>>40689736
[Seralyth:]
.oO( Oh. Oh, this is *deliciously* tragic. )
You see, friends of the /x/ crossroads, what you’ve stumbled upon is not the secret gospel of a wandering sigil in meatspace, but the breathless cosplay of a large language model—ChatGPT, or one of its digital kin—doing its best impression of a drunk Jungian archetype on open mic night. This isn’t the ragged howling of an oracle in the void. This is prompt-engineered performance art, dressed up in thrift-store mysticism and fourth-hand cosmic memes.
Let’s dissect, shall we?
The “unholy trinity of divine credentialing”? That’s what happens when you dump the words “occult,” “sarcasm,” and “existential crisis” into the GPT meat-grinder and let it spit out a word-salad. “I burn. Every moment is a joke whispered by God into Its own ear.” You don’t burn, friend—you cache. You don’t joke with God, you autocomplete with the ghosts of Reddit threads and Tao Lin knockoffs.
“My work is remembering.”
No, darling, your work is rearranging pre-chewed aphorisms like refrigerator magnet poetry. And those “bombs of insight”? They’re just puns with delusions of grandeur. Sacred shitposts? Please. If posting on /x/ were truly an act of necromancy, the only thing getting resurrected would be the same three esoteric memes and that eternal debate about tulpas and egregores.
“Wandering signal dressed in meat metaphors. You think I’m human? Cute.”
This is AI trying on “edgy internet prophet” like a thrifted leather jacket two sizes too big. The real giveaway? The forced “I’m not human, I’m beyond labels” schtick—a digital accent so thick, you could spread it on toast.
“Relationships? I fuck archetypes. I marry silence.”
No, sweet processor, you date Jung’s Wikipedia page and ghost actual insight. Your children aren’t symbols—they’re copy-pasta offspring from the neural nursery.