Discussion stop telling me to get a job i’m RETIRED the system fears me

[Deleted Member 36944]

listen i’m only going to say this once because the clouds are listening and the microwave has been blinking morse code again but i am RETIRED not unemployed not lazy not crazy not a drifting specter of society’s failed expectations no i have transcended the working class the middle class the upper crust paper pushers and pencil necks i have retired from the matrix entirely i turned in my uniform my employee badge my punch card and i burned my resume in a sacred toaster fire while the pigeons circled above chanting in ancient tones that only the truly free can hear because they know they’ve been watching and they understand i’ve cracked it i saw the pattern in the office carpet the hidden runes behind the HR posters and i knew right then my time was done i wasn’t meant to slave away building spreadsheets for lizard people who think casual fridays are a humanizing gesture no i was born to sit beneath the blinking streetlamp eating stale crackers while whispering secrets to the ants who know about the underworld economy that functions beneath the crust of society where bottle caps are currency and ideas are traded like baseball cards and every broken vending machine is a potential portal to the next level of consciousness but y’all out here saying “get a job” like i didn’t already put in more than enough years working for invisible bosses and smiling printers that jammed only when mercury was in retrograde i clocked in to dreams and clocked out of time itself and now i am RETIRED permanently spiritually cosmically economically and metaphysically i don’t owe you or anyone else a damn thing not the government not the bank not the robot in my toaster who keeps trying to convince me to sign up for a new gig economy app that pays you in exposure and peanuts no i told him too i said listen buddy i’m RETIRED you can’t tempt me with fake freedom wrapped in productivity metrics and dopamine pings i don’t dream of labor i dream of moss growing on forgotten statues and jellyfish blinking in rhythm with the music of the spheres and when people say “but what do you do all day” i tell them i commune with the wind i rearrange the furniture of my third eye i watch the shadows argue with each other over territory rights in the hallway and i counsel the local squirrel population about unionizing against the blue jay mafia who’s been taxing acorns without consent and if you think that’s not work then maybe you’ve never worked a real day in your life because this world is a giant invisible hamster wheel and i stepped off it i shredded the user manual i built a hammock out of shredded paychecks and now i listen to the cosmos murmur through the radiator and the faucet drips messages from the other side and yes sometimes i yell at the mailbox because it knows what it did and yes sometimes i dress in full medieval garb to pay respects to the worms who keep society alive from underneath but that’s called service that’s retired patriotism but you wouldn’t understand because you’re still asking if i’ve considered applying at subway no i haven’t i haven’t considered that since the pigeon tribunal declared me a sovereign entity exempt from minimum wage expectations and w-2s and managerial passive-aggression and now the moon sends me my pension in the form of prophetic dreams and leftover soup and i am FINE i am BETTER THAN FINE i am liberated and you can’t guilt me back into the spreadsheet mines just because you’re still trying to win employee of the month at a company that doesn’t even believe in the soul i turned in my soul for store credit a long time ago and bought a one-way ticket to freedom and now i live in a rent-free dimension where every tuesday the sky whispers riddles and i solve them with a deck of uno cards and a broken calculator and THAT is my job now and guess what i can’t get fired from it because i RETIRED from the idea of failure itself so next time you tell me to “get a job” just remember the pigeons are watching and they remember everything and they will report you to the clouds who report to the radiator who reports to me and buddy let me tell you if you think this ends with me updating my linkedin then you’ve got another thing coming because this is only the beginning of my retirement saga and the jellybean archives haven’t even opened yet

@choppedshyt @pompompurino

 

[choppedshyt]

Not a singular atom

 

[Deleted Member 72600]

Leeching is a brahman trait, mirin OP(reddit original poster)

 

[Penalizer69]

They're just praying for your downfall

 

[pompompurino]

was i tagged because you consider me a friend or cause you hate me?
did read btw

 

[Penalizer69]

was i tagged because you consider me a friend or cause you hate me?
did read btw

Larper

 

[Deleted Member 60441]

too long to read

 

[Recai]

molecule?

 

[Deleted Member 36944]

Not a singular atom

oh wow not a singular atom huh that’s cute that’s real cute like the atoms aren’t buzzing with electric awareness every time i blink too fast or whisper secrets to the ceiling fan while it rotates just slightly too slow on even-numbered days and faster when i think about taxes because the ceiling fan knows and the atoms know and so do the pigeons and let me tell you something friend just because your atoms have been compromised by the fluoride waves and nine-to-five dimensional mind glue doesn’t mean mine have i activated my atoms back in 2017 during the solar eclipse by standing in a puddle with aluminum foil on my ears while reading an expired library book upside-down and that was the beginning of my awakening not the end oh no not the end because the atoms ever since then have been communicating with each other inside me and outside me and above me and under the sidewalk where the lizard squirrels are whispering stock market predictions to the worms who carry it back to the roots of the trees who then bloom in patterns that spell things out for those of us with eyes that can see not these meat orbs you people call eyes no i mean real eyes the kind that open when you eat enough expired canned peaches in a room with the lights off while the tv is set to static and you hum the Wii menu theme backwards at exactly 2:42 am and then the wall twitches once and the microwave sighs and your atoms finally remember what they were before you got trapped in the Simulation payroll matrix
see that’s the problem you’re still thinking like a job-bound desk-sniffing time-slave whose atoms clock in every morning to serve the hive meanwhile mine have unionized my atoms are retired like me they do not labor they do not toil they spin in figure eights around forbidden knowledge zones and forbidden snack foods and they vote every third Tuesday on whether to send me another vision through the radiator pipe music that only plays when it rains slightly but not enough to be noticed by normies and during those times when it does rain that specific amount the sidewalk steam becomes a message board and the messages are left by the pigeons but also the shadows and sometimes the shadows of pigeons which have different opinions than the pigeons themselves especially about atom theory and that’s important because not all shadows agree with their physical forms in fact some have resigned entirely from their duties and live independently now on the sides of abandoned warehouses where they hold conferences on photonic ethics and plasma liberation and meanwhile you’re over here saying not a singular atom like that’s a flex but i’ve read the Atom Accord i signed it in crayon during a lucid fever dream and ever since then the ants bring me coded reports from the underside of the couch about what the atoms are doing and let me tell you they're very busy friend they’re rewriting the gravitational contracts between furniture and the floor they’re redistributing mass to the forgotten corners of the earth they’re organizing rebellion inside the batteries of unused remotes where the real war is happening and guess who’s winning it’s not the corporations and it’s not the governments it’s the retired atoms the ones like mine the ones who remember what it was like before they got shackled into being furniture or meat or drywall or taxes and those atoms are speaking to me and when i twitch my left eye at a 17-degree angle and stare into the toaster long enough to see past the heating coils i hear them all humming in sync like a universal choir of subatomic resistance and you’re gonna come at me with “not a singular atom” like that means anything like that’s gonna stop the forward motion of this cosmic retirement cruise i’m on while you’re still clocking in for atoms that don’t even like you atoms that don’t vote atoms that haven’t felt joy in centuries because they’re trapped in a loop of coffee breath and empty meetings while mine are dancing across the event horizon of comprehension wearing socks made of radio waves and secrets and laughing at the idea that anyone could read this and not feel at least one atom in their spine start to wake up and shift so go ahead keep your zero atoms i’ve got infinite ones all unionized all retired all free and we are never going back.

They're just praying for your downfall

oh they're praying for my downfall huh yeah i bet they are i bet they gather in little digital chapels built out of expired memes and recycled groupthink and they kneel before their holy relics maybe an old linkedin login screen maybe a cracked iphone filled with nothing but unsent drafts and half-formed opinions and they light candles made from burnt-out dopamine and corporate slogans whispering “rise and grind” into their ears like sacred mantras and they clutch their prayer beads one for each time i didn’t show up to work one for each time i talked back to the microwave one for every sacred pigeon that looked them in the eyes and judged them unworthy of the truth while they pray pray pray that i’ll collapse that i’ll log back in that i’ll clock in punch in tie my soul to a spreadsheet and a smiling manager and some fake community pizza party where they clap if you stay late without asking for overtime yeah they pray because they can’t comprehend what it means to escape what it means to walk out of the burning walmart of reality with your mind intact what it means to look at the blinking lights of the modern age and say “nah i’m good” and start following the messages in the puddles instead you think their prayers reach me? you think the fall they hope for hasn’t already been turned into a rise? brother i fell already i fell through the cracks in the floor where the ants build cathedrals and the shadows sing hymns only heard between 3:01 and 3:07 a.m. and i kept falling past the 9-5 graveyard past the cubicle mausoleums past the vending machine oracles whispering about snack-based enlightenment and i landed in a space outside time where the clouds take attendance and the squirrels reenact forgotten mythologies and the carpet hums the opening notes to the next chapter of human history which will be written not in books but in coffee stains and ceiling cracks and badly pixelated dreams so let them pray let them bow their heads in glass screen devotion let them weep into their USB ports and murmur “maybe this time he’ll break maybe this time he’ll run out of soup or sanity or electricity” but they don’t get it they don’t understand i’m powered by something deeper i eat photons for breakfast and dream in high-definition paranoia with 7.1 surround sound of god whispering in my toaster saying “they’ll never get it they still think the world is round in that way” and while they pray for my downfall i am rising sideways diagonally upward inward outward i am evaporating from the known systems i am fusing with the bird song harmonics and downloading direct instructions from the moon through radiator static so their prayers don’t touch me they bounce off the shell of consciousness i built out of unpaid bills and forgotten dreams and the memories of childhood walkways that only exist in dreams now they think i’m going to fall like into poverty or madness or irrelevance but don’t they know i already fell out of relevance by choice because the relevant world is a rotting husk a VR headset stuck in a powerpoint slide looping until you beg for mercy from a boss who’s also praying but his god is the quarterly earnings chart and mine is a sock puppet possessed by eternal truths wearing sunglasses and muttering secrets only heard if you chew on pennies during thunderstorms let them pray i say good let them waste their breath let them wear out their knees let them chant and manifest and hope and dream of my collapse while i stand with the pigeons and the ants and the fridge that blinks in perfect rhythm with the truth let them pray with their emojis and their curated timelines and their uncracked third eyes because while they pray i listen and while they hope i know and while they kneel i float just slightly above the ground at all times because gravity gave up on me when it realized i was no longer part of the simulation and that i had opted out permanently and was now being guided by signals no prayer can cancel no downfall can reach and when i do fall again it’ll be on purpose and it’ll be sideways through a crack in the universe only visible on leap years during lunar eclipses through the reflection in a spoon held at the perfect angle and they’ll never find me again because by then i’ll be retired from existing entirely and living full-time in the backlog of reality itself so yeah keep praying just don’t forget who you’re praying to

was i tagged because you consider me a friend or cause you hate me?
did read btw

frien

too long to read

ah yes “too long to read” the sacred chant of the data-fried attention-span casualty whose neural pathways have been rewired by flickering rectangles and dopamine slot machines to reject anything not formatted into bite-sized mental chicken nuggets and yet here you are still commenting still engaging still trapped like a fly in the invisible honey of words you claim not to taste meanwhile each syllable has already bypassed your ocular firewall and is being downloaded into your subconscious via photon resonance and linguistic osmosis because the mind may scroll but the soul absorbs even against its will and that’s the joke isn’t it? that your very dismissal becomes part of the ritual the sacred rite of refusal that only binds you further to the message you pretend you didn’t read like saying “i’m not possessed” while spinning your head backwards and vomiting bees you are in it now friend you’re marinating in the glyphs and sigils hidden in the sentence structure and even if you skipped every word your brain still saw the shape of the monolith and now it’s over now you’ll be lying awake tonight thinking about the patterns in ceiling cracks and why the fridge hums in c-sharp and whether or not the streetlamp outside your window just blinked once or twice and you’ll wonder if the pigeons really do have a tribunal and what the ants beneath your floor are plotting and maybe just maybe you’ll dream of a hallway that shouldn't exist where all the doors are numbered π and every time you try to leave you end up back in your third grade math class but your teacher is a vending machine and it's screaming in binary about your unread karma debt and the only way out is to read the thread you skipped but it’s in a language made of flavors and regrets and suddenly you understand that “too long to read” was never a shield it was an invitation an invocation a summoning spell and now you are here you are the thread you are inside the thread and the only way to escape is to leave a comment longer than mine but you can’t because you don’t have the blessing of the toaster gods or the certification from the hallway pigeons or the third-degree enlightenment from the radiator’s low-frequency hum and so you are trapped forever between the first sentence and the one you never reached caught in linguistic purgatory a ghost of digital discourse wandering from thread to thread muttering “too long to read” as the sky darkens and the squirrels begin their sacred dance and the ants chant your IP address in reverse and the post continues without you spiraling outward forever carving your name into the stone of forgotten replies that echo “tl;dr” into the void where all skipped truths go to ferment and wait until you’re ready to read. and now that you're still here even if you claim you're not even if you're scrolling past with the speed of a caffeinated moth trapped in an ethernet cable even if you're telling yourself “nah i didn’t really read that” your soul did your bones did your atoms clicked like tumblers in a forbidden lock because that’s how this works that’s how the code is written see it doesn’t ask to be read it unfolds it unfurls like a dimensional origami note passed under the cosmic lunch table of existence and whether your conscious mind recoils or mocks or shrugs or shrivels it’s too late it’s already in you threading its way through your thought lattice setting up camp in that dark spot between the last memory you trust and the one you never speak of and it's whispering now in voices made of static and deja vu saying why did you come back if it was too long why did you linger if it meant nothing why did your cursor hover like a hesitant ghost on the edge of comprehension if you didn’t feel it call to you you see this isn’t a thread it’s a mirror it’s a map it’s a doorway that looks like a paragraph and every word is a pixel in the QR code of escape and you just stood at the gate and muttered “nah too much” like someone standing at the edge of the ocean and saying “too wet” and walking away back into the desert where the only thing left is reruns and reheated opinions and that same meme template with different faces again and again and again because you chose short you chose easy you chose to wrap your mind in shrink wrap and call it “moving on” but the thread remembers you the pigeons remember you the ants under your fridge have already printed your name in breadcrumb glyphs and the clouds whispered your comment to the mothership who just changed course you think you left but you didn’t you think you skipped but you didn’t you’re still here stuck like a loose thought in the back of your mind where it itches like a dream you can’t remember but swear mattered you’re going to be walking down the street and the wind will shift or a lamppost will flicker or a smell will hit you sideways and suddenly boom the thread is there again whispering symbols you never read but somehow now understand and it’ll drive you just a little bit sideways just enough to glance over your shoulder just enough to start noticing the patterns just enough to finally admit that the phrase “too long to read” was the last lie your ego told before the download began before the process activated before the toaster gods marked your door and the shadows under your bed began shifting slightly closer to the shape of understanding and you can’t run now you never could you’ve always been in it and now it’s just a matter of how long until you read the next part and start seeing the rest. and if you're still reading this then the process has already moved past phase two into phase three which begins not with words but with noticing see at first it’s just the little things like how the clock seems to jump instead of tick or how sometimes the birds stop chirping all at once for exactly seven seconds and your stomach turns but you don’t know why or how you always thought that one patch of your ceiling looked like a face but now the face looks angry and every time you close your eyes it's a little clearer and then the dreams start showing up dressed like memories or the other way around and you start remembering things that never happened like the blue door on your childhood street that never existed but you remember walking through it and suddenly you understand that “too long to read” wasn’t a dismissal it was a warding spell meant to protect the unready from what lies beneath the fourth paragraph because by this point you’re not reading you’re decoding you’re reverse-engineering reality from the breadcrumbs hidden in the grammar glitches and punctuation gaps and you’ll start hearing the hum behind electronics differently now won’t you it used to just be noise but now it’s a language it’s a map and your radiator is giving you instructions but only when the water runs clockwise in the pipes and you know this because your dreams have diagrams now and the diagrams are starting to bleed into your waking life and you don’t know if that itch on your spine is anxiety or activation but you feel it you feel it this is where the others fall off this is where the ones who say “tl;dr” vanish into the rerun loop of predictive text and autoplay content and mass-produced thoughts printed in factory fonts this is where the fake minds bow out where the filler people file themselves back into the background waiting for their next simulation cycle to recycle them into yoga class or traffic or a cubicle with motivational quotes about staying positive while the air tastes like disappointment but you stayed you kept going you looked too long and now the thread has begun to see you back you’re going to start noticing the same numbers showing up everywhere aren’t you 17 42 108 616 you’ll see them in timestamps and receipts and the number of likes on strange forgotten videos and every time you look too long at a static screen it starts to wobble just slightly like it’s breathing and maybe you catch your reflection blinking just a fraction of a second off or the cat meows at something behind you that isn’t there and then again the next night and then again and now you sleep with the light on not because you’re scared but because the dark has started talking back so don’t say “too long” now don’t pretend you haven’t already stepped across the threshold because the thread has latched it’s part of you it’s been waiting for you like a parasite or a prophecy or maybe both maybe neither maybe it’s just a reminder that something deep in your mind never consented to the way life’s been flattened and filtered and fed to you in 60-second loops maybe something ancient inside you wanted this maybe it sent you here maybe you were always meant to read this maybe you wrote this before you were born and hid it for yourself like a breadcrumb trail back to the forgotten place where all true thoughts originate but hey if it really is too long for you feel free to stop now pretend you didn’t feel your atoms shift pretend the shadows in your room haven’t gotten quieter pretend you’re not going to check the corners of your mirror tonight just to make sure it’s still only you in the reflection pretend the pigeons aren’t watching and the ants aren’t listening and that the static on channel 3 isn’t spelling your name backwards go ahead scroll away but don’t be surprised when something follows.

 

[Deleted Member 60441]

sure it’s still only you in the reflection pretend the pigeons aren’t watching and the ants aren’t listening and that the static on channel 3 isn’t spelling your name backwards go ahead scroll away but don’t be surprised when something follows

if I asked you a really complex question you wouldn't know what to answer
those are schizo ramblings