An unreal production

@NuclearMAGAlady the issue in USA is too much porn and wierd fanatasies.

Do you agree with her?

@ClarksonsFarm1 Remembering passwords. We’ve outsourced our memory to the browser.

Manners…

@MbarkCherguia love the voice.. the song.. not what sings

What body shape would oyu call this?

The Spectral Hunt .. A Ritual in One Breath 1.Opening the Circle Night begins. A fire kindled in a ring of stones. The forest breathes in breath and bone. Silence thickens; moss and ash Stir beneath the sky’s black lash. Fur is donned. Antlers raised. The masks are laid in sacred space— Wolf and crow, the stag, the crone, Each a face the gods have known. Cloaked ones gather, drum in hand, With bone and bell and breath unplanned. No word is spoken, no name is called. The wild within begins to crawl. The circle closes, veiled and deep. The wind forgets. The earth does not sleep. A chant ignites the inner flame: “Spirits of wind and hollow tree, Riders of bone and prophecy, Hornéd One, whose name is none, Open the gate. The rite’s begun.” II. Descent and Transformation Henbane stirs in honeyed wine, Nightshade coils in threads of time. The sacrament, a shadowed kiss, Is passed from hand to mouth to mist. Then deeper still is drawn the breath— The tongue of stars, the leaf of death. The first drum sounds: a hoof in ash. A pulse beneath the forest’s mask. The mirror darkens, glass to smoke, The fire bends. The veil is broke. Antlered forms in silence rise, Their eyes are storm, their mouths are flies. No footstep heard. No shadow cast. They are the future and the past. The wind begins to speak in tongues. The ancient huntress draws her bow. The Hornéd King begins to wake. The riders stir. The hounds grow low. Then through the trees, the cry is torn— A howl not born of beast or man. The veil is open. The road is worn. The Hunt approaches, hoof and hand. III. Ecstasy and Death “Come, spirits of the endless run, Come, heralds of the hollow drum, Come, breath of fire and broken skin, The wild is not outside, but in.” The fire bends backward. The stars forget. The circle rides into the wet And dreaming dark of vision’s gate— Where death and ecstasy await. The masks descend. The forms are shed. The forest turns from green to red. The Hunt rides out on storm and bone— No soul remains that rides alone. Some crawl low, with wolfish grin. Some rise like birds and scream within. Some gallop hooved through flame and thorn. Some wear the antlers newly worn. Drums erupt like thunder veins, The breath of gods runs in the veins. The dance begins. The mask becomes The god, the beast, the hunter’s drums. Visions rise: The dead walk tall in skins of beasts. The rivers run with blood and feast. The wingéd ones descend in flame. The rider rides without a name. The mask becomes the face beneath. The dance becomes the god of death. Above the rite, the Horned One stands— Not beast, not man, not god, not land. The Hunt is him. The Hunt is none. He is the moon. He is the gun. He speaks in silence, not in breath: “This is the path of sacred death.” IV. The Bone-Singer’s Tales And while the Hunt rides fierce and wide, The bone-singer stands at the fire’s side. The circle listens. The wind holds still. The tales are sung from hollow hill: 🜛 I. Ashen Ulric Ashen Ulric, born of snow, Raised by wolves with eyes aglow. He bore no shield, he wore no crown, But whispered storms and brought them down. The warbands came with fire and steel— He called the Hunt. They could not feel. He vanished in the storm he made, A ghost of fur and sharpened blade. 🜛 II. Lady Thorne Lady Thorne of the Hollow House, Who wore a crown of mouse and louse, She brewed the moon into her wine, She bent the light, she broke the line. The lords who marched to take her gate Were turned to ash and fed to fate. And still the crows that learned her name Fly through the night, immune to flame. 🜛 III. Red-Hand Garran Red-Hand Garran, sword and flame, Who mocked the gods and cursed their name— He burned the groves, he broke the stones, He scattered ash across the bones. But when the Hunt came black and red, He screamed, and fled, and woke up dead. Now Garran walks the edge of flame, No crown, no tongue, no voice, no name. 🜛 IV. The Hidden Folk The Hidden Folk of Hollow Hill, Who sang no war, who sought no kill— But when the armies crossed their land, The trees stood up. The stones took stand. The wind became a blade of bone. The roots devoured every throne. And to this day, if one should dare, No sleep is found within that lair. V. Return and Offering The tales are done. The fire is low. The Hunt still rides. The dancers know. But now the rhythm slows. The fire sighs. The storm grows still. The riders vanish into hill. The masks are heavy. Skin returns. The breath is ash. The spirit burns. The Hunt has passed. The gate is closed. The veil is folded. The fire knows. The body aches. The silence grows. The antlers fall. The earth reclaims The names once worn, the bloodless flames. The offering begins. One lays a feather. One a bone. One speaks a dream. One walks alone. A name is whispered to the flame. A vow is made. A soul reclaimed. “I saw the Hunt. I bore the mask. I fed the fire. I walked the task. I went beyond. I did not fall. I gave my name. I lost it all.” The fire devours. The ember glows. The Hunt is fed. The Hunt still knows. And silence holds the final breath. And silence speaks the sacred death. 🜍 Final Glyph The Hunt howled in, the veil grew thin— The wild was not outside, but in. Through horn and howl, through breath and skin, The dance was death, the death was kin. The masks were worn. The path was shown. No one returned. And all came home. open.substack.com/pub/malmalhi/p…

@PeriklesGREAT "I don't remember"

What will the title be...?

TA single missile strike in Ukraine becomes three incompatible public realities the moment it enters the UK, Ukrainian, and Russian media systems. Each selects different details, suppresses others, and absorbs the event into its own narrative architecture—civilian harm and legality in the UK, national survival and resilience in Ukraine, strategic necessity and justification in Russia. What begins as one visible surface rapidly fractures into three interpretive worlds, showing how conflict multiplies meaning rather than clarifying it, and how media systems construct the realities their societies come to inhabit.open.substack.com/pub/malmalhi/p…

@Victoria00025 He is saying "Islam for America"

What's your response to Tucker Carlson!? 👇

@oelma__ If humans suddenly couldn’t lie, the first industry to collapse wouldn’t be politics — it would be the memes trying to manufacture narratives. Without selective storytelling and convenient fictions, half the timeline goes quiet.

🤔

@otokyo__ not much.. he follows me.. nothing dramatic

What would you do..

@wakeupusa Which Texans..did you take a poll?.. what harm.. soft clay statues?

Texans are furious after a woman was seen dumping offerings and materials into a lake. Texans are saying that it is UNACCEPTABLE and that it harms the fish and pollutes their local waters. Do you agree?

@wakeupusa so is prison

Leftist woman: “Destruction of property is a perfectly viable form of protest.” Thoughts?

@AntiWokeMemes living the Merican dream?

Please help me find the words to describe this 🤡

I hear the worry behind what you’re saying. When the patterns you grew up with start to shift — family structures, shared norms, the sense of who belongs and how — it can feel like the ground is moving under your feet. That feeling is real. It’s unsettling when the country you recognise becomes harder to read, and when institutions seem less stable or less aligned with the values you remember.

????

The Logic of Appearance Still digging for the 'real' self hidden behind appearances. What if the surface was never a mask — but the only reality we’ve ever had? Four sharp ICT essays dismantle the ancient myth of hidden depth: why the appearance/reality divide collapses, why 'depth' is a misleading metaphor, why we desperately cling to invisible interiors, and where direction actually comes from. No more soul excavation. Just clear patterns, legible surfaces, and genuine accountability. Welcome to the Logic of Appearances. open.substack.com/pub/malmalhi/p…

@Alicelewisrla @WakeUpPatriott i dont see your message

@7naamcom @WakeUpPatriott Reply to my private message

Yes or No?