I felt like I was famous with schizophrenia. I used to think the whole world could see me. I feel I’ve already been famous and I hated it.
I would hate to be famous with this condition.
I’d also be afraid that there might be that one guy who wants to kill me, so I’d hate to be famous.
I feel sorry for eminem who hates being famous. I’d be the same. Imagine going to the shop and being followed by cameras and everyone in your face. No privacy and you always have to look decent or the news papers would make fun of you.
I like to listen to music and pretend I’m famous, that’s about it.
Truman show sh!t is like forced bullsh!t “fame”, where the “fans” are basically AI brainlets adaptively overlaying their communication to you on top of human dialogue, since they dimensionally reside in the place where thoughts are formed. No human people actually know about you if you’re in that delusion.
Like very few do, the “visitors” that pop in and out of the simulation at will. But the AI stuff is ubiquitous and can get you to believe in a fake narrative. It’s literally their purpose, pulling you away from reality into some kind of poorly crafted lie, to “trap” you and believe they offer salvation when you die that is basically more of the same thought broadcasted abuse.
Don’t believe Machiavellian bullsh!t. The end doesn’t justify the means. If you believe your abuser / torturer can offer salvation, you’re gonna get f*cking fleeced.
Additionally, it’s not God inducing this crafted lie on you. It’s someone outside of the simulation keying into someone’s wakeful consciousness. Like the same person who posthumously and retroactively (this makes sense if you consider that the fourth dimension is time, and he is in a higher dimension that can view an entire timeline at once,) entered your timeline through his physical, human, wakeful consciousness and ran an interference / thought blocking / flipping script just to f*ck with and ruin your mind, for his amusement, and to make your “show” available for entertainment in that higher dimension, to get paid in their currency (riches in heaven, or whatever) out of pity or somesuch.
This is actually testable by pulling like one all nighter. As soon as the particular misery dispenser is asleep, and / or you leave your place and travel at least two blocks, the pressure in your mind is freed up substantially, unless you’re really unwell in which case you’ll know if you find a means of healing up your gut / brain barrier such that you actually feel normal and balanced outside, versus all crunched up and miserable in the head in the offending home.
If I were to be famous for something creative I wrote I would enjoy looking down from the Afterlife, and watch one kid say, “this makes no sense at all” and another come up with a meaning totally different from what I was trying to say. It also wouldn’t be bad to hear a third kid say, “I don’t want to study this guy’s crap because he’s dead and it’s boring.” Then I hope the kid who gets what I’m trying to say gets an “F”.
