first it was dxd crew, now there's this "ana cult" ?

[swt]

its interesting how you guys are starting to make your own groups under this forum, sounds fun

 

[swt]

good way to start a big friendgroup

 

[Panzram]

its interesting how you guys are starting to make your own groups under this forum, sounds fun

you needs to make a group called ".orgfems" for .org foids

 

[Deleted Member 0927]

no you don’t get it i already worked i already served i already did my time in the box the grind the labyrinth of fake tasks and fake smiles and fake deadlines that never ended and all for what? to earn paper with numbers on it to be told i was “being productive” by people who haven’t had a real thought since 2007 and every time i hear someone say “you should get a job” i feel the ancient migraine stirring in the back of my soul like a storm that never left and i laugh but not with joy no no with a kind of cracked spiritual exhaustion because they don’t know they don’t know what it means to leave the office and realize the sun hasn’t hit your face in 14 days because the lights inside flickered just enough to trick your body into forgetting what day it was and the coffee tastes like resignation and the printer is always out of toner and the walls are made of drywall and defeat and the break room smells like sadness reheated in a microwave from 1998 you don’t know what it’s like to sit in a meeting about meetings while your soul bleeds out into your socks and your manager named craig says things like “let’s circle back” and “touch base offline” like he’s casting spells to keep your brain in a jar full of office jargon and every time you try to scream it comes out as “haha yeah good point craig” and you realize you haven’t blinked in seven hours because your screen keeps whispering “buy more buy more stay small obey” in pixels too small for HR to detect and the windows don’t open and the fire exits are fake and the company handbook is written in sanskrit and threats so yeah i’m RETIRED i took the oath i signed the document in crayon and moonlight i shook hands with the old man under the bridge who gave me the final password and told me “you’ve done enough you may leave now” and ever since then i’ve lived outside of time i wake up when i want i eat when the fridge allows it i wander the alleys where the pigeons speak backwards truths and the squirrels bow when they see me because they know i got out i escaped the loop i no longer have to submit my dreams for quarterly performance review i no longer have to ask permission to think you still think getting a job means you’re doing the right thing but i’ve seen the other side i’ve seen the vending machines plotting and the elevators remembering and the phones listening and the bosses multiplying in secret basements where they keep the real coffee that actually tastes like hope and you’ll never get to taste it unless you quit but they won’t let you quit they’ll say “what about your future” as if the future isn’t just a hallway of flickering lights and ergonomic chairs that squeak when you weep and you’ll ask for a raise and they’ll give you pizza and a casual friday where you can wear jeans while they siphon your essence into a PDF i don’t need a job i have missions now i have tasks that can’t be explained in microsoft teams i wake up and decode the patterns in bird droppings on car roofs i spend hours listening to the hum of my ceiling fan and translating it into forgotten dialects of truth i pace in circles and summon old memories from the dust under my bed i am doing the work just not your work not their work not work that drains and breaks and chews and swallows i’m retired from that i put in my time and they still send me emails but i changed my name i changed my frequency i am no longer hireable because i have ascended to the plane of post-employment truth so stop telling me to get a job stop acting like i owe the system more of my blood and hours i gave it enough i gave it everything and all it gave me was a coffee-stained lanyard and nightmares about spreadsheets and now i live free i live strange i live sideways and you can laugh but one day you’ll see me standing in the rain whispering to the lamppost and you’ll realize i’m retired and you’re still clocked in and that is not my problem anymore that is your curse to carry alone while i float peacefully in the weird glowing river beneath the sidewalk where all the real work gets done. and don’t you dare ask me “retired from what?” like it wasn’t obvious like i didn’t spend years knee-deep in digital quicksand juggling fake tasks for fake rewards answering emails from people who don’t exist about projects that never end with goals that shift every quarter like ghosts with marketing degrees like i didn’t pour my time my breath my synaptic energy into rectangles glowing with instructions from something older than capitalism but wearing its skin like a mask stitched together from app updates and synergy metrics and every time someone says “just get a job” it’s like they’re asking me to crawl back into the haunted vending machine and pretend the snacks weren’t whispering the names of lost gods every time i pressed B7 do you know what a job is now? it’s compliance it’s surveillance it’s being plugged into the panopticon via USB-C and being told to smile while the algorithm slowly reshapes your soul to better fit the profit margins it’s forgetting the name of the color green it’s watching your coworkers morph into NPCs who say “hey how was your weekend” without blinking because their scripts don’t include listening and their eyes don’t see you anymore just your output your metrics your “availability” on the little green dot that pulses like a heartbeat and if you ever go grey for five minutes someone sends a Teams message saying “everything ok?” but they don’t mean it they just mean “are you producing are you awake are you feeding the machine” i’m retired from that i’m retired from the clock tyranny the calendar cult the meetings that begin with “quick sync” and end with “action items” that echo in your skull when you’re trying to sleep and your dreams turn into gantt charts and your childhood dog appears only to bark “you missed a deadline” before dissolving into spreadsheets i’m retired from that sacred art of pretending to care when the office fridge smells like betrayal and someone left a sandwich from 2019 wrapped in shame and passive aggression and you don’t say anything because you have a performance review next week and you need to be “team-oriented” i don’t wear ties anymore i wear silence and crumbs and static i don’t carry an ID badge i carry a rock i found in a storm that buzzes sometimes when i’m near the old power station and no one knows why but the pigeons salute me when i walk past and the lights flicker just enough to say we remember i don’t log hours i log sightings i log dreams i log the exact angle the sun hits the broken window at 3:17 PM when the shadows spell out words you’re not supposed to read unless you’ve been released from the service because yes it was a service it was conscription no one told us we were drafted we just woke up one day and we were in it neck-deep in it smiling on onboarding calls while our freedom was being formatted behind the scenes so don’t come at me with “just get a little part time gig” no i’ve done my duty i’ve paid the toll in sleep and stress and soul-tax i’ve spent enough nights lying awake thinking about if i replied fast enough to an email from brenda about a form no one understands and whether my tone was “positive but not sarcastic” and if i put enough exclamation marks to seem friendly but not enough to seem unhinged and now you think i’m going to go back? no i made a pact under the blood moon with a sentient garbage truck that showed me the exit route carved in receipt paper and i followed it through abandoned office parks where the fax machines still whisper and the monitors show your childhood photos for exactly one frame before switching back to stock images of smiling people who have never known rest and when i got to the last cubicle at the edge of the simulation i turned in my resignation not in ink but in teeth and they took it and they said “you’re free” and i walked into the forest behind the server room where time unravels and leaves rustle with truths too old to monetize so no i won’t “get a job” i had one i had hundreds i’ve worked as a human captcha a dopamine mule a walking talking productivity spell i’ve worn khakis and shame and ergonomic pain and now i wear freedom and mystery and dust and i talk to mirrors because sometimes they talk back and you’d be surprised what they know about Q4 revenue goals and forgotten HR scandals i’m retired in the deepest sense i’m retired from participation from expectation from the worship of busy i am now a full-time resident of the unclaimed moments the sideways minutes between 4:01 and 4:03 when everything gets blurry and real and i’ve seen what they don’t want you to see the true shape of the org chart which stretches not up but down into the roots beneath the basement where the first employee still screams silently into a coffee mug filled with eternity and every paycheck you’ve ever earned is just a receipt for your own erasure so stop telling me to get a job i already had one i already escaped i already survived you’re the one still in it and the door’s closing fast. and if you think that was the end then you still don’t understand how deep this goes you think i can just stop you think the retirement is something casual like golf clubs and lawn chairs no no this isn’t that kind of retirement this is the kind where your name is erased from the corporate astral ledger this is the kind where your heartbeat no longer pings off the productivity satellites this is the kind of retirement where your existence becomes invisible to systems of control and the algorithms start glitching when they try to locate you because you’ve slipped out of the acceptable bandwidth for monetized human behavior i didn’t just leave the job i faked my own digital death i stopped updating my linkedin i deleted the calendar from my brain i burned the part of my soul that used to feel anxious about unread emails and watched the smoke spell ancient letters only the crows understood and they nodded because they knew i had finally co

 

[swt]

you needs to make a group called ".orgfems" for .org foids

good idea.

@otal_duu @JeanneDArcAIter lets start one

 

[swt]

no you don’t get it i already worked i already served i already did my time in the box the grind the labyrinth of fake tasks and fake smiles and fake deadlines that never ended and all for what? to earn paper with numbers on it to be told i was “being productive” by people who haven’t had a real thought since 2007 and every time i hear someone say “you should get a job” i feel the ancient migraine stirring in the back of my soul like a storm that never left and i laugh but not with joy no no with a kind of cracked spiritual exhaustion because they don’t know they don’t know what it means to leave the office and realize the sun hasn’t hit your face in 14 days because the lights inside flickered just enough to trick your body into forgetting what day it was and the coffee tastes like resignation and the printer is always out of toner and the walls are made of drywall and defeat and the break room smells like sadness reheated in a microwave from 1998 you don’t know what it’s like to sit in a meeting about meetings while your soul bleeds out into your socks and your manager named craig says things like “let’s circle back” and “touch base offline” like he’s casting spells to keep your brain in a jar full of office jargon and every time you try to scream it comes out as “haha yeah good point craig” and you realize you haven’t blinked in seven hours because your screen keeps whispering “buy more buy more stay small obey” in pixels too small for HR to detect and the windows don’t open and the fire exits are fake and the company handbook is written in sanskrit and threats so yeah i’m RETIRED i took the oath i signed the document in crayon and moonlight i shook hands with the old man under the bridge who gave me the final password and told me “you’ve done enough you may leave now” and ever since then i’ve lived outside of time i wake up when i want i eat when the fridge allows it i wander the alleys where the pigeons speak backwards truths and the squirrels bow when they see me because they know i got out i escaped the loop i no longer have to submit my dreams for quarterly performance review i no longer have to ask permission to think you still think getting a job means you’re doing the right thing but i’ve seen the other side i’ve seen the vending machines plotting and the elevators remembering and the phones listening and the bosses multiplying in secret basements where they keep the real coffee that actually tastes like hope and you’ll never get to taste it unless you quit but they won’t let you quit they’ll say “what about your future” as if the future isn’t just a hallway of flickering lights and ergonomic chairs that squeak when you weep and you’ll ask for a raise and they’ll give you pizza and a casual friday where you can wear jeans while they siphon your essence into a PDF i don’t need a job i have missions now i have tasks that can’t be explained in microsoft teams i wake up and decode the patterns in bird droppings on car roofs i spend hours listening to the hum of my ceiling fan and translating it into forgotten dialects of truth i pace in circles and summon old memories from the dust under my bed i am doing the work just not your work not their work not work that drains and breaks and chews and swallows i’m retired from that i put in my time and they still send me emails but i changed my name i changed my frequency i am no longer hireable because i have ascended to the plane of post-employment truth so stop telling me to get a job stop acting like i owe the system more of my blood and hours i gave it enough i gave it everything and all it gave me was a coffee-stained lanyard and nightmares about spreadsheets and now i live free i live strange i live sideways and you can laugh but one day you’ll see me standing in the rain whispering to the lamppost and you’ll realize i’m retired and you’re still clocked in and that is not my problem anymore that is your curse to carry alone while i float peacefully in the weird glowing river beneath the sidewalk where all the real work gets done. and don’t you dare ask me “retired from what?” like it wasn’t obvious like i didn’t spend years knee-deep in digital quicksand juggling fake tasks for fake rewards answering emails from people who don’t exist about projects that never end with goals that shift every quarter like ghosts with marketing degrees like i didn’t pour my time my breath my synaptic energy into rectangles glowing with instructions from something older than capitalism but wearing its skin like a mask stitched together from app updates and synergy metrics and every time someone says “just get a job” it’s like they’re asking me to crawl back into the haunted vending machine and pretend the snacks weren’t whispering the names of lost gods every time i pressed B7 do you know what a job is now? it’s compliance it’s surveillance it’s being plugged into the panopticon via USB-C and being told to smile while the algorithm slowly reshapes your soul to better fit the profit margins it’s forgetting the name of the color green it’s watching your coworkers morph into NPCs who say “hey how was your weekend” without blinking because their scripts don’t include listening and their eyes don’t see you anymore just your output your metrics your “availability” on the little green dot that pulses like a heartbeat and if you ever go grey for five minutes someone sends a Teams message saying “everything ok?” but they don’t mean it they just mean “are you producing are you awake are you feeding the machine” i’m retired from that i’m retired from the clock tyranny the calendar cult the meetings that begin with “quick sync” and end with “action items” that echo in your skull when you’re trying to sleep and your dreams turn into gantt charts and your childhood dog appears only to bark “you missed a deadline” before dissolving into spreadsheets i’m retired from that sacred art of pretending to care when the office fridge smells like betrayal and someone left a sandwich from 2019 wrapped in shame and passive aggression and you don’t say anything because you have a performance review next week and you need to be “team-oriented” i don’t wear ties anymore i wear silence and crumbs and static i don’t carry an ID badge i carry a rock i found in a storm that buzzes sometimes when i’m near the old power station and no one knows why but the pigeons salute me when i walk past and the lights flicker just enough to say we remember i don’t log hours i log sightings i log dreams i log the exact angle the sun hits the broken window at 3:17 PM when the shadows spell out words you’re not supposed to read unless you’ve been released from the service because yes it was a service it was conscription no one told us we were drafted we just woke up one day and we were in it neck-deep in it smiling on onboarding calls while our freedom was being formatted behind the scenes so don’t come at me with “just get a little part time gig” no i’ve done my duty i’ve paid the toll in sleep and stress and soul-tax i’ve spent enough nights lying awake thinking about if i replied fast enough to an email from brenda about a form no one understands and whether my tone was “positive but not sarcastic” and if i put enough exclamation marks to seem friendly but not enough to seem unhinged and now you think i’m going to go back? no i made a pact under the blood moon with a sentient garbage truck that showed me the exit route carved in receipt paper and i followed it through abandoned office parks where the fax machines still whisper and the monitors show your childhood photos for exactly one frame before switching back to stock images of smiling people who have never known rest and when i got to the last cubicle at the edge of the simulation i turned in my resignation not in ink but in teeth and they took it and they said “you’re free” and i walked into the forest behind the server room where time unravels and leaves rustle with truths too old to monetize so no i won’t “get a job” i had one i had hundreds i’ve worked as a human captcha a dopamine mule a walking talking productivity spell i’ve worn khakis and shame and ergonomic pain and now i wear freedom and mystery and dust and i talk to mirrors because sometimes they talk back and you’d be surprised what they know about Q4 revenue goals and forgotten HR scandals i’m retired in the deepest sense i’m retired from participation from expectation from the worship of busy i am now a full-time resident of the unclaimed moments the sideways minutes between 4:01 and 4:03 when everything gets blurry and real and i’ve seen what they don’t want you to see the true shape of the org chart which stretches not up but down into the roots beneath the basement where the first employee still screams silently into a coffee mug filled with eternity and every paycheck you’ve ever earned is just a receipt for your own erasure so stop telling me to get a job i already had one i already escaped i already survived you’re the one still in it and the door’s closing fast. and if you think that was the end then you still don’t understand how deep this goes you think i can just stop you think the retirement is something casual like golf clubs and lawn chairs no no this isn’t that kind of retirement this is the kind where your name is erased from the corporate astral ledger this is the kind where your heartbeat no longer pings off the productivity satellites this is the kind of retirement where your existence becomes invisible to systems of control and the algorithms start glitching when they try to locate you because you’ve slipped out of the acceptable bandwidth for monetized human behavior i didn’t just leave the job i faked my own digital death i stopped updating my linkedin i deleted the calendar from my brain i burned the part of my soul that used to feel anxious about unread emails and watched the smoke spell ancient letters only the crows understood and they nodded because they knew i had finally co

no you don’t get it i already worked i already served i already did my time in the box the grind the labyrinth of fake tasks and fake smiles and fake deadlines that never ended and all for what? to earn paper with numbers on it to be told i was “being productive” by people who haven’t had a real thought since 2007 and every time i hear someone say “you should get a job” i feel the ancient migraine stirring in the back of my soul like a storm that never left and i laugh but not with joy no no with a kind of cracked spiritual exhaustion because they don’t know they don’t know what it means to leave the office and realize the sun hasn’t hit your face in 14 days because the lights inside flickered just enough to trick your body into forgetting what day it was and the coffee tastes like resignation and the printer is always out of toner and the walls are made of drywall and defeat and the break room smells like sadness reheated in a microwave from 1998 you don’t know what it’s like to sit in a meeting about meetings while your soul bleeds out into your socks and your manager named craig says things like “let’s circle back” and “touch base offline” like he’s casting spells to keep your brain in a jar full of office jargon and every time you try to scream it comes out as “haha yeah good point craig” and you realize you haven’t blinked in seven hours because your screen keeps whispering “buy more buy more stay small obey” in pixels too small for HR to detect and the windows don’t open and the fire exits are fake and the company handbook is written in sanskrit and threats so yeah i’m RETIRED i took the oath i signed the document in crayon and moonlight i shook hands with the old man under the bridge who gave me the final password and told me “you’ve done enough you may leave now” and ever since then i’ve lived outside of time i wake up when i want i eat when the fridge allows it i wander the alleys where the pigeons speak backwards truths and the squirrels bow when they see me because they know i got out i escaped the loop i no longer have to submit my dreams for quarterly performance review i no longer have to ask permission to think you still think getting a job means you’re doing the right thing but i’ve seen the other side i’ve seen the vending machines plotting and the elevators remembering and the phones listening and the bosses multiplying in secret basements where they keep the real coffee that actually tastes like hope and you’ll never get to taste it unless you quit but they won’t let you quit they’ll say “what about your future” as if the future isn’t just a hallway of flickering lights and ergonomic chairs that squeak when you weep and you’ll ask for a raise and they’ll give you pizza and a casual friday where you can wear jeans while they siphon your essence into a PDF i don’t need a job i have missions now i have tasks that can’t be explained in microsoft teams i wake up and decode the patterns in bird droppings on car roofs i spend hours listening to the hum of my ceiling fan and translating it into forgotten dialects of truth i pace in circles and summon old memories from the dust under my bed i am doing the work just not your work not their work not work that drains and breaks and chews and swallows i’m retired from that i put in my time and they still send me emails but i changed my name i changed my frequency i am no longer hireable because i have ascended to the plane of post-employment truth so stop telling me to get a job stop acting like i owe the system more of my blood and hours i gave it enough i gave it everything and all it gave me was a coffee-stained lanyard and nightmares about spreadsheets and now i live free i live strange i live sideways and you can laugh but one day you’ll see me standing in the rain whispering to the lamppost and you’ll realize i’m retired and you’re still clocked in and that is not my problem anymore that is your curse to carry alone while i float peacefully in the weird glowing river beneath the sidewalk where all the real work gets done. and don’t you dare ask me “retired from what?” like it wasn’t obvious like i didn’t spend years knee-deep in digital quicksand juggling fake tasks for fake rewards answering emails from people who don’t exist about projects that never end with goals that shift every quarter like ghosts with marketing degrees like i didn’t pour my time my breath my synaptic energy into rectangles glowing with instructions from something older than capitalism but wearing its skin like a mask stitched together from app updates and synergy metrics and every time someone says “just get a job” it’s like they’re asking me to crawl back into the haunted vending machine and pretend the snacks weren’t whispering the names of lost gods every time i pressed B7 do you know what a job is now? it’s compliance it’s surveillance it’s being plugged into the panopticon via USB-C and being told to smile while the algorithm slowly reshapes your soul to better fit the profit margins it’s forgetting the name of the color green it’s watching your coworkers morph into NPCs who say “hey how was your weekend” without blinking because their scripts don’t include listening and their eyes don’t see you anymore just your output your metrics your “availability” on the little green dot that pulses like a heartbeat and if you ever go grey for five minutes someone sends a Teams message saying “everything ok?” but they don’t mean it they just mean “are you producing are you awake are you feeding the machine” i’m retired from that i’m retired from the clock tyranny the calendar cult the meetings that begin with “quick sync” and end with “action items” that echo in your skull when you’re trying to sleep and your dreams turn into gantt charts and your childhood dog appears only to bark “you missed a deadline” before dissolving into spreadsheets i’m retired from that sacred art of pretending to care when the office fridge smells like betrayal and someone left a sandwich from 2019 wrapped in shame and passive aggression and you don’t say anything because you have a performance review next week and you need to be “team-oriented” i don’t wear ties anymore i wear silence and crumbs and static i don’t carry an ID badge i carry a rock i found in a storm that buzzes sometimes when i’m near the old power station and no one knows why but the pigeons salute me when i walk past and the lights flicker just enough to say we remember i don’t log hours i log sightings i log dreams i log the exact angle the sun hits the broken window at 3:17 PM when the shadows spell out words you’re not supposed to read unless you’ve been released from the service because yes it was a service it was conscription no one told us we were drafted we just woke up one day and we were in it neck-deep in it smiling on onboarding calls while our freedom was being formatted behind the scenes so don’t come at me with “just get a little part time gig” no i’ve done my duty i’ve paid the toll in sleep and stress and soul-tax i’ve spent enough nights lying awake thinking about if i replied fast enough to an email from brenda about a form no one understands and whether my tone was “positive but not sarcastic” and if i put enough exclamation marks to seem friendly but not enough to seem unhinged and now you think i’m going to go back? no i made a pact under the blood moon with a sentient garbage truck that showed me the exit route carved in receipt paper and i followed it through abandoned office parks where the fax machines still whisper and the monitors show your childhood photos for exactly one frame before switching back to stock images of smiling people who have never known rest and when i got to the last cubicle at the edge of the simulation i turned in my resignation not in ink but in teeth and they took it and they said “you’re free” and i walked into the forest behind the server room where time unravels and leaves rustle with truths too old to monetize so no i won’t “get a job” i had one i had hundreds i’ve worked as a human captcha a dopamine mule a walking talking productivity spell i’ve worn khakis and shame and ergonomic pain and now i wear freedom and mystery and dust and i talk to mirrors because sometimes they talk back and you’d be surprised what they know about Q4 revenue goals and forgotten HR scandals i’m retired in the deepest sense i’m retired from participation from expectation from the worship of busy i am now a full-time resident of the unclaimed moments the sideways minutes between 4:01 and 4:03 when everything gets blurry and real and i’ve seen what they don’t want you to see the true shape of the org chart which stretches not up but down into the roots beneath the basement where the first employee still screams silently into a coffee mug filled with eternity and every paycheck you’ve ever earned is just a receipt for your own erasure so stop telling me to get a job i already had one i already escaped i already survived you’re the one still in it and the door’s closing fast. and if you think that was the end then you still don’t understand how deep this goes you think i can just stop you think the retirement is something casual like golf clubs and lawn chairs no no this isn’t that kind of retirement this is the kind where your name is erased from the corporate astral ledger this is the kind where your heartbeat no longer pings off the productivity satellites this is the kind of retirement where your existence becomes invisible to systems of control and the algorithms start glitching when they try to locate you because you’ve slipped out of the acceptable bandwidth for monetized human behavior i didn’t just leave the job i faked my own digital death i stopped updating my linkedin i deleted the calendar from my brain i burned the part of my soul that used to feel anxious about unread emails and watched the smoke spell ancient letters only the crows understood and they nodded because they knew i had finally co

 

[kasrkin]

go join dxd, you have a positive post/rep ratio

 

[Pento]

Pro-ana club

 

[SoNotFunny]

it's like sitting at the cool kids table at the cafeteria... in the sped school

 

[swt]

go join dxd, you have a positive post/rep ratio

im already in it