Cold Regards

I haven't been to McDonald's in years, but not too long ago, I paid $1,800 for a Ritz-Carlton room that looked exactly like one. Same LVT flooring. Same beige walls. Same easy-clean surfaces designed for custodial efficiency. The only difference? The mattress quality and the price tag that says I'm supposed to feel special.

When a five-star actually has rugs and fancy wallpaper, it's dingy, moldy, peeling — even at $1,000 a night. I'm better off at a Holiday Inn. For 15x the price, I get the same IKEA aesthetic with marginally better thread count. A mortgage per night just so I don't get bedbugs? Man, get the fuck out.

This is what happens when competition dies. They're not competitors anymore — they're colleagues, passing the same minimalist aesthetic back and forth like a joint, getting high on their own supply of standardization and conformity. Even the criminals know better. You can't trust money without desire. Otherwise, what you see as loyalty evaporates at any given time. Plenty of suckers bow down and call it loyalty.

But the real suckers are the ones holding the cards now.

They let you hold the cards. Why did you think it was so easy to hot potato this shit?

The Performance Review Life

But here's what really gets me: When did this corporate bullshit seep into us? When did I start moving through daily life like someone's giving me a performance review? Rating myself as husband, worker, friend, and cook. Phantom judgment from entities that aren't judges of anything at all.

We let technology think our thoughts and control our actions, but we still pay $1,000 a night + travel to shove our hands up and wipe our own asses with single-ply toilet paper. Fucking WILD.

Niggas always talking about "taking trips" just to hang out. I need a passport just to play 2K with my boys? Women need to catch a flight just to grab ice cream with friends? Everything's an event. Everything's documented. Everything's performed.

Shopping at IKEA

I'm really at the point where it feels like I’m shopping for niggas like it's IKEA. Or some port in New Orleans. Same shit. Big box store niggas being sold: YNs, OGs, old souls, sage-burners, ho niggas. All packaged and shelf-stable. No deviations from the script. Nothing more than what you see.

It could be simple. We could drink whiskey, complain about soft basketball, debate salaries, then flip and say "nah, they deserve more because fuck the league." We could call that friendship. Maybe acquaintanceship. But now niggas just want to look like friends. They want trips and pictures because that's all they know. Vlogging-ass niggas.

Honestly? I hate trips. Packing, TSA bullshit, delays, rentals, check-ins — all that just to be slightly uncomfortable while pretending I'm impressed. No BedJet. No Toto bidet with the heated seat. No kitchen. Paying someone's mortgage per night just to settle for "good enough."

Even the "elites" eat this same bullshit, but they can't admit it. They're hanging on, selling us the dream while struggling to enjoy it themselves. The rest of us have already lost it. Don’t worry, I’m no threat. You look, but as long as you never say you did, it didn’t happen. And if it didn’t happen, it doesn’t matter. Keep not mattering.

And keep letting me look at your sorry ass while you look at mine.

The Bot Loop

No matter, we’ve all decided to scroll through articles written by bots. Posted by bots. Commented on by humans typing like bots so their fake comments can be seen. Same ten jokes. Same recycled snark. Everyone resents the performance but plays along because that's what "being seen" means now. Monkey see what the algorithm rewards. Monkey do.

True presence doesn't fit the feed. It's overwhelming. Unpackageable. That's why my instinct says: fuck it, I'll show my ass. Whole-ass website dedicated to talking whatever kind of shit I want in front of friends, family, colleagues, AI funnels, and the rest of the world. B-Rabbit shit right here.

Motion

I didn't just say be in motion. I said stay in motion.

If you move the wrong way, so what? Move anyway. Reverse course, if needed. But commit to the journey of turning your ass all the way around and starting over. Stop waiting for the "right" path, the optimized route, the five-star guaranteed experience. I only care about getting wherever "there" is first — before it gets renovated into another beige box like this one.

I'm not influencing shit. I'm huffing my own supply. I work, I move, I take on all that shit you see me dwell in for the ability to do this right here. For no return on my massive investment.

This site started as a public "fuck you" to myself. I was tired of people acting like I was some mystery. So I killed my own privacy of thought. Went bright and toxic so everyone knows: don't consume what may be poisonous. All that, just to watch how people predictably respond to the mere tone of me talking shit to myself.

And now? I see an uninvited consensus popping up to what they think is the masquerade.

Asking for advice and shit.

Talking about turbulent times.

—

Nigga please.

Cold regards,
Me