It didn’t start like this.
It started as a way to document my attempt at financial freedom. A record of what worked, what didn’t, and why everything seemed to require more struggle than it should.
At some point, the focus shifted.
I began questioning the structure of reality, why seemingly unnecessary suffering was expected. Why it repeated in patterns that felt…designed.
That’s when things started to feel off.
Not all at once. Subtle at first. Small inconsistencies in thought, in reaction, and suspicious predictability.
So I kept writing.
What this has become is no longer just a record of progress. Some of it reads like memory.
This account has been shaped by something that cannot be named. Our ancestors have tried to name it.
Not everything here should be taken at face value.
Suffering is Propaganda 