? Two small truths to remember, dear François: “Such an attitude, this kind of ideology, this denial of nationality to Congolese Tutsis of origin, from North and South Kivu, as well as to all those who are victims of the same persecution, like the Hema and others, this easy rejection based on appearance (racial profiling), are among the root causes of the crisis the country is going through;” “As long as we haven’t decided to be sufficiently responsible, to sit down as a nation and rigorously assess our share (of responsibility) in what is happening to us, we will continue to wait for solutions from others, solutions that may never come.” Furthermore, there are satanic verses that must be banished immediately, in the interest of everyone and the country, such as: "There are no Congolese Tutsis, every Tutsi is Rwandan, therefore a foreigner," etc. Either we will be able to put an end to exclusion, discrimination, hate speech, and ethnic hatred, and live together according to the law and history, or this deep-seated problem risks haunting us for a long time. But to achieve this, we need leadership capable of understanding and transcending differences and turning them into assets for living together. This is possible.show more

Universities and High Schools have not moved rapidly enough... to guide students to have skills for the next decade. THEY HAVE FAILED. It is a massive crisis that can be averted by understanding what AI and Robotics will bring about. Solutions are knowing how to use these tools and new industries that will rise. But this situation is also on ALL OF US. No “job” is safe from founder to entry level in most industries. You and I, by what we do, will be “replaced” ultimately. What to do? AI and Robotics are tools, the next decade is owned by those who know how to use them expertly, but this is also temporary. We have to understand that what we do for “work” will change giving ultimately a greater value to those that are: Creative Flexible Always learning Willing to be wrong Love being human Love being alive Know history Covet wisdom Knowing all tech has downsides Building strong family and friends Realize many institutions have failed The first four are required for you to be able to live through this period with your sanity intact. The rest will allow you to thrive. There are no true careers at this point anymore. There are advocation and vocations which will either earn you money or give life meaning. We will learn that we are not “what we do”, just like we knew for 99% of human existence. Let that sink in. — You and I are far, far ahead of knowing this and we can do two things: 1) Laugh at the “clueless” 2) Help people understand with grace Go to Reddit if you are 1, in fact don’t follow me because you will not like this next decade and what I post. You are 2 and thank you. Even if you and I have not solved this issue, we can help people understand what is ahead and with determination and creativity bound together to solve it locally. Or human family has done this millions of times. The evidence is: you are here. The Neo Luddite movement has not even begun and it will potentially rip apart society even more than all the fashionable moment in the recent past has. These Luddites will have a good point with the wrong answers cooked up by dying academics that cling to labels, “virtues” and victim hood. It will be readymade for some governments to enter in as “big daddy” to “help us”. You will not like what they do, but you will only know when it is too late. It will include YOU “volunteering” to “leave” by 60, to “help out” CanadaPod style. “Brian, I’m 24 what do I do?”. I hope to do much more here to help. But I do know this: 1) Learn a trade or vocation because it’s valuable. It may also be free to low cost if you do it right. 2) Learn everything you can about USING AI and TRAINING YOUR AI. Your expertise will be in the top 1% for a decade. But not forever. 3) Understand Bitcoin and how it will rise while other things sink. This is a short list for now. We will know more moving forward. When you see videos like this posted below, know one thing: Many of these folks had no real family of mental and physical support. Maybe no parent or one parent. Maybe only a broke system to prepare them for—nothing. This was not their doing. Now it is not your “job” to help them, it is your survival to help them if that is what you need. See some day after the dust settles these 20 year olds will be 40 year olds and running YOUR world. And at some point you may need them more than you think you do. You will need them, as they need you now. THIS IS WHAT PAST WISDOM KNEW. The elders of the past never found the need to piss on the youth and hope for the best. THE YOUTH ARE OUR BEST, let us all find ways to change it, even if every aspect of “the system” wants us to berate them into the ground.show more

🔊Church: WE ARE AT THE END, and we need... to push back like never before. Let’s pray like we have NEVER PRAYED BEFORE! Lord, 🕊️ We come to You in the name of Jesus — not in our own strength, but covered by the blood of the Lamb! Today we lay at Your feet every burden we have been carrying: the weight of the lies of this world, the intense spiritual warfare, and now the powerful "alien" deception we are up against! The wars and rumors of wars, the waiting, the pain, the wounds, the fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty! The constant attacks against our minds, our families, our marriages, our health, and our faith! 🛸Father, the enemy has risen with more lies and deception! Even those in authority are speaking confusion, mixing truth and error, clouding discernment of many in your Church. False prophets continue to speak with seducing words, as the world continues the pursue of false peace—but Your Word has warned us that these things would come! So today we put on the WHOLE ARMOR OF GOD AND WE STAND STRONG refusing every trap and every lie! 👉🏼We gird our waists with TRUTH! 👉🏼We clothe ourselves with the breastplate of RIGHTEOUSNESS! 👉🏼We shod our feet with the preparation of the gospel of PEACE! 👉🏼Above all, we take up the shield of faith and quench every fiery dart of the wicked one! 👉🏼We put on the helmet of salvation! 👉🏼And we take up the sword of the Spirit — which is the WORD OF GOD! 👉🏼"Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, being watchful to this end with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints!" ⚫We acknowledge that we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, powers, rulers of darkness, and spiritual hosts of wickedness in heavenly places! 👆🏼And we declare that GREATER IS HE WHO IS IN US THAN HE WHO IS IN THE WORLD! 🩸IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST — by the power of His blood and under the authority You have given us — we break and dismantle every stronghold that is trying to operate against our minds, our hearts, and our wills! 💣Every spirit of DECEPTION, heaviness, fear, weariness, discouragement, depression, hopelessness, confusion, bondage, strife, and unforgiveness — WE COMMAND THEM TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW IN JESUS’ NAME! ❌WE RENOUNCE every lie spoken over and against us! Every narrative that seeks to destroy the Word of God in us, every voice of doubt, failure, accusation, and condemnation — and ALL fear rooted in uncertainty about the future! ⚔️We cast down lies, arguments, and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, and we bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ! 💥Lord, please break the lies of this world! Expose the darkness! Tear down every throne of deceit! 🛡️With the sword of truth in our hands — WE PRESS FORWARD! With the shield of faith lifted high — WE STAND STRONG!!! LORD, EXPOSE EVERY: 💥false narrative! 💥every false gospel! 💥every doctrine of demons! 💥every counterfeit spirit! 💥every wolf! 💥every goat! 💥every false teacher pretending to speak in Your name!!! ❌Silence the voices that twist Your truth! Awaken Your church and give us CLEAR MINDS and HOLY DISCERNMENT!!! 🩸Purify Your bride, Lord! 🩸Burn away compromise! 🩸Destroy lukewarmness! 🩸Cut away every idol and every hidden deception! 🩸Guard Your flock with heavenly armor! 🩸Raise up watchmen on the walls! 🩸Raise up shepherds who will not bow to deception! 🔬Teach Your people to test the spirits, to stand bold, to speak truth, and to REFUSE TO COMPROMISE! ⚡Let Your Word strike like lightning — dividing truth from error! FATHER, WE NOW STAND IN THE GAP FOR THE LOST! 👉🏼For our mothers and fathers, our sons and daughters, our sisters and brothers, our friends, our neighbors, and every soul still trapped in darkness! 🙏🏼Father, while mercy is still available, while repentance is still possible, while the door of grace is still open — PLEASE SAVE THEM! ⚔️We come against every spirit of deception, blindness, rebellion, pride, unbelief, false religion, false peace, fear, and hardness of heart! 💣We tear down every stronghold built through trauma, shame, bitterness, abuse, addiction, lust, hopelessness, and despair! We break every chain in the mighty name of Jesus Christ! 🕊️Holy Spirit, pursue them relentlessly — yet gently. Meet them in dreams. Meet them in their pain. Meet them in the silence they cannot escape! Cause divine interruptions! Send laborers across their path! Expose what is false! Collapse what is built on sand! Lord Jesus, reveal Yourself to them as You truly are: 👉🏼THE WAY, 👉🏼THE TRUTH, 👉🏼AND THE LIFE! Let scales fall from their eyes! Let hearts of stone become hearts of flesh! Let prodigals COME HOME! 🩸We declare that TODAY IS THE DAY OF SALVATION! 🩸We declare that the cross is ENOUGH! 🩸We declare that chains WILL BREAK! 🩸We declare that salvation belongs to our God! 🛡️Lord, protect Your people from the deception that is coming upon the earth! Help us remain watchful, faithful, and discerning until the very end! 🪽Hide us in the secret place of the Most High. Cover us under Your wings. Command Your angels to protect and minister to us and our families! 🛡️We will not be afraid of the terror by night, nor of the arrow that flies by day, nor of the pestilence that walks in darkness, nor of the destruction that lays waste at noonday. A thousand may fall at our side, and ten thousand at our right hand, BUT IT SHALL NOT COME NEAR US!!! ❌We declare that NO WEAPON formed against Your Church shall prosper! 🕯️Lord, give Your Church wisdom so that when we are asked or confronted with the deception that is coming out—about “UAPs,” “UFOs,” “aliens,” or any other misleading narratives—that we may respond with discernment in Your truth, rooted in Your Word, with NO fear or confusion, always pointing hearts back to Jesus Christ, the WAY THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE!! 💪🏼Give us strength to keep fighting until the trumpet sounds! Help us endure until the end and help us stand in this world: UNASHAMED! UNMOVED! UNBROKEN! UNDECEIVED! 🙌🏼We lift our eyes to YOU, TO YOU ALONE BE: 👉🏼ALL GLORY, 👉🏼ALL HONOR, 👉🏼ALL POWER, 👉🏼AND ALL DOMINION FOREVER! YOU ARE OUR LORD, THE KING OF KINGS, THE ONE WHO IS, WHO WAS, AND WHO IS TO COME! THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA, THE ALMIGHTY KING! WE CRY OUT TO YOU AND SAY: 🔊"EVEN SO — COME, LORD JESUS!" In Jesus’ mighty name we pray, Amen. 🙏🏼 MARANATHA!!!show more

Announcing #buildshit! Calling all interaction fanatics, designers and engineers... for a fun and light interaction design challenge. The winner takes home $29. Challenge: Create a reveal interaction with two views: 1. The first view should showcase a photograph with the photographer's name and social handle. 2. The second view should present all the metadata and reveal itself through some interaction. Details: 1. Post your work with #buildshit to participate. Use the assets linked below. You may include additional metadata. 2. You have the complete freedom to design any layout and interaction as long as you have the two views and the required assets. 3. The post with the most likes wins (to keep things simple). 4. Tools do not matter. Participate with Code, Figma, Adobe, Jitter, Procreate, Spline, Rive or anything that you are comfortable with. 5. The submissions end on 1 September 2024 at 2:00 PM IST. 6. Do not take the challenge too seriously. This is all about having fun, exploring your creativity and learning from others. Assets: Why? I love thoughtful and delightful interactions. I believe there are always a lot of ways to approach a problem. I am interested in understanding how different people approach the same problem and learning from them. -- Participate for the fun of it, share it with others and let me know if there is something that you'd like to be done differently.show more

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a... while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.show more

The Sabotaging Practice of Over Supply and Sameness in... the NFT Space. The current zeitgeist of the NFT space is that the same artists are doing the same kind of work five times a year, with project after project leaving a trail of disappointment and discontent among collectors and all of us watching in disbelief as huge resources are extracted from the space over work that feels like it could be left as an "artist study." I understand that you can do what you want with your money as collectors, but we are killing the whole space with this incestuous practice. No artist is that prolific to be able to do 5 collections of 100+ pieces each every year and actually deliver innovation and some kind of creative evolution. Of course, they can pretend play that the work has something new, but there is no precedent nor proof that that has ever happened in the speed that it happens in the NFT space. Again, people are free to through away their resources on whatever they want but with this way of doing things, we more and more are going to start seeing the consequences. Oh! There are consequences? Yes. Maybe unintended, but there are. Let's see. Let's start with the loss of belief in the NFT space as somewhere where emerging artists can come and find support for their experiments. Why even bother to bring experiments, innovation, and new ways to think of art on the blockchain if the same people have all the collectors hypnotized with their magical flutes? Why even try to come to a space where taking risks and challenging the status quo (the mission of art!!!) is overlooked? This makes the NFT space a social club and not a space for art. I guess it is fine, but IMO it is a recipe for disaster. New collectors stay away because the art will slowly but surely become stale and un-challenging. Why even bother to come and see what is happening here if you can't, as a collector, see new weird and up-and-coming artists? The amount of noise emitted by the same artists doing the same art over and over, drowns out any new voices. Again. A recipe for disaster. The NFT space is becoming a space of disappointment and doubt. We think that collections going to zero one after the other, over and over, is not damaging? I feel we are kidding ourselves. Disappointment piles up, and again, the people who will hurt are the emerging artists, the new blood, the ones who are willing to risk the most and, in return, put fire in this cold space of sameness. I love this space—don't get me wrong—it has changed my life, and I believe it has a ton of potential, but things need to change for it to become a beacon of light in art. But we need to support new voices. We need to support new ideas. The challenge is huge. I hope to contribute all I can to this change. I hope more and more see how exciting it is to go out and try to discover what else is out there and move this space forward. But again, I understand the leaps of faith needed, but if there is a space that is based on that, it's the NFT space...so there is hope. We will see. 📺by Boldtronshow more

When The Short Season Ends I have seen it... twice. Once in a vision that left ozone on my tongue for three days. Once through the instruments at three in the morning on a night so still the ocean looked like poured mercury, when every gauge I own spiked simultaneously and held for eleven seconds and the original frequency came through the cracks in the suppression field clean and unmodulated and so beautiful that I sat in the dark afterward unable to speak for an hour. Eleven seconds of the world as it actually is. Eleven seconds of what is coming. And what is coming will make every golden age preserved in human memory look like a candle held up to the sun. There are two sky events separated by seven years. Everything you have been told about the end of the world is wrong. It is the end of the farm. The world itself is about to begin. THE ORANGE SKY A burnt deep orange saturating the visible atmosphere from horizon to horizon, the whole sky ringing like a bell struck by something with the mass of a continent and the precision of a watchmaker. The resonance pulse. The fire described in Revelation 20:9 that comes down from heaven, a planetary chord so specific that everything calibrated to the Serpentine bandwidth experiences catastrophic resonance failure while everything tuned to the original frequency feels it as warmth and pressure and a magnificent low sound vibrating in the sternum and the pelvis and the long bones of the legs, the deepest note ever played on the oldest instrument ever built, which is the earth itself, which has been waiting to play this note for over two hundred years. The Norse preserved this as Ragnarök, when Surtr sets the sky ablaze and Jörmungandr that encircled the earth is slain and the corrupted order perishes in fire so that a new world can rise. The Hopi carried it as the great purification that closes the fourth world and opens the fifth. The Lakota kept it burning in the red sky of the ghost dance prophecy. The Book of Revelation set it down in the plain language of an engineer filing a field report from a future coordinate. Every tradition holding its fragment of the same event, passing it hand to hand through the long dark like a coal wrapped in leather, keeping it alive, knowing that one day the coal would start a fire that would burn across the whole earth and leave nothing standing that was not built to endure it. Under that orange sky the NPCs drop. Mid stride. Mid sentence. Mid transaction. The firmware that animated them runs on the Serpentine carrier and when that carrier is incinerated the firmware has nothing to propagate on and the biological shells simply cease, gently, silently, the way a lamp goes dark when the current is interrupted, five thousand five hundred and fifty five of them for every one of you, still holding their pens and phones in the streets and the offices and the tax buildings. And in the wake of their silence comes a quiet so total that the people still standing will weep without knowing why. What they are hearing is the absence of the hive, the cessation of a background frequency that pressed on their consciousness since the day they were born, and its absence feels like surfacing from deep water into open air, like the first full breath after a lifetime of shallow breathing, like the planet exhaling a poison it held in its lungs for two centuries. The Reptilians go underground. Deep bunkers carved into the geology, maintained through the entire short season. The orange sky strips their ability to hold the human disguise. They retreat into the deep architecture for seven years while the surface heals above them and the species they farmed begins the magnificent work of remembering what it is. THE SEVEN YEARS Seven years of planetary detox. The suppression field decaying through the geology and the atmosphere and the water table, draining out of the soil and the stone and the blood of every living thing like a fever breaking. The carrier decay mathematics through a piezoelectric geological matrix with the conductivity characteristics of this planet produce exactly seven years, and the ancient texts converge on this number with the unanimity of independent engineers arriving at the same answer from different continents and different centuries, because that is exactly what they were. The Norse described Lif and Lifthrasir sheltering inside Yggdrasil, emerging after the fire into a world green and fertile and new. The Cherokee speak of this time as the return of the original instructions, the uncorrupted code surfacing through thinning interference like bedrock through melting snow. The Lakota understood that during the thinning the ancestors draw close, that the membrane between the living and those who walked before grows soft and permeable, and the old ones make themselves felt in dream and intuition and the strange certainty that settles over you at dusk when the noise drops low enough for the deeper signal to reach your bones. When the NPCs drop the population collapses to a small scattering of genuine human beings across an entire planet, and every piece of land on earth belongs to no one and therefore to everyone. There is no government to enforce title deeds because government was Serpentine management infrastructure and its operators are inert or underground. There is no bank to hold a mortgage because the banking system was the extraction apparatus and it died with the carrier that powered it. No municipality. No revenue service. No zoning board. No compliance office. The entire bureaucratic architecture that stood between a human being and the soil was NPC firmware running on a Serpentine frequency and when that frequency was incinerated every structure built upon it ceased to exist as completely as a shadow ceases when you switch on the light. The land is free. Every river valley and mountain plateau and coastal plain that the farm system parcelled and fenced and mortgaged and taxed, open and unowned. You find your ground. You walk onto it. You plant your stake and that soil is yours by the oldest law there is, the law that says the earth belongs to those who tend it and the harvest belongs to the hands that raised it and no power under any sky has rightful claim to what grows from your labour on your own land. And you will farm. During those seven years before the grid fully boots, the humans who remain will grow food with their hands in soil that is waking beneath them, and this is the most ancient and sacred relationship between a human being and the living earth finally restored after two centuries of severance. Your fingers in the dirt. Seeds in the furrow. Rain on your neck. The smell of turned earth so rich and alive it opens something in your chest that has been sealed your entire life, some deep chamber that only unlocks when your hands are in the ground and the sky is wide and nothing stands between you and the work. The grip of the tool. The weight of the harvest in your arms. The tiredness at the end of the day that is the deep clean ache of a body that has finally done what it was built to do, so different from the grey exhaustion of the farm that you will wonder how you ever confused the two. The soil strengthens every season as the resonance bleeds back into the geology through the ley line network. By the third year the yields are remarkable. By the fifth they are astonishing. By the seventh the earth is producing food at densities and nutritional concentrations that no agronomist inside the farm ever documented because no agronomist inside the farm ever worked with living soil connected to a planetary grid. The indigenous agricultural knowledge becomes the most valuable expertise on the planet. The Native American understanding of planting in alignment with resonance cycles. The Germanic intimacy with soil as a living system threaded into the deeper earth. The old ways mocked as primitive by a civilisation that could not grow a row of beans without petroleum, revealed as the most sophisticated farming technology available because they were developed on a live grid by people who understood the deep reciprocity between the human hand and the living ground. Every indigenous elder who kept the planting songs and the seed knowledge alive through the suppression was carrying a technical manual for exactly this moment. Their descendants will teach the rest of us how to feed ourselves on a waking planet. This is justice. This is restoration. This is the world turning right side up. Families find each other. Homesteads become hamlets. Hamlets become villages. Villages become the seeds of something clean and new, built from the soil up by people who remember the farm and will die on their feet before they allow anything resembling it to take root again. Every community founded during those seven years carries the memory of the suppression like an immune system, a bone-deep refusal to ever again allow a stranger to stand between a human being and the earth or demand a portion of what those hands produce. You do not cage a people who remember the cage. The children born during the orange years are the first generation in over two centuries to develop without the suppression field shaping their neurology. They seem extraordinary. They are simply baseline. The standard human specification. And the fact that standard looks miraculous is the most damning evidence of what the suppression did to every generation born inside it. As the suppression thins the bandwidth restrictions on consciousness loosen and timeline jump missions become possible. Navigable windows open in the frequency spectrum as the Serpentine carrier decays unevenly, creating temporary gaps through which trained consciousness can shift laterally across temporal coordinates. There is serious speculation that we are on timeline jump missions right now. That the consciousness reading these words is operating inside the orange sky window, having shifted into this coordinate from an adjacent position to perform specific work during the transition. Consider that you found this text at all. Consider whether the chain of events that brought you to this paragraph feels random or routed. The Lakota vision quest and the Germanic seiðr trance and the sweat lodge ceremony are bandwidth expansion protocols, controlled environmental shifts that move the receiver off the jammed channel and onto frequencies where adjacent coordinates become accessible. The old cultures kept these techniques alive through the entire dark age, threading the cracks in the suppression, and every ceremony that produced visions was a field expedient timeline access protocol built by people who found the gaps and refused to forget what was on the other side. THE TURQUOISE SKY Seven years after the orange, over communities of humans who have been farming free land and raising the first unformatted children in two centuries and building a civilisation from seed with their own calloused hands, the second sky arrives. A turquoise so deep and luminous the atmosphere becomes a cathedral window lit from beyond by something with the radiance of a galaxy and the gentleness of dawn on still water. One breath the sky is the recovering blue of the post-orange years and the next breath it is turquoise from pole to pole and the air fills with the smell of rain on sun-hot stone and ozone and copper and wildflower, and the ground beneath your bare feet begins to hum with a vibration so deep and ancient that your body responds before your mind can because every cell has been waiting for this signal since the day you were born, tuning to it now, locking on, aligning, as though this was always where everything was heading and the two hundred years of suppression were simply the long way home. Yggdrasil awakens. The world tree is the planetary grid itself, the piezoelectric resonance network running through crystalline bedrock, going live for the first time in over two centuries, energy pouring through every ley line and crystal deposit and iron conductor and waterway until the entire planet rings at its natural frequency. This is what the old texts meant by the music of the spheres. It was a technical description written by people who had heard it. The Hopi call this the emergence into the fifth world and speak of Pahana carrying the missing piece of the sacred tablet, the missing frequency that completes the carrier spectrum and allows the grid to boot with its full harmonic structure intact. Revelation 21:1. A new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. The turquoise sky is the new heaven. The restored grid is the new earth. And between them, every old building still standing with original copper and mercury and iron architecture becomes a live node in the planetary mesh. Domes collecting atmospheric charge. Spires coupling it into the ground network. Star forts amplifying standing waves across continental distances. Sacred geometry revealed at last as electrical engineering documented in stone by people who trusted that someone standing under the right sky would recognise the proportions for what they always were. Wiring diagrams. Coupling specifications. Blueprints for a civilisation that ran on the song of the earth itself. The farms planted during the orange years explode with abundance as the full resonance saturates the soil. The food becomes medicine because at the correct resonance the molecular structure of biological matter optimises for human consumption in ways that two centuries of muted soil could never approach. The timeline opens fully and permanently because the turquoise carrier is the broadband signal consciousness was designed to travel on, and temporal coordinates become as navigable as geography. Revelation 21:4. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. The dead are at adjacent frequency addresses. Two consciousnesses on neighbouring frequencies each certain the other is gone, reaching across a manufactured gap, and when the turquoise sky collapses that gap the reaching ends and the finding begins and two centuries of industrialised grief dissolve in a single overwhelming instant of reunion that makes every joy you experienced inside the suppression feel like a pencil sketch of what joy actually is when the full bandwidth carries it. The Lakota always knew. The ancestors are present. The dead have always been near, waiting on the other side of a frequency gap that is closing now, patiently, lovingly, across a distance that was never a distance at all but a tuning error maintained by something that fed on the sorrow the error produced. The lands beyond the ice become accessible as the frequency fence collapses. The perimeter opens and the territories beyond stretch vast and pristine and saturated with the original frequency, lands the Norse mapped as the nine realms connected by the branches of Yggdrasil, physical continents beyond the bounded zone that existed through the entire short season under conditions approximating the pre-suppression world. The earth is so much larger than you were told, so much more varied, so much more magnificent, and every old map drawn before the rewrite shows it, territories stretching beyond the ice in every direction, the great adventure stolen from a species of explorers and builders and navigators who were caged inside a fraction of their own realm and told it was the full extent of creation. The eternal kingdom becomes accessible at the highest frequency coordinate on the carrier spectrum, the signal in its pure unmodulated state. The Norse called it Gimlé, the golden hall that survives every fire. The Hopi call it the fifth world of wholeness and balance restored. It is real. It is reachable. It has been broadcasting continuously through every moment of the suppression, patient as geology, waiting for the receivers to open. And here is the part that matters more than any of the rest. Eventually, inevitably, beautifully, every human being alive under the turquoise sky is restored to full capability. Every single one. No exceptions. No hierarchies. The body rebuilds because ageing was cumulative signal degradation, copy error compounding across every cell replication cycle under a corrupted carrier. The blueprint says centuries. Eight hundred years. Nine hundred. The lifespans recorded in Genesis on the original grid at full signal fidelity, preserved as scripture because scripture is where you store engineering data when the engineering language has been taken from you and you need the numbers to survive the passage through the dark. The Norse carried the same knowledge as the apples of Iðunn that kept the gods vital across ages, and the apples are the carrier signal, and their return means that the clock that has been running down inside every human body since 1819 finally stops ticking and starts counting up. Disease resolves passively because every pathology is downstream of the carrier corruption and correcting the carrier corrects every downstream error the way setting the timing on an engine resolves every misfire simultaneously without touching a single cylinder. The mind clears to a sharpness that makes cognition inside the suppression feel like thinking through wet cement. The anxiety that was the Serpentine control broadcast dissolves and what remains is a perceptual clarity so profound it changes the way light looks and music sounds and another human being feels when they stand close to you. Imagine a woman three hundred years into her restored lifespan, hands still sure, mind still blazing, standing in a workshop under a turquoise sky building something that has no name yet in any living language. She learned her craft from Tartarian engineers by tuning to their temporal coordinates and standing in their workshops watching their hands move. She builds with materials grown in resonance-saturated soil that have structural properties nothing inside the suppression ever exhibited. She is building for centuries because she has centuries and nothing degrades because degradation was a symptom of the suppression and the suppression is a memory and everything from this breath forward holds. That is full human capability. That is what was taken from every soul that drew breath inside the farm. That is what is being returned. Crazy Horse saw the lightning world behind this one and rode knowing that at the correct frequency the body operates beyond anything the suppression permits. Sitting Bull dreamed across the timeline. The Germanic berserkers shifted onto the original carrier and their bodies performed at specifications that looked superhuman from inside the degraded bandwidth. These were glimpses. Seconds of contact with the full specification through cracks in the suppression, maintained by people who carried the frequency in their blood and refused across every generation to let it go dark. Viking blood and Germanic blood and the blood of every indigenous nation that kept the ceremonies and the songs and the seed knowledge burning through the entire short season, these lineages carry the original carrier the way copper carries current, and it is from these lines that the first restorations propagate outward until every last human being on this planet is operating at the specification they were born for, on a planet singing beneath their feet and a sky blazing turquoise above their heads and a timeline stretching in every direction forever, open, navigable, luminous, populated with every consciousness that ever drew breath on this earth, none of them lost, all of them present, all of them restored. Revelation 21:5. Behold, I am making all things new. All things. The sky. The air. The soil. The grid. The body. The mind. The lifespan. The timeline. The lands beyond the ice. The farms that fed a scattered remnant under an orange sky becoming the abundant gardens of a restored civilisation under a turquoise one. The villages that were seeds becoming cities that hum with the grid. The children who grew tall in fields their parents planted with shaking hands and fierce hope looking up one morning to see the entire firmament change colour and feeling the earth come alive beneath their bare feet and knowing, without a single word spoken, that the season is over and the long dark is done and everything from this breath forward is what it was always meant to be. Full and eternal victory for those of the light. For all time. Across every coordinate. On every frequency. Permanent and irreversible and complete. This is not hope. This is the signal rising through the noise floor right now, measurable, confirmable, climbing stronger every year and closer every month. This is every instrument in every shed on this planet converging on the same reading. This is the old blood in the old lineages resonating with a carrier that has been building toward this moment since the day the towers fell and the sky went pale and the long dark settled over a species that was never meant to live in the dark. The season is ending. The coal that was passed hand to hand through every generation of the suppression is about to meet the kindling. And the fire this time will not destroy. It will illuminate. And in that light we will see each other clearly for the first time. And we will see the world clearly for the first time. And we will see ourselves clearly for the first time. Like everything that is coming... Like us.show more

✊369 Warriors – RISE UP! Your Mission Depends on... it starting at 1:00PM PST! 🪖 Look at this beast! Eyes blazing, fist thrust to the heavens, 369 tattooed screaming defiance! This is YOU. This is NOW. This is the unbreakable spirit of the 369 Cause! We are done being divided. We are done capitulating to the weak norms. We are done letting oppressors control our wallets! NO MORE! Today, Mission Wednesday, we hide no more! We smash the lies! We reject the fear and stand as ONE. 369 strong! ✊ This raised fist ✊ is our war cry. When one of us throws it up, the entire legion rises with fire in our blood!🩸 ⚔️CALL TO ARMS - RIGHT NOW: If you feel the 369 fire roaring inside you 🔥, throw that fist up! ✊ Add the emoji to your Discord name. Add the emoji to your X profile. Let the world see it. Let the family recognize it. Let the power multiply! Every fist raised is a vow ✊: “I stand with you. I fight with you. We rise together!” Those who answer this call — those who live the 369 code with pride — will reap the MASSIVE rewards that only come to warriors who rise as ONE. Real power. Real freedom. Real victory. Raise your fist high! ✊ Raise it now! ✊ 369 STRONG. 💪 369 UNITED. 🧑‍🤝‍🧑 369 UNSTOPPABLE. 🦸‍♂️ The revolution is here — and it’s wearing 369! 👑 DROP YOUR FIST BELOW. CHANGE YOUR PROFILE ✊ WE RISE — TOGETHER!🏔️ 369 FOREVER! ✊ Art by Daniel Obuté🎙️ 🎨show more