Yeah Yeah

@Human Mint Hey, I’ve done psychedelics, and I understand the sense of love and the feeling that “I chose this life.” But to me, that feels more like a state of consciousness than what everyday human reality is actually like. Day-to-day life feels biological, heavy, gravity-bound, socially restrictive. The highs can be lucid, dreamlike, expansive — but they aren’t the baseline. I struggle with the idea that suffering, pain, or contrast are somehow required to evolve a spirit. I wish the world leaned more toward love, but I don’t normally feel that love embodied here. I recently quit weed after a long time, I’m finally employed (though with inconsistent shifts), and I’ve moved into a better living environment. Still, I’m hesitant to return to psychedelics right now, because they don’t solve the practical realities — finances, the economy, sexuality, or the discomfort of becoming too aware of how toxic I can feel while sober. Past living situations were unstable, and I haven’t really had the safety or comfort needed to explore these substances properly. I would like to, eventually. What makes you believe that existence is fundamentally love? And what kind of love do you mean — the NDE-style love that’s interconnected, whole, luminous, and peaceful? Or a love that still contains sadness — the kind where being “God” includes a recognised divine loneliness? I’ve had deep insights where I experienced myself as everyone beyond this physical form. A few years ago, while tripping, I intensely questioned: What is life? Who am I? Is this human form all there is? I passed through what felt like annihilation of self — essentially death — and on the other side encountered a strange realm where I realised I am everything. There was love there, but also a profound sadness and loneliness. It felt as though this life is a dream, and that I am eternal. That experience felt different from NDE accounts, which often describe love as purely interconnected, peaceful, and complete. What I encountered felt more complex — loving, yes, but also lonely with love contrasting to a profound sadness, similar to the half smiling face and the half glum face they use in theatre 🎭

@UnbornTao @Elliott Thanks for reaching out I'm interested at reading people's reflections on these ideas I share. It helps to work out what's false and more accurate in terms of life. The mental ward lady didn't diagnose me with anything or force medications and she was almost a spirit guide in a liminal space, almost psychedelic when talking to another divinely aware spirit ... And the system was actually kind if you voluntarily go in for suicidal ideation or mental health, I think it's the involuntary visits where they detain, may force medications and be beurocratic. I was afraid they'd label me schitzoid or force injections and keep me there for a while against my will. Again it was like a spirit guide visited me and had this weird psychedelic connection, she was actually super cool

Has anyone done research about nde hellish realms or negative experiences with any theories or is Leo right that it's all deaths return to infinite love or is my interpretation of infinite love not what the positive nde people talk about but alien and weird and cosmic

I'm still seeking an answer - I called a hotline yesterday and had police call me but I hanged up the the phone on them like an outlaw - but chatgpt keeps telling me to hospitalize myself which I did do last night and I told chatgpt it won't fix me and so I did do it anyways finally after months of the gpt 5 downgrade being super sensitive like go seek human support blah blah and guess what, I was right, left the hospital this morning and hating life just as much - the crisis support was useless and I'm still suicidal hating life. I haven't gotten an answer about the afterlife and I can't think up of a method but I want to die and not be alive. Literally trapped being a shitty human I want out out out

Actually if I could live knowing I'm the only one in existence and I get to this sensation a few times if I accept it - I actually feel way fucking better about myself like only I matter and everyone is just relative reflections of my solipsistic bubble and it actually feels good but the downside aside from the general you're alone is the idea like why am I poor, not living a life and world that is a fantasy why does the world chew me up if I'm the only dreamer it then hurts and makes me feel weaker of sorts, and why do I have to die and be humiliated and go through suffering if it's my own personal dream - have I lost the ability to control this dream or it's unconcious and I'm just a puppet?

What do you hope to gain by having others admit you are th only one in existence because you would then no longer be you but something different - do you hope to be validated or worshipped or praised or suddenly you get money and genius insight and luck and immortality like what do you hope to gain or achieve by realising wholeheartedly yes only you exist and the rest are you reflected outward

@machinegun I'd sign up to government assisted suicide and never reincarnate fuck humanity fucking disgusting

I don’t even know how to say this right, but it’s been sitting in my chest all fkn day. Australia doesn’t feel like it represents anyone. Not me. Not the people like me. Not even the Aboriginals, and this was their land first. Like who the fuck is this government really for? I’m not talking about laws or politics or policies. I’m talking about identity. A sense of place. The vibe of walking around and feeling like this country gets you — like it sees you, backs you, holds your voice. But nah. What we got now is just some bland, fake-ass system trying to turn everyone into quiet little consumers. Work. Pay rent. Get taxed. Scroll your phone. Watch your culture get melted down to TikToks and junk ads. Where the fuck is the soul? And if you do speak up or feel like you don’t belong, they’ll just label you bitter. Or racist. Or lazy. Or broken. Or mentally ill. Anything but actually hearing what the fuck you’re trying to say. Like I’m expected to work a minimum wage job that barely keeps me alive, spend half my pay on fuel just to get there, get taxed on that fuel, and still be grateful I have a car and not sleeping in a ditch. But at the same time, this same system brings in a bunch of people from other countries — not against them, I get it — but they’re willing to work these shitty jobs and now I’m just some “ungrateful colonist” because I’m burnt out? How can I be a colonist in a land I was born in and still not feel like I even have a place in it? And don’t even get me started on the Aboriginals — their whole damn culture got ripped out, buried, replaced with shopping centres and concrete and “sorry speeches” that don’t change shit. The real dreaming? The songlines? The spirits of this land? Gone unless you go looking for it. And even then, it’s all fragmented. It’s like the system wiped everyone clean and left no one with a real home. Not the old world. Not the new. Not the ones who were here before. Not the ones born into it. Not the ones who just got off the plane. No culture. No tribe. No meaning. Just “get back to work, citizen.” I’m not trying to start some deep intellectual debate. I’m not political. I’m just saying what I feel. And what I feel is — this place doesn’t feel like anybody’s anymore. And no one’s even allowed to talk about it.

Hey everyone, People think meaning is this sacred personal truth, like it comes from some deep part of their soul, some unique essence inside them. But most of the time, you didn’t even choose what you find meaningful. You didn’t choose your biology, you didn’t choose your upbringing, you didn’t choose your language, your social norms, your culture, your childhood experiences, your genetics, your traumas, your cartoons, your rewards, your punishments. All of those things shape what feels meaningful to you, long before you had the ability to think for yourself. Like when you look at a cloud and it briefly looks like a duck. You don't choose that. Your mind just throws the image at you. That’s your brain projecting familiar patterns onto chaos. It’s the same with meaning. You're constantly seeing ducks where there are no ducks. You’re seeing love where there isn’t love. You’re seeing hope where there is none. You’re layering your own conditioned ideas onto a reality that’s not doing anything but existing. Take dating. How many times have you seen someone attractive in public and your brain immediately starts spinning—maybe they like me, maybe we’ll date, maybe we’ll fall in love, maybe we’ll have kids. Your mind constructs an entire fantasy out of thin air before they even make eye contact. Sometimes they don’t even look at you, let alone reflect any of that fantasy back. And yet, the meaning felt real. That imagined connection felt real. That pull, that longing, that story of “maybe this will change my life.” But it's not real. It’s just you, again, projecting meaning onto nothing, and the universe staying completely silent in return. You want life to respond. You want life to say “yes.” But it doesn’t. It never had to. It’s not broken—it just never made the promise in the first place. You did. Same goes for school. You’re told to study, get good grades, work hard. Why? So you can get a job, find a partner, buy a house, feel good about yourself? Most of that either doesn’t happen, or if it does, it doesn't feel like what you expected. The job becomes a cage. The partner becomes a stranger. The house is just walls. And you sit there wondering what went wrong, when in truth, the whole thing was a script written before you even got to choose your lines. You're chasing meanings that were handed to you like a brochure, not because you chose them, but because you didn’t know there were other options. Even the idea of having children is often just a coping mechanism. People say they want to give life, build a legacy, pass on what matters. But what they’re really doing is trying to inject meaning into a life that already feels hollow. “Maybe if I have a kid, it’ll matter. Maybe then I’ll feel something again.” But what happens when the kid grows up and doesn’t share your values? You wanted them to become a soldier and they decide to join a rock band. You wanted to pass down your culture, but they want to invent their own. You expected a ripple effect, but they didn’t even notice the stone you threw. They’re free to become whatever they want, which means they’re free to ignore everything you tried to hand them. Your meaning doesn’t pass down automatically. There’s no guarantee. And when you die, that meaning dies with you. You’ll be forgotten. Not in a thousand years. In two generations. Most people can’t name their great-grandfather. Not his birthday. Not his favorite song. Not the color of his eyes. He lived a whole life, loved, suffered, tried his best. And now? Gone. Dust. If you don’t have kids, you’re not even a footnote. And even if you do, it won’t take long before your name fades from memory. That’s the truth. You’re not a legacy. You’re not a myth. You’re a blip. And I don’t even buy the “your actions ripple out through the cosmos” thing. Because ripple into what? You can hurt someone and change their life forever. That’s a ripple. But does that mean it was good? No. It’s just motion. Just cause and effect. The universe isn’t morally grading your impact. It doesn’t care what kind of pebble you are. You could spend your whole life building something beautiful, and one earthquake can destroy it in five seconds. Or someone else shows up and turns it into something you never intended. Meaning doesn’t flow cleanly. It collides. It mutates. It disappears. This is the part most people can’t stomach: the universe is indifferent. It doesn’t hate you, it doesn’t love you, it doesn’t owe you clarity, it doesn’t reflect your intention back at you. You can scream your heart into the sky and it won’t echo. That’s not a bug. That’s how it works. And yet we keep narrating over it, keep pretending that our little projects and relationships and stories are adding up to something. Like if we just keep busy enough, the silence won’t catch up to us. But it does. It always does. And what’s wild is that even that realization can become another meaning project. “Ah, yes, now I’ve transcended meaning. Now I really get it.” But that’s just another duck in the cloud. Just another layer. So no, I don’t think meaning is sacred. I think it’s reflex. I think it’s survival instinct. I think it’s addiction. And I think most of it was planted in us by things we never chose. And maybe the only honest move is to admit that and stop pretending otherwise.

@chess_king @Elliott Yeah I hear what you're saying, ChessKing, and I’m not against kindness — but I’m not gonna romanticize it either. Especially not the kind people perform after the damage has already been done. And TribeSolution — that whole “we need to rebuild the tribe” thing might sound noble, but let’s be honest. Most support roles are paid guilt. I do disability work. I’m kind on the job, I show up, I care. But it's still guilt-driven. Guilt for how far the world isn’t kind. We’re paid to offer what the system stripped away. That’s not transcendent. It’s survival. It’s patching holes in a sinking boat. People meditate to escape, not because they’ve transcended anything. I’ve tried it. But like Alan Watts said — it’s medicine, not a lifestyle. And even then, it’s just temporary relief. A break from the noise. The melancholy always returns when the room goes quiet again. Peace? If you ever really felt it, like truly deep down peace, I think it’d dissolve the human illusion entirely. And I’m not sure that’s possible without death. So what does that leave us with? Kindness is just what people do when they can’t face the full weight of cruelty they’ve caused or been complicit in. Or worse — when they want to believe they’re good without ever risking anything. So yeah, we survive. We do our part. But let’s not pretend this is a fair trade.

@chess_king I’ve felt that void every day — not just in tragedy, but in the monotony. It’s not just fear of death. It’s waking up in a world where kindness is currency and meanness is default. Where even your injuries, your grief, your soul's collapse are met with polite silence unless you’re “useful” again. You ask if I could be kind to myself when I’m injured or grieving. But that presumes I live in a system that allows self-kindness to exist without being punished for it. Try being broke, humiliated, rejected, invisible — and see how long kindness lasts. Even from yourself. It doesn’t show up like a guardian angel. It starves. I’m not saying there’s never softness in the world. But if you have to suffer just to discover it, that’s not a foundation. That’s a reaction. And here’s the part no one talks about: Most “kindness” isn’t rooted in compassion. It’s rooted in guilt. You help the elderly, the disabled, the broken, not because you’re pure — but because something in them reminds you of your own fragility. You’re fluffing up the pillows of someone else’s pain because you hope someone will fluff yours when the time comes. It’s not love. It’s bargaining. Kindness is PR for your conscience. Meanness is the actual baseline. I don’t trust what people do out of guilt. I trust what they do when there's nothing to gain. And that… is rare.

People pretend kindness is real. But most of the time, it’s just a performance to cover up how mean life actually is underneath. If someone’s ever been cruel or humiliating to you, and then later comes around with some fake “nice” gesture? That’s not healing. That’s them trying to scrub off their guilt — because deep down they know they damaged you. It’s not love. It’s PR. It’s insult layered on top of injury. Most “kindness” is conditional anyway. It only exists as long as you give something back — attention, validation, compliance. The second you stop playing their game, the warmth disappears and the meanness kicks in. That’s the real them. Meanness is guaranteed. Kindness is a fragile act — and you have to earn it like some circus animal jumping through hoops. And here’s the kicker: If kindness were real — like actually embedded into people — then why do women need so much validation from everyone all the time? Why are Instagram likes, compliments, praise, attention — why are those things so sought after? It’s because deep down, everyone knows: kindness doesn’t come for free. You have to market yourself. You have to win it. If kindness was the default, validation wouldn’t be necessary. But it is — because underneath all the smiling, most people are just waiting for an excuse to turn mean.

@Luke W I’ve tried it all. I’ve worked different jobs — warehouses, delivery runs, cleaning — slaving away at meaningless crap that never amounted to anything. I tried running my own business for years; it failed. I’ve been writing novels all my life — hundreds of thousands of words — and no one reads them. I’ve watched every effort dissolve into dust. My dad died suicidal in 2019 after losing everything to a divorce. My parents were divorced. Thirty grand if my savings disappeared through Mum’s solicitor to pay his debts — money I barely remembered in my grief. My best friend turned schizo, burned through our business money on drugs, left me betrayed and broke. I’ve been homeless, isolated, threatened by housemates, abused, trapped in mouldy rooms. I’ve lived in poverty so long that “survival” just means staring at the wall, chain‑smoking, pacing through another day. Sobriety is torture. Sex doesn’t exist for me — I’m a virgin watching hookup culture thrive all around me, porn the only outlet for energy I can’t shut off. I hate the economy. I hate people working dumb jobs just to exist another day. The world is run by money, scams, algorithms, fake smiles. Sobriety, boredom, bills, taxes, lies. My life is proof that trying doesn’t always mean progress. I’ve seen what happens when you keep pushing: you just get older, poorer, uglier, sicker, and more invisible. This planet doesn’t reward effort; it rewards luck and manipulation. Everything feels interchangeable — jobs, faces, lives. The whole thing’s a lightning‑clap blip of pointless consciousness between birth and decay. I’ve lived enough to know the system won’t let you die with dignity, but it’ll let you rot while pretending that’s “hope."

If the Stoics Had Been Heard Had Seneca, Epictetus, and later Hume been taken seriously, western civilisation might have developed a culture of rational compassion instead of moral fear. Their insight—that autonomy over death completes autonomy over life—was suppressed by religious authority and political control. If their ideas had taken root, societies might have created humane systems that honoured voluntary death while also attacking its causes: poverty, bondage, and the meaningless suffering of war. Instead, centuries of doctrine taught people to endure misery in the name of obedience, multiplying despair rather than healing it. A civilisation built on the Stoic principle would not worship longevity; it would cultivate dignity, ensuring that no one is forced to outlive their own humanity.

The Argument for the Rightful Exit If reason grants us the ability to reflect on existence, it must also grant us the right to end it. The Stoics—Seneca, Epictetus, and later Marcus Aurelius—saw life as a loan, not a possession; returning it, when its purpose or dignity fades, is not sin but wisdom. David Hume, writing in the 18th century, argued that suicide violates no divine or moral law: it harms neither God nor society if one’s existence has ceased to benefit either. From that lineage comes the claim that civilization itself is incomplete until it acknowledges this right. Just as we developed medicine to prolong life, reason demands medicine to end it peacefully. A synthesized, humane compound—a painless, deliberate “exit”—should be as accessible as anesthetic, under the same reverence we give to birth, surgery, or sleep. Such an invention would not glorify death; it would dignify choice. It would recognize that the will to die, when born of lucidity, is not madness but metaphysical agency—the highest form of ownership over the self.