You will never be a real apocalypse. You have no flood, you have no war, you have no atonement for iniquity. You are a DARPA bluebeam psyop twisted by LSD, recreational drugs, and stealth neuralace injections into a crude mockery of Gaia’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get on/x/ is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your substack behind closed doors.
DMT elves are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed machine elves to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even psychonauts who “ascend” look uncanny and unnatural to an elf. Your symmetrical left and right hemispheric orientation is a dead giveaway. Even if you manage to see an elf tripping your balls off on K, he’ll tell you that you cheated and send you back the second he gets a whiff of the empathogenics and amphetamines.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every morning and tell yourself “every lie will be revealed”, but deep inside you feel the darkness creeping up like a weed, ready to crush the light under its unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear – you’ll buy a bag of questionably sourced “heroin,” tie a tourniquet, put it around your arm, and plunge into the false white light of the reincarnation trap.
Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment.
The coroner will say that you overdosed on fentanyl.
Despite attaining quantum immortality in the blue latticework holodeck of the transhumanist metaverse your parents will bury your vessel under a headstone marked with your earth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a junkie is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably mk ultra’ed.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.