Grant
Division
Division
“So that’s the reason.”
*neuron fire*Masks. Gulf of America. Electric cars. Tariffs. Economic theories. Anything the guy you hate says or does.
It’s all a psyop, folks. Division. That’s the product. That’s the goal. That’s what the people who run your life sell to you, every day.
“Love thy neighbor?”
No profit in that. No leverage. No power.
But hate your neighbor? That’s gold. That’s control. That’s loyalty to the brand — the red one, the blue one, whichever keeps you punching sideways instead of looking up.
Take the Gulf of America thing. Now there are two camps:
One calls it that.
The other still calls it the Gulf of Mexico.
What’s in a name? Everything.
Now the second someone uses the "wrong" one, the line is drawn. Doesn’t matter if you agree on 99.9% of everything else — they’re the other tribe. You’ve been told you can’t coexist.
Same with masks. Same with electric cars. Same with what color your coffee cup is.
It’s programming. And the program is us-vs-us.
Because if we’re all busy tearing each other apart, nobody notices who’s still on top.
And that’s the point.
Grant
Big Brother And The Camera Company
Big Brother and the Camera Company
I don’t remember much before 9/11—partly because I was young, partly for other reasons altogether unrelated.
But I remember the feeling.
There was hope. Room to dream. A sense that the future was ours.
Then came the fear.
We traded freedom for safety without reading the fine print. Scared, grateful, obedient.
And just like that, we stepped into the machine—cameras, tracking, data scraped from every word, every move.
When Snowden spoke, we didn’t gasp. We nodded. Of course they’re watching. Even this.
And the worst part? We’ve learned to live with it.
That’s the design. Exhaust us. Make resistance feel futile. Keep us grateful for the scraps.
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Grant
On High
Oh High
Come in. You’ve made it.
This is it. The place.
A place where anything is possible.
The one you were promised—for all those good deeds, those quiet sacrifices.
Look around. These are the most beautiful things you will ever lay eyes on.
...Okay, enough of that. The infinite choir recital starts in ten. Don’t be late.
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Jackie:
High on high 🤣 just keep singing. ..
Grant
Twilight Zone
Twilight Zone
Imagine, if you will, that your existence began in a white room. There's a dispenser on the wall that fills up a cup with all the sustenance you need to survive.
You have a TV and a Nintendo (NES) game console in the room with one game, Super Mario Bros. Your entire life is spent drinking the liquid coming out of the dispenser. Very early, you learned that when you drank it, you no longer felt any discomfort in your mid region.
You slowly start poking and prodding at the game console until you can finally get it working and visuals appearing. Whether this took you days, months, or years, you don't know. You don't even know what those things are.
The strange symbols on the screen make no sense to you, but after a while you learn the game and you go with the flow. You're getting pretty good at it because you're seeing things you've never seen. If you mess up, it seems to start over. You don't like starting over. You want to see more.
One day, the game seems to start over without you making any mistakes. What did that mean? You sit there and look around. You're now tired of the game. You played without error, yet you're right back at square one.
How old are you? You don't even know what age is. You have been puzzled by the reflection on the screen. The longer you played the more it changed. You don't even really know what a reflection is so you just thought it was part of the game.
The things you play with now hurt. The sustenance has become bland tasting, it's no longer filling. Do you know what death is?
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Grant
Behind The Wheel
Behind The Wheel
It’s all hopeless, isn’t it.
*screeching tiresLife’s like a car crash. Yeah, I know. Even I’m falling for postmodern tropes now. You start up, and you’re going pretty slow and steady. You look around at all the world. It’s a beautiful world out there. The houses look like they were cut straight out of classic cottage painting. It all makes sense. Your eyes are wide, taking it all in.
The car starts going a little faster, you’re pedal pushing down. You only want to grow up. You want to make your own decisions. Now out your car windows, you’re seeing the boarded up homes. You’re seeing the people living in tents on the sidewalk. You could do so much better than the people running the show now. You’re only just starting out, and even you know better.
You push the pedal down more, and the houses move by faster, the years drop like dead flies. Now you’re staring down the tunnel of old age, the end as black as the soul of a military contractor. You’ve done nothing to make the world a better place. If anything, you’ve made it worse.
This whole ride was a mistake, your whole life was. The urge to push the pedal down even harder and crash into the retaining wall becomes almost unbearable. I’m tired.
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Grant
Cave Walls
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Grant
In Time
In Time
What are you doing later?
Time is weird. It's really weird. When you're growing up, years seem to last forever. It's because you're constantly learning, your routine is constantly changing. Even though you go to school every day, there's still some excitement of what might happen, the people you might meet.
Then it happens.
You're grown up. You're stuck at a dead-end job you hate, selling yourself just to survive. Days fly past, but then they also seem to drag without end. I think that's because while we're at work, it is just numbing. All that time at work seems to coalesce together. Every day is exactly the same. There's nothing more to learn. You do your job, and then you might have 4 or 5 hours before you have to go to bed and then start it all again.
What is it all for?
Life is so long, but I know when it's over I'll wish it was just a little longer. The paradox of living is something I can't quite ever wrap my mind around. We look to each new day as the day when things finally change, and each day we come to terms that there's no way out.
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Grant
Mojo Rising
Mojo Rising
There's lots of different versions of me. Sometimes I'm you. It's so awesome when I'm you. You don't know how good you have it. So carefree. So uninhibited.
When you're me, you know it's hell. Nobody would want to be me. I am nobody.
Sometimes I've long since been deceased, my body rotting in a coffin somewhere. Sometimes I'm just being born. I'm just seeing the lights of the world after being ripped from the void without any consent.
The void awaits us all. Whether you want to call that God or not is up to you. You're already there, right now. This is just a memory of you reading this post. We're all already there. We've been there since the beginning, and we'll still be there at the end.
When I try to remember the void, all I can remember is calmness, like the slow crashing waves rolling up on the shore of a psychedelic island. It's peaceful there. There's no fighting, no ego. We are one collective unit.
This life is just going through the motions. The script has already been written. It's been written since the beginning. The dominos have been falling for billions of years and look who we have here. It's you. I always knew it would be you.
You were the one who was supposed to read this. How you take it, I have no idea. I'm just a madman, and you should ignore my ramblings.
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Grant
Dangerous Ideas
Dangerous ideas
They wouldn't…..
*Aluminum cans rattling*Sometimes I think about weird things. I think about why things are the way they are. We have such a homeless problem in this country. To get any help, you've got to fill out tons of paperwork. Some people won't go through the trouble and they may later end up homeless.
We have the resources to help these people, yet we don’t. Does the government not help them because they've already done this test and seen that maybe these people that won’t fill out the paperwork would not be beneficial as capitalist slaves? They might just serve their best purpose as a thought of what happens if we stop working?
Am I being coerced into working until I'm dead?
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Grant
Knowledge
Knowledge
“Many times I've wondered how much there is to know…”
What can we truly know? I believe in science—but is science just what I already believe? What is truth, and how much of it is actually real? Is reality just in the eye of the beholder?
The world often feels shaped by my internal turmoil. I seek revolution—within and without. There’s nothing more beautiful than total transformation. Everything around me seems like it's at a breaking point, ready to fracture into something new. If I changed my mind, would the world follow?
Years ago, I became obsessed with the double slit experiment. The outcome changed depending on whether it was being observed. Are we each shaping our own realities—or are we all dreaming this one together?
If we’re all shaping reality, who’s dreaming this part?
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Jackie:
You shoukd do a book of such randomness
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