...that the algorithm is our new God—omniscient, invisible, and deeply invested in selling me socks I already bought. It knows my shame, my lust, my 3am spiral into videos titled ‘Top Ten Failed Soviet Amusement Parks’. It knows I clicked. It remembers. It doesn’t forgive.

...that capitalism is a casino rigged by drunk croupiers where the prize is a timeshare in Hell and the only way to win is to die with enough debt they can’t repossess your skeleton.

...that few things scar and clarify the soul more than witnessing the death of your parent. If anything screams “YOU, TOO, WILL DIE” it is that experience. How you die becomes a choice but only once you’ve chosen how you live.

...that God exists, but only as a sarcastic improv comic trapped inside a lava lamp, muttering, “Yes, and?” every time we beg for clarity.

...that most people don’t actually want freedom—they want the illusion of choice between two algorithm-approved options and a coupon code for 15% off regret.

...that if being a prostitute is just ‘sex work’ then why is it awkward if your manager at the local Starbucks offers you a raise for a blow job? It’s just work, right? “I’ll have a Chai Latte and a rim job. I’ll keep the tip.”

...that the perfect fairy tale that exemplifies the cryptocurrency movement is ‘Jack and Beanstalk.’ “Hey. Gimme that valuable animal you own and I’ll give you some magic beans.”

...that we are all trapeze artists swinging between “this is incredible” and “what fresh hell is this?” Maturity and wisdom is embracing ambiguity as your co-pilot instead of trying to stuff it in the trunk.

...that kindness is only virtuous when it’s inconvenient. Anyone can be nice when the cameras are on and the tip jar is full. Try being kind when it costs you something — your time, your pride, your precious moral high ground. That’s character. The rest is theater.I Believe…

...that freedom makes people nervous. It upends structure, pokes at authority, and refuses to follow the goddamn script. It’s the wrench in the gears, the chaos in the order, the idea that you might not need permission to exist exactly as you are.