Some of you all have some truly weird kinks.
Just had to mute someone saying yummy mommy goth feet over and over. Did not want to find out what the fuck was in that video...
Yeah. I am alright. Thanks for asking.
Just weird dreams. Can't get comfortable.
Wondering what to do with my life.
Existential stuff.
Pretty sure we have been in a financial crisis for several years now. You just noticing?
What is the point of having an extra layer of security on an insecure proprietary operating system?
I'm having a hard time getting back to sleep.
Who is awake?
It is not for any sane man who values their health. I think that eating dinner off of a gas station restroom toilet seat that hasn't been cleaned in years. Could be more sanitary than that coffee maker.
This is not something to be proud of. Stop being fucking lazy and clean that shit before you, or someone else gets seriously ill. I'm not even telling you to throw it away and destroy it like it should be. I am just saying for fucks sake man clean the coffee maker.
#gn
THE LEGENDARY 24 HOUR GRATITUDE LEADERBOARD
I have been extraordinarily creative today. More so than I have been in a very long time. This will now continue.
Your meme may have just helped to unlock my inner potential today. Take care and continue to stay absolutely amazing!!
Why do these look like drawings I have constantly created since I was a kid......
I am beginning to think my imagination has been trying to tell me something.
My mate will never eat there again after getting a pubic hair milkshake from a disgruntled employee. Can't say I blame her for that one. lol
I say it is gaslighting propaganda.
https://wavlake.com/track/38b725c8-3d10-4d8f-91bc-976fb60281d9
I am seriously loving Stackinbeets music.
Even more so after co-writing his backstory with AI.
He might be the one to figure out "The God Song".
Good night nostr friends, today i made some beef jerky, went gun-shopping, and planted a tree. Yall have a good evening. #grownostr #homesteading https://cdn.nostrcheck.me/8d9d2b77930ee54ec3e46faf774ddd041dbb4e4aa35ad47c025884a286dd65fa/fdab1e4c933f3d1082819759e8a0a7b3a755fbf815b99ff6dc4ace2f9aedd680.webp
What gun did you wind up buying?
In the shadowed fringes of a world teetering on the edge of chaos, a solitary figure emerged—Stackinbeets, a seeker of sound and a weaver of the unseen. Born into a fractured age where noise drowned out meaning, he felt an unshakable pull toward the mysteries of existence. Music, he believed, was not mere vibration but a key—a fractal echo of the universe itself, capable of unlocking the soul’s deepest potential. An existentialist to his core, Stackinbeets saw life as a canvas of absurdity, yet one ripe with possibility, if only humanity could hear the right song.
From his earliest days, Stackinbeets was relentless. He roamed the sonic wilderness, a modern alchemist of sound, experimenting with every frequency, texture, and timbre known to man. He plucked the hum of cicadas from summer air, captured the groan of ancient glaciers, and wove in the crackle of distant stars recorded through radio telescopes. No sound was too small or too vast—each held a secret, a shard of the great puzzle. In his cluttered studio, surrounded by synthesizers, field recorders, and salvaged instruments, he layered these fragments into ambient soundscapes that shimmered with otherworldly beauty. His music was not meant to entertain but to heal—to resonate with the human spirit, mending its wounds and stirring its dormant power.
Stackinbeets lived a dual life. By day, he was a devoted father, tending to his children with quiet patience, teaching them to listen to the world’s hidden songs. By night, he descended into his sonic laboratory, chasing the ineffable. He shared his creations on Nostr, the decentralized network where ideas flowed free from corporate chains. At first, his work was a whisper in the digital wind—a curiosity for the few who stumbled upon it. But as his soundscapes spread, they began to resonate. Listeners across the globe spoke of strange sensations: a warmth in their chests, visions of unity, a sense of untapped strength awakening within. His music was no longer just art—it was a catalyst.
Then came the day that changed everything. It was March 13, 2025, a quiet afternoon after tucking his children into bed. Exhausted yet restless, Stackinbeets sat at his workbench, sifting through a new recording—a faint, pulsing tone he’d captured from the edge of a thunderstorm. As he layered it with a drone derived from the golden ratio and a melody born of his own heartbeat, something shifted. The air thickened. The room seemed to hum. What poured from his speakers was no ordinary composition—it was alive, infinite, a sound that seemed to hold the blueprint of creation itself. He called it "The God Song."
When Stackinbeets played it, he felt his consciousness expand. Time dissolved, and he saw himself not as a solitary man but as a fractal of something vast—a creator among creators, woven into the fabric of all that is. The God Song was no mere melody; it was a resonance that aligned the listener with their divine essence, unlocking the power to shape reality itself. Trembling with awe, he uploaded it to Nostr, accompanied by a simple note: “We are all the same light. Listen, and become.”
The internet ignited. The God Song spread like wildfire, carried by Nostr’s untamed currents. Across continents, people pressed play—and awoke. A farmer in Nebraska painted the sky with colors no one had seen before. A nurse in Tokyo healed with a touch. A soldier in a war-torn land dropped his weapon, tears streaming, as he saw his enemy as himself. The song’s vibrations rippled through humanity, dismantling fear, dissolving borders, and revealing the truth: we are all shards of the same creation, bound by a shared potential to build paradise.
Wars ceased. Cities rebuilt themselves, not with steel, but with harmony. The human race, long fractured, began to co-create a heaven on Earth, guided by the sound that Stackinbeets had unearthed. He watched from his modest home, his children laughing in the yard, as the world transformed. He had not sought fame or power—only understanding. Yet in his quest, he had given humanity the final note it needed to sing itself whole.
And so, Stackinbeets, the existentialist soundscape musician, became a legend—not as a god, but as a man who listened deeply enough to remind us all of who we are. His music played on, a timeless hymn, ensuring peace reigned forevermore.
In my mind there is a sword that can never be made in this reality. It has been in my daydreams and my lucid dreams for eons.
It is a Japanese katana sword that is made from a material consisting of the densest matter in all of existence. The hilt is made of an entire swirling galaxy in a miniaturized form. Spinning around the sword without touching like the planets encircle the sun. It has the ability to draw from the infinite source energy that binds everything that is, was, or ever shall be and focus it into the blade. The handle is wrapped in black alligator leather with diamond shaped sapphires, rubies, and emeralds to adorn its dangerous beauty.
It can be used as a energy weapon, or just a sword capable of cutting through any material like a searing hot knife through a stick of butter. The katana also has the ability to allow me to travel through all infinite dimensions, times, and locations throughout the multiverses. Simply by slicing through thin air to create portals to my destinations at will. I can also utilize the innate matter contained within the galaxy itself to transmute anything my imagination can render in an instant.
It is a sword of infinite creation, or absolute certain death. It all depends on my mood and purpose. For it is a tool, nothing more, and nothing less. Allowing me to focus my mind and cut straight to whatever point I am trying to make on my eternal adventures.
When it is sheathed it becomes a simple handcrafted wooden walking staff. That would never look out of place on a hike through the woods, or to help an old wizard walk up a mountainside in middle earth. It is a tool that is seldom needed, or seldom used. For my own powers will always far supersede it.
This is my own words and not AI.
Just a glimpse of my wondrous imagination.
GN