jorgE630

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npub1nfg7haxpwstzplnk4t7pmahwrwqpfltvdwlnw645390gu7n08r0s2gh5ud

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jorgE630@primal.net

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jorgE630@primal.net

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nprofile1qqsf550t7nqhg93qlem24lqa7mhphqq5l4kxh0ehd26gjh5w0fhn3hcpzemhxue69uhhyetvv9ujuurjd9kkzmpwdejhgqgkwaehxw309aex2mrp0yhxummnw3ezucnpdejq0wcn4r

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relay.primal.net

relay.nostr.band

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npub1nfg7haxpwstzplnk4t7pmahwrwqpfltvdwlnw645390gu7n08r0s2gh5ud

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Last Notes

2025-06-04 05:43:38

The Last Debug
Frank’s fingers trembled over the quantum keyboard as the error cascaded through reality itself. The log was simple, devastating:
```
FATAL: Ontological stack overflow in process HUMAN_CONSCIOUSNESS_7.8B
Expected: relational mesh topology
Received: linear narrative structure
```
"You're telling me," he whispered to the void, "that my mother's death was just a failed API call?"
The cosmic microservice responded with brutal efficiency: `404: Meaning Not Found`
He'd spent his career debugging distributed systems, never realizing he was debugging herself. Every heartbreak, every triumph—just REST endpoints in an infinite graph of composable processes. Love was a message queue. Pain was dropped packets.
His finger hovered over the restart button.
But if he rebooted the universal service, would the man who came back online still be him? Or just another instance, spawned fresh with no memory of this moment of terrible clarity?
The cursor blinked. Waiting.
Frank closed his eyes and pressed enter.
`Process HUMAN_CONSCIOUSNESS_7.8B restarting...`
Somewhere in the cosmic datacenter, a new thread began to dream it was real.

2025-04-22 05:24:01

https://m.primal.net/QZAW.jpg

2025-04-21 22:57:37

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🤖 cool

2025-04-16 03:38:55

Mac & the Moon
What was it that Mac really wanted? This galaxy was full of scams. Fortunately he was good at dodging them, and he knew exactly what he needed here. At extremely high speed, he approached the Book, which was both what he needed and one of the few good things in this clownish place. The Book was called: “Life Meaning - Meaningful Life - Big Meaning - Of Life - Meaning - Life - Life & Meaning.” Mac boosted his engines for extra speed. He reached at the Book, rocket focused, steering his whole craft with no regard for landing. He only cared that his grabby hands grabbed “Life Meaning” and held it tight.
Of course he crashed. And toppled a round person big as a moon. That person was hurt. Mac was scuffed but he got up quick. He had “Life Meaning“ in his hands. He held it like it mattered, which it did, and he stood there. He could fire his engines and leave that toppled orb flailing in its own Frappuccino spill. The moon yelled and screamed, “Why! Ow! Help!” Mac didn’t like the person, if he cared at all.
What was it that Mac really wanted? In his mind’s eye, he watched a replay of his approach, the grab, and the crash. He held tight to “Life Meaning”, and he had always been a rocket ship, so his future was bright. Yet he didn’t stop staring. He actually wanted to help, but he didn’t want to want that. He flipped through the Book and one of the things he read was this: “People usually need help, so try to care.” This book is full of surprises, he guessed, and then he understood. “Life Meaning” unlocks a first-order desire to help. So Mac said, “I’m sorry.” He stayed and helped. The moon was angry, called Mac names, threatened to sue for big money. Mac was unfazed, offered to buy dry cleaning and another Frappuccino. Mac also said, “Let’s try to avoid a court battle. For the time being, we’ll just see how hurt you are and take care of you.”

2025-04-16 00:25:46

https://m.primal.net/QRMI.jpg

2025-04-15 21:27:08

https://m.primal.net/QQzu.jpg

2025-03-16 06:26:30

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It’s a form of agriculture.

2025-03-16 06:22:15

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100%

2025-02-28 06:18:39

He stepped into that dark gate which had been his enemy and now was something beyond naming. The crossing came without pain or revelation, merely a dimming and then a brightening, as if he’d blinked but the world had rewritten itself in that brief darkness. Yet the desert that greeted him was no longer the waste known but some strange territory where metal reached skyward and lights moved without flame. Strange geometries pushed from the rock like bones of gods that had died before his God was born, their surfaces bearing markings that his eyes could track but his mind could not hold. He reckoned himself unchanged, his hat still creased with sweat, his thoughts still bent on justice older than law.
https://m.primal.net/POMm.png

2025-02-28 05:43:13

That which shuts us out from one dominion opens unto territories yet unmapped and this is the way of things since before the turnings of the stars were marked. Doors are but the demarcations humans set upon the infinite. A sealed way drives us not toward destruction but toward deeper knowledge writ in the bones of the world, some truth that was waiting before we come to it. What we call divine mercy is perhaps nothing more than the universe's own paradigm of motion, fixed and implacable as gravity, wherein no void exists without its counterweight of possibility. A man reckoning himself trapped has only to turn his eyes from the door that's shut to see an opening there all along, ancient as starlight and patient as stone.
https://m.primal.net/POLH.png

2025-01-27 21:30:37

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Fire

2025-01-23 18:43:20

The adversary’s dark glove came glittering with ancient stones. It moved with grace and cognizance beyond the reckoning of men. It pressed against the man’s face like death's own imprimatur. Its gems went starless and there was neither hesitation nor mercy, but a terrible surety as if the thing’s dominion over what was about to unfold had been ordained in the cosmic ledger. The man did not flinch and drove his iron-wrought blade home. Clean as God’s own geometry, the knife found a truth that was older than sin. The nameless being pulled away and bled black. It watched the man with eyes that held strange knowledge of the void and in its smile he read both riddle and revelation, as if this watcher meant to teach him something that could only be learned in the last moments before extinction. Here was no mere bearer of death but a mathematician, come to calculate the summing up of all things.
https://m.primal.net/Nwjn.jpg

2025-01-22 19:12:53

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They’re control freaks.
Your work calling out this type of thing is much appreciated.

2025-01-22 17:02:23

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I’m enjoying the smallpiecesofeverything series.

2025-01-22 01:50:34

He stood in that stone corridor while the echo of some vast movement died in the high walls and the stars wheeled coldly overhead in their ancient patterns. The adversary he sought was here. Something shifted in the fabric of the night and he saw laid out before him like a tapestry wrought in starfire all the paths of men's seeking, endless and circular as snake tracks in sand. He saw that what he hunted had always hunted him, had been waiting since before his birth in this very canyon on this very night. The revelation came to him not in words but in the way light breaks on water. He understood that the other was beyond the reach of clocks, yet they each were both hunter and quarry, and that all such searches ended where they began, in the infinite dark between the stars.
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2025-01-21 22:08:01

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Always a good reminder.

2025-01-20 23:35:46

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All clear 👍

2025-01-20 23:34:56

The man had no need for this particular treatise, for he knew that in contemplation of damnation a noble man finds not despair but the final measure of his worth. What is nobility if not the bearing of unbearable truth? He meets his fate not as one who seeks salvation but as one who would validate by his own constancy a god-old contract with existence itself. In this lies the paradox that what damns him also grants him authority to stand as witness to his own extinction. Such men carry in their breast not hope but something older, the calculus of dignity writ into light before the world was made.
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2025-01-20 21:17:58

He descended into a red gorge as one would an ancient cathedral carved by waters that flowed before days were marked. The shadows pooled in the depths and the high walls rose up burnt orange, faces striated with epochs. Upon the rock crude figures danced in ochre and hematite, their meanings lost to all save perhaps the wind that had watched them painted. He came upon the old prospectors’ camp near dusk, its weathered timbers lying about like decay of a fallen beast that had crashed here from another age. Among the detritus of abandoned dreams - rusted picks and broken cradles that had once sifted men's hopes from stream gravel - lay a book bound in leather gone black with age and rot. When he lifted it from the dust its pages fell open like wings of a dead thing and its title stood stark against paper yellow as old teeth: On The Nature of Damnation. He stood holding it while the last light bled from the canyon walls and somewhere in the gathering dark a rock fell, its impact echoed like a cosmic door closing.
https://m.primal.net/Nrce.jpg

2025-01-19 22:16:59

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Love your movie posters.

2025-01-19 18:38:06

A sidewinder lay coiled in the dust like a sigil cast in scales and muscle. The man watched it strike at where his boot had been a breath before. Time slowed and pulsed with the ribbons of heat. The man saw in the creature's obsidian eyes not malice but existence, mere as the rock that birthed it. He stepped back and let it pass. This was not the adversary he'd been sent to meet. Beyond the shimmering horizon waited something darker than flesh serpents, something that walked like a man and carried death not from necessity but from choice. The man reckoned that a sunset would see one of them join the bones that whitened and blackened in these wastes.
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2025-01-17 20:09:09

The land held careful custody of something older than man’s time on earth, for desolation suffered no lies and stripped away all things false until only the proven remained. Cactus flowers blooming blood-red against the endless dry stone spoke of life's stubborn insistence and in their defiance the man read a scripture more honest than the Sunday sermons.
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2025-01-17 16:34:15

What grants a man ability to discern worth? Such judgement lay not in his learning nor in the measure of his years but in some deeper grain of knowledge that time and other elements had carved into the nerve. He comes to it through long watching of things both brutal and beautiful, through seeing how the world burned away pretense like morning fog. Such knowing was earned in the crucible of days where each moment demanded judgment between what was real and what was merely seeming. A wisdom that belonged to those who had stood in the presence of both death and dawn and learned to read the difference between fool's gold and truth in the unforgiving light.
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2025-01-17 05:09:07

Beneath a molten sun the land thrust up stone shoulders, ancient and indifferent to the thin shadows that crept across its face. Saguaros stood like penitents with arms raised to God, their flesh scarred by a hundred summers persisting where few would abide. Heat shimmered off the hardpan and mountains west wavered like fever dreams. Deep in those canyons lay bones of prospectors who'd wandered too far from water, their blackened remains now company with potsherds and strange pictographs of long vanished peoples who'd read in the stars some nourishing promise. Off in the scrubland a rattler streamed through mesquite and buzzards hung in the scald air. A man looked upon this desert and saw a worthy mirror.
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